chronicxwanderlust-blog
chronic wanderlust
tabitha's muses:
marley callahan ☪ graham bishop
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Logan Lerman by Robbie Fimmano
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LILY JAMES
heading to the 2022 Met Gala in New York
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“Sorry, D. I got caught up at the shop, so I couldn’t get to the dispo before it closed, and all I’ve got on me is that stuff you said makes you wanna vomit--” Graham had already removed the joint from behind his ear, free hand patting the pockets of his jeans for the lighter he swore he’d stashed there on his last cigarette break. There was little need for ceremony when it came to these dinners with his sister: “dinner” being a fairly loose term, since food was mostly an afterthought, a side effect of whatever it was they divulged in that night. More often than not, it was just the two on her couch, joint passing easily back and forth between fingers, mindless television on in the background. A comfortable silence Graham couldn’t share with anybody else, the kind of bond only strengthened by blood.
So, when he crossed the threshold of the trailer, he was not prepared for the sight of Arden at the set kitchen table, Drew across from him, with an empty place setting in between them. A proper family dinner, like they were the fucking Brady Bunch or something. Or The Brady Bunch, if they were missing a sibling and their parents were dead. Graham stopped in his tracks, looking between Arden, the empty place setting, Drew, the door he’d just walked through...contemplating his options, what consequences he’d rather deal with.
“...what’s for dinner?”
@cruelcasualties @feralsfm
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All she had to do was make the feather float. A barely cracked window could do it, an exhale of her breath--she wasn’t unconvinced that the feather itself would just simply decide to move on its own before she ever worked up the ability to be able to do so. Marley had been at this game for an hour or so, staring at the fringed plume on the floor where a television stand had once occupied. She didn’t break her concentration, even as the sweating bottle of beer was raised to her lips, as if it were the secret fuel to the apparent magic that laid dormant beneath her skin. But she was about three bottles deep into that fuel, and the only thing that felt fuller was her bladder.
And yet she forced herself to remain sat on the floor, gaze locked on the feather. All she had to do was make it float. Taking a deep breath, Marley’s eyes fluttered shut, forcing her mind to clear itself of all things other than the image that she wanted to see. The reality she wanted to make. Float, damn it. Float. Float--
The sudden sound of a rap on the door had her eyes flying open. In the rapidness of it, she almost missed it, but Marley could almost swear that the feather ruffled, as if settling back into its proper spot. As if it’d moved. She only allowed herself to stare for another moment before another knock sounded, once again startling her from her concentration. “I’m comin’, I’m comin!” Lifting herself from the ground, Marley pulled open the door of her trailer to address her eager caller.
“Can I help you?”
@skullhqsreblogs
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She wasn’t particularly skilled in the kitchen. There were things Marley had learned to make out of necessity rather than a true desire to learn, growing up with a mother who’d preferred to drink her dinner rather than cook it. Food had not been something to enjoy in her youth more so than something merely needed to get by, and though these feelings had changed over the years, her travels exposing her to all types of cuisines she never could have imagined at fifteen, sixteen years old, her skills in the kitchen had yet to grow past the basics. It certainly explained the shopping cart full of toaster pastries, frozen pot pies, and boxed noodles.
The final item on her non-existent list awaited her in the liquor aisle, hip pressed into her cart as she perused the different options wine options. As if to stick the final nail in that coffin that was her grocery selections, Marley began to reach for the boxed wine on the bottle shelf, having just righted herself when she felt a jolt against her cart. Though it hadn’t been her doing, an apology was quick to form on her lips anyways--until she saw just who it was that she’d bumped into.
“Excuse you.” But there was no bite in the jest, a slow grin pulling at the edge of her lips as she took in the man. He looked different, under the fluorescent lighting of the grocery store, rather than shrouded in the darkness of the bar’s low lighting. “I do believe this aisle is big ‘nough for the both of us, you know.”
@valmillcr
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aefterhours:
⊹ ⊹ ⊹
Memories stain every ounce of the diner, even here in the middle of the night where ghosts linger between the steam evaporating from coffee mugs, and hide in booth corners. He knows he can hear it, the distant laughter of a group of friends that once was. A time that was long before now. A distant past that could have been another life.
