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abbatoirablaze · 2 years

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TM Tragedy, Season 2, Chapter 1

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: smut, mentions of oral sex (m receiving) trading women/dates for money, mentions of guns, testing guns out/shooting guns, bartering for sex, mentions of a taboo relationship, age gap.

Juice’s POV

I felt her lips trailing down my body. Her hands went lower on my chest, until one slid into my boxers. My eyes squeezed tighter together. I moaned as she stroked me. She nipped at my hips and began kissing lower. I felt my boxers slide off and her tongue licked along my hip. I shivered, "fuck. D-don’t stop, baby."

I felt her lips curve into a smile before falling away from my body. She lightly stroked me, and her head appeared from under the covers, "good morning, JC.”

I smiled, my body coming down from the already sensitive touch, “Mandy…y-th-that was so mean.”

“Mean?” she asked, a surprised look crossing her features as she gave me a playful look, “I thought I'd wake you up nicely today. I was being so nice, Juan Carlos…"

I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her towards my body. I kissed her deeply. When her hands went to my face, I took the opportunity to flip us over. Her camisole had ridden up her hips. Her silky shorts brushed up against my erection.

"I love you," I said, pulling away, “I love you so much, Amanda.”

She smiled, her thumb brushing along my jaw. That small movement sent a shiver down my spine. "I love you too, JC."

I looked in her eyes, and I just wanted to lay there forever with her, "I wish I could stay here all day with you."

"Alicia is watching Rizario now, but I have to pick him up later," she whispered, “we do have a few hours to ourselves…to do whatever we want.”

I laid back down beside her and she rolled me over so I was on my back then climbed on top of me, so she was straddling me. I smiled, "are you saying you want to have a play date with me before you leave though?"

She giggled, playfully hitting my chest. She bent down to kiss me, and I bucked my hips, letting her know I was still ready and waiting for her.

"Maybe just a quickie."

We had met up at the warehouse at 9 AM. Cameron and his son Eddie were waiting for us. Clay got him to agree to testing out the new fire power. I smiled as I picked one up and an loaded an additional clip into my jeans so I’d have some extra time shooting it, "these are nice."

"Shoots like a dream," Chibs smiled, palming the clip, "ohhh I miss these fuckers. Prospect, line up the targets."

Half sack ran down about forty feet and set up some targets on some pallets. I looked back to see Clay was talking with Mandy. A few minutes after we'd arrived, she'd shown up, sayin that Alicia told her they were finally gonna release Bobby.

"I love days that have all good news," he'd smiled, hugging her, “you…you’re my lucky little charm...you know that, sweetheart?”

"An who's this?" Haye's son asked, eyeing her up and down.

"My daughter," Clay said simply, loading the gun. I could her Tig and Chibs chuckle behind me, "my youngest, Mandy. Mandy you've met Cam. This is his son."

"Eddie," the guy said, reaching a hand out to her, "you're one of the women that took care of my dad, right?"

She nodded, "yeah. Cam's a fighter."

Cam smiled, playfully hitting her shoulder, "this one. She's a real lass kicker. Bet she breaks as many hearts as she heals."

Mandy laughed, shaking her head, "I don't. I swear."

"She's single," Clay laughed, "my boys make sure no guys are sniffing around her."

I loaded my clip and headed to the line. Chibs and Tig were waiting. I raised it and began to shoot.

God damn Irish punk. Trying to sniff after Mandy.

She's my old lady.

We emptied our clips into the targets, and soon enough Jax and Clay were talking to Cam again. His son was busy trying to flirt with Mandy. I couldn't help but feel a little jealous.I knew that I'd been the one to say that we had to keep us dating a secret, since technically she's still underage, but it was getting to me that this guy was trying to get in her pants.

"What do you think gentlemen?"

Clay and Jax nodded to one another, and Clay spoke up, "alright. Let's talk."

I jumped as Tig's gun went off. He jokingly shot a few near Sack, sending him jumping, holding the stapler up as if it would protect him. Chibs joined in as I started heading into the warehouse with the rest of the guys. My eyes were glued to Mandy who was being escorted in by Eddie.

"Oh I don't know," she said when she saw all the guns, "I should really get back to TM. I just told Alicia I'd let you guys know."

"Well lass it was a pleasure meeting you," Eddie said, kissing her hand. Clay raised a brow at him, and Cam shrugged, but they both let it happen. They both waited until they heard Mandy's car pull away. Clay turned to him, "alright, what's the catch?"

"The Russian pipeline's dried up," he said quickly, drawing our attention back, "hooked up with a rouse out of Jabalia. Run em through Dungloe."

"How do these break down to ship?"

"They don't," he said, matter of fact, "come assembled."

"That's not our business," Tig said quickly, “we don’t run that way.”

"I know."

"Where you going with this Cam?"

Cam turned towards Clay, "True I.R.A's picking up momentum. North country's getting hot. Need to step up the cash flow. Keep the anger focused."

"You want the son's to run em," Jax said, putting the pieces together, “want us to make sure your business stays hot.”

"Northern Cali. Oregon. Washington."

I looked at Cam's son in disgust. He didn't have any right to be talking. He was just following daddy in to work.

"I don't know if you heard but we got out of the errand business some time back," Clay said, trying to draw the focus back towards the real men, "we buy wholesale. We assemble. We sell for retail. End of story."

"Come on Clay," Cam said, "we both know you've still got an ATF target on your back. You really think it's safe filling this new space with illegal gun parts?"

"What's your deal."

Cam turned to Jax, "we sell. Ship. Store. You load your saddlebags. Deliver. Charter to charter. Give you 20%"

Jax’s POV

"We can get 60% if we assemble our own," Clay growled out, looking around, “that’s a bullshit offer, and you know it.”

"We carry all the risk and the overhead," Eddie said, trying to barter. Clay looked at him but didn't see the wiggle room, “you know it’s a good deal, Clay…”

"My son will be your point guy in Cali. This is a win win Clay," he said, trying to win him over. Clay sighed. He didn't like it, "we'll let you talk it through, come on Eddie."

Chibs waited until the guys walked away before speaking, "that's bullshit. They've still got access to the Russian surplus. They'll just try to stonewall us, so we'll play along. The mick pricks."

"He's right about the feds," Juice said, trying to make sense of it all, "it doesn't matter what dummy corp we use or how far off the grid we are. If ATF puts a tail on any one of us we're going to lead them right back here."

"What do you think, VP?" Clay asked.

"I think we can use Mandy to our advantage," I said, being brutally honest, "Cam's son obviously has a crush on her. We get her to go sweet on him, we could talk them into more of a cut."

Clay looked uncomfortable, "I'm not pimping out my daughter, Jax."

"Not saying you do, Clay," I said, "but you know Mandy will do whatever we ask her. She cares about the club. Just have her go on a date. No promises to him. Nothin. Just say she'll go on a date with him. That's it."

"She's a minor," Juice said simply, "that guys gotta be my age."

"It's for the good of the club," Clay asked me, "you think it'll work? You think it'll help?"

I nodded, thinking about how Eddie was trying to flirt with her earlier, "no doubt in my mind. He'll say yes."

"Okay," Clay sighed, giving in.

"How do you even know Mandy will be okay with this?"

"What is it to you, Juice?" I asked, "you tryin to push up on my little sister? She's turning 18 real soon."

He looked between me and Clay. He looked uncomfortable.

"Maybe he's right," Tig said quickly, pulling some of the tension out of the air, "we don't even know Mandy would agree to it. I me-"

"She'll say yes," Clay said, cutting him off, "she does what's best for the club. She does what we ask of her."

"Go get the Irish," I said simply, “let em know what we can offer em.”

"Yeah…whatever…" Juice huffed, walking out. A few moments later, Eddie and Cam came back in.

"You get us the Russian guns we need to keep our Oakland business intact and we use your facility to store and assemble. Then we'll run your hardware up to the coast. But MC pony express is gonna cost you 30%"

"twenty five."

"twenty-eight and the Russian stock...and I get you a date with Mandy."

Eddie looked at his dad, who nodded, and he smiled.

"Okay."

The Irish walked away with sack to get everything packed up. I looked at everyone, "it's a temporary fix boys. Keeps us in the gun business til the heat wears off. I mean we're running out of road here. Call a vote, prez."

Clay looked annoyed at what he'd just agreed to.

"All in favor?"

I watched as Tig and Juice raised their hands, in obvious agreement with me and Clay. He nodded, walking away, "deal."

I looked at the guys. Juice wouldn't look at me. Tig gave me a sympathetic smile and followed suit. Soon it was just me and Chibs staring one another down.

"You didn't vote for the deal."

"You and Clay are pimping out your younger sister to do it," he said. His accent was prominent, letting me know that he was upset, "how d'ya think Alicia is gonna react if she finds out you did this to her baby sister, huh?"

"It's club business, Chibs."

"Doesn't make it any more right," he said softly, "Mikey is just a few years younger. How would you feel if she'd come visit and that boy was interested in her?"

I bit my tongue. This wasn't his place.

"You know what, never mind," he sighed, lighting up a cigarette, "you don't know how it'd feel because I'm the one that'd raised her."

Before I could respond he pushed past me, making sure to shoulder check me.

"So now that we're still in business," I heard Chibs call as he made his way towards the group, "we the hell as we gonna sell guns to? Niners? Mayans? Who?"

"Opie come back yet?" Clay asked.

"Today," I nodded, walking towards them, “got someone picking him up as we speak.”

"All right, let's all sit down. Figure out the move,” Clay said firmly, “figure out the next steps without the use of my kids.”

"Yeah," I growled, suddenly feeling the resurgence in my anger towards Clay, "we should do that."

Mandy’s POV

"What the fuck do you mean," I growled from behind the bar, "going on a date with someone. I don't want to go."

"Damn it Mandy," he growled out at me, "I'm asking you for a favor. It's for the good of the club."

"You're trying to whore me out, Jax."

Are you gonna do it or not," he asked, not even attempting to sell me on the idea, "because he's picking you up tonight."

"What the fuck do you mean he's picking me up tonight?"

"Eddie Hayes," he said slowly, "he wanted a date with you."

"Where's dad?"

Jax nodded his head outside to where the guys were hanging out at the bench. I could hear Jax behind me, "he's already agreed to it, Mandy."

"Oh shit," Tig said, standing up, "Clay. Angry one at ten o clock."

Dad turned around just in time for me to shove him, "What the fuck!"

"It was the on-"

"No," I growled, "Jax pulling this kinda shit, treating me like I'm some crow eater...I expect. But you! I expected better from you."

"Mandy we-"

"No," I growled, cutting him off once more, "there is no ‘we’ in this situation. You guys are a bunch of selfish pricks. I’m not just a piece of pussy you can trade around to some Irish prick!"

"It's what's best for the club."

I looked across the group of guys, "all of you voted for this?"

"Not the date," Tig said, "the gun business."

"Well then if I'm going on a fucking date, you can't be mad at anything that happens from here on out, agreed?"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Dad growled, putting his beer down.

"Deal?"

"Amanda Lynn Morrow what the hell are you talking about?"

"Do you want your gun deal or not?"

He growled, throwing his beer at the walls and shook my hand. I smirked and ended our handshake. Then I went straight up to Juice, grabbed him by his kutte and slammed our lips together.

In true Juice fashion he didn't react...like a god damned dumbass.

I could hear a rush behind me. When I pulled away from him, I saw Tig and Chibs holding my dad back, "Eddie gets one date. After that, nothing else. Oh, and I get to fuck Juice. And so help me god if you do anything to him because I'm making this part of the deal, I'll fuck your gun shit up forever."

I could hear him throwing curses at Juice as I dragged Juice with me. He didn't say a word until I closed the door to our dorm room. I smiled, locking the door, and pushing him to the bed. His eyes were wide.

"Oh my god, Mandy what did you just do?"

I straddled him and kissed him deeply. He started to kiss back for a second before pulling away. He sat back up, his eyes wide still. He looked like a nervous mess, "Mandy he's going to fucking murder me."

"From how it looks," I said with a giggle, "I've got his balls in a vice grip. He can't do shit to you. If he does, bye bye guns."

"Baby," he said as I began to kiss him again, "baby. Wait?"

"What?" I asked, pulling away from him. He looked like he was trying to calculate everything that just happened.

"Wait...you didn't tell him-"

"I pretty much just made it seem like I was bartering for sex with you," I laughed, “you’re cock is mine, Juan Carlos.”

His eyes got wider as the realization hit him, "holy shit, you did."

I rolled off him and laid on the bed, "no one is pounding on the door for you not to...are you gonna make love to me or just sit there like a dazed idiot?"

"You get that out of your system?" Dad asked angrily as I emerged from the clubhouse. I smiled at him in response, pulling Juice along with me. Dad raised an eyebrow but refused to acknowledge him, "you've got your date tonight with Eddie. Get showered…he’s picking you up soon."

"Okay."

He nodded and moved on to welcoming some of the guys that had drove down from other Charters. Everyone wanted to celebrate Bobby getting out tonight.

"I'm proud of you, kiddo," mom said kissing my temple. She looked beside me to Juice, "you better take care of her. You understand me?"

Juice nodded, "yes Gemma."

He took a deep breath when she walked away. I turned to him, "are you okay?"

"I-I just feel like a huge weight is lifted off my chest."

I pulled him to me, and kissed him, "good."

He smiled at me and leaned in, "and who knows, maybe when you get back you can spend the night at my place...we could...you know."

I bit my lip and nodded, kissing him on the cheek, "I'd love that. Hey, do you want me to grab you a beer?"

He nodded and I kissed him one more time before heading over to the bar and grabbing him a cold one.

Chapter 2

Tag List: @lohnes16 @evyiione

#sons of anarchy #season 2 #tm tragedy season 2 #soa #motorcycle #motorcycle clubs #mc #soa jax #jax teller #jackson teller #clay morrow #clay #gemma teller #juice ortiz x reader #juice ortiz #juan carlos #soa juice

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drinkthepoisonedchalice · 4 years

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Sacrifice

This ficlet was written in response to @writethisacc on twitter’s Halloween prompt “sacrifice”

Jimin had to admit, he rather liked Jeongguk’s habit of suddenly appearing in his bed. Usually he would show up when Jimin was lazing about in his mountain of pillows, hands immediately seeking skin, rousing Jimin from his doze and demanding his attention. Jimin wasn’t in his bed this time though, but rather was sat at his vanity applying a deep purple smokey eye when Jeongguk popped into existence, fully dressed for once in his preferred style of black leather and clunky boots, perched on the edge of Jimin's bed.

“We should go get some coffee,” the demon said by way of greeting.

Jimin spared him a glance over his shoulder before reaching for his glitter pallet. “Why, are you tired? What am I saying? You don’t sleep.” Jeongguk met his eyes in the mirror of his vanity, dark and black and bottomless. “I don’t think we have time. The party starts in half an hour. I can make you a cup before we leave.”

“You should be careful about the things you give demons. Even an offering like a cup of coffee could be used to tie you to them for life.”

Jimin snorted. “I gave you a blowjob last night, does that mean I’m eternally bound to you now?”

Jeongguk looked away, a hint of tongue poking through his cheek as his eyebrows furrowed. “You know I’d bind you to me the moment you let me.”

Jimin sighed as he stood up. Jeongguk always got fussy like this even though he was the one who persistently brought the topic up. “Sorry, Jeonggukie,” Jimin said as he made his way to stand between the other man’s knees, one hand reaching out to brush one of his curly black locks out of his face, “I much prefer having you show up in my bed to spending the rest of my life as your acolyte running all of your hellish errands.”

Jeongguk’s hands easily found Jimin’s hips. “Just because you’re my acolyte doesn’t mean I can’t take you to bed,” he growled as he pulled Jimin into his lap. Jimin went willingly, graciously accepting the burning kiss Jeongguk pressed to his lips. “Think of the power, Mimi,” Jeongguk said as his hands wandered down to Jimin’s thighs, squeezing the supple flesh hidden under Jimin’s slacks. “No more hiding in your sister’s shadow. I thought you wanted powers of your very own.”

Jimin hummed as Jeongguk detoured to press kisses against his jaw, down his neck. “I do. You know I do. I’m just not sure if I want them at the cost of dedicating my short mortal life to being your servant.”

Jeongguk licked at the base of his neck and Jimin shivered all the way down to his toes. “But you don’t have to be mortal. If I make you mine I get to dictate when you die.”

Jimin raised an unimpressed eyebrow, but Jeongguk was too busy nosing at his collar to see. “So I get to live until you get bored with me?”

Finally Jeongguk looked up at him, eyes as black and fathomless as night. “Who said I would get bored of you?”

Jimin swallowed. It took all of his effort to push at Jeongguk’s shoulders, feet returning to the floor. “Either way, there’s still more I need to learn before I can leave my coven.”

Jeongguk slouched back against the bed as Jimin returned to his vanity, only holding himself up with his elbows. “How much can you really learn without powers of your own?”

Jimin shot him a scathing glance in the mirror as he reached for his mascara. “Enough to be able to summon a demon, that’s for sure. Besides, you know my potions need work.”

Jeongguk sighed and flopped onto his back. “I can teach you potions. You just like to be difficult.”

“Or maybe I’m just not ready to leave my coven yet,” Jimin shot back, and even though he couldn’t see it he could practically feel Jeongguk rolling his eyes.

“Why are you even dragging me to this party again?”

Jimin capped his mascara with a smile. “It’s called irony, darling.”

Jungkook sighed as he pulled one of Jimin’s pillows closer to cradle it against his chest. “I call it boring. It’s Halloween. Let’s go to a haunted house.”

Now it was Jimin’s turn to roll his eyes as he lightly ran his highlight brush across his cheekbones. “Come on, Jeonggukie. You know tonight is more than just that. Witches have always performed a sacrifice on Samhain. Besides, tonight's party is literally about you. You can’t tell me you’ve never wanted to go to one of these things.”

“Yeah, I’ve always wanted to see you guys sit in a circle and chant for an hour. Prime time entertainment right here, folks.”

“You’re such a brat,” Jimin hissed as he snapped his highlight container closed. “Look, we’ll go to my aunt’s house and eat and drink for a few hours, then we’ll cut open a goat and say a few spells and be home in time for me to choke on your dick for twenty minutes before I go to bed.”

