notes: fun fact: yes, nastu is the ghost rider. and technically, to become the ghost rider, he had to die. i'll leave you to think on that until it is explored later in the story. anyway, there is a surprising amount of lurkers for this story. you know who you are. also my birthday is in four days and i don't think i'm as excited as i should be.
notes2: by the way, the camaro is kind of canon. robbie reyes drives one instead of a motorcycle, only it's black not red. in other news, i want ice cream.

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(t)(w)(o)

juxtaposition

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(if i gave you control would you say that, we could've saved it?)

ii.

Distantly, Lucy wonders if this is all some kind of strange dream she's having because of the ice cream she had right before bed last night. Maybe all of this is just in her head—she's always had an overactive imagination—and she's still buried under her comforter and the pile of blankets on her bed. Truthfully, it would make more sense, because at the moment she's finding the scene before her kind of hard to believe.

Her neck still hurts, and she must have somehow scraped her knees and palms while she was being harshly manhandled, because they're stinging and probably bleeding. But pain can feel real in a person's dreams, so there's still a chance.

Tentatively, she closes her eyes and pinches her arm. Then she takes a deep breath and opens her eyes.

Nothing happens.

Well.

The blonde brushes her hands hard against the ground in an attempt to steady herself, and cringes as she feels some of the loose gravel stick to her cut palms. The strange figure is still standing there, swinging his chain around and around and around, and she feels like it's been forever and no time at all. In reality, it's probably only been about ten seconds.

Honestly, Lucy is terrified. It—he?—seems to have only an actual skull for a head, and it's on fire, and when she looks closely she can see its long, bony fingers wrapped around the metal clasped in its hands. Her would-be captors are still standing in front of her, and she can see them shaking in the glow of the Camaro's headlights.

"Let the girl go," the figure commands in a raspy, obviously not human, deep voice that makes both Lucy and her assailants jump.

Michael is the first to speak, outstretching his arms so that both Lucy and her apparent savior can see a glint of something sharp and metallic. "I'm afraid that's not possible. See, this girl stole something from us, and we want it back."

That's not true, Lucy thinks desperately, I've never stolen anything in my life except that one mechanical pencil in junior year but I'd somehow managed to lose all of mine and it was just lying there on the table! It didn't have a name on it or anything!

"But Michael," one of his cronies turns to look at him, "I thought we were gonna kidnap and then sell her?"

The dark-haired man swivels around to give him a wide-eyed, half-crazed look. "You idiot! Don't call me that!"

Apparently her unexpected savior has had enough, because the next thing she knows he's lunging for the nearest criminal. It's all a flurry of punches and attempted throws and the sounds of chains breaking bones, and it looks something like a shadow puppet show because of the bright headlights, she decides. She watches with wide eyes as they fall like dominoes—one, two, three—right after the other, because they're obviously no match for this being.

He fights with a certain rough grace and surprising fluidity that she didn't really expect him to have, and somewhere in the back of her mind there's a voice screaming for her to run run run but she can't bring herself to tear her eyes away. Her breath hitches in her throat and her the world spins madly again as she's viciously yanked from the ground and held against something hard.

Michael reeks of cheap store-bought liquor and some kind of knockoff cologne. All in all, he smells like a true, grade-A douchebag and she is rightfully appalled. "You'll let me get away," he calls over to the only figure still standing. He's stopped dead in his tracks and is staring at them warily—if, you know, he actually had eyes, she can't really tell.

But what she can tell, is that Michael suddenly presses something sharp and jagged against her neck. It cuts into her skin some, and she bites back a cry of pain. "Or I'll have to take this girl's pretty little head."

Really, Lucy huffs internally while straining against her captor's hold, really. You have to be kidding me. What an asshole, honestly. What kind of scumbag plots the kidnappings of probably dozens of girls and then sells them to the highest bidder? And now he's threatening to kill me? What an absolute abomination. I refuse to stand for this.

So she imagines this monster holding her against him (because she can't actually see herself), pressing that knife to her throat and grinning because he thinks he's got a way out. Well. She'll show him.

I AM NOT DYING TODAY, THANK YOU VERY MUCH.

The figure standing parallel to them still looks pensive but ready to strike at any given moment. She locks eyes—well, figuratively, anyway—with him for a split second, and then she grits her teeth and slams the back of her head into Michael's nose as hard as she can. He's not much taller than she is, so it works quite well.

He lets out a cry of pain, and, even better, releases his hold on her. She pulls away as fast as she can, but not before he swings the knife at her, and she ends up stumbling back onto the ground. He lunges again—bright, bright red blood running down his face, staining his ugly sneer, and dripping off his chin—but someone else is faster.

He's being pinned against the crumbling brick wall before she can even blink, and her flame-headed savior is baring his teeth. It could easily be half a smirk, she thinks.

"I told you to let her go."

She's kind of surprised that the guy doesn't pass out before a swift punch is delivered to his face—she winces, because she'd probably already broken his nose, but then decides that he deserved it—because he looked ready to pee himself. Michael's unconscious body drops to the alley floor and the hollow sound echoes. Then, it becomes unnaturally quiet.