Hearing the anger rise in the woman before him, grapple at the air for answers. Begging to know more than this stranger sat before her. He wants to give her more, he wants to offer her something so much more than the unsatisfying truth that was. That he, the man sat before her on this chipped seat was nothing more than a stranger that crossed into her life when she as young. That he- this stranger that knew her parents.
Knew their laughter like the summer sun warming his skin, and the ghosts of them whispering down his neck- no matter how often he tries to drown out these distant things. Friends. Back in a time when they were invincible, and the world was nothing but a course river they dared to cross with each other. Young and reckless, and ready to sink their teeth into the world.
And now, it’s just Nolan, sat alone with the ghosts of their past.
“You don’t seem like the type of woman anyone should be ashamed of, but I’m afraid it’s not nearly as interesting as that.” He finds the words catching in the back of his throat as he tries to speak them, grappling to stay somewhere unspoken. Truths he’d long tried to forget.
“I’m Nolan. Your dad August, I knew as long as I can remember, and Helen we met when we were teens.” Even leaving his own lips the answer felt unsatisfying, like there was so much left unsaid- and perhaps that’s because there was. Like their lives were this weighing secret the diner remembered between etched wooden table tops, and jukeboxes that holds the coins they once fed it. But a whole lifetime passed since then. A lifetime Nolan does his best to forget.
“I’m nothing to you.” He echoes her sentiment with his ground gravel voice that carries the air like an open highway, “I’m sorry kid.”
—
His lips parted and Marley had expected another denial, a refusal to admit the truth, or to claim her as his own blood. The surge of anger coursed through her without even needing to hear the offered excuse, blood boiling at just the potential of the words yet to pierce the air. It was hard to think of a rebuttal to a response that had yet to be given, but they crossed her mind anyways in a rapid fire, head brimming in retorts and comebacks. She told herself that she wouldn’t have been this angry if he’d just told her, that day at the trailer, but Marley deep down knew this to be a lie. With all she’d had to deal with as of that day, all that’d lied before her, learning that a man claiming to be her father had made a reappearance in town would have surely sent her over the edge, similar to the way that it was now.
Her laugh rang out in the space between them, though there was no humor in the sound. If he thought flattering her would get him out of having to explain himself, he was sadly mistaken--but as Marley’s lips parted to inform him of such, he continued to speak.
Just as quickly as the fire in her had been started, the information being offered extinguished it, her raised and expectant brows slowly furrowing into confusion. Nolan. August. Helen. Initially she thought herself to only recognize one of the three names, but as her brain drifted to the box of photos she’d found beneath her mother’s bed, to the picture of the unfamiliar man, August ‘90 scrawled on the back in her mother’s handwriting. Marley had thought it to just be the date.
I’m nothing to you. She’s unsure how long she’d been staring, stunned into silence, as her brain scrambled to make sense of the information being given. She’d been so sure...without a word, Marley stepped back from the counter, disappearing around the corner and to the break room where her bag resided. She returned moments later, a stack of photos in her grip. Her initial instinct was to throw them down, accusation in the action, but she forced herself to gently slide them across to him (Nolan).
She didn’t need to look at the photo on top to know what it was of. A boy, a younger version of the man sat before her, with a baby on his lap, sat on the very same couch Marley had sold weeks before for fifty bucks. His head tilted up towards the camera, a bandage stretched across the bridge of his nose, shit eating grin plastered across his lips. Baby Marley’s wide eyes turned up towards him, little pink bow wrapped around her head. It was the first baby picture of herself that she’d ever seen.
“You were around? When I was a kid?” It’s not so much an allegation as it is a desire for clarification. To make the pieces fit. To make them make sense.
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END OF SENTENCE (2019) dir. Elfar Adalsteins
››› Logan Lerman as Sean Fogle
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Lily James at the 94th Academy Awards on March 27, 2022
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chronicxwanderlust:
—
She had almost forgotten all about the money. In her moment of triumph, the only thought on Marley’s mind was what had possibly convinced him to throw his chance of winning, to give her this moment. He didn’t owe her anything–not prior to their bet, at least, and with his knowledge of her hustling antics, she had been all but certain he’d have put her in her place. Instead, he simply stared back at her with a grin that shone nothing but genuine, and it was nearly impossible not to grin back. It was only when she caught the movement of his hand, the money placed on the table, that she even remembered it’d been about that at all.