“Twenty minutes,” Jeongguk scoffed.

Jimin pouted at his reflection in the mirror. “You know my jaw starts to hurt after too long.”

Jimin blinked and Jeongguk was leaning over him, hands braced against the vanity desk as he loomed over Jimin, nose trailing down the witch’s cheek. “Then I guess I’ll just have to-”

Jimin’s bedroom door opened. Jimin turned his head to see his mother standing in the doorway. He didn’t have to look back at the mirror to know that Jeongguk was gone.

“Your sister and I are getting ready to leave,” Jimin’s mother said. She looked stunning in her long black dress, the silken fabric hugging her curves, her lips as red as sin. The silver crucifixes hanging from her ears and around her neck matched Jimin’s own. “Will you be riding with us?”

Jimin shook his head. “No, I’ll be meeting you there.”

From the twist of his mother’s lips he could tell that she didn’t approve, but she simply shrugged it off. “Don’t be too late.”

“I won’t,” Jimin promised as the door closed and Jeongguk was back again, his face buried in Jimin’s neck.

“Don’t tell me you were expecting to take the bike,” Jeongguk said, muffled into Jimin’s skin.

“Are you kidding me?” Jimin pushed the demon back so he could stand. “Of course we’re taking the bike.”

Jimin nearly salivated every time he saw Jeongguk’s Harley. It was sleek and black and sexy and Jimin practically purred along with the engine every time he got to ride it hanging on to Jeongguk’s back. After his mother and sister had left they strolled out to where the bike was conveniently located at the end of their driveway.

“So where are we headed tonight?” Jeongguk asked as he threw a leg over the bike, settling comfortably into the leather seat.

“My aunt Yeojin’s house. She’s the one the sacrifice is for, so she has to host.” Jimin mounted the bike behind Jeongguk, pressing up tight against the demon’s back. Jeongguk didn’t own helmets, which Jimin would have thought was reckless if it wasn’t for what Jeongguk was.

“And what is the old witch asking for tonight?” Jeongguk asked as he brought the bike to life underneath them.

“She wants an heir.” Jimin wound his arms around Jeongguk’s waist and held on tight. “She’s nearly at the age where she won’t be able to have children anymore, and none of her attempts to conceive have turned up. The coven decided that she was old enough to justify asking a demon for help.”

Jeongguk looked back at Jimin over his shoulder, his brow furrowed and lips drawn. “Asking for a baby, that’s...that’s a big spell.”

Jimin just smiled up at him and snuggled closer. “Maybe that’s why they’re asking such a powerful demon.”

Jeongguk just shook his head and turned them out of the parking lot.

Months ago, Jimin had summoned Jeongguk just to see if he could. He’d believed that he couldn’t, of course, not possessing powers like his mother and sister did, so when Jeongguk had shown up in the middle of the pentagram in Jimin’s basement he'd had no idea what he was actually planning to ask for. Not having thought he would actually get that far, when Jeongguk had asked him what he wanted Jimin had shrugged his shoulders and said, “to get laid, I guess.”

Jeongguk had smiled and then promptly bent Jimin over the altar and fucked him stupid. Jimin wasn’t really sure why Jeongguk kept coming back after that, but he’d also learned not to question good sex. If sometimes, between rounds, he and Jeongguk let slip bits and pieces about themselves then that was fine too. It was about two months into their arrangement that Jeongguk had pulled himself out of Jimin’s bed after an hour of edging him until he cried, thrown Jimin’s pants at him and told him they were going for coffee. The relationship had progressed from there, to the point where Jimin now had enough sway to drag Jeongguk with him to his aunt’s Halloween party.

They were a chatty bunch, his mother’s coven. Half of the night Jimin would be listening to his aunts prattle on about their daughters’ achievements, while the other half would be spent with said daughters on the back porch smoking herb and avoiding their mothers. Nonetheless, Jimin’s wine glass was never empty and his aunt Sowon’s pumpkin spice cake was to die for. Jeongguk behaved himself quite well too, letting the aunts gush over how handsome he was as Jimin took him on a turn about the room. It was his night after all, it only made sense for him to soak up praise from the women about to ask him for a baby.

The witching hour was close at hand when Jeongguk finally pulled him in with an arm around his waist and whispered into Jimin’s ear, “if I have to hear about little Hyunmi’s graduation ceremony one more time I’m going to set something on fire.”

Jimin just patted the demon on the chest. If his count was right, and it probably wasn’t, he was about six glasses of wine into the night and feeling all the lighter for it. When he leaned close to murmur back into Jeongguk’s ear he kept bumping his nose into the other man’s cheek. “Come on, I’ll give you a little preview of tonight’s entertainment.” He then took Jeongguk by the hand and led him out of the main party room, toward the other, deserted end of the house where the door to the basement was located.

The ritual area had already been prepared ahead of time, before the party even started. The candles lining the room and adorning the altars had already burned halfway down the wax, the usually barren cement walls covered in deep purple drapery. The center of the room was hollowed out, three steps leading down to the space where they would hang a goat from the ceiling and collect its blood before the entire coven joined together to paint the witch receiving the gift in their sacrifice. Jimin assumed that tonight they would all be painting aunt Yeojin’s womb red.

Something was different about tonight’s sacrifice though. Jimin pulled Jeongguk along behind him by the hand as he approached the table set up in the middle of the basement. Where there should be a chain over his head and a bucket at his feet there was instead a table covered in purple silk.

“That’s weird,” Jimin said as he began picking at the items on the table, an amethyst encrusted goblet, a set of thick leather restraints. “I’ve never seen the basement like this before.”

“I don’t think you’ll be sacrificing a goat tonight, Mimi,” Jeongguk said as his eyes roamed over the altars set up around the room. He stepped away to grab a bottle of wine resting among the chunks of amethyst and lavender incense and turned the label for Jimin to see. Jimin knew the vintage. It was aunt Yeojin’s favorite, a potent red that he had been drinking all night. The moment his glass was halfway empty one of his aunts had been filling it back up again.

Jimin ran his hand along the edge of the table, away from the goblet and the restraints and the cold silver dagger and towards the layers of purple fabric piled up at the end. He ran his hands across the soft fabric of the jacket, the silkiness of the button up shirt and the cummerbund. It was a suit, the same dark plum color as the rest of the decorations. It was his suit. His mother had bought it for him last month.

“No,” Jimin whispered, “they wouldn’t. They-”

“Tell me, Mimi, as you dragged me here, did it truly never cross your mind that you might be the sacrifice?”

When Jimin looked over at Jeongguk the demon met him with calm, steady eyes, a complete contrast to how Jimin’s heart was now jackrabbiting in his chest. “Jeongguk, we need to-”

The door to the basement opened. Jimin looked up to find his mother standing at the top of the stairs. He didn’t have to look back to know that Jeongguk was gone, he could feel it in the way his chest was caving in on itself, the way he struggled just to breathe.

His mother showed her surprise at his presence for just a moment, quickly slipping back into an air of unbothered serenity. “Oh,” she said, “you’re already here. Well, no matter, I suppose we can go ahead and start.”

“Mother, please,” Jimin took a step back, then another until his back hit the edge of the table, “you don’t have to-”

With a wave of her fingers his mother’s spell hit him in the chest, and everything went dark.

When Jimin came to he could feel a hand under his head lifting him up as the rim of a cup touched his lips. Jimin choked as warm liquid rushed into his mouth, his nose and throat burning as he tried to swallow the wine they were drowning him with.

“There you go, darling,” his aunt Yeojin said as she stood above him. She gently placed his head back on the table, brushing a few strands of hair out of his face. Jimin recognized the ceiling above him, the chain hanging from it. He tried to move his arms to sit up but they were held to his body by thick leather restraints. Of what he could see of himself he knew he had been dressed in purple fabric, the suit his mother had bought him.

His aunts were surrounding him, moving about as they finished their preparations. He had seen them do this a hundred times before as he stood at the edge of the room, shoulder to shoulder with his cousins. Now he was looking up at them, catching glimpses of their pale faces under the hood of their cloaks. None of them would look back at him, none except his mother, who stopped at the head of the table to calmly pet his hair.

“Mother,” Jimin whispered. His voice shook, his body trembled. “Why?”

“Oh darling,” his mother cooed, “even you know that something cannot be created from nothing, and there is nothing equivalent to a human soul.”

Jimin could feel a wetness dampening his eyelashes, and his mother quickly wiped it away before it could ruin his mascara. “But why me?”

The smile his mother gave him was gentle, if condescending. “Because a witch’s powers can only be given to her daughters. What other purpose could you possibly serve besides this?”

“It’s time,” aunt Yeojin said, and Jimin’s mother quickly left his side.

Jimin knew how things would go from here. The witches, his coven, his aunts, joined hands around him. Incense of lavender and sage was thick in the air as they began their chant, invoking Jeongguk to hear them and bend to their will.

Jeongguk was already here though. Jimin could see him standing just behind his aunts, watching as Jimin squirmed and cried and trembled on the table. Their eyes met, Jimin's desperate, Jeongguk's dark and deep and endless.

"Jeonggukie," Jimin whimpered, "help me, please."

Jeongguk just shook his head. "I can't. I can't enter a witch's circle."

Jimin choked on a sob.

"But," the demon said, "I can give you the powers you need to help yourself."

Jimin's hands twisted in the purple silk beneath him. He could see the cold silver dagger in his aunts' hands, each giving it their blessing as it was passed around the circle. "I'll do anything, please," Jimin begged.

Jeongguk's smile was indulgent, victorious. "You know what you need to do. Say the words."

Jimin's breath hitched. The dagger was in his aunt Yeojin's hands now, receiving the final blessing. He looked into Jeongguk's eyes, willed the demon to pull him into those depths and keep him there. "I give myself to you. I'm yours. I'm all yours."

Aunt Yeojin sunk the dagger into Jimin's chest.

Jimin screamed.

His chest was burning. His body was burning. The flames jumped from his skin and consumed everything in their path. The women around him screamed, and Jimin squeezed his eyes shut.

When he opened them again Jeongguk was the only person left standing over him. The air was thick with smoke, and the back of Jimin’s mouth tasted like charred meat. He pushed himself up into a sitting position, no longer restrained by the leather bindings or even his suit. He touched a hand to his chest but there was no wound, no blood, just a scar that looked as if it had been there for years.

Jeongguk shrugged out of his leather jacket and draped the heavy material over Jimin’s shoulders. “Let’s go get some coffee.”

#jikook #kookmin #ficlet

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swtorpadawan · 4 years

Text

Breaking Even

“Kriffing Nar Shaddaa.”

Captain Errul Marsh grumbled under his breath as his light freighter, the Devil’s Horn, finally broke orbit from the infamous Smuggler’s Moon. The Zabrak merchant captain – which, sure, made him a smuggler if you wanted to be crude about it – pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a long sigh. It was getting harder and harder to make even a (moderately) honest living in his line of work, especially where it concerned the Hutts.

But that was the galaxy for you. With war brewing between the Republic and the Empire everyone was quickly picking sides and carving out their territory. The true independents were getting squeezed out or just dying off.

Errul might have done business with the Republic. He might even have appreciated the Republic when they weren’t trying to arrest him over one of their silly ‘law’ things.

But Errul Marsh was, above all, a true independent. He owned his own freighter outright and incredibly he was debt free, even if he was just keeping his head just above water. He’d die with his ship before he gave any of that up.

It was an existence that had its price. He hadn’t seen or even heard from a family member in decades. Friends (the kind who hadn’t tried to stab him in the back, anyway) had been few and far between. Crew and companions aboard his ship had proved fleeting, signing on with him and staying for a time but each eventually leaving when they finally found something better for themselves. Lovers, likewise, came and went. Usually amicably and with no hard feelings, but sometimes only when they realized that the ace smuggler would never be tied down to anything, not even by love.

He didn’t begrudge any of them – family, friends, lovers, all – anything. Everyone in the galaxy was chasing after something and they were welcome to chase it. Many of his old associates – the ones he’d stayed in touch with, anyway – had done well for themselves. Two of his erstwhile proteges were now captaining their own cargo ships. Others were running cantinas or small shipping companies. One had ultimately made a name for herself as a Mandalorian bounty hunter, of all things. Indeed, there were worse legacies a man could leave behind.

Still, as the Zabrak had inevitably advanced deeper into middle age, he recognized that his had become mostly a solitary existence. And he was comfortable with that, but still, every now and then…

Ah, well. Life was too short for regrets.

Regardless, loner or not, he still had to make a living. Paying off those Cartel ‘customs agents’ at the spaceport had cut deeply into his profits on this trip. In fact, after his projected expenses for docking at Carrick Station, what with refueling and the Republic’s precious ‘docking fees’ for non-Republic personnel, he’d barely break even after delivering his cargo of adrenals.

Errul exhaled again. He wasn’t that old for a Zabrak, but he was for an independent smuggler. This life would be the death of him.

Force help him, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

The ship wouldn’t be ready to jump to hyperspace for about half an hour, and it wouldn’t reach Carrick for a couple of days yet. Still, there was no reason to prolong anything that needed doing.

Errul rose from his seat, feeling his back ache in protest. He’d been in hundreds (thousands?) of firefights throughout his life, and he could still beat any young up-and-comers on the draw if it came down to it. But the price being paid by his aging body didn’t make it any easier.

Silently telling his back to stow it, the old smuggler made his way to the cargo hold. The room was stocked with pallets full of stim-packs and combat adrenals, and his ‘arrangement’ with the Republic meant that this shipment was bound for their military. With fighting breaking out in so many theaters, the ‘Pubs couldn’t be too choosy these days about from whom they received their supplies.

Errul surveyed the stacks. It was all in order. The Cartel agents had threatened to delay his departure as they ‘processed’ the outgoing cargo and verified the contents. Errul knew that game, and knew how to haggle them down on the inevitable bribe he offered them. The delay would have cost him with the Republic, and he certainly couldn’t let those agents spend too much time in his cargo hold, anyway.

“Barely breaking even.” The Zabrak sighed again as he stomped his foot three times on the floor panel to the right between the pallets.

“You can come out now.” Errul called out to the empty room. “It’s safe.”

It took several seconds, but finally, tentatively, the floor panel slid open, revealing the secret smuggling compartment he had installed years before.

Huddled within, looking up at him with a frightened expression, was a young Twi’lek woman.

She’s still rattled. He reminded himself. He’d have to play this carefully. Very slowly, making no sudden movements, he reached down, offering her his hand.

“It’s safe.” He repeated softly. “Nar Shaddaa is already behind us.”

The woman – the girl he should say – slowly reached up and took his hand. He helped her out of the hold, and she looked around anxiously.

Errul regarded her with care. Looking at her now in the normal lighting of his ship’s cargo hold, she was clearly even younger than he’d originally thought, having met her in the darkened chambers of Donje the Hutt’s extravagant sanctum. She was still wearing the yellow jumpsuit he had given her earlier – it was at least two sizes too large for her, but it had been all he had lying around that she could wear. It was certainly more appropriate than the skimpy ‘slave girl’ outfit she was still wearing beneath it that left nothing to the imagination. (There was no way he was going to have her running around his ship dressed like that, thank you very much.) Her face and lekku were adorned with elaborate markings which Errul judged to be natural Twi’lek birthmarks and not artificial tattoos. She was quite beautiful, with a painfully feminine figure and lovely blue eyes almost matching the shade of her skin. But then, physical attractiveness tended to be a much sought-after trait of Twi’leks working for Hutts.

Certainly, with the female Twi’leks. Errul reflected somberly. Rescuing her from that disgusting Hutt on Nar Shaddaa, ferreting her to the spaceport undetected and smuggling her off-world had pressed even his considerable talents. He didn’t doubt for one moment that both of their lives would get very complicated if the Hutt ever found out what he’d done.

“Donje cannot reach me?” she swallowed, finally looking up at Errul, hopefully. Her hands had slid from Errul’s hand to his arm.

The Zabrak shook his head for emphasis.

“No, that giant slug can’t reach you here. In a while, we’ll be in hyperspace. After that, you’ll be out of Hutt space entirely, and you’ll be as free as a bird.”

The girl blinked up at him with her blue eyes, still gripping his arm for comfort.

“I…. thank you, master.”

Errul shook his head vigorously again. He had to put the kibosh on that idea right away.

“I’m not your master, kid.” He insisted. “Call me ‘Captain’. Or Errul, if you like. You don’t have a master anymore.” Errul tried to give her a comforting look. “That’s what being ‘free’ means.”

The smuggler let that sit with her for a moment. He figured she’d probably been born into slavery… or maybe she’d been taken so young that she didn’t remember anything else. The Twi’lek looked down at the floor, and for a moment, Errul was worried he’d lost her entirely. But after a long moment, she looked back up at him with a hopeful look in her eyes.

“Free.” She whispered, like it was all a dream to her.

Errul grinned. “Free.” He repeated, for emphasis. The Zabrak tilted his head. “What’s your name, kid?”

The Twi’lek swallowed, nervously. Probably she’d been forbidden to use her real name in public. Forced renaming was a common enough practice among Hutt pleasure slaves.

“Rhi’kih.”

Errul then gave her his most charming smile. It was a look that had melted the hearts of hundreds of women over the years. (And, Errul reflected, a handful of men, as well.)

“Are you hungry, Rhi’kih?”

“I…” the Twi’lek looked up at him, uncertain, as she regarded his expression. Finally, her features softened and she swallowed again.

“Yes, I am.”

**********************************

The galley wasn’t much to look at. To be honest, with the Devil’s Horn having only one permanent resident who wasn’t a droid – that being Errul himself – it didn’t really need to be anything special.

Yet another benefit of bachelorhood. Errul reflected. Unlike some of his contemporaries, he disliked over-decoration, preferring the utilitarian to any ostentatious aesthetic.

Nevertheless, he had always tried to keep it fairly well-stocked and in good order for when he did have company, and with the help of his Seetoo droid, it was kept clean as well. At this moment, there were exactly two frozen bantha steaks left, and Errul decided now was as good a time as any to break them out of the freezer and grill them up.