The blonde suddenly realizes that there are several parts of her body that hurt and sting and ache like hell, and she lifts her hands and turns them over, studying her palms. They're scratched and bleeding and she wrinkles her nose in disgust at the dirt and pea gravel sticking to them. Nasty. Then she feels something dripping down her neck and presses her fingers to the left side of her neck. She can't see it, but from the way it stings when she touches it and the blood flowing down her neck like a small stream, she can tell there's a nice cut. Plus it hurts like a bitch, so.

She takes a moment to appreciate just exactly how much she can see with the aid of the Camaro's headlights before the owner nearly scares her out of her own skin.

"Are you okay?"

The voice comes from right above her and she jumps, wild russet eyes swiveling upward to see the source leaning over her. Her heart beats against her ribcage so hard that she's sure it's going to burst out of it as he leans forward and takes one of her hands in his bony one before turning it over to inspect it. Then he glances up at the cut on her neck and his jaw clenches (like, literally, it's just his jaw because there are no muscles or skin or anything besides bone and teeth).

"Um," she manages in a weak voice.

It all seems very surreal. A few minutes ago, she was in the middle of being kidnapped and then this…whatever he is came along and rescued her, and here they are. He's checking her for any serious injuries and she's letting him. Though, at least she can get a better look at him this way.

Honestly, she should be scared. Completely terrified, like she was earlier when she thought she was going to meet some horrible fate. Maybe even more so now. But as she stares at him, she finds she isn't as scared as she probably should be at all.

She's very aware of his skeletal form and that his skull is on fire. That is not new to her, but the fact that he's dressed in a very nice black leather jacket paired with dark jeans and even darker boots, is. She also catches glimpses of a black shirt from beneath his jacket as he stands and gently pulls her up with him.

Well, for a member of the undead (she doesn't really know what to call him, or why she hasn't run for the hills yet) he's dressed very nicely. And has a killer car.

"You should go home," he says suddenly, his empty eye sockets burning holes in the unmoving bodies sprawled out on the ground.

She nods wordlessly, mouth still slightly agape in disbelief, and he turns to leave. Something seems to click in her head because she's suddenly reaching out and grabbing the sleeve of his jacket. "Wait!"

He stops, and turns his head to look at her, and she takes this as her cue to continue.

"T-there…they said there are others," she pauses, brain scrambling for the right words, "like me. They took other girls. They're…they were planning on selling them to the highest bidder and…"

She trails off, fingers still curled tightly around the leather material of his sleeve, and she shrugs helplessly. They stare at each other for a few seconds—she feels like he could gaze straight through someone's soul—before she releases her hold on his sleeve in favor of rubbing her arm.

Lucy watches as he looks away from her and eyes Michael's body. He takes a few heavy steps toward the unconscious man and then grabs him by the collar of his dirtied blazer and eventually manages to shake him awake. Upon seeing him, the man lets out a terrified screech and begins to tremble.

"Where are they?!" her unexpected savior demands, unnaturally deep voice furious and scary as hell.

Michael appears as if he is going to faint at any given moment. "W-who?!"

The leather-clad skeleton is not amused. "The other girls. Where are you keeping them?!"

"I-I don't know a-anything about t-tha—"

Before he can finish his pitiful lie, he's harshly shoved against the wall again. "WHERE ARE THEY?!"

"B-by the pier! I have a boat there! They're being kept in the storage room!"

Michael is rendered unconscious once more, and Lucy is suddenly aware of the temperature drop. She shivers and winces when the cut on her neck sends a surge of pain through her nervous system. She feels a weird sensation on her shoulder and turns her head to see the only other conscious being standing behind her. One of his phalanges is pointing out of the alley, and his other hand is placed on her coat.

He looks at her, and she bobs her head a few times before taking a few unstable steps toward the street. It takes a few tries, but soon she's not just stumbling down the sidewalk and actually making good progress. She hears the roar of an engine and glances back, watching as the sleek Camaro takes off down the street at an alarming speed, leaving a two trails of dying flames behind it.

Lucy blinks, and then resumes her trek home.

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She wakes up sprawled across the top of her still-made bed, still dressed in last night's clothes. The blonde sits up groggily and before everything comes back to her. She wonders briefly if it was all just some kind of nightmare due to exhaustion—she doesn't actually remember how she got home, or collapsing on her bed—but then she looks at the mirror.

Oh hell.

Lucy groans at the reflection staring back at her. Her hair is a mess—limp golden wisps falling out of her messy bun, her work uniform is stained with uneven splotches of blood (some of it hers, most of it not), and to top it off there are a shit ton of bruises and cuts marring her unusually pale skin. She raises her chin just a bit and huffs at the familiar angry line on her neck. Dried blood is both smeared around it and trailing down her neck and beneath the collar of her dress.

All in all, she looks like a casualty from some horror film.

(She almost was, she reminds herself and shudders at the thought.)

She lets out a noise of dismay and stands up—bad idea, everything freaking hurts—before making her way over to her bathroom. She strips out of her most likely ruined uniform (whatever, it was too short for her tastes anyway) and finishes taking out her bun. Then she steps into the shower and turns the water on and oh does it ever feel good.