Her hand found his in the space between their bodies, lingering longer than the typical act should. She had half a mind to think that maybe he’d kiss her then, use the touch as an excuse to pull her closer, to cover her lips with his. He didn’t, and the moment passed, but the thought lingered just a second longer in Marley’s mind, even as he stepped away from her. Her hand tingled slightly where his palm had pressed to hers.
Almost as if to put a stop to it, Marley reached for the money, slipping the small nest egg in the back pocket of her jeans. She’d thought about counting it out in front of him, seeing just how much it was she’d won, but refrained. She’d at least made back what she’d spent on drinks, and it hadn’t really been about the money for some time now, had it? It’d been about this. The promise of more.
Her grin returned full force, though she tried to smooth her face into something like innocence, less eager. “Next time, hm?” Her eyebrows flashed briefly. “You must like losin’.”
—
Valentine had all but forgotten about the initial bet, even as he wasn’t always a man of his word — it carried enough weight that he knew that the money rightfully belonged to her now. Whether or not that he let it slip through his fingers didn’t matter when his gaze fell on the space eliminated when her hand lingered as much as his own. It thrummed in his chest, bringing up something that he didn’t have a name for with how many years of his life was devoted to eliminating any actual feelings he might have outside of the reapers and his brother.
It made things easier that way. Still — something held on even when they broke apart, watching her as he put up his pool stick to call it a late night having lost track of time with the number of games they played already on top of the ones beforehand. None of them mattered, only meant to waste time before he went back to reality and yet, Val could have stayed there longer if she asked. He chuckled under his breath with small shake, shooting a quick grin before he grabbed his jacket from the back of the nearby chair that had been at the table they both called their own.
He could see the few beer bottles that littered the top along with the tip that he left behind, even if she had been the one to pay for the drinks all until this last game. But his attention was elsewhere once more as he met her gaze for a moment longer. “Maybe I do.” He nodded once before he head out for the night. Maybe she was right, maybe he did. Or maybe it was something else.
END.
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aefterhours:
⊹ ⊹ ⊹
Rough calloused fingers offering the most tender of touches as the man wraps the other’s hands until they’re secure. He can remember the same being done to him, split knuckles and blood bruising the surface as his uncle pulls his hands in tight, wrapping until they’re secure. But Nolan would never sit as still, he never dared be so co operative. Sitting so silent, letting another manoeuvre his hands around- there was always resistance when it came to Nolan. His own hands only ever having known violence, bruises black to the touch and someone else’s blood on his scarred knuckles. Always something sharp right on the edge waiting to bite.
That thing, that sharpness- these days rests somewhere beneath the surface. Somewhere he begs it to swallow itself.
Stepping away from the other, Nolan starts, “Keep your feet under your shoulders.” Dark hues tracing over the man before him, a gentle nudge to his arm as he feeds him directions on his stance. “You should have seen enough punches be thrown, you’ll know this.” Reaching for the other’s hands again, Nolan begins manipulating his fingers into the shape of a proper fist.
“Do you think you can manage that?”
—
It’s Nolan’s proximity to Arden in Graham’s mind, or the familiar motion of his hands being guided to self defend that bring the memories of childhood back to the man. The man who’d once been a boy who, much to the chagrin of his grandfather, had channeled his emotions through words and tears rather than physical violence. A boy who had needed his older brother to look out for him, who had heard countless sighed you’re going to have to stand up for yourself some day, Graham’s as he cowered behind and watched Arden take care of whoever it was that decided to pick on him that year. He never had learned, not truly, but with graduation, his brief stint in California, and his return as something more hollow than when he’d left, the bullies had simply either gone off, or found different targets. Ones easier than a wolf who’d triggered and wouldn’t tell the tales of how. Couldn’t.
“Feet under my shoulders.” Graham repeated, a mumble to himself, body rearranging to the correct stance at Nolan’s insistence. His arms once again were taken control by Nolan, large hand shaping Graham’s slightly smaller digits into a proper fist. This much he knew, remembered from Arden’s brief teachings, and slowly began to nod his head, eyes lifting to meet Nolan’s. “Yeah, I think I’ve got it.” If only standing with his feet beneath his shoulders and his fist raised were the end of it.