The girl - Rhi’kih, he had to remember – had sat down at the small table only at Errul’s prodding. She was still very skittish, taking everything in with trepidation. He couldn’t blame her, given where she’d been living.

Finally finished preparing the food, he served the steaks up on a pair of plates, along with glasses of blue milk for each of them.

“Here. Eat up.” Errul smiled, taking his own seat after distributing utensils.

The Zabrak took up his knife and fork and then tasted the succulent meat, closing his eyes in pleasure. Out of all the skills he’d picked up over the years, learning how to cook – properly, and not like the bachelor he was – easily ranked in the top three in having improved his personal quality of life, going along with how to pilot a ship and how to talk your way out of a tight spot.

(Shooting a blaster? Oh, don’t be silly. He was born knowing how to do that.)

Opening his eyes again, he noticed that Rhi’kih was merely poking the steak with her fork, clearly troubled over something.

“Something wrong?” he asked, concerned. “Its not undercooked for you, is it?”

“Uhm. No.” She looked down embarrassed. “My… my master never let me use knives. No one taught me.”

Errul cringed inwardly. There were a hundred plus one evils resulting from slavery. One of the most underrated was the lack of basic life skills many oppressed people suffered from even after finding their freedom. It could keep them on the fringes of society forever, and perhaps, more likely to end up in the desperate circumstances that had seen them become slaves in the first place. Neither the Republic government nor anyone else seemed equipped to help them acclimate.

“Here.” Errul got up and came around the table. Very gently, he took her by the wrist and helped her grasp the knife. She let him, having apparently grown comfortable with him by now.

“Hold it like this. Good. Now the fork like that – yes. Good. Now cut…. Perfect.”

It took about a minute. But Errul was finally satisfied the Twi’lek had learned how to cut her own food adequately.

“It’ll get more natural with time. Trust me.” He reassured her, observing her progress as he took his seat back.

Rhi’khi finally tasted her steak. Her eyes lit up, and he couldn’t help but think of it as a sign of life.

“Good?” he asked with a grin.

“I…. yes!” she gasped.

Errul was rewarded with a lovely smile from the Twi’lek. It was the first time he’d seen her smile genuinely since meeting her. He’d seen the conditions under which slaves were kept on Nar Shaddaa, and what sustenance they were given. Occasionally, pleasure slaves like Rhi’khi would be fed rich food or wine from the plates and goblets of their masters, almost as if they were pets. The rest of the time they tended to be served an unappetizing gruel back in their pens. Neither option was particularly healthy in Errul’s estimation.

A reasonable nutritional diet – including bantha steaks – was another thing she’d have to adjust to.

As it turned out, Rhi’khi was famished. Her table manners needed some work, but she ate her bantha steak and drank her blue milk with gusto. Errul took it as a positive sign; she’d have to learn to pace herself, but that could come later.

Errul was almost done with his steak when he glanced up, realizing that the girl was eyeing him tentatively as if chewing something over.

He put aside his utensils.

“What is it now?” he asked.

The Twi’lek swallowed, then reached out, laying her hand on his.

“I owe you everything for freeing me… Captain.” Rhi’khi smiled up at him, coyly. It was the same smile she’d worn while dancing for Donje’s visitors back on Nar Shaddaa. Noting her brief pause, Errul suspected that she had had to stop herself from calling him ‘master’ again. “I am… very grateful.” Her fingers gently entangled themselves with his, her thumb brushing against his palm.

Errul felt a sudden but familiar warmth in his belly and down to his loins. This beautiful young woman – with her lovely figure, pretty blue eyes and coy smile – was offering him comfort. Even at Errul’s age, the urges still came, and he certainly couldn’t deny the Twi’lek’s sex appeal.

It was the Zabrak’s turn to swallow, as he looked up into Rhi’khi’s eyes.

Errul Marsh prided himself on his ability to read people. During negotiations. During games at the Pazzak table. During a tense stand-off with guns drawn. And the fact that he was still alive after all this time was a sign that he was good at it. It had always been a talent, but he’d refined it over the years with invaluable experience.

So it was that he noticed things. In particular, the slight tension around the girl’s otherwise enticing eyes.

No.

This was not a young woman who was genuinely smitten or enchanted by him. (Galaxy knows Errul knew what that looked like, even if it had been awhile.) No. This was a girl who was, even now, still worried that he would sell her off to the next gangster he ran into or that he’d otherwise abandon her to some unknown fate the moment she became inconvenient.

In her mind, this was about taking control of the situation in the only way she knew how. Rhi’khi was desperately trying to offer him something to ensure he would protect and look after her, this was only coin she could possibly offer him. It bothered him that she’d been conditioned to think that her sex appeal was all she could ever offer to the galaxy. Errul added that to the growing list of consequences of her enslavement. The fear of going back to Nar Shaddaa or the fear of the unknown would lead her to continue living the life she had been living, even after she had just risked everything to escape that very life.

After all, it was all she knew.

That wasn’t what bothered him the most, though.

No, what bothered him the most was knowing – knowing – that not so many years ago, Errul would have taken her up on the offer in a heartbeat. By now, his lips would have been on hers, she’d have been propped up on the table and soon the clothes would have gone flying. (And few of Errul’s lovers had ever complained about his skills in the bedchamber.) Oh, he’d have shown her a great time; he’d have taken her on a trade run or two to some exotic planets and shown her sights few beings could even imagine. Beautiful beaches, majestic mountains, cities that were clean and comfortable in stark contrast to the filth and grit she’d seen on Nar Shaddaa.

He’d have let it last a week. Or maybe – maybe – as long as a month. (He’d only gone as long as a month with a woman a couple of times. It was better that way.) Certainly no longer than that. Then he’d have found something for the young Twi’lek, letting her down gently and making sure she had something to get her started on the rest of her life.

After all, he’d have thought to himself, what she was offering him had been offered freely and was therefore his to take.

That was one of the lies people told themselves. But with age had come wisdom, and Errul liked to think he had given up lying to himself a long time ago.

“How old are you, kid?”

The words came from his lips abruptly. Rhi’khi looked confused for a moment, then worried, as if she thought she had done something wrong, and might be punished for it. She withdrew her hand.

“I…. nineteen, I think.” She said with uncertainty.

Nineteen. Shavit. He was more than twenty years her senior. Force. He’d lived too blasted long.

“Hold on a second, okay?” he offered.

Errul rose from his seat and walked to the far corner of the galley, right next to the washer. He opened the small cabinet above, being careful to block Rhi’khi’s vision of what he was doing. (He didn’t have any reason to distrust the Twi’lek, but he hadn’t survived this long by being careless.) He removed the panel at the back of the cabinet, revealing a hidden biometric safe box. The Zabrak pressed his hand to bio-scanner, then entered a code into the keypad. The safe popped open.

There were a number of trinkets located within, some appearing to be mundane while others would have caught the eye of any professional treasure hunter. Errul ignored the rest and took the one object he had sought. Then he closed the safe, putting the fake panel back in place.

Errul turned back to Rhi’khi, setting the item down on the table. It was a small metallic cube, with ornate engravings etched on all six sides.

“Don’t worry. It won’t hurt you. Promise.” He gave her a soft smile. “Go ahead and touch it.”

Rhi’khi tentatively reached out and lightly brushed the foreign object with her fingertips.

After about a second, the cube suddenly lit up with the engravings emanating a blue light. A small holoprojection then materialized above it, revealing a Cathar woman wearing long robes.

“I am Master Juhani of the Jedi Order.” The projection spoke in an accent that was provincial, but the voice was clear and nevertheless confident. “And these are my teachings.”

Rhi’khi cried out in alarm, withdrawing her hand from the cube. All on its own, the object went flying off the table and through the air, ricocheting off the ship’s bulkhead before coming to a rest on the floor. The Twi’lek, plainly rattled, pulled her knees up to her chest, staring down at it in fear.

Errul just chuckled nonchalantly.

“Sorry about that. I had to be sure, and this saved me a lot of time.” The smuggler reached down and picked up the cube, setting it back on the table. It was undamaged from Rhi’khi’s inadvertent outburst, which he took a relief in. Errul knew it was nearly three hundred years old. “Like I said, this won’t harm you.” He regarded her with a satisfied expression, having been proven right. “I figured as much about you, when I saw you talk that Gamorrean out of ‘enjoying’ the company of your Nautolan friend back at Donje’s club.”

“What… what was that?” Rhi’khi asked nervously, still staring at the cube.

“This? This is a Jedi Holocron.” Errul tapped it, nonchalantly. “I’ve been hanging onto it for a while, mostly for occasions like this.”

The Twi’lek swallowed, starting to regain her composure.

“I don’t understand.”

“Hmmm.” Errul regarded her, debating how to continue. “Have you ever heard of the Jedi?”

“I… yes.” Rhi’khi stammered. “My master… Donje, I mean… sometimes ranted about them. He called them ‘meddlesome Republic fools’. And he said that they fought the Sith.” She paused. “I think he was a little frightened of them.”

The Zabrak just nodded.

“Not without cause. Jedi and Hutts don’t really see eye to eye on much.” Errul sat down across from her, stretching his arms. “Jedi are… well, peace-keepers, you might say. When things are going alright for the Republic, they’re like diplomats. They go around resolving conflicts and helping to uphold the law. They’re pretty… noble, I guess. They’ve helped a lot of people when no one else could. Not as many as you’d hope, but a lot.” He chewed that over. “Of course, these days, they’ve been at war with the Sith Empire, even when they’ve had that sham of a peace treaty. So it’s been tough going these last few decades. They’ve got a lot of rules they have to follow, and they can be very pretentious. These days, they have to defend the citizens of the galaxy, uphold their own lofty principles and beat the Sith all at the same time. No one is going to succeed at that. But to their credit, they keep trying.”

“Having said that…” he continued. “I can honestly say that they do the best they can in a crazy galaxy.” Errul paused at a bygone memory, his voice taking a more conciliatory tone, then looked the Twi’lek directly in the eye.

“You’re Force-sensitive, kid.”

Rhi’khi just blinked.

“The… Force?” she asked in confusion.

“Yeah.” The old smuggler settled into his seat. “It’s like this… invisible energy field created by all living things. It binds the galaxy together, or so the Jedi say. And some special people – like the Jedi and the Sith – can manipulate it; it gives them power.”

“You have that power. You’ve been able to talk people out of doing things before, haven’t you? Maybe not Donje or other Hutts, but others, right?”

Rhi’khi nodded nervously.

“Right. Basically, Rhi’khi, it means you have the chance to become a Jedi.” He paused and looked up at the ceiling. “Or a Sith.” He added dourly. “If you like, I can introduce you to someone on Carrick Station, and, if you decide it’s what you want, they’ll test you to confirm what I just told you. The Jedi usually recruit kids young, but they’re less discerning these days. I don’t know if that’s good or bad, but I’m confident they’ll take you in and teach you how to become a Jedi.”

Errul paused here for effect.

“But I won’t do that if that’s not what you want.”

The Twi’lek stared down at the table.

“I don’t know what I want.” She whispered quietly.

The Zabrak nodded. No surprise, there. Rhi’khi had probably never been given the chance to think about what she wanted.

“Well, I think you’re in shock, kiddo. A lot of stuff is happening to you very quickly. I wish things were different, but here we are.” He gave her what he hoped was a comforting look. “Not everybody can quite get over the things life throws at them. And you’ve had way more thrown at you in the last few hours than a lot of people will experience in a lifetime.”

“But… if you can let go of it – what with growing up a slave, everything that’s happened to you, everything that was done to you – then maybe, just maybe, this is for you. And maybe, maybe, maybe someday you can help some other little girl from having to grow the way you did.”

The Zabrak considered what he had said. She deserved the truth. All of it.

“No promises, though.” He added firmly. “Even at their best, before the Empire came back, the Jedi couldn’t stop the Hutts from trading in slaves entirely. The best they could claim to accomplish was keeping the slugs in check. And like I’ve said, the Jedi aren’t at their strongest right now. It’s a dangerous life, what with the Empire hanging around.”

Rhi’khi seemed to chew that over for a long moment. Despite his reputation for being a fast-talker, Errul was actually quite comfortable with long silences, and gave her all the time she needed.

“What if I can’t do that?” she finally whispered.

He understood. Rhi’khi might seem meek and innocent at the moment, but Errul couldn’t imagine anyone going through her life without building up a sense of indignation, and scars on her soul that ran deep. If she were aware of that, then she was wiser than she let on.

“If the anger and resentment are too much, well, odds are you’ll become a slave again. Except not a slave to another Hutt, but a slave to your own anger. And to your past. I’ve seen it happen with others who’ve been through the kinds of things you have, even the ones who weren’t Force sensitive. They just… can’t be free of it. They can’t be free of what they’ve gone through. Even with otherwise good people, it eats away at them, over time, and it never ends well.”

The Zabrak looked away, not wanting the Twi’lek to see the look on his face just now. He was speaking from experience, but that experience wasn’t something he was ready to share.

“And then a lot of them wind up doing to others what was done to them.” Errul continued, speaking from experience. “They all have justifications, of course. Little lies they tell themselves. ‘Oh, the galaxy owes me this’ or ‘these people deserve what I’m doing to them because their ancestors killed my ancestors’. It’s all a load of druk.”

“People hurt other people because they can’t let go.”

Trusting himself now, Errul took a breath and turned back at Rhi’khi, giving her a hard look in the eye. She was still watching him closely.

“The ones who do that who are Force-sensitive? We call those Sith.”

The girl shivered again, wrapping her arms around herself.

His expression softened at the sight. He’d given her the ice bucket of water to the face. The least he could do was offer her a towel.

“But… if neither of those choices appeal to you, the guy who runs the cantina on Carrick Station owes me a favor. He’s a tough boss, and the pay isn’t that much, but he treats his waitresses right. He doesn’t put up with any flyboys like me messing with them, y’know? I could set you up. You could work for him for a while, just serving drinks and finding your feet, until you found something better.”

“As for this ‘Force’ business… well, maybe it will let you just live your life.“

“I promise I’m not going to make you choose anything. I’m just telling you what I can do to help you, since you look like you need it.”

Rhi’khi was looking up at him again. She probably didn’t completely understand everything he had said, but she seemed comforted by his words nonetheless. Maybe she liked having a third option, or maybe she just liked listening to his voice. That didn’t really matter right now.

“Well. I’ve just dropped a barrel of Hutt manure on you, kid. I’m sorry to do it like this, but I find it’s for the best in the long run.”

Errul polished off the last of his blue milk, then cleared the table. He put everything away in the washer, set the machine to run, then turned to her again.

“I don’t pretend to know what’s best for you. But I’ll give you as much time as I can to think all this over.”

He moved to stand, only for Rhi’khi to reach for his hand again.

“Captain, wait.” She suddenly interrupted.

Errul noted she didn’t need to stop and start again to remember to call him ‘Captain’ and not ‘Master’. He smiled at her progress and stopped, sitting back down.

“How… how do you know all of this?” she asked. “If you are just a ship captain, how do you know about the Force, and me, and… why do you have this?” she looked at the holocron again.

The Zabrak slowly grinned. She was a sharp one. Most people struggled to use their intelligence in tight spots; when you’re threatened and focused on simple survival, it was hard to think things through. He’d seen enough of that in the refugee camps growing up. But if you offer folks just a little security and comfort, a little breathing room, sometimes they could surprise you with what they could come up. Rhi’khi may have been under-educated and naïve, but he was suddenly confidant that whatever path she took, she’d figure things out, in time.

“Well, let’s just say that once upon a time, a Jedi helped me out of a jam.” He answered wistfully. “They took the time to tell me about a couple of things. As for why I have the holocron… well, it just sort of fell into my lap during a little misadventure on Dantooine this one time, years ago. It’s no good to me personally; I’m not Force-sensitive. But it’ll make a useful bargaining chip if I’m ever in a tight spot… or for confirming cases like yours.”

The Twi’lek took that in and released his hand, thinking.

A chime sounded throughout the ship, and Errul cocked his head.

“I’ve gotta get that. We’re ready to jump into hyperspace.”

With that, Errul stood up. Rhi’khi turned and stared down at the holocron, lost in thought. The Zabrak made for the door and then stopped, turning just enough to speak to her over his shoulder.

“Just remember: Whatever you choose, that’s your choice, and yours alone. That’s the hardest lesson of freedom. What’s happened to you up until now was someone else’s doing. What you do after this is yours.”

As Errul stepped out of the galley and prepared to head back to the cockpit, he hung back for a second out of view around the corner, watching the young Twi’lek mull over her future. He certainly didn’t envy her the choice before her, but he needed to make sure she was okay to be alone right now.

Slowly, tentatively, Rhi’kih reached for the holocron. As she touched it, the little holo-image – the ‘Gatekeeper’ – once again materialized.

“I am Master Juhani of the Jedi Order.” The Jedi started again. “And these are my teachings…”

Errul observed as Rhi’khi watched the projection, a look of fascination coming across her features. As she listened to the words of the long-dead Jedi, she seemed to Errul to become more relaxed, a small smile coming to her lips. A natural, organic smile – not the coy put-on she’d shown him earlier.

The Zabrak turned away. He didn’t pretend to know his own destiny any more than he knew Rhi’khi’s, but maybe both of them were about to take the next step on their respective paths.

Errul sighed again as he sat down in the chair of his cockpit, finally pulling the lever and triggering the jump into hyperspace. The stars outside the cockpit canopy shifted as the Horn made it’s jump, as the galaxy seemed to bend around the trusty old freighter. It was a welcome sight. No matter how many times he saw it, it always relaxed him.

This had already been too much philosophy for him in one day. He decided to blame it all on that Reactor Core he’d had at the cantina before he left Nar Shaddaa. That Rodian bartender was a good listener, but he always put too much spice liquor in his concoctions, and no doubt that was making Errul sentimental. It made him reflect back on what he’d thought to himself earlier.

If it wasn’t ‘this life’ that would be the death of him someday, then it would be sentimentality. He didn’t doubt it for one minute.

He thought back to Rhi’kih listening to that holocron in the galley.

“Yeah, barely breaking even.” He whispered with a smile. He shook his head. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Kriffing Nar Shaddaa.” He grumbled.