The almost-scalding water washes over her skin, cleaning her wounds and cleansing her of the blood and grime. She watches as the brown water goes down the drain, taking last night with it. Then she closes her eyes and lets out a deep exhale.

After her shower, she dresses in her spare uniform and tries her best to hide her injuries. The slit on her throat isn't too deep and doesn't reach too far across her skin, so it doesn't require a visit to the emergency room. She does her best to hide it with concealer, and then pulls on a thick, comfortable blue cardigan to hide the nasty bruises on her arms.

For once, she's glad that it's late autumn and the weather requires people to wear long sleeves.

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"No offense Lucy, but you kind of look like shit."

The blonde slowly turns and narrows her eyes at her fellow waitress. Cana shrugs and passes along an order to the cook. "Just saying. Are you okay?"

Lucy's mind flashes back to the previous night and she thinks, I almost wasn't. But instead she huffs and grabs a couple plates that are passed to her from the kitchen. "I didn't sleep well last night, that's all."

Which is a lie, because she slept like the dead.

Cana still doesn't look convinced, but luckily the blonde has a good excuse not to stick around for more questioning. She slips under the counter and weaves through an incoming stream of people before she reaches the assigned table. She sets the food down and with a quick but friendly 'if you need anything, let me know' she's already headed back to the counter.

The voice coming from the television by the front door stops her though, and she slowly turns to listen to what the newscaster has to say. She notices, from her peripheral vision that almost everyone else seems to have the same idea.

"—Magnolia Police had an unexpected breakthrough in the cases of several missing girls last night," Jason Cool informs them. "They girls were abducted by a man known as Bora the Prominence, who has been the subject of several ongoing investigations spanning from Fiore state down to Bosco. Early this morning, the MPD received an anonymous tip that Bora was responsible for the girls' disappearances, and also where they were being held. We've received the report that Bora has confessed to everything, and that the girls have been safely found."

Several murmurs break out across the diner, and some people return to their meals. Her eyes stay glued to the screen though.

"In other news, last night there were also more sightings of the mysterious figure that's been running through town. Sources say that it drives a flaming car and that it has nothing but a skull for a head, and that the skull is on fire. The police have assured the public that it's probably just a rumor started by someone with a big imagination, but the supposed sighting are becoming more common, and some even say that the legend is responsible for stopping crimes throughout the city. We'd love to hear what you think, so let us know. More news at ten."

Lucy shakes her head a few times and makes her way back over to the counter. Cana is leaning on it, eyes lingering on the tv before they lock onto Lucy. "Crazy, isn't it? They're calling him the Ghost Rider."

The blonde laughs nervously. "Yeah, it's a little weird. Maybe it's some kind of prank?"

Cana snorts, and the bell over the door dings, signaling more customers. They separate to take the new patrons' orders, but the blonde's mind is still lingering on something else.

"Ghost Rider, huh," she mutters below her breath, before putting on her usual smile. "Hello sir, what can I get for you today?"

He looks up and grins at her, she feels her breath leave her in reaction. He's probably the most handsome man she's ever seen—even with his wild pink hair—and her brain short-circuits. He's dressed in a dark leather jacket, some old band t-shirt, and a pair of jeans. He has a tan complexion and a very nice jaw, and his eyes are a murky dark color mixed with a shot of gleaming emerald.

There's also the fact that his grin looks like sunshine incarnate.

"Hi," he says, and oh no even his voice is attractive, "this is actually my first time here so…what do you recommend?"

She blinks. "Um," her brain is tripping over herself she swears, even if it isn't actually possible, "t-the burger and fries are good. Cobra's working today and he also makes the best steak I've ever had—don't ask me why, nobody understands it, even the people who work here—and Kianna's chocolate milkshakes are divine, I swear."

Lucy feels the back of her neck burn in embarrassment at her rambling, but he only laughs. "I'll have one of everything, then."

She nods and writes it down, but pauses to look up at him. "Do I…do I know you? You just seem so familiar and ohmygosh I'm being weird okay I'm going to stop now."

He laughs again. "Nah, I don't think so. I wish I did, though."

The blonde blushes. "Your order will be ready in a few minutes," she turns to leave, but stops. "Um, what's your name? I just—I like to know the name of my customers," she taps the pen against her notepad, "y'know, in case I forget whose order I'm carrying."

Nice save Lucy, that was a close one.

He gives her a half-smirk. "Natsu. My name's Natsu. It's a pleasure to meet you, Lucy."

Her brows furrow. "How did you—"

Natsu nods his head at her, and she glances down at her nametag. "Oh. Um, yes. It's nice to meet you too. I have to get this back to the kitchen now, but I'll be back…with your order!"

She turns and hightails it out of there before she can see his reaction, leaving Natsu to smirk to himself. He glances at the discolored mark on her neck and his smirk drops. "Lucy, huh."

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end notes: storytime, children. i used to go to school with this guy who wrote his name on all his belongings (not a bad idea, tbh), and then he checked lost and found every month for things that were his. he usually found something of his in there, and at least one shoe that wasn't his and whose origins were unknown. it was a big event everytime.