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ofchemicalgardens:
More often than not, Rhine’s eye held Marley’s presence in order to see what she’d do in light of his own actions. There was a softness to her that most lacked, but it wasn’t a weakness as he had observed in so many and even less an ignorance. She watched just as he did, cheek turned as a means of self preservation. It was smart, but he saw the temptation to face what lied in front of her. There was admiration in her gaze, he was sure of it, and some part of him saw something caring in it. Her concern was stronger than most, and he often found himself looking to her posture to see if he could note just how much she carried.
He moved across the tub, this time without any care for the water as it sloshed over the edges. Wine was still dribbling off his chin where it stained the water pink and broke past the bubbled filling he created long before she even arrived.
“You’re a liar,” He said, something Rhine had to learn he was capable of being as well. Fae couldn’t rip apart the truth, but they certainly could waltz around it. He was painfully honest and he’d received a slap more than once because of it in this realm. “Because you do get into business that doesn’t concern you. You wouldn’t be back here if that was the case. People who are long dead and gone don’t need to be watched over, or have their affairs settled. Something brought you here and it wasn’t just a funeral, Marls.”
He pulled back, but not too far. The distance nearly closed between them only in his reach for the glass again. It spilled over both of them and he settled back into place in the middle of the tub.
“Not that I mind, though,” He added. “I wouldn’t have hot water to steal, and someone to keep me thinking about shit worse than the Hellhounds if I use all of it.”
—
She had just settled back into her previous spot in the silence that followed, neck finding the curve of the porcelain, head tilted back and eyes closed once more, newly filled wine glass resided in hand, hanging just over the edge of the tub. She could feel the weight of Rhine’s gaze on her, the way she’d noticed she was increasingly beginning to more and more, both when she was and was not looking back. It was the shift in that water that piqued her curiosity, the slide and press of his skin against her own. She could tell his face was inches from hers without so much as having to open her eyes, which remained shut for the moment, not dignifying his move with a response, teasing him.
It was only when he spoke did one eye crack open, then both, chin lifting to better look him in his own. “Oh?” The smirk that tugged at the corner of her mouth was unable to be helped, a force of habit, as her eyes roamed his face. Perhaps she’d misread this, what they were doing together. His reasoning for wanting to occupy the same space as her. Her list of paramours in this town had already grown too long for Marley’s liking, but Rhine was different. Rhine wasn’t from there. And so she was tempted to lean in then, to press her lips to his, just to see what it was like.
Only, as his lips parted once more, Marley quickly realized that it wasn’t a come on that he’d been attempting, but a read. The smirk slowly fell off her lips, face smoothing into a perfected blankness, listening to what it was he thought she was doing back there. What made her the liar he’d deemed her to be.
The worst part wasn’t that, in the moment, as the distance closed between them once more, that Marley thought it to be his attempt to kiss her. The worst part was, that if it had been, she would have still let him. Would have still kissed back, pulled him closer, anything to occupy his mouth, not because he’d gotten close to the truth, but that she feared that he could. Enough shots in the dark and eventually he’d managed to stick her with something more than just half-conceived theories. People who are long dead and gone don’t need to be watched over. He was right and he wasn’t.
But it wasn’t a kiss that he sought after, rather than the glass in her hand, nearly forgotten in the moment. Her eyes watched as it was brought to his mouth, red liquid dripping down into the bath water, staining their skin, before his body drifted back to his corner of the tub. Marley remained silent, her eyes still fixed on him.
“You’re right.” She said eventually, letting the weight of her words settle in, before leaning forward and plucking the wine glass from his grip. “I’ve also got a trailer to sell.” She stood up then, barely letting the water drip off of her before stepping out of the tub, and grabbing for the robe hung up on the back of the door.
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preyfm:
⊹ ⊹ ⊹
Stood amongst the obscurity of night, with the moon something half lit and low in the sky, washed out by that yellow glow of a place Graham would call his home- it was all to easy to be tempted away from the rulebook. That rulebook that was drilled into Micah from the day he was old enough to read, he’d know these things like the back of his hand. What it was to be a hunter. A Reaper. And he knew the consequences as well, for a man who walked through the world like world on his shoulders weighed no more than a feather- it could have come as a surprise the kind of gravity he held situations with.