END

****************************************

Author’s Notes: I’ve never written about Errul before, but he’s my oldest ‘active’ O.C., as I developed him way back when I was on Free-to-Play. I eventually abandoned his game play, as in my mind, I don’t see him as an ‘Outlander’ type figure. But I keep him around. I saw some talk on Tumblr complaining about the player’s tendency to make our O.C.s on the young side. Errul, in my head-canon anyway, is a smuggler on the wrong side of forty.

People do change. They learn and they grow and they don’t stop doing that the moment they turn into an ‘adult’. (Which is totally a made-up word anyway.) True, the changes aren’t always for the better, but they do come. How you feel about things twenty years from now may be very different than how you feel about things now. That doesn’t make your opinions any less valid; it just means that they don’t define who you are.

Juhani is here just because I like Easter Eggs.

The character of Rhi’khi is inspired by a Twi’lek slave in Nar Shaddaa who was planning to escape with a smuggler in a bit of ambient dialogue within the actual game.

I remember reading an article about people who defected from North Korea, and the immense challenges they faced adapting to the modern world. Even given assistance by South Korea and other countries, most of them have no practical job skills and an education that was incomplete to say the least. It was very sobering.

Oh – and spoilers – Rhi’khi ‘grows up’ to be the Barsen'thor of the Jedi Order in this iteration. The first lesson there is you never know what the person you help might go on to do. The second lesson is don’t worry if you feel you’re getting a late start on pursuing your life goals. Honestly, it is not a race. It never was.

Good luck, and may the Force be with you.

#swtor #swtor fanfiction #oc: errul marsh #oc: rhi'khi #zabrak #twi'lek #smuggler #jedi counselor #juhani #kotor callback

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the-quiet-winds · 5 years

Text

The Buffalo’s Inferno

[Everyone’s been waiting for this, right?

Mild angst. Some rude words. Discussions of death.] Katherine, for lack of better words, had not been having the greatest day ever.

She can’t really explain why, but she’d been in some weird sort of mood that made everything feel horrible no matter what it was. She had shooed Argyle out of her room when he had come creeping in for pets, she had nearly yelled at Anne for how long she took in the bathroom this morning, and actually had sternly asked Anna to turn her music down.

Finally, when the house seems stable enough and Katherine feels she might just be okay, she slips downstairs in search of a snack. Situating herself at the kitchen island with a bowl of fruit, she tries to calm her mind.

But, when you live in a house with five other women and a cat, calm and peace aren’t exactly easy to grasp. Granted, her guest isn’t the worst person it could be, but she really had been looking forward to some alone time.

“Hello, love,” Jane greets, sitting down next to Katherine and accidentally jostling her in the process.

“Hi,” Katherine mumbles, not looking up from her bowl.

Jane frowns at Katherine’s unresponsiveness. “What’s up, love?”

“Nothing.”

“Kat,” Jane says, but she uses that voice. The one that usually makes Katherine’s stomach feel like butter as she promises to fight away all the nightmares and keep Katherine safe and ensure that nothing will ever hurt her again.

Today, however, it just feels so patronizing and almost a sort of lie as she continues to say, “come on, sweetheart. What’s going on?”

“Nothing, I’m fine,” Katherine insists, hoping the slight bite in her voice would ward off Jane finally.

But her mum is too sweet and loving to leave her alone when something is so clearly bothering her. Jane’s hand sweeps softly through her hair, coming to rest on her shoulder.

“Come on, love,” Jane whispers. “Just talk to me.”

Katherine slams her hand on the table, rattling her bowl and startling Jane out of her skin.

“Why can’t you just be normal?”

“Kat, what-”

“Why can’t you just be normal?” Katherine nearly shrieks, hot tears streaming down her face. “Why do you insist on being so… motherly all the time?” She moves towards her room.

Jane follows. “Kat, you’re my daughter and-”

“I’m not your daughter!” Katherine explodes, jumping to her feet. Words are flying out of her mouth faster than she can truly contemplate. “You’re not my mum, that’s what you wanted,” she jams a finger into Jane’s chest with enough force to push her back, Jane’s eyes wide and almost scared. “I hate you!” Katherine all but screams, retreating up the stairs to her bedroom, holding the door, as she screams, “I wish you weren’t my mum!”

With the final declaration, she slams the door.

She buries her face in her pillow and pretends not to hear Jane’s soft pleading for her to open the door, which is quickly replaced by tearful apologies and promises to change.

Then, there’s nothing, and Katherine falls asleep crying into her pillow.

---

The first thing Katherine realizes when she wakes up that afternoon is the house is quiet. Silent, even. She checks her clock on the side table - there’s still an hour until they leave for the show, so why is everyone so quiet?

She drags herself off the bed and into the bathroom to scrub the tear stains off of her cheeks. As she pats off the water, Katherine can’t help but notice the different smell that lingers in the bathroom. Just a different kind of cleaning product or something, that’s all.

She brushes it off and heads downstairs.

Aragon and Parr are curled up together on the couch, talking in hushed voices. Anne and Anna are similarly discussing something at the kitchen island, taking tiny pretzels from a bowl and popping them into their mouths intermittently.

Katherine approaches them, somewhat hesitantly. “Where’s Jane?”

Anne raises an eyebrow. “Who knows?”

“She had to be upset earlier, why did you all let her leave?”

“Jane? Upset? What else is new?” Anna grumbles, stealing another pretzel.

“What are you talking about?” Katherine asks.

“Jane is always upset, Kitty,” Anne says. “If we never let her leave when she’s upset, she’d literally never be out of this house.”

“We should get going,” Cathy butts in.

Katherine checks the stove clock. “We still have another hour till call.”

“Did you seriously forget?” Aragon asks.

“Forget what?”

“What has gotten into you today, Kitty?” Anne asks. She sighs, then, “we have our meeting at the theater, like we do every first show of the week.”

“Oh, right,” Katherine says, knowing full well she has no idea what they’re talking about.

“Come on,” Aragon says. “Maybe Jane won’t be late to this one.”

“Or completely screw us all,” Parr snipes.

Katherine is sure she has absolutely no clue what is going on - did they really all think so little of Jane? Were they finally being honest?

She dwells over these thoughts the entire ride to the theater, but then she starts to question why. Jane had been too protective, too motherly toward her, even though, by some odd technicality, they were on some sort of sisterly status.

Every previous notion she had of Jane flees as soon as they reach the theater, where the woman is sitting on the stoop, smoking a cigarette.

“Glad you all decided to show up,” she drawls, dropping the butt to the ground and putting it out with her shoe. “Lets get this over with.”

“You shouldn’t do that before a show,” Aragon says, and Jane just rolls her eyes.

They all enter the theater, Jane not even waiting for the others, and Katherine can’t help but notice the ambiance feels different, less warm, even though everything seems identical.

Katherine follows the others as they sit down on the stage, and she can’t help but notice that Jane sits different. It’s a tiny thing to observe, really, but usually Jane sits with her back straight, legs crossed, like a ‘proper woman’, as she would tease. Today, however, she looks like she doesn’t care, sitting in the complete opposite way.

Katherine knows the way she’s sitting is a stupid detail, but the fact that Jane barely glances in her direction doesn’t go unnoticed either.

Throughout the whole meeting, Katherine is completely lost. She can’t figure out why she’s even there, since almost all of the stage manager’s questions are about Jane and her ‘behavior’ over the last week. Whether she had any altercations with the other queens (apparently Jane and Aragon had had a blowout over the car), whether she had used any substances (a moot question, considering she still smelled like the cigarette from outside the theater, and Anne manages the courage to point out her noticing of one or two empty bottles of gin in the garbage (this confession earns her a very dirty look)), and, oddly enough, whether she had come in contact with any sharp objects in the last week (other than the knife used to cut up some snacks, no).

Then the questioning moves to the other queens - how had their weeks been, and had they had any problems.

Katherine pretends everything is fine, when inside she is screaming. This all seems so wrong-

“Time to get suited up,” Anna jokes as they stand, heading towards the dressing rooms.

That’s when there’s more wrong, Katherine sees.

Jane’s area, normally full of fan art and pictures with the queens, is empty. There’s not a single item, save for the tiny makeup pallet and half-drunk coffee, that even shows anyone is there.

Katherine follows her into the dressing room, causing the woman to raise an accusatory eyebrow. “You following me, Howard?”

Howard. Not Katherine, not Kat, not ‘love’. Howard.

“No, just trying to-”

She cuts herself off at the sight of her spot in the dressing room (that’s her spot in the corner!) filled with someone else’s stuff.

“Wrong room, you dolt,” Jane hisses.

Anna squeezes past Katherine, stock-still in the doorway, and sits down in the spot that should be Katherine’s.

She feels her eyes bugging out of her head. Everything is so wrong and-

“God, maybe get some brain cells to go with your ass,” Jane drawls sarcastically before shutting the door in Katherine’s face.

As if in some sort of trance, triggered by all of the collective thoughts of every single thing that feels wrong with today.

She sits between Anne and Aragon in her ‘new’ dressing room and starts through her normal routine. At least that was still the same.

With three minutes to curtain, they all convene backstage. Katherine lets out a tiny sigh of relief as she notices all of her fellow queens look the same.

Or, they do, until Jane walks in.

Gone is her grey and white dress with low heeled boots, the one that Katherine thinks makes her look like an angel of some sort. Instead, she wears long black tights, classic rivets down the sides, with boots heeled higher than Cathy’s. The tights connect to a tank top also in black, wrapped up in a leather sort of biker jacket. Her hair doesn’t flow gracefully, instead piled up to give her some sort of false short cut, curled and sweeping over part of her face, the makeup around her eyes nearly making her look like a vampire.

She doesn’t look anything like Jane, and Katherine is terrified.

“Stop your gawking,” Jane whispers harshly.

Katherine looks anywhere else very quickly.

They’re ushered on stage as the band starts the intro, and Katherine tries to do everything she knows as they start the show.

“Divorced.”

“Beheaded.”

“Murdered.”

Katherine’s head almost explodes right there, and she nearly misses her cue to say her line.

Luckily, enough of the first song is the same that Katherine can fall into a rhythm, but when their individual introductions start, she can barely wait to see what Jane’s was.

“Jane Seymour, the only one he truly loved,” she sang, but sarcastically. As if she was bitter about it.

“Rude!”

“But did he really love me? I guess not. I’m not as nice as you thought. He took a knife to my gut just to have my son.”

Katherine fights with every bit of her resolve to keep her expression neutral as this revelation unraveled in her head.

Unfortunately, it quickly becomes too much, and she finds the room spinning and spinning before she drops to the floor in a dead faint.

---

“Katherine.”

“Katherine, wake up.”

Kat slowly blinks to consciousness, and she finds herself on an oddly comfortable couch.

Next to the couch sits Maria, a sheepish smile on her face as she watches the actress slowly comes to.

“Wha-”

“You fainted,” Maria says softly. “Do you remember that?”

It slowly starts to come back to Katherine - Jane’s attitude, Jane’s new costume, and, apparently, Jane’s new story.

“You fainted and they brought you back here, put on an alternate,” Maria continues. “I have the show off so they asked me to watch you.”

“What’s going on with Jane?” Katherine mumbles out as she sits up, rubbing her forehead.

“Jane? She seems about the same.”

As Katherine’s head begins to clear, the dull roar of the show through the monitor filters to her ears, just about at the end of Anne’s song.

She turns it up just slightly, hoping that she’d at least get Jane’s comforting vocals to soothe her worried mind.

Oh, how we hope to be let down.

“Weren’t you the one he ‘truly loved?’” Anne taunts.

“Well, that’s what I thought,” Jane says, and Katherine can almost hear the snarl in her words. “But here’s a story I’m sure you all should hear.”

“Oh, blah, blah,” Anne rebukes. “You got stabbed, well so did I.”

“And me!” Another voice puts in, and Katherine is sure that’s supposed to be her.

“I had been in labor for three days when Henry gave up on me,” Jane says, low and dangerous. “He decided the possibility of a son was more important than the woman he loved,” she spits the last word, “and took a knife to my stomach to get my son.”

Katherine audibly gasps, and Maria looks confused.

“You seem like you’ve never heard this,” Maria says. “It’s all she talks about. It’s why she’s always mad… why you all have those meetings?”

Katherine can only nod and wait for the familiar piano to start.

It doesn’t.

Instead, Maggie’s electric guitar roars, and whoever is covering for Maria starts plowing into the drums.

Basically, it’s the opposite of what Katherine was hoping to hear. Where there should be a soft, yet powerful ballad that Katherine likes to close her eyes and roll up in as if nothing else in the universe matters, especially when she’s held in Jane’s warm arms, listening to her mum’s heartbeat as the soft song lulls her to sleep.

But this, this is just wrong.

Instead of singing about loving Henry despite his flaws or how much she misses her son, Jane sings in a very clearly false excitement about what she refers to as, “their fling,” followed by the declaration of a pregnancy.

That’s when it gets worse.

Jane’s angry. More angry than Katherine thinks she’s ever heard her be. Her vocal range is pressing into the higher octaves as, like some kind of dark rock star, she belts in her upper range about being betrayed and given up on, and how she, “just wants to-”

She’s cut off by the other queens, all is quiet, then she starts singing again, the chorus once more, before the song ends.

Katherine sits up and grabs her phone off the table next to her, immediately typing, ‘Jane Seymour,’ into a search bar.

She clicks the first article that pops up and scrolls down to, ‘Issue and Death.’

The article seems mostly familiar to Katherine - Jane becomes pregnant in the winter, carrying well into the summer and going into labor in October.

But instead of two days and three nights of labor, a royal birth, eleven days of sickness, then death, it couldn’t have been more different.

According to this article, on the third night, Henry had become so paranoid over the physician’s reports of the possibility of the son being stillborn, he consented to the removal by cutting open Jane’s stomach.

In her last moments, after her son had been born, Henry never visited, the article read. Edward had been taken to the king and Jane died cursing his name with weakening breath as she bled out right then and there.

It sends a chill down Katherine’s spine, this report.

Then, another part of her whispers, she can relate.

Jane had been betrayed in the worst possible way by a man she thought loved her.

So had Katherine.

She’s so absorbed in her thoughts that she doesn’t even realize how much time has passed, and the show is ending. She knows she has to talk to Jane.

Katherine pokes her head in the hall just as the queens begin their walk down, but there’s a lack of energy that Katherine is so used to seeing. They all just seem tired. Drained.

“You alright, Katherine?” Cathy asks her gently.

“What was it tonight?” Jane butts in brusquely. “Another panic attack?”

“What? No-”

“I don’t know why they even let you perform,” Jane drawls lazily, leaning against the wall. “You can barely ever keep yourself together.”

“Mum-” Katherine winces as she realizes her mistake, but it’s too late.

“Are you crazy?! I’m not your bloody mum!” Jane laughs. Actually laughs, a biting, bitter sort of laugh. “As if I would ever want to be.”

Katherine needs to snap Jane out of whatever trance this is. She needs her mum, her real, amazing, lovely mum.

“You are,” she finally says, seeing Jane beginning to head down the hall. “You just don’t know it.”

“You must be more stupid than I thought,” Jane says sharply, “because I’m only a mother to my son, but I was robbed of that chance. But you,” she shoves Katherine back, “you got to know him more than I ever did. So don’t you come up to me with any of this, ‘you’re my mum,’ crap, because guess what, Howard,” Jane towers over her now, “no one loves you.”

With the final blow, Jane turns on her heel and storms down the hall.

Katherine’s knees give out beneath her and she crumbles to the floor.

“Mama, please.”

Jane does stop at that, turning around but not coming closer. “Grow up, Katherine Howard,” she says lowly. “It’s about time you stop asking like a damn child.” She disappears into the dressing room with the snap of a door.

Katherine begins to shake as she cries into the stiff carpet of the backstage floor. What had she done? She had been ungrateful, that’s what, and now she had lost her mum. Jane had just been trying to take care of her like always, with those soft words and the gentlest of hugs.

But Katherine had been unappreciative, acting like some stupid child instead of Jane’s devoted daughter.

She had been Katherine Howard, not Katherine Seymour, and now she is cursed to live in whatever Hell this is forever. The Hell where everyone is terrified of Jane, where the show is so different and so wrong, and, of course, where Katherine has no mum.

No one comes to help her. No one comes and lifts her into their arms and gives her something to cling to while she sobs.

She’s alone. Wholly and completely alone.

Her tears drip off of her face and into the carpet of the backstage hall as she mourns for everything she’s lost.

“Mama, I’m sorry,” she manages to whisper, even though Jane can’t hear her, and doesn’t care.

She stays there for longer than she thinks should be possible. At some point, Anna or Anne or Parr or Catherine or even Jane should have come out of their dressing rooms and found her pathetically laying on the floor.

But no one comes, and Katherine doesn’t care. She stays there on the floor, tears falling into the stiff and unforgiving carpet.

Jane’s words maliciously ring in her head as the world begins to disappear around her, until she can only make one more broken refrain of, “Mama, I’m sorry.”

---

When Katherine forces her eyes open and her nerves begin to fire again, she finds herself on her soft, albeit slightly crumpled, duvet.

How did she get home?

She lifts her head off the bed and turns to the window. Mid-afternoon sunlight streams through the pane, where surely it should be well and truly dark.

That’s when it all hits her at once - the bowl, crying herself into a nap, the dream-

Jane.

Oh God, Jane.

She honestly isn’t sure if she’s thinking about scary-murdered-Dream-Jane or her lovely mother, but regardless, she needs to make this right.

She races to Jane’s room, not even knocking before opening the door.

Jane is sitting on her bed, propped against the headboard, working on some embroidery. At the sound of the door opening, she looks up, and Katherine swallows the lump in her throat at the dried tears she sees on Jane’s cheeks.

“Kat, I-”

She doesn’t finish that sentence. In fact, she barely has time to put the embroidery safely on the bedside table before Katherine is in her arms, all but in her lap, whimpering out apologies between wheezing, broken sobs.

It takes several minutes for Katherine to calm down enough to take little breaths, which is when Jane finally asks, “what happened, love?”

Katherine frantically shakes her head, and Jane gently hushes her, running her fingers softly through her hair.

“Later,” Kat chokes out.

“Okay,” Jane whispers soothingly. “That’s okay.”

There is some more silence, then Jane kisses Kat’s forehead and smiles, pulling Kat back just enough to meet her eyes. “I love you, my little Seymour,” she promises.

Katherine’s eyes well with tears, and she buries her face back in Jane’s shoulder. But amongst the nearly incomprehensible whimpers, one phrase is strong and understandable.

“I love you too, Mama.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

tag list: @spookabeth @kats-seymour @qualquercoisa945 @jane-fucking-seymour @a-slightly-cracked-egg @justqueentingz @annabanana2401 @wolfies-chew-toy @broad-way-13 @tvandmusicals @lailaliquorice @aimieallenatkinson @sweet-child-why03 @gaylinda-of-the-upper-uplands @funky-lesbians @thinkaboutitmaybe @haniawritesthings @messanaa @rigatoni-ravioli @prick-up-ur-ears @theartoflazy @justqueentwo @brother-orion @paleshadowofadragon @lafemmestars @beautifulashes17 @delilahbrixrwoods @idkimbadwithusernamesandstuff @philopeanut @mixer1323 @boleynssixthfinger @aimieallen @elphiesdance @boleynthebunny @krystalhuntress @lupin-loves-chocolate @bellacardoza16 @bluify @katherines-choker @why-only-have-one-fandom @missmarvelmixer @le-mlp-nerd @0-hufflepuffle-0 @drawinglinesinarbitraryplaces @lesbabe6 @wicked-books-101 @insertmusicaltheatrepunhere @toomanyfamdom @zoalis @rainbowmoose01 @broadwayqueer

#six the musical #katherine howard #jane seymour #catherine parr #anne boleyn #anne of cleves #catherine of aragon #julie writes #the buffalo's inferno

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spookyspaghettisundae · 4 years

Text

Real Monsters

Two empty bottles of cheap shoddy beer stood on the bar counter, right next to a cup with a finger’s width of whiskey resting in it. Emily blew a strand of fire-red hair out of her face and, for no apparent reason, glared at the bartender as he collected and removed the empty glass containers from in front of her.

Over the course of the hour she had spent there, she slumped more and more over the bar counter where she sat. Every now and then, she glanced at the flat screen TV hanging over the bar, watching the news flashing across the screen with mild disinterest. The lights of cars on the city’s street outside the bar’s windows drearily passed by. The more she drank that night away, the more those lights outside turned into hazy blurs, contrasted by the soft illumination in this quaint pub.

Emily’s willowy frame and symmetrical features would lead to anybody describing her as an attractive woman in her late twenties—if you could stomach the strong stench of cigarette smoke clinging to her like a dark miasma—so it was nothing unusual for her to have some guy sidle up next to her with a warm and friendly smile. He even did a decent job at holding back from cringing, once he inhaled some of the air in Emily’s vicinity.

“Hey, I was just—”

“Fuck off,” she told him without looking up from the glass of whiskey she was nursing, swirling the liquid inside her glass in one hand. She trained her eyes on the TV screen even though the lines and text on it were getting blurry for her.

The young man’s face turned sour in an instant and he uttered a string of profanities at Emily while leaving her to herself, causing the bar stool next to him to scrape over the floor with a loud noise and prompt some other patrons to turn their heads.

The regular murmurs and conversations and clinking of glasses continued without incident though, as this sort of thing was a common scene in a bar like this.

Emily sighed when she saw a familiar segment rearing to come up on the TV. While some advertisements fired up with obnoxious lettering and white-washed imagery on the screen, she waved the bartender over.

“Can we change the channel? Isn’t there, like, a fucking game on, or something?” she asked him, clearing her throat in between the sentence fragments, taking her voice from raspy to gravelly. She pointed her index finger past the glass of whiskey she was holding.

The bartender, seemingly nice enough all evening, slung a small towel over his shoulder and leaned in over the counter to her. He seemed to register her request with a bit of a delay, then forced himself to smile. He nodded, then pointed to someone at the opposite end of the counter.

“I’ll get right on it after taking care of the gentleman over there,” he said.

She watched him saunter over yonder, taking his sweet time. Stifling a groan with a sigh, Emily muttered to herself, “Happy fuckin’ birthday to me, I guess.”

Right about when the bartender returned to her end of the counter, the ads ended and the segment started. Some shaky, grainy pictures flashed across the screen, commented on by a lady with one of those perms that looked like it was made of plastic. The graphics heralded an exposé about human trafficking discovered on the Canadian border between Vancouver and Seattle.

With a rosy color flushing her pale cheeks, Emily emptied the glass and covered half her face with a hand as if to bury it there, though all she wanted to do was hide.

The bartender leaned down and grabbed something from behind the counter, then froze mid motion of aiming the remote control at the TV set. He blinked as he saw a red-haired reporter with a mean green-eyed glare on the screen—one who happened to look a lot like Emily. Or rather—exactly like her, if you could tell the change in outfits apart. His head went on swivel between the Emily at the bar and the Emily on screen until he lowered the remote and casually leaned against the counter.

“Holy shit, is that you? You some kinda reporter, huh?”

“Fuck,” Emily hissed under her breath, managing to eke out a smile that refused to reach her eyes. She hunched even deeper over the counter towards the bartender and then hushed him with the words, “Yep, that’s me, Sherlock. Let’s not make a big deal out of it, ‘kay? I’m trying to unwind tonight.”

The bartender scanned her face with what was growing interest, but he turned to look back up at the screen again, giving her a curt nod in response.

“Gotcha,” he whispered. Watching the footage fly through, inter-cut with pieces of interviews and Emily being followed by a shaky camera switched into night mode, the bartender still couldn’t help but emit a short little whistle between his teeth.

“Damn, I’m not gonna turn the audio up, but that looks like some rough stuff,” he said.

His features softened as he could spot Emily’s mien darkening. He slid to lean over the counter and keep his voice down as he asked, “You okay? No offense, but you’ve been lookin’ down in the dumps all evenin’.”

“No offense, but whenever anybody starts anything with 'no offense’, it’s gonna offend, buddy,” she said, glaring at him.

“Jeeze, okay, I get it. You’re not here to talk. But I feel like I’d be an asshole for not asking,” he said, absentmindedly scratching the fashionable stubble on his chin.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Brian.”

Emily smirked and said, “Okay, Brian? You keep the drinks coming, we both mind our own business, and I’ll make like a tree soon enough.”

Something sparkled in Brian’s eyes and he shook his head with a strange slowness. Emily struggled to read what it meant or where it was coming from. A couple of drinks earlier and she would have had him figured out easily, but the meds mixing with the booze were doing her signature skills no favor. Her gut instinct swung wildly between him either feeling pity or genuine care for a fellow human being.

“I do have some responsibility here. I wouldn’t let you walk outta here knowing you had to drive after all the drinks you’ve been pounding down on, and I sure as hell am not gonna just pretend you can see that kinda—”

He cast a sidelong glance up at the TV screen, then continued, “That kinda shit doesn’t just bounce off o’ ya. Just seeing something like that on the news is enough to upset me. I can’t even imagine what it’s like to be there, and talk to the monsters who do shit like that. Or, y'know, the victims of those monsters.”

The sparkle in his eyes turned wet, glistening with empathy. Brian was good, Emily thought.

“C'mon, humor me. I bet it’ll be a load off o’ your shoulders to talk about it. I hear plenty o’ sob stories and have to pretend that they’re oh-so-tragic, but even all that petty bullshit eventually gets to me.”

Emily said nothing. Continued studying his face.

“Costs you sleep, leads to drinking to sleep more, which leads to—eh, you know where I’m going with this.”

He shrugged and bit his lip, awaiting a response from her after all his rambling. The other people in the bar never turned silent, but the silence that welled up between Emily and Brian became so thick that you could have cut it with a knife.

“Okay,” she said. She put the glass down and repeated herself with another smirk, this one far less convincing and with far less confidence than any other expression she had brandished that night. “Okay. Brian? You might wanna buckle up, because this is a wild ride. Fuck, I don’t even know where to start. Much easier to write these things than to present them.”

She shot a glance up at the TV, conveniently presenting one of the monsters Brian had unwittingly mentioned.

“See that schmuck right there? Married, three children, successful business owner, respected in his community, loves walkin’ his dog in the park, probably tips generously, and also responsible for making twelve Vietnamese women live in a filthy fucking dungeon of a basement for ten years—forced into sex work, allowed out only to assemble and package counterfeit watches. Real piece o’ shit, sub-human, scum-sucking trash with a heart so fucking rotten that it might as well be a black hole. And he wasn’t even the mastermind or anything, he was basically middle management in this outfit of human-shaped turds.”

Emily kept getting more worked up as she swore up a storm and recounted the discoveries from her research. Brian visibly swallowed a lump that had formed in his throat and she could tell he was only moments away from breaking out into a cold sweat just from hearing the fury in her account.

“Her name was Tran. These dirt-bags trafficked her across the ocean to America, together with other girls, in containers that must have reeked to the high heavens of human shit and piss, subsisting on nothing but scraps of rotten fucking food. She was separated from her 5-year-old kid when they took her after promising her a better life for her family, and then these rat bastards on our side of the drink tried to ferry her over the border to Vancouver with some others by sticking her in a fucking refrigerator truck where she froze to death behind some pallets stacked with meat. With fucking meat,” she said with some spittle frothing on her lip. “Because that’s all she was to these monsters.”

Emily crammed a fist into her jacket pocket and produced a crumpled up pack of cheap cigarettes from it. She dumped it on the counter in front of her, together with a smartphone with a display so cracked that it would be close to impossible to read anything on it, and a plastic lighter clattering out onto the counter next to it.

“I don’t even know if they deserve to be called monsters. Because a monster at least acts upon instinct, like a fucking animal. Eat, fuck, shit, sleep, rinse repeat. But these motherfuckers, I swear,” she dug a cigarette out of the pack and swiftly lit it up.

Brian’s face had long fallen into a twisted visage of disgust and despair, paralyzed and incapable of escaping her cutting monologue, and his speechlessness extended into his inability to tell Emily she wasn’t allowed to smoke inside the pub. He feebly pointed at the cigarette she now took a long drag from and then rubbed his face instead.

With the force of frustration, she blew out some smoke before continuing her furious rant. She pointed at the TV screen with the burning cigarette clamped between her fingers. Some heads at the other end of the dive now turned to look at her again, the murmurs likely questioning what was going on there.

“They go home, they go shopping in a grocery store like you and me, they go to barbecue parties, they tuck their kids in at night, and they probably play poker or some shit. All the while they are quietly committing passionless murders; just cold calculated without any remorse. Enriching themselves with the suffering of the human beings they treat like fucking meat.”

More smoke billowed out of her nostrils like a dragon breathing fire when she picked up again, not missing a beat, “By the time Tran was twenty-seven and they recovered her body from the back of that truck, the autopsy showed that all the slave labor and all sex work had given her permanent spine damage. So, she was in constant crippling pain for the final fuckin’ years of her life before she died an undignified death without a single fucking soul to mourn her passing. And don’t you fucking give me that bunch of rotten, disingenuous politicians farcically conveying their condolences while scampering around to cover up for anybody in the police or border control who were in on this whole operation before we popped the lid on the entire stinking cess pool. Allegedly,” she said, letting the final word ooze out with bitter contempt.

Emily stopped herself, arched her head back and released an almost satisfied groan. It did feel good, at least somewhat. Sweet, sweet release.

She looked at Brian the bartender, now staring at her with eyes as wide as saucers, rendered speechless by her outburst of pent-up rage and verbal diarrhea that came from a festering disease that was what Emily’s view of humanity had become.

Her heart raced, but the frayed ends of her nerves had stopped screaming. For now.

After taking a long drag from her cigarette and savoring the next cloud of smoke she exhaled, she dug around in her pocket to get out some cash, spilling it out onto the counter in form of crinkled dollar bills and coins and leaving a pathetic tip because that was all she had on her.

Her voice dropped in volume, “Thanks, Bri. Good talk.”

She patted the money she was leaving on the counter and stood up straight. Or as straight as she could manage, because she drunkenly swayed a bit—which she elegantly masked with her years of drinking experience by slinging her jacket on.

One of the other patrons whose stare lingered on her for too long drew another deadly glare from Emily.

“The fuck are you lookin’ at?” her words muffled as she kept the cigarette clamped in between her lips. His eyes widened and he lowered himself over his drink while the other people at his table went silent with him.

Brian stammered out something, but Emily was too wasted already to really make out the precise words, and too far gone for that night to give a damn. He was probably going to check in on her and see if she was alright, yet again. Bless his soul.

She pushed open the front door. The jingle of a bell overhead caused her to flinch when she staggered out into the drizzle of rain outside the bar and she let the door slam shut behind her. Emily popped the collar of her jacket and wandered off into the city’s night.

After taking a final angry drag from her cigarette, she tossed the butt into a gutter and buried her hands in her jacket pockets while she stumbled on her way home, in the rough direction of her dingy downtown apartment.

She came upon a homeless guy sitting on the sidewalk with a cardboard sign right next to him, but the letters written on it blurred into something incomprehensible to Emily’s drunken stare. He was wrapped up in layers of sweaters and jackets and had a hood up over his head, with some newspapers spread out on top to shield him from the rain. But the sheets of paper were turning dark quickly, soaking up the raindrops as they grew in size and frequency.

With the rustling of the newspapers, the homeless man looked up at her, but the darkness concealed most of his features beyond a gray beard and skin that looked like a roadmap of sunburnt wrinkles.

“You should get outta the rain, buddy, s'gonna be a downpour tonight,” she told him.

He just stared at her. Shadows cloaked his eyes and a pit formed in Emily’s stomach.

“I ain’t got any change. Just pissed it all away just now. Sorry, man.”

She tried to lock eyes with him, but found no eyes underneath that veil of darkness over his own. The lack of a reaction began to creep her out. She gave him a bowing nod and walked on with a clipped, “Night.”

A few steps further down the sidewalk, she figured she might regret it, but considered inviting him home. The poor bastard might freeze to death on a late autumn night like this.

“When the world is a prison, there are those who are the prisoners cursed with unknowing, and the jailers who hold the keys to their unseen cells. Which are you?”

Those words rolled out with a fluid clarity and a gravity to rival the weight of the world. There was something about them—a sense of finality—that lent them a sinister air. They came from behind Emily—from that homeless man.

She turned slowly. Her heart raced, this time not with anger, but a growing sense of dread. She feared to see what this homeless man had turned into. His voice was as voluminous as that of a giant, as imposing as a king.

But there was nobody there. Emily looked around in disbelief. There was nobody else in this narrow street. The drizzle intensified until it turned into full-blown rain.

A cold shudder ran down her spine and Emily shivered. She suddenly remembered the pictures of Tran from the autopsy report, pale and lifeless, with eyes closed. An innocence destroyed by the monsters of this world. A horrible truth that Emily had helped unearth.

Emily went home and locked all three locks of her apartment door, shooing her three cats off her bed and crashing onto the covers without undressing.

The dark void of a dreamless sleep enveloped her within seconds and the next day, nothing would be the same, ever again.

This was the final night before her awakening.

—Submitted by Wratts

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post-itpenny · 4 years

Text

Campfire Story

A Slasher AU sequel to Case Files uwu

Maeve sat in a diner off the side of the road, on the other side- the endless expansion of trees. There were a few travelers who had come inside for a break. A tired waitress and line cook. Maeve herself sat at a corner table quietly sipping a rather weak cup of tea if she did say so herself, but beggars couldn’t be choosers she supposed.

It had been after much deliberation that she decided to do this, easier than she expected to actually get them to agree to come. It helped she had a smidgen of leverage of course.

A bell chimed as two women walked in. Much older than Maeve herself with tired eyes that had clearly seen too much. They were both quite tall, one lean with familiar sharp eyes. The other- the oldest- was even taller and had an appearance that reminded Maeve of a grizzled old lion. Though the wild hair that framed her face was streaked with grey Maeve could see what was once a vibrant red underneath.

She couldn’t help but grin.

The two women sat down at her table, quietly ordering coffee before looking Maeve in the eye.

“So you called us, “the younger one began. “Look I don’t know what you think we can really give you-”

“All I want is to talk,” Mave answered as she held out a lace-gloved hand. “I’m detective Blackwood, I’ve been working a rather perplexing case you see. A few odd deaths in the woods.”

The younger sister turned a sickly pale, the eldest gritted her teeth. A strange mixture of regret and fear in her eyes. She leaned forward to speak in a harsh whisper.

“Listen lady, I don’t know what the hell you think you’re doing but we don’t know anything-”

“I saw her.”

Both sisters recoiled, the youngest looked away while the oldest tilted her head till she was eye level with the detective. “You lived…. Well then…. Name’s Faline, this is my sister Zilla.”

“And the one in the woods?”

Falien narrowed her eyes, “we can’t help you.”

Mave smiled, “oh but I can help you. Your brother was charged with resisting arrest and can’t make bail-”

“It wasn’t his fault,” Zilla insisted, “Sinclair needed a sign language translator and the cop wasn't willing to wait for one.”

Maeve smiled, “I know the officer in question and patience is not his strong suit… What if I told you I know a lawyer who would be quite happy to represent your brother?”

“Lady you already know he can’t make bail, what makes you think we can afford a lawyer?”

“This one I promise would be pro-bono, but I think you know what I need in return?”

Faline looked over her shoulder, the other customers were seated well away and the waitress was on her phone.

The redhead looked to her sister with a small sigh of defeat. “You’re not going to believe us-”

“I’ve seen the bodies, I’ve seen her.”

They were silent as the waitress finally put down her phone and refilled everyone’s cups. Zilla looking away as she spoke in a quiet whisper “... her name was Maggie.”

“Was?”

Faline fidgeted in her seat, “was.”

Maeve eagerly leaned forward, “tell me.”

Faline took a gulp of coffee to steal her nerves, “So you know our case file then… I suspect you know about the village.”

“I read that file, yes.”

“Have you been out there?”

“I assumed she would have it off limits, she doesn’t seem keen on visitors.”