Micah knew just how many rules he had to be breaking right now, standing before the Hellhound. But he was unable to resist playing with the enemy, especially here where no one looked twice your way, and that was if a soul was to walk past. Which there wasn’t. Not at this time of the night. So perhaps, he thought to himself, it’s not so dangerous to stand here and watch Graham’s hands at work.
There wouldn’t be an immediate reply, instead a smile settling on his features as he rests himself against a nearby post. “I didn’t think I’d have to tell you my eyes are up here.” Amusement burning his tone as he zips up his fly. Not a sheer hint of embarrassment, despite the possibility of it bubbling ever so slightly under the surface.
“Is this your bike at least? Or one you’re doing a poor job of stealing?”
—
For a moment, he could have thought that the other hadn’t heard him. Part of Graham was hoping that he hadn’t, that there would be no room to tease him, no question of why his eyes had drifted in the first place. He hadn’t thought about how it’d sound until the words had already left his mouth, and by then it was too late to take them back, simply awaiting a response to be granted or denied. They didn’t have to do this, the pretend play at civility, the banter. He would not even bat an eye if Micah decided that the potential conversation was not even worth it and went on his way without so much as another word. He didn’t know much about the other man, other than the glaringly obvious, but he knew that The Waterhole did not house him. For that, Graham was grateful. This proximity was already too much for it to become a nightly routine.
His prayers were left unanswered, the smoothness of Micah’s reply flowing out into the night air between them. Fingers pulled at his zipper with little hesitation, not an ounce of embarrassment clung anywhere to him, whereas Graham felt as if he could melt into a puddle of it right there on his porch. He took another drink to occupy his mouth, and to hopefully kickstart his body into cooling itself down. Maybe if he didn’t grant a response, Micah would leave him alone.
And yet, there the man stood, curiosity laced in his tone as his own eyes found Graham’s work. His shoulders relaxed then, just slightly. Bikes were a good topic. A safe topic. Perhaps one of the only things the two men could possibly have in common. There might have even been the slightest bit of amusement on his face, the corner of his lip twitching, though he forced an eye roll, in case anyone were to look too close, or too far into it.
“I do work at a bike shop, you know. Don’t really have to steal parts.” And even if he did, he’d have liked a little more credit than to be flaunting as much out there in the open.
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ffromeden:
beau makes sure to wipe the flashlight before handing it over, not wanting to risk anything- this situation was embarrassing enough. he’s mentally battling a moral quandary and he’s not even sure if graham even remembers him to begin with. how do you apologise for things someone else doesn’t remember ? and then does it even count as one ? there’s only one side of the memories, the other gone- so did beau do any harm or… he truly is living up to the catholic stereotype of guilt upon guilt upon guilt. he needs a drink.
❝ thanks, i owe you one. ❞ maybe he should have just let the other walk away… but beau is beau and that simply means falling into awkward situations like these. though thinking over it- he only ever bullied one kid, which holy fuck he was a terror. he forces his mind to focus on the task at hand instead, his teeth sinking into his lip and wearing away at it till it turns a darker shade of pink. ❝ there’s an old guy four trailers down, bought this in the seventies and he refuses to let it go. said i’d fix it for him, it’s fucking older than me. ❞ by twenty-two years, which makes him just a tad nervous about breaking it. ❝ gotta make sure he doesn’t burn his place down over toast. ❞
—
The flashlight is, fortunately, dry when handed over to Graham’s grip, a detail that is not lost on him. His initial instinct was to thank him, but as his lips parted to cut through the silence that’d fallen between them, the weight of the awkwardness settled in, prompting him to close his mouth. He was already regretting his decision in extending his help, but Graham knew there was no way out of it without making the decision even more awkward.
“Yeah, no, uh...no problem. Man.” Graham cleared his throat, as if the words had physically strained him to get out. He focused on keeping the flashlight steady, the glow illuminating the other’s hands, deft fingers pulling apart a toaster old enough that he was surprised the parts didn’t just crumble to dust underneath Beau’s touch. He had half a mind to ask if the man knew a toaster made sometime in the last decade would cost him only about fifteen bucks, but this was another thought Graham kept to himself. He understood sentimentality, of not wanting to let go of certain keepsakes of the past. He’d just never considered these feelings to hinge upon a fifty year old toaster before. “How did you, uh...learn to do all this?” Is what he asked instead.
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ffromeden:
there’s a dark tint growing over beau’s cheeks and he scratches slight stubble as if it’ll force the blush to go away. damn, he got caught. but he had fought down the urge to ask for a good month, pale hues always looking at marley’s old trailer on his way to work, and trying not to let hope gain control of the steering wheel. he rolls his eyes, shrugging the one shoulder that doesn’t have him reaching for pills and lightly kicks the tiled floor with his boot. ❝ was only seein’ how much peace i was gunna get or not. didn’t last long. ❞ though he shoves down any urge to offer condolences, it’d be lost amongst many and beau knew it wasn’t wanted.
at the mention of his mom, beau shoves down what sharp dull ache that causes. momma beaumont is practically a ghost and she just won’t quit haunting the one kid she has- well, as far as beau knows. though ghosts and mothers… seems to be a common thing between the two in this diner. his hip rests against the counter, arms crossing over his chest, and ignoring whatever feelings are rushing around. ❝ don’t act all sharp, i know you missed me. ❞ it’s meant to be cocky, but there’s fondness that slips on in without meaning to. though he does decide to tell the truth, biting his inner cheek before averting his gaze to a scratch on the counter. ❝ grandma’s not doin’ too good, she’s- she’s forgetting things. i came back to take care of her. ❞
—
“Oh, because I’m the one disturbin’ your peace.” It was a laughable notion, and a poor attempt at not just twisting her memories of those summers, but at convincing either of them that peace was something they’d ever known back then. Marley thought that it was something that she’d found now, with age. She couldn’t help but wonder if he’d done the same. Considering where the two had ended up together once again, she thought she might already know the answer. “I can always call for another repair man. Wouldn’t wanna cause you grief or nothin’.” Sarcasm laced the offer, extended with a raise of her eyebrows and a soft smirk, as if daring him to call her bluff.
It’s the smirk that wavers, however, at the mention of his grandmother. Marley’s face softened with the information, eyebrows turning down with her lips into a small frown. It seemed that they’d both been called back to town for similar reasons, then--only he’d come to care for the living. Marley hadn’t been called until after the damage was already done.
Knowing that Beau knew what business she’d had on her hands since her return and had chosen to keep the condolences to himself, Marley made the quick decision to do the same, slowly nodding her head and smoothing her face back to the easy smile that’d graced it before. “Well, take care of her and all of Mel’s loyal customers, of course. That fryer really won’t get to fixin’ itself, Beaumont...do you need me to show you the way?”
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liviagutierrez:
Watching him splutter before her was far more amusing than anything she could possibly find to do on another impossibly dull day. It was why she had often filled those lulls between people coming into the shop with moments of torturing Graham. She gave him respite, sometimes, she didn’t want to be a bully after all but there were days where she couldn’t help but torment him… just a little. She felt a giggle burst from her lips as she shook her head, “It was fine if you were but please, honey, there’s a time and place.” she chuckled.
The question of having her own videos out there turning him redder, and she let a full blown laugh part her lips at the fun she was having, “Hey, that’s for me to know and you to find out babe, you had a chance to see the live action and blew it so–” she trailed off with a shrug and settled into the chair more comfortably. By now, she’d have probably gotten out her phone and left him to his own devices whilst she scrolled instagram, or even tinder if she was that way inclined, but she was having too much fun at this point to stop.
The truth of what he was doing however, stopped her and she glanced back at the now opened laptop once more with brief surprise. “I didn’t know you were a writer.” she admitted quietly, no judgement on her features for once. “What do you write?”
—
He had had his chance, and he had certainly blown it. Not that he’d been trying to see her naked (at least, not on the first date, he didn’t think), but it hadn’t mattered, because it wasn’t the direction their night together had gone in. To this day, he still wasn’t sure what had gone so wrong, what kept him from being capable of being a normal human being for one night. A few hours of respite from the awkward loner he had grown into, just long enough to treat the beautiful, smart, funny woman before him to a night she deserved. Instead, the two had parted, Livia surely with no intention to ever think his name again except to recall what an awful time he’d been, until fate had thought it funny to tease the both of them with her newfound employment at the bike shop. Nearly a year had passed between then and now, but it still felt as if she were punishing him most days.