Faline looked Maeve in the eye, “don’t go out there detective. Our family was a part of a group that lived there since… always really. The story we were told was that a group of settlers had been lost and without supplies when She saved them.”

“Who is she?”

Zilla shivered, “there isn’t really a way to explain what She is. Mother told us She chose one of the group as a ah… conduct. Made them stronger, faster, they hunted to feed Her appetite and in exchange She granted wisdom.”

“How so?”

“Cut the heart out and burn it,” Faline answered with a casual shrug, “body is just a display of Her power. The blood spilt is what feeds, the heart is what feeds. Her… Hunter is given visions to share with the rest.”

Maeve arched an eyebrow, “sounds like a campfire story.”

Faline shrugged again and took another sip of coffee, “there are rules to follow. Her pallet is limited by what she is given. Mother said for generations She was sustained by small game, then larger game, then only predatory animals could satisfy. What was hunted was what she craved.”

“And now it’s people?”

“It was our grandfather’s fault apparently for killing a trespasser. Mother warned us to be careful not to make it any worse. If you spill the blood of children She may decide she wants that for example.”

“Your mother sounded quite knowledgeable.”

Falien narrowed her eyes, “why do you think detective?”

Maeve sat back in her chair, there it was.

Faline looked away, guilt in her eyes, “I knew I would be picked next… If not me then Zilla here or our sister Daphne…. It’s always the eldest and I… I wanted to live. The Huntress is a glorified puppet. You do not have permission to speak, you do not get to choose not to hunt, you cannot argue, you cannot fight, you don’t even get to die unless allowed. Maggie’s not the real monster, she's its victim.”

Faline gripped the table. “It was going to me and I was terrified. Mother announced she had told she was no longer needed and one of use would be selected-”

“So you abandoned some of your siblings and ran.”

“No!”

Zilla’s shout momentarily caught the attention of the rest of the diner but she did not seem to care, hand gripped on Faline’s shoulder. “You try sneaking out thirteen kids in the middle of the fucking night,” Zilla hissed. “We tried, we really did. But the next thing we knew they’re after us… I was supposed to hold onto her but I tripped and panicked…. It’s my fault.”

“How old was she?”

“Five maybe?” Zilla was nearly in tears, wiping her face with the back of her sleeve. “I dropped her and she couldn’t keep up…”

“We went back about five years ago… after we heard the village had been abandoned.” Faline continued. “Maggie was so happy to see us, but we couldn’t stay. She was ah… unhappy we were back to say the least. Maggie told us She wasn’t too pleased to be stuck with her… M-Maggie is actually kinda short you see.” Falline explained with a dry chuckle.

“I thought you said she couldn’t speak?”

Zilla nodded, “mother was pretty much mute our whole lives, She hates sound for some reason… But she was free to speak before sunrise or sometimes whisper.”

“Why that time?”

“I don’t know.”

Maeve pondered over this information, noting the way the siblings eyed her. “You said Maggie can’t die? I noticed she looked somewhat young.”

Faline nodded, “her body doesn’t belong to her. If she doesn't produce a suitable replacement then she'll be made to keep serving. No aging, no dying. Our people would speak of the ones who broke, empty puppets that moved and breathed but were long gone decades ago. Stripped of humanity, of everything.”

Maeve narrowed her eyes, in a way her heart went out to her artist. But…”

“So she kills humans but I got to live?”

The look the sister’s gave Maeve was one akin to the look a wolf in the sheepfield might be given. “The rule is what is hunted is what is craved, you hunt predators then that’s what She wants.”

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bittysvalentines · 5 years

Text

from @parrishsrubberplant to @rhysiana Happy belated Valentine's Day!

The man’s plain white t-shirt does wonderful things for his chest. And arms. And abs.

“Wow,” Brittany whispers to Jen.

Brittany says ‘wow’ about a customer eleven times a day. Jen is a good friend who looks every time.

“Wow,” Jen dutifully agrees. She can’t argue with Brittany about men. She’s a lesbian so Brittany automatically disregards her opinion. But her vision is fine, and this dude is jacked. He’s at least six feet tall, with a swoop of perfectly styled brown hair and sky-blue eyes.

She expects him to walk on by, to menswear or shoes or whatever. Then Jen will listen to twenty minutes of Brittany sighing over him.

Instead, Tall and Handsome stops. He hesitates and then heads over to the makeup counter.

Brittany blushes under her makeup and shoots Jen a look that is equal parts panic and glee. Jen rolls her eyes.

“Hi,” Jen says. “Can we help you?”

“Uh, yeah,” he says. “I’m looking for eyeliner?”

He doesn’t look like the type of guy who would wear guyliner. Eyeliner, Jen corrects herself. If he wanted guyliner, he would have asked for guyliner. Don’t make assumptions about people.

“Any particular brand?” Jen can hear Brittany having a heart attack behind her.

“Um.” He reaches into the back pocket of his tight jeans, and hands her a tube. “Something like this?”

The black tube has worn silver lettering. Jen turns the tube in her hands, looking at the faded hieroglyphs that might have once been a ‘W’ and an ‘S’.

“It’s discontinued,” he says. “I was hoping you might have some left.”

Brittany finally recovers. “Um, that’s the WorldStar Mega Vanta, right?” She doesn’t wait for an answer. She’s never wrong about brands. It’s like her secret super power.

“I can check in the back, but I don’t think we have any.” Brittany looks at Jen. “Or, Jen can.” She smiles at him.

Tall and Handsome tips his head down, and angles his chin, his blue eyes disappointed. He angles his body towards her, cutting Brittany out of the conversation. If she were straight, she’d swoon.

“Do you know of anything like it?” He says.

Brittany folds her arms and leaves to check the back, her shoulders held in a stiff line.

Jen frowns. “I really don’t. That was the brand that was like, a liquid marker but it applied like a pencil, right? It sucks they stopped making it.”

He nods. “I’ve got one more tube left. I’m hoping maybe I can try some stuff and find something like it.”

“Excuse me?”

Jen freezes. Goth Girl steps out from behind Tall and Handsome.

Where is Brittany when Jen needs her?

Goth Girl is adorable, and she comes to the makeup counter every week. Jen’s tiny gay heart cannot handle the glory that is Goth Girl. She’s short, with curly black hair and perfect makeup. The wings of her eyeliner end in points sharp enough to stab. Today, she’s wearing a lacy black shirt and combat boots. Jen cannot.

Tall and Handsome--Jen almost thinks she recognizes him--shifts to include Goth Girl in their conversation.

“You were talking about WorldStar Mega, right?” she asks.

“Yeah,” he says.

“I have a friend who makes stuff,” Goth Girl says. “They have an Etsy store. If you wanted, I could give you their store name. It isn’t a perfect match, but their black eyeliner is a lot like the Vanta if you just make a thick enough line.”

He already has his phone out. “Could you? That would be amazing.”

Goth Girl tells him the name, and Jen writes it down for herself on the back of a discarded receipt. She likes the WorldStar eyeliners too. Tall and Handsome has good taste.

“Thank you,” he says, and holds his hand out to Goth Girl. “I’m Gabriel.”

Goth Girl takes his hand. “Julissa.”

She looks like she has a firm handshake.

He turns, smiling, to Jen. “Gabriel.”

She gestures to her nametag and waves awkwardly. “I’m Jen.” Lovesick Jen, trying desperately not to stare at Julissa.

Julissa walks away to look at the display of lotions on sale.

Gabriel smiles at Jen. He’s missing a front tooth. “Do you work on commision?” he says. “I’d feel bad if I don’t at least buy something from you.”

“That’s...really sweet of you,” Jen says. She’s never had a customer ask that before. “We don’t.”

“Well, you’ve been really nice and helpful,” he says. “I should buy something.”

“Well, do you have a girlfriend?” Jen asks. She thinks of Brittany, who hasn’t come back yet. She may have just decided to take her break early. Or she’s still dying of embarrassment. Jen knows Goth Girl’s name now; she can do Brittany a solid.

He shakes his head. “My tea--my friends’ partners are really into these travel eyeshadow pallets?”

She takes him to a display of dull gold-colored eyeshadow cases. “These?”

He checks the name. “Yeah.” He peers at the descriptions. “Martine has...light brown skin, so this one would probably look best with her. And Yudita is very pale, so I think this one, and…”

He picks out eye shadow for at least six different women. Jen tries not to let her eyes bug out. This brand of eyeshadow is not cheap. She carries the pile to the register.

“Your buddies aren’t going to care that you bought their partners stuff?”

He shakes his head. “Not really. And--hey, I just thought of this. Can you ring them up separate? That way I can include the receipts so they can return them if they want to.”

What, Jen thinks. I’ve fallen through a portal to another dimension and not realized it. Or another planet. Who is this man?

She rings him up six times. Tall and Handsome smiles one last time at her and leaves. Jen wishes she did work on commission. She would have just made a killing.

And now Julissa is standing at the register.

“Hey,” Jen says. Her voice creaks.

Julissa smiles. She looks down at the counter, then back up at Jen. She looks shy. Her eyes dart to the back door where Brittany disappeared, over to a display of lip glosses, and back to Jen.

“Just this,” Julissa says. It’s a tube of berry purple lipstick, made by one of the brands that lasts forever and stays on through any kind of mischief.

After Julissa signs her receipt she hesitates. “Can I give you my number?”

Jen goes red. “Yeah.”

The corner of Julissa’s mouth curls up in a wicked grin. She pushes the receipt back towards Jen. Below her signature is ten digits. Jen catches herself smiling back.

* * *

Ari does not understand.

They fell asleep yesterday after spending hours packing orders, receipts, business cards, and sparkly star stickers into envelopes. They were really looking forward to taking day off. Maybe going for a walk in the park, feeling the sunlight on their skin. Something like that.

Instead, their inbox appears to have exploded.

They stare at the computer screen in disbelief. They have forty-five new orders.

“I need coffee,” Ari tells their cat. Marmot blinks slowly. Ari blinks slowly back.

They fill the electric kettle, spoon coffee grounds into the French press, and stare blankly at their phone. They have a lot of text messages.

Ari sends a quick text to Julissa. I think I might not be able to meet up today. Sorry. They pour the hot water into the French press and set the timer for three minutes. Then they turn to their messages.

They open the thread from Julissa and scroll back. I’m so sorry, Julissa wrote. I think this is my fault. I told someone about your eyeliner and… There’s a link to an instagram page. Ari opens the link.

It’s the Insta of someone named Gabriel “Snowy” Snöröken, who is dark-haired and Nordic and beautiful--and an NHL goalie for the Providence Falconers.

Okay, Ari thinks, but what does this have to do with me?

Ari finds the answer as he scrolls through ‘Snowy’s’ posts. One post is a selfie. Snowy focuses on the upper part of his face, head tipped forward. His eyes appear closed. He sports thick lines of black eyeliner.

Goalie superstitions! The caption reads. I freaked out when WorldStar stopped making Mega Vanta. But I think I found something better. Shutout last night. Thanks, @AriSparkles!

He includes a link to Ari’s Etsy store.

Oh.

Ari barely hears the timer going off. They pour coffee, add creamer, take sip. It’s just on the right side of too bitter. Marmot brushes against their ankles, making them jump. Ari bends down and scratches Marmot behind the ear. The cat purrs.

“What am I going to do?” Ari asks Marmot. They don’t expect the cat to answer.

What Ari wants to do is yell at Snowy to take the post down. Ari does not need this stress in their life. Not when they’re navigating suppliers, making sure all the ingredients are certified cruelty-free, and packaging and mailing everything themselves.

Marmot is absolutely wonderful, the best cat in the word, but Marmot doesn’t have opposable thumbs.

Ari drinks more coffee and checks their inbox again. They’ve gotten three more orders.

Without thinking much about it, they post a quick update on Insta. Thanks ‘Snowy’ for the shout-out! Glad you like our eyeliner. Friends, it’s just me here and with the recent spate of orders things may be a little slower than normal. Thanks for your patience and your business!

Ari’s hands are shaking as they put down the phone. They text Julissa: Help.

Even with Julissa pinch-hitting, it takes Ari almost all day to make it through the recent orders. And that’s just printing labels, sorting products, and counting out the sparkly stickers.

“Hey,” Julissa says.

It takes Ari too long to look up.

“Yeah?”

“Have you thought of just asking Snowy to take down the link?”

Ari grabs Marmot and pulls the cat onto their lap. “No.”

“Why not?” Julissa grabs the two empty mugs and heads for the kitchen. She comes back with a mug full of cold water for Ari.

“I couldn’t,” Ari says. “He’d think I’m an ungrateful brat.”

“Well, then,” Julissa says, and pulls out her phone.

“What are you doing--no, don’t!” Ari lunges. Julissa leans back, pulling the phone out of their reach. “C’mon, Juli, please--” Ari gets their hands on Julissa’s phone and pulls it away from her.

Ari looks at the phone and laughs. “Oooh, Mall Girl. You’ve been texting Mall Girl?”

Julissa hits them. “Why are you like this?”

“You love me,” Ari says. “But seriously, Mall Girl? If you have her number, don’t you know her name?”

“Jen,” Julissa mutters. Ari’s distracted by laughing again, and Julissa takes advantage of their distraction to pull the phone out of their hands. “I’m doing it,” she says.

“No,” Ari whines.

“Bro,” Julissa says. “ It has been one day. You are super stressed, and you are only going to get more stressed, and then the semester is going to start. I would rather you feel temporarily embarrassed than be in trouble a month out.”

Ari covers their face with their hands.

“I’ll send it from my Insta,” Julissa says. “Since I actually met him.”

Ari groans incoherently.

“Done,” Julissa says a minute later.

“It went through?”

“No, it sent as a request.”

“Bro,” Ari groans. “He probably gets like, hundreds of requests a day. I have looked at his Insta. He’s a professional athlete with the body of a god.”

“So we’ll make scrambled eggs, and watch terrible TV, and wait,” Julissa says.

“And you’ll tell me what’s going on with Jen,” Ari says. “I mean, Mall Girl.”

Julissa smacks them.

* * *

Julissa left an hour ago. Ari checks their phone one last time before bed.

They have a DM from Snowy. Hello! Julissa says I stressed you out. Sorry!

Ari resists the urge to roll over and scream into their cat. No worries, Ari writes back. No worries, ha, Ari is literally full of worries.

Can I make it up to you? Are you a hockey fan?

Ari looks around for Marmot. The cat perches on the arm of the sofa, front paws tucked under her. “What do you think?” Ari asks their cat. Marmot blinks.

Yes, Ari writes back.

I really like your store, Snowy says. How did you start doing that?

It’s kind of a long story. Ari thinks about suggesting it’s a story better told in person, but they aren’t a puck bunny.

Ari puts the phone down and scritches the top of Marmot’s head. When they pick the phone back up there’s one more message: I’d love to hear it, if you’re free some time.

#omgcp #bv2019 #bittysvalentines #fanfic #snowy #ocs

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docsamurai · 6 years

Text

Today In Rejected By Publishers: Tempus Fugitives

As the title of this post may have insinuated, the following short story has been rejected by enough publishers that I’m confident it will not ever be professionally published in its current form. So f*ck it. I’m posting it here. Keep reading if you’d like to hear a tale of a con artist who goes on a time travel adventure with a mad scientist. They’re also interracial lesbians because why not?

Jodie Sawyer leapt off the fire escape and hit the ground at a roll, absorbing the two story drop and springing back to her feet. The alarms behind her had been deafening but were already quickly fading into the background with the sound of her boots hitting the pavement and her jacket flapping in the wind replacing the shrill noise. The satchel containing her hard won prize slapped against her side as she sprinted down back alleys heading to the rendezvous. As Jodie rounded the last corner she saw her getaway driver Mark already being pulled out of the car and cuffed. Shit! Plan C then. Backpedaling down the alley she took off towards her temporary safe house. As she ran Jodie grabbed her burner phone, snapped the SIM card in half and chucked the rest in a dumpster. Sirens were passing by, too close for comfort and on pure instinct Jodie threw herself against a wall and ducked into the alcove of a doorway. Her instincts paid off as mere seconds later a flashlight shone down the alley she had just been running down.

With her breath caught in her throat Jodie felt her heart pounding in her ears as she watched the beam of light scanning the alley. Move on already you bastard. Faintly she picked up something over the cop car’s radio and they finally pulled away. Waiting a few seconds for the road to clear Jodie glanced out of her hiding place and caught sight of the cops turning away. It’s probably not a coincidence that they’re heading right in the direction of the safe house. Plan D then. If they caught Mark and know where the safe house is then this identity is compromised. Gotta ditch anything that can identifying me and hit a dead drop. One of the ones no one else knows about. Risking a peek out of the alleyway Jodie figured out what streets she was near and mapped out a route to the nearby park.

A mile due east and Jodie hit the gate to the park. Using her jacket to protect her hands from the spikes at the top of the fence she vaulted over it feeling the burn in her shoulders. As she retrieved the jacket it snagged on the spikes and tore a large gash in it. Well I had to ditch it anyway. A patrol car passed by the park and Jodie put on an extra burst of speed as she closed the 500 feet to the relative safety of the treeline. As she threw herself into cover Jodie pressed her back against a tree and gasped for air as she looked for any lights scanning the area. Nothing yet, looks like I lost them.

Though the cloudy, moonless night made it easier to hide, it took a lot longer to find the tree she had marked a few days ago. Practically tripping over unseen roots she did finally find it and stashed the satchel, torn jacket and blonde wig. At least no one in this city knows I’m a brunette. A spotlight shining through the trees interrupted her train of thought. Damn. They are persistent tonight. Need to get indoors and figure out an escape plan. Jodie climbed a tree near the fence surrounding the park and as soon as she was sure there weren’t any more patrols in the area she leapt back to the street and took off again towards the waterfront where she finally found an abandoned warehouse to catch her breath in.