“Liv, I--” Didn’t think he could get any redder. His brain had fried somewhere around the that’s for you to find out, babe, and had yet to regain its full capacity to retain any semblance of complete thought. His lips managed to move anyways, not knowing what jumbled mess of words were forcing their way out, when Livia grew quiet, her stare fixed on the blank word document on his computer.
Graham thought that the truth would ease his embarrassment, but as Livia expressed her surprise, he found that it did not subside. His fingers moved to close the laptop screen, his head shaking. “I don’t. I mean...I used to. But not...not for awhile.”
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liviagutierrez:
She laughed as the woman responded, and her thoughts drifted to some of the characters in the area as she played with the paper wrapped around the beer bottle. She glanced up at the woman’s question, sighing inaudibly as she knew the question was fairly inevitable given the way that their conversation was heading. “My uncle found it,” she began, shrugging a little, “Figured it was as good a place as any. We wanted to return to Arizona,” well, they had, and Livia had been reluctant to let them come back without her, “But, Kingman had too many memories so he chose here.” she shrugged, “Why’d you choose it? Bar escaping the cold of Michigan.”
—
She couldn’t help but chuckle at the woman’s sigh. She knew the sound well, could recognize it from when the very same left her lips, the sign of a question answered many times before. Perhaps this would deter some from asking more, but curiosity piqued in Marley then, leaning forward to rest her forearms against her knees. “Return from where?”
Of course, this curiosity couldn’t be met without some of Livia’s own. She couldn’t help but sigh one of her own, though it was quickly paired with a smile to show that she was only joking, leaning back in her chair as she thought of a quick lie. “...heard I had family here or somethin’, once upon a time.” Not a complete lie, but sold with a shrug of her shoulder and a sip of her beer. “Maybe I wanted to feel close to ‘em.”
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medixinal:
x.
Maggie could see the discomfort on Marley’s face plain as day so whilst listening to her talk she very calmly moved the tray further away as though just re-adjusting her workspace. Maggie had for a short while enjoyed making uncomfortable with her otherness, her non-humanness, but that was many centuries ago now, and never when treating a patient. Even if everything else was falling down around her, and often it had, she still prided herself on looking after others first. It gave her purpose when things dragged on, and gave her a sense of fulfillment.
“I can certainly make a house call. I often do the waterhole once a week. And you are more than welcome to come up to my home if you really don’t want to come here.” Giving a reassuring squeeze on Marley’s arm, Maggie waited just a little longer to make sure the local anesthetic had started kicking in. With a gentle sigh she stared at the woman on the hospital bed considering her proposal.
Leaning over to the draw she pulled out a pack of steristrips and a bandage, placing it on the bed beside Marley. “I will make you a deal. These instead of needle and thread.” Brandishing them like mini weapons she paused, “and….AND you have to come back and see me in a three days so I can check on it. This is non-negotiable. You can come here, or to the house. Otherwise I will be kicking your door down.” There was nothing in her tone or expression that suggested she was even remotely joking.
—
"Yeah, well, I was thinkin’ a little further away.” She was starting to feel convinced that nowhere would be far enough from this place: a doomsday type mentality that came from having already been at home for far too long. Her skin crawled with it, the familiarity, or maybe that was simply the chill of Maggie’s hand against her shoulder. The kind that seeped right through the fabric of her t-shirt and sent a shiver up her spine.
For a moment, Marley thought the other woman had noticed, a brief flash of guilt crossing her, but when the bandage and medical tape were produced, she couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief, about to thank Maggie, when she felt the but coming on. She waited until the other was done to respond, the condition a no brainer to accept. “Three days. I promise.” While she might have considered herself a betting woman, there was little doubt in Marley’s mind that Maggie was exaggerating. If she couldn’t afford the stitches, she most definitely couldn’t afford a new door. “Scout’s honor. I’d do the salute, but...” She gestured to her injured hand.
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