This was it, these were the moments Jodie lived for. Staying one step ahead of the law and getting away by the skin of her teeth. Plans getting thrown out the window and being replaced on the fly as chaos meets ingenuity. Jodie rested against the outside of the warehouse, feeling her heart pounding in her ears as she caught her breath. Things had gone to hell several times tonight already and though she had already abandoned weeks’ worth of careful planning it still felt amazing. In the distance she could hear sirens and she knew they were starting to close in. Going to prison again would suck, still though she couldn’t help a small smile creeping onto her face. It had been a years since she had been pushed to her limits like this and she couldn’t deny that the adrenaline and endorphins her head was swimming in was a rush she had sorely missed.

Jodie took a deep breath and wiped sweat from her forehead. OK, one thing at a time. Get inside. She kicked in the side door which was risky as hell and probably made enough noise to alert anyone nearby but she needed to get off the street so she took her chances. There didn’t seem to be any residential buildings around, still though, it was fairly quiet night and sound carried. All she needed was one nosy middle manager working too late for the cops to be back on her heels. The sirens didn’t seem to be getting closer but it would still be a good idea to keep moving.

Jodie started to reach for her phone, remembered that she had already ditched her burner and checked her watch instead. Alright, 1AM, I’m in a warehouse. Older area of town, I think the river was only a few blocks away. They’ll have set up a dragnet with checkpoints on every major road in or out of downtown but they’ll have to clear that up by rush hour so if I can just avoid the patrols for another 6 hours I should be able to find a ride out of town. Should try and get a few hours of sleep if this place is safe. Gotta scout the building before I can relax.

Taking one last look down the empty hallway Jodie turned back to the door she had broken through and reluctantly closed the door. There weren’t any windows in this hall so the moonlight filtering in through the open door was the only light in the room. A broken door was a dead giveaway to a patrolling cop though so Jodie took a slat of wood off a nearby shipping pallet and used it to jam the door shut, plunging the hallway into darkness. Jodie walked softly down the hallway, tracing the inner wall with her fingertips and looking for a doorway she had seen at the end of the hallway. As her eyes adjusted though, she realized that there was a soft golden light spilling from under the doorway. Shit. I’m not as alone as I thought.

Jodie pressed her ear to the door and heard the humming of some kind of generator on the other side but no voices. Could just be some homeless people, they wouldn’t want the cops around either. Jodie tried the door and found it unlocked. Easing the door open she peeked inside. Inside the room a short, Indian woman in a labcoat sat in a rolling office chair coasting back and forth between half a dozen workstations. Between them there at least a dozen different monitors that her eyes darted between keeping track of things Jodie couldn’t see from her angle. Confident that the other woman couldn’t see her, Jodie let her curiosity get the better of her and opened the door a little wider to get a better look at the room.

It wasn’t a single generator but four of them practically stacked on top of each other and hooked up to a bank of servers and some kind of machine she didn’t recognize attached to a large glass chamber that was propped several feet off the ground by steel girders. One side of the chamber was left open and the other side had a thick steel plate embedded in it. On closer inspection there was also a railing that extended to the edge of the chamber. Jodie suddenly noticed the absence of typing and turned back to the other woman to see her staring straight back at her through a gap in the monitors.

Both women stared at each other frozen in silence. A beeping from one of the workstations drew the Indian woman’s attention and out of reflex she turned to it and hit a few buttons. Clearing her throat the Indian woman finally broke the silence. “Can I help you?” she asked without looking away from her work. Time to get to work.

Jodie straightened up and dramatically burst through the door before turning around, slamming it shut and bracing it with her body. “You’ve got to help me!” The Indian woman took only a moment to shoot an impatient glare at Jodie through the gap in the monitors before going back to her work with a roll of her eyes and a non-committal grunt. Jodie ran over to the workstations and tried to find some detail she could latch onto.

A security badge from the local university gave the other woman’s name as Priya Swaminathan but there was nothing else personal in the area, just technical documents and complicated formulas scrawled on whiteboards. Priya still was only barely paying attention to her. Jodie took a breath and was about to start a story about being chased when Priya held up a hand to cut her off without turning around. “I already heard the sirens. I don’t care what you did, so long as you didn’t lead them here. I can’t be interrupted right now.” Jodie rocked back on her heels the momentum she was building stopped in its tracks. Ok, sounds like she’s not going to call the cops on me, still though, might be worth it to charm her a bit just to make sure.

Jodie found a chair nearby and took a seat, wheeling it closer to where Priya was working. “You’re right, I’m avoiding the cops, I just need a place to stay overnight and I’ll leave in the morning. I think I lost them, so if it’s ok with you I’ll just hang out here and stay out of your way.” Priya gave another grunt and nodded her head. Jodie was too amped up to try and sleep so she looked around the room and across the technical documents. She didn’t understand most of it, but it was all eating away at her curiosity. “I’m Jodie.” More silence. “If that’s your badge I’m guessing you’re Priya?” Priya’s eyes flicked briefly to the badge which she scooped up and shoved into her pocket. You’re losing her, can’t risk her kicking you out. Show some interest in her work. “So what are you working on Priya?”

Priya gave a large sigh but kept working. “Something that I can’t let anyone interrupt me on.”

Jodie smiled having finally gotten Priya to respond. “I’m not asking you to stop, just curious. It looks important.”

Priya hit a few keys at one station and a robotic arm activated overhead moving a track into place to join with the one that extended to the edge of the chamber. “I’m building a temporal tunneling engine.” The robotic arm continued to work building a large track around the makeshift lab with a long straightaway towards the chamber with a single bend like a giant J. Priya hit another key and the robotic arm set what looked like a roller coaster car with a laser on the front and a rocket engine on the back at the end of the track.

Jodie blinked several times. Temporal tunneling… “Wait are you building a time machine?!”

Priya gave a small nod “Essentially.”

Jodie leapt out of her chair. “HOLY SHIT THAT’S SO COOL!” Priya looked at strange woman who had barged into her lab who was now excitedly poring over the monitors and technical readouts trying to understand the technology in front of her.

Jodie’s enthusiasm was infectious and Priya let a small smile creep onto her face. “Do you… Do you want to know how it works?” Jodie nodded happily and sat at attention. Got her on the hook. It helps that this is actually pretty awesome.

Priya wheeled her chair over to one of the whiteboards and erased some of the notes scrawled on the board. “Ok, so time is weird. We perceive it as working in a straight line. You go from point A to point B and you don’t go in reverse.” Priya drew 2 points with a line between them. “Now pop culture would tell you that we live in 3 dimensions and time is the 4th. That it’s like taking a 3 dimensional object and extending it out through a 4th dimension.” Priya drew a cube on the board and then drew a further series of lines extending the cube into a new shape. “Pop culture would also say that there are infinite dimensions out there with every possible decision that could be made creating a new dimension in something called the multiverse.” To this she drew a series of circles. “Now pop culture usually gets its science from something that might be real but is simplified enough for the average person to understand.” Priya rolled her eyes and gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “Point is, there are some real ideas out there, but they’re incomplete. So what if that multiverse is actually just the different points in our own time and the 4th dimension is just the path we take through it? What if we’re always travelling from dimension to dimension and it’s only our actions that determine the path we take?” Priya drew a line connecting each of the circles.

Jodie leaned forward and tucked her hair behind her ears. “Ok, I think I’m following you so far. If we can find some kind of path that we took then we can find the universe that we came from. Then what?”

Priya grinned “Are you a fan of Star Trek?”

Jodie laughed out loud. Never thought I’d be having this conversation again. “What kind of girl do you take me for? Of course I like Star Trek!”

Priya laughed along with her. “Janeway or Archer?”

Jodie shook her head “Trick question, no one likes Archer. And I pick Sisko.”

Priya gave an exaggerated sigh “Space dad? No accounting for taste I guess. Still though at least you’re cute.” The pair of women laughed together and when the laughter faded off Jodie found herself biting her bottom lip. She called me cute. I can use that. A moment of silence was interrupted by a beeping coming from a console.

Priya wheeled her chair back over to the workstation, hit a few keys and gestured for Jodie to follow her as she walked over to one of the machines hooked up to the glass box. “Ok so the reason I brought up Star Trek is that they make a lot of references to tachyons.”

Jodie nodded. “That’s the beam that travels backwards through time right?”

Priya snapped her fingers and pointed at Jodie. “Beam, wave, pulse, particle, yeah. In the show it was just kind of a catch-all for time travel energy but the particle is a real thing, at least in theoretical physics. This device is supposed to be able to detect them and once it does it’ll use the formula I developed to tell me what path to take to get to the target destination. The tachyon generator…” Priya gestured towards an odd device hanging from the ceiling. “…will create a burst of the particles later and when it does I should get evidence of them a few minutes in the past. I’ve got it scheduled to go off in about an hour.”

Jodie nodded again. “Alright, makes sense so far, but that’s just finding the path. How are you supposed to get to that other dimension?”

Priya clapped her hands and ran excitedly over to the rocket sled. Jodie laughed to herself and ran to catch up. Priya pulled a cover off the laser on the front of the rocket sled. “Ok. So this isotope, don’t worry it doesn’t create that much radiation, it uses a wave modulator set to a frequency determined by the formula from earlier to decouple the quantum entangled-“

Jodie placed a hand on Priya’s shoulder to stop her. “I’m not following any of that. Think pop science.”

Priya let her hair out of its bun and ran her fingers through her hair while she thought. Oh crap I think she’s cute too…Don’t get distracted. “Alright, simple explanation. That laser creates a time portal with the destination set from the machine. Make sense?”

Jodie grinned ear to ear. “Yeah, I think I got it…” her smile started to fade. “Why are you in a lab in a warehouse though? Is this too dangerous for the university?”

Priya’s smile faded too. “They don’t know I’m here. I couldn’t get the funding. They said that I really should ‘stick to research I’m better suited to’. So I’ve been finding ways to steal equipment and set it up here. The warehouse was abandoned and secluded enough that I could set things up without them noticing. Had to make some modifications to keep them from detecting the isotopes though…” Priya trailed off as her attention drifted back to her work.

Jodie watched Priya pace back and forth for a few moments muttering things under her breath that Jodie couldn’t hear. She leaned against a nearby wall, a small smile creeping onto her face. Get ahold of yourself. So what if she’s cute, smart and reminds you of Hanna? I’m not sticking around after tonight, shouldn’t get attached. Still, maybe we’ve got time to have some fun. Jodie let her mind wander to some of the fun things she’d like to do as Priya went about her work, making small adjustments to the machines.

An alarm on the tachyon detector went off, disrupting the relative silence of the warehouse. Priya jumped up from her work, startled before running back over to the detector murmuring “no” repeatedly.

Jodie pushed off the wall and ran over as well “What’s wrong? I thought you were expecting that to go off.”

Priya shook her head. “I was, but not this early. The generator isn’t set to go off for another hour and even though they travel backwards through time, I shouldn’t have seen them for at least another 40 minutes.”

Jodie tried to stay calm, subconsciously attempting to balance out Priya’s anxiety. “Could it be some other source then? Maybe someone else built a generator?”

Priya’s frown deepened as she looked over the readout. “No… The direction and signature match the generator I built… Wait!” Priya’s suddenly bolted back over to her workstation and switched the screens over to a security camera that was set up across the street from the warehouse. “SHIT! How did they figure out about my lab?!”

Jodie looked at the security feed and saw a SWAT team organizing to break in. She chuckled nervously. “Well, they’re probably not after you…”

Priya looked back at Jodie in confusion before she remembered something. “Oh, right, the sirens. Why are they after you anyway?”

Jodie shrugged nonchalantly. “I stole about 20 million in bearer bonds along with some industrial secrets and blackmail material.”

“Nice.”

The security feed went dead as the SWAT team found the camera. Jodie clapped her hands together and locked eyes with Priya. “OK, I’m wanted for grand theft and you’ve got a lab full of stolen equipment here. I’m willing to bet they’re not going to listen any excuses. How do we get out of here?”

Priya chewed her lip for a second before she broke into another grin. “We have a time machine.” Priya took off at a sprint and clambered up to the rocket sled. “All I have to do is use the measurements from the detector to finish the equation on the temporal tunneling engine and we can use it to go to another dimension at a different time.” Priya typed several commands into the controls of the laser and the machine started to hum. Priya took a deep breath and held it for a moment before finally looking back to Jodie and giving a big goofy thumbs up.

Jodie climbed up to the time machine as Priya got in and buckled her seat belt. “Now’s the time. Get in and come with me or stay here and deal with them.” Jodie cast another look back towards the door that the SWAT team was going to burst through at any moment.

“Fuck it, I’ve done dumber things.” Jodie buckled herself in and Priya pulled a large lever between their seats.

The rockets in the back kicked in filling the warehouse with a deafening roar. “HOLD ON! WE HAVE TO BE GOING AT LEAST 90 MILES PER HOUR TO MAKE IT THROUGH THE PORTAL!” The cart lurched around the corner, gathering speed. The door to the warehouse burst open, SWAT officers spilling into the room.

The temporal tunneling engine engaged and a laser shot towards the steel plate at the end of the glass chamber causing a distortion in the air in front of the plate. The second stage of the rockets kicked in and the women were thrown back in their seats as the acceleration picked up sending them flying towards the steel plate. OHFUCKOHFUCKOHFUCKOHFU- The SWAT team paused for only a moment taking in the spectacle of their target attempting escape via rocket sled before they opened fire. The women were moving too fast though and the bullets instead tore holes out of the far wall. The rippling distortion widened into a portal that looked more like a hole tore out of reality itself revealing an inky blackness beneath. The cart disappeared into the portal with Jodie and Priya’s screaming barely heard over the sound of the rockets.

Two years earlier the cart crashed through a portal on the other end, coming to a sudden stop as it embedded itself into a stage. Even though the trip through the portal had slowed them dramatically the landing impact was still intense. Jodie was the first to stir as she tried to shake off the effects of the time travel. When she looked around Jodie quickly realized where, and when they were. The Presidential debates!? Jodie looked down at Priya who was still shaking from the impact and instantly knew what Priya’s plan had been. Priya gave Jodie a shaking nod. Looking to her left Jodie nodded at the woman standing on the stage to her left and sprang from the cart ready to take center stage.

“People of America! I am LITERALLY a time traveler from the future. I came back to tell you that voting for this man-“ Quickly looking around she saw the misshapen piece of shit in a suit on the ground, groaning, but alive. “-THAT man, is a GRAVE mistake. In the time I’m from he won the election and it became so much worse than any of us could have even possibly expected. He is an agent of an enemy foreign power using their government’s influence to subvert our elections. Even if he weren’t, in only a few short years he managed to ruin our economy, leave several American cities to fend for themselves after natural disasters and has implemented policies so evil that children of people who immigrated here legally are being separated from their parents and kept in cages by the thousands. There are literally Klansmen and actual Nazis marching through the streets. Whatever your feelings may be about his opponent I implore you to not let those feelings cloud your judgement. This is your moment to stand against tyranny. This is your chance to put a stop to this before it’s too late!”

Jodie’s ears were still ringing from the noise of the rockets so she couldn’t hear anything from the audience, but at the periphery of her vision she saw Secret Service agents closing in on her. Time to go then. Jodie turned back to Priya who was pulling laser off the front of the cart. “C’mon, let’s get out of here.” The two time travelers ran for the exit as agents stormed the stage. There was no time to stop and think, just to run. Dodging left and right Jodie’s senses were on fire as she caught glimpses of agents closing in from all sides. Together they burst through a fire exit and took off at a run.

With alarms blaring behind them Jodie and Priya sprinted across the courtyard and ducked into the relative cover of a nearby alley. Priya braced herself against the wall and struggled to catch her breath. Jodie was much more used to fleeing authorities and already thinking her way through an escape plan. “Ok, be straight with me here, what plan did you have to get back to our time and is it still possible?”

Priya shook her head, still breathing heavily. “I, uh, hadn’t thought that far ahead. This was just supposed to be a test run. But…” Priya trailed off chewing her lip. “…but the temporal- the time machine should still have the corrected formula and I built a function into it which would reverse the function and open a portal along the same trajectory.”

Jodie scanned courtyard for any approaching agents. “So if I understood that, we just need to turn it on and it’ll take us back to our time?”

Priya shook her head and started pacing back and forth. “Not quite. We need to be going fast in order to make it through the portal. Just trying to turn it on and walk through won’t work.”

Jodie listened to the sirens of an ambulance flanked by police closing in on the debate hall and shook her head. “Ok, stealing a car isn’t going to be an option, they’ll be on us too fast. We have to get moving… Do we have to be going horizontally when we go through the portal?” Priya stopped in her tracks and shot Jodie a questioning glance. Jodie pointed over Priya’s shoulder, guiding her gaze to the massive hotels just a few miles away on the Las Vegas strip.

Priya’s jaw slowly dropped as she mentally did the calculus on the acceleration of gravity. “…that could work.”

Together the time travelers made their way towards the strip, darting from building to building in an attempt to stay out of sight of the police who were already locking down the city. After nearly an hour they stood in front of the Bellagio fountain, looking up at the 36 story building. Jodie turned hopefully to Priya who was sweating heavily between the heat of the desert and the exertion of having run several miles. “Tall enough?” Priya nodded and Jodie heard a police siren pass by behind them before making a u-turn. “Good, because I think we just ran out of time.” Together they hurried off into the casino.

As soon as they were in the lobby Jodie scanned the area and found an elevator about to leave. “Hold the door!” Practically dragging Priya into the elevator alongside her they leapt into the elevator nearly bowling over the couple that was in there. Softening her voice Jodie put a smile on her face. “Oh I’m so sorry about that. We completely forgot our room key so we’ve been trying to fix that all day. NOT the way I wanted to spend my honeymoon.”

The young woman in the elevator giggled “I know what you mean. We took this trip just to go to the debate but couldn’t get in so we just spent the day getting drunk and losing money.” Jodie jabbed the highest floor number she could, though the top several floors were all blocked off so they would have to figure that out later.

Priya had finally caught her breath and picked up on the conversation going on. “You were trying to go to the debate?”

No, no we don’t want to be recognized, bad topic. “Oh come on honey, I’m so tired of hearing about politics.” Jodie turned her body towards Priya’s and pressed her gently against the wall of the elevator. “Besides, I’ve got other ideas for this weekend.” With that she leaned down and nibbled on Priya’s ear managing a barely audible whisper. “Play along.” Priya didn’t give any indication she heard Jodie but moaned and pulled her closer. The other couple seemed to take the hint and also started getting closer. A few seconds later the young couple reached their floor and stepped off as Priya kissed and licked on Jodie’s neck. Jodie groaned at the feeling of Priya’s lips but as soon as the door closed she managed to push Priya gently away. Priya looked disappointed for a moment before she realized they were alone in the elevator.

Priya was blushing furiously and kept opening and closing her mouth trying to find the words she wanted to say. Jodie cleared her throat and smiled. “Not that I didn’t enjoy that, just that we shouldn’t let ourselves get too distracted.”

Priya looked down, smiling “Sorry, I’ve been told I’m a little intense sometimes.”

Jodie brushed the hair out of Priya’s eyes. “I didn’t mind.” Both women looked away trying not to lose track of where they were. The rest of the elevator ride passed in silence and at when they reached the highest floor they could they stepped off and found a roof access stairwell. Priya was about to push her way in the door when Jodie stopped her. “This door is probably alarmed. As soon as we go in here, the cops will come and they’ll probably have figured that we’re the ones who ‘crashed’ the debate. We’ll only have a few minutes, are you sure you’re ready?”

Priya nodded and held up the time machine. “All we have to do is get to the roof, jump, turn this on and point it straight down. As long as we go in at the same time we’ll be fine.”

Jodie started to turn towards the stairwell and paused. “Just so we’re clear, this is the craziest thing you’ve ever done, right?” Priya and Jodie broke down laughing until their stomachs hurt before turning back to each other, tears in their eyes. Jodie grabbed her partner’s hand. “Let’s do this.” Jodie kicked the door to the stairwell open and sure enough a shrill fire alarm started to go off throughout the hallway.

Together they scrambled up half a dozen flights of stairs before they reached the roof. Bursting through the roof access door they were almost instantly blinded by the spotlight of a helicopter that was already on the scene and bathing them in the harsh light. An officer blared some kind of warning over the loudspeaker on the helicopter that neither of them could make out. FUCK IT! Jodie grabbed Priya’s hand again and dragged her to the edge of the building. Standing on the ledge and looking over the 500 foot drop made Jodie’s breath catch in her throat. Priya grabbed Jodie’s arms and managed to scream “WAIT” over the noise of the helicopter. Priya pulled Jodie closer and kissed her on the lips. Priya held her tight and smiled. “For luck.” Jodie smiled back and wrapped her arms around Priya as well.

They jumped together and the world seemed to slow down as their hearts pounded hard enough that they could feel it in each other’s chests. Priya pointed the time machine down and triggered it sending a beam straight down to the concrete below them. As gravity pulled them faster and faster towards the hard ground below the time machine made a rippling portal wink open which the two women shot through at nearly terminal velocity.

Two years later Priya and Jodie shot out of the portal, thankfully having been slowed as they passed through the dimensional barriers. The portal had sent them through parallel to the ground and they emerged feet first 6 feet in the air in an empty, abandoned warehouse. Together they flew across the room and into some empty shipping pallets, the wooden cracking as they crash landed. Groaning in pain and laughing with relief the women hugged each other before rolling off the pallets. Jodie got unsteadily to her feet. “Anything broken?” Priya remained curled up in a ball on the ground laughing weakly. “Everything? I don’t know. It all hurts, but I don’t think anything is actually broken.”

Jodie looked around the warehouse as the dizzying effects of the time travel wore off. “Your stuff is all gone. Did we get back to the right time?”

Priya pulled herself up to her knees and looked around as well. “Kinda. We took the same trajectory through dimensions, but we had a different starting point. If I’m right we went back to the same time and place but in a dimension where we had gone back to change things.”

Jodie stretched out the ache in her back from where she landed. “So because we interrupted the debate, you didn’t build your time machine in this warehouse, which is why it’s empty?”

Priya nodded and got to her feet. “So what now?”

Jodie brushed some of the dust off her clothes. “I don’t know about you but I could use a change of clothes and a good hot shower.”

Priya laughed and winced in pain. “That sounds great, but neither of us exist in this dimension, at least not this version of us.” Jodie shrugged.

Not the first time I’ve had to make a new identity. “Don’t worry about that just now. You rest up here, I’m going to go work my magic and get us a place to stay for the night.” Priya smiled and kissed Jodie on the cheek.

The streets were mostly empty in the early morning as Jodie walked away from the warehouse. Ok, time to get some ground under my feet. Need cash, a phone and a motel room. As she found her way to a major road she quickly found a strip mall which had an ATM outside of a bank branch. Without a computer to help her hack the machine she had to rely on security override codes she had memorized years ago. Even if these do still work, there’s a good chance it’ll trigger security, need to keep moving. A few minutes later Jodie left the ATM with a pocket full of cash.

With money in hand Jodie paused for a moment to take stock. I’m not being chased. At least not right now. I could just make a clean break here. I’m sure Priya can take care of herself. Jodie kept walking on autopilot as she mulled things over. A faint smile crept onto her face. Yeah, Priya might be able to take care of herself, but when was the last time I had this much fun? A few more miles down the road she found a corner store selling burner phones. An hour later she left the store a few hundred dollars lighter with a pair of new phones. Now with access to the internet Jodie was finally able to check for news of the last two years that she needed to catch up on. Oh no…

Jodie returned to the warehouse a couple hours later to see that Priya had found some paper in the warehouse and was hard at work on some calculations. Priya’s face lit up when she saw Jodie. “Ok, so good news, the onboard computer has retained the corrected algorithms and the isotope is recharging the device on its own. It needs some refinement and it’ll take a while to do the calculations by hand if I don’t have a computer to help, but I should be able to point it in any trajectory we need!” Priya’s excitement faded when she saw the look on Jodie’s face. “What’s wrong?”

Jodie sat down on a nearby palette and gestured that Priya should do the same. “So, you know how when we showed up at the debate we crashed into the stage in a rocket sled?” Priya nodded. “Well it turns out that the Secret Service treats that as an assassination attempt. They cut the news feed and since it was on a delay no one who saw the broadcast even saw the portal. In short only the people in that room actually saw what happened.”

Priya took a deep breath. “Ok, but there were a lot of reporters there. They still told everyone what happened right? I’m sure at least one of them recorded it on their phone or something.”

Jodie shrugged. “They did yeah, but his supporters all called it fake news and said that they were just involved in some kind of deep state assassination conspiracy.”

Priya shuddered as Jodie continued. “After that they got even more rabbid in their support. There were a lot of people saying that because he survived an assassination attempt it was proof that he was ordained by god to lead them. Not only did he win the election but nearly every member of the opposing party was voted out of office as well.”

Priya’s fists were clenched hard enough to make her knuckles turn white. With tears in her eyes she met Jodie’s gaze. “How bad is it?”

Jodie shook her head. “After the election they started to crack down on news organizations pretty rapidly. It’s hard to know what’s true. What I do know is that I haven’t seen anyone other than a white male so far.” Priya took a deep shuddering breath and began to sob. Jodie sat next to Priya and put her arm around Priya’s shoulders.

For a long moment the two women sat in stunned silence trying to absorb the news. Jodie was the first to break the silence. “Come on, I got us a room at a motel a couple miles down the road. We’ll feel a little better after some food, sleep and a shower.” On the way to the motel Jodie noticed that even though it was well after noon, the roads were still practically deserted aside from the occasional black van. When they finally got into the motel Priya collapsed onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. Jodie locked the door and curled up in the bed next to Priya.

Priya started to speak and coughed, her throat raw from crying. Finally she managed a barely whispered. “We did this.”

Jodie propped herself up on her elbow and turned Priya gently to face her. “No. THEY did this. We were the ones trying to stop this. They allowed themselves to be taken in by a conman with a bad hairpiece. They let their own hatred blind them to the truth that was literally screaming in their faces. We did everything we could to stop this.” Priya stared blankly at Jodie, too tired to feel anything. “OK, I want you to do something for me. We need to take care of ourselves right now. Go take a shower, I’m going to order us some food, then we’ll talk about what we’re going to do next.” Priya blinked and nodded, getting up from the bed slowly and making her way to the shower.

An hour later the two women were lying in bed, freshly showered and wrapped in towels, eating pizza and cuddling in a comfortable silence. Jodie rubbed her fingers gently across Priya’s scalp which seemed to calm her down. “Hey, you said the time machine still works right?”

Priya snapped out of the headspace she was in and looked up at Jodie. “…yeah. Yeah it does! All we have to do is figure out a destination and then run some numbers to get the trajectory right.”

Jodie smiled at Priya, happy that her mood was picking up again. “Well if you need a destination, how about that meeting ‘Dear Leader’ took at his tower back when he met with the Russians.” Priya sat straight up in the bed, the towel loosening and falling. She seemed not to notice.

“Perfect! I’ll get to work on the-“

Jodie placed a finger on Priya’s lips. “Give that a rest for just a little bit. For now I’ve got some other ideas.” Jodie reached out and ran a hand up Priya’s now exposed thigh.

Priya moaned and pulled Jodie closer. “You’re right. We’ve got plenty of time to fix things later. That’s what the machine is for.”

#rejected by publishers #time travel #short story

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captainsbabysitter-blog · 7 years

Text

Herbs and Blood Pudding

Characters: Leonard McCoy, Phil Boyce

Rating: Everyone? Teenish? This is really mild

Length: 4154 words (yikes this got away from me a bit)

Summary: Len’s turning story, part of my vampire series (On Bartenders and Escort Cards, Fangs and Kisses (nsfw), Unexpected Changes). With his wife and daughter executed during the North Berwick witch trials of 1590, Leonard McCoy makes his way to Edinburgh in hopes that a day’s walk from his village to the city is enough to shake the reputation that follows. I continue with my weird pairings as plot devices.

Notes: I know weird little tidbits of what’s considered “proper” during this time period, but I have no clue how they spoke. Shakespeare I am not, and it’s been long enough since I last read one of his plays that I decided to just... Not bother trying because it would be terrible.

~*~*~*~

He was staring at the smoke rising from the town, but Leonard couldn’t reconcile those screams with the voices of his beloved wife and child. Even just the thought was enough to double him over, retching up the bile in his empty stomach. How had it all come down to this?

The answer was simple, really. Leonard had been an idiot. He forgot that women with knowledge were dangerous in places like theirs no matter how useful their skills. He forgot that when fear gripped a town like their, those women were the first to catch blame. He forgot that no one was above suspicion when rumors of the plague come in from abroad.

She’d begged him to take Sarah when he had the chance, but he had too much faith in their justice system. Now he was taking the advice he should have taken weeks ago. When he had his head on as straight as it would go, he grabbed the pack he’d managed to shove important things into before he escaped the house. He wasn’t entirely sure where he wanted to go yet, but he figured Edinburgh was a good place to start; perhaps the miles of road between there and North Berwick would be enough.

On foot, it was close to half a day’s walk. Leonard praised the Lord he wasn’t even sure he still believed in that he chose to leave at first light. The last thing he wanted was to encounter those on the road after dark.

Arriving in the bustling city was an event in itself. Len tried finding the local surgeon only to spend the rest of the day lost in a market. The sun was well on its way to dipping below the horizon before Len finally gave up and slumped on the front step of the nearest cottage with a sigh. He really should try to find an inn, but he knew he was short on money and his skills weren’t all that useful to the average person not staring down the bad end of losing a limb.

A soft sound of a clearing throat pulled his thoughts to the man now standing in front of him. He was easily in his 50’s- a rare sight these days with illness and plague running rampant- with a thoroughly scrubbed face and hands and a clean tunic. A look of concern was fixed firmly on his features and he seemed to be assessing Len in a way the young man wasn’t sure how to define.

“I’m sorry, but were you waiting here for me? The clinic would have been easier to find.”

Len jumped up and moved out of the way, flushing a little in embarrassment. “No! Sorry, I’ve been walking all day and got lost once I got to the city… I just sorta sat down to rest. I’ll get out of your way.”

“Would you like to come in? You can wash up and I can lead you where you need to be in the morning.”

“Aye… Aye, many thanks.” Leonard was suddenly acutely aware and concerned over the state of his person compared to the other man. He added in a mumble, “If I won’t be putting ye out.”

He stepped forward and let Len in with a smile. “Not at all, come in. I’m Philip Boyce.”

“Leonard McCoy and again thank ye…”

Phil bustled around getting the fire started up in the fireplace while Len inspected his surroundings. It was just a small cottage, no obvious family, with little odds and ends that spoke of a little travel. Then there were the various sets of surgeon’s tools displayed or in bags obviously meant to be grabbed at a moment’s notice. Len blinked and turned his gaze back to Phil; no way could he have been so lucky.

“Are…” Len chewed the inside of his lip just a bit as Phil glanced at him from his place at the hearth. “Are you the city’s surgeon?”

“I am.” Soft crackling of wood sap filled the air as the flames took, licking up the sides of two small pots of water and Phil shifted his attention toward the bread and veggies sitting in a basket on the windowsill, obviously left there by someone in the town earlier that day. “Is that important?”

“Well I was looking for the surgeon when I got lost,” Len explained. When Phil suddenly faced him to look him over again with a critical eye, he elaborated, “I have some training in medicinal herbs. I was hoping to apprentice with you.”

That seemed to relax him. Phil turned back to cutting up the carrots and potatoes as he responded, “I could always use an extra set of hands. Take the second pot of water and go give yourself a good scrubbing. There’s lye by the wash bucket do you have a change of clothes?”

Len shook his head. He’d remembered to grab night clothes, but he wasn’t sure he was comfortable with a complete stranger seeing him in them. Then again, there weren’t exactly any other rooms to the cottage, so Phil was bound to see him when he washed.

“I have nightclothes, but that’s about it…”

“The chest over there has extra clothing. Something should fit you for now,” Phil gestured off near the bed where a heavy wooden chest sat against the wall. “Put your clothes in that sack over there. One of the wives will be by to pick it up tomorrow.”

“So you’re not married, then?” Len enquired, curiosity about his new mentor gnawing at his mind.

“I was. She passed during childbirth some time ago. And you? A young man such as yourself usually has an equally young bride in tow.”

“She and our daughter died yesterday.” If his voice broke a little as he forced the words out, Phil chose not to acknowledge it.

“I’m sorry.”

They fell into companionable silence while Phil continued preparing dinner and Leonard shyly stripped down to scrub the grime from his skin. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken the time to wash so thoroughly, though he suspected it was on his wedding day. The water felt nice and the lye cut through the layers of dirt like it was nothing.

As Len was slipping into a set of fresh clothing, Phil finally broke the silence, “So you have experience with medicines. What sort of experience?”

“Oh I learned a little from my father growing up, but times have changed and his knowledge is out of date. My wife came from a long line of midwives and herbalists and she taught me as much as she could.”

“I see… Well, I’ll tell you my rules regarding anyone who works with me.” When he saw Len was watching him curiously, he continued, “First and foremost, cleanliness is paramount. You won’t be anywhere near my shop unless you’ve bathed properly and regular hand cleansing is important as well.”

Strange, but Len could only assume there was a reason, so he nodded and waited for whatever else Phil had to say. “Secondly, you’ll follow my instructions without question during a procedure. If you have questions afterward, I’ll answer them, but distractions while with a patient can be dangerous.”

“Anything else?”

“You may stay here until you’re able to find your own accommodations, or there’s a room attached to the shop that you may utilize so long as you agree to tend to any minor requests during the night. Anything more complex than administering a fever draught or wrapping a minor wound, you must come here for me.”

Silence reigned again as Phil stirred the stewpot and Len processed some of his new rules. After a while, he finally piped up again, “Why so much focus on washing?”

“Because illness is kept at bay by it. I know not why, but I learned it from another surgeon during my travels and I have yet to become ill being near my patients so I adhere to it strictly. Some secret in the lye, perhaps.”

“So you’re naked- or nearly so- almost daily?” He couldn’t keep the scandalized tone from his voice.

“And you will be as well so long as you work with me,” Phil countered with an easy smile. “It’ll be easier on us both if you adjust to the idea now. Dinner’s ready.”

After a mostly silently dinner, Len’s practically dead on his feet. Phil led him to the bed and gestured to it, “I have some things to see to. You sleep there.”

Leonard really didn’t even have the strength to argue. Instead, he fell onto the pallet without any fight and burrowed under the comfortable quilt. As he drifted off to sleep, he vaguely wondered if everything else was going to be so easy.

~*~*~*~

The sun coming in through the open windows and sounds coming from the kitchen area were what he woke up to. He was vaguely aware that something seemed off, but his fingers inched toward where Sarah should be sleeping in the warmth left behind by his wife. When all he felt was the edge of the smaller bed, Len bolted upright and looked around wildly. Realization and the memories of the day before came flooding back and he found himself once again nauseated thinking about it.

“Good, you’re awake,” Phil’s voice pulled him back before he could rush outside in a panic. “Are you alright?”

“I’ll be fine.”

He avoided the probing look leveled his way as he detangled himself from the blankets. There was a set of fresh clothing laid out for him over the clothing chest and he hurriedly changed as Phil laid out a plate for each of them at the table.

“After we drop the pie off to the baker, we’ll go to the shop,” Phil finally breaks the relative silence of their meal a few minutes later. “I’ll introduce you as my apprentice.”

“And I’ll learn from you?”

“Mmm… On a trial basis for now. Let’s take a fortnight to judge your skill and fit here.”

“It’ll probably take at least that long to get used to you parading around naked as the day God made you,” he grumbled, pulling an amused look from Phil.

“For someone so concerned with what God thinks, you didn’t even pause to pray over your meal.”

Len stared at him for a minute and shrugged. “We’re not speaking at the moment.”

“Oh I’m familiar with that feeling. Finish eating we need to leave.”

The next two weeks move along much the same: up before the sun, breakfast, preparing whatever dinner to be dropped off before they made their way to the shop where there would inevitably already be some local farmer in various degrees of injured. Most of what they saw were simple cuts needing cleaning and dressing and the way these people trusted Phil no matter how odd the man was intrigued Leonard to no end.

He wasn’t entirely sure why, but he still couldn’t make himself entirely comfortable with undressing with Phil nearby or being around when Phil was undressing every day for the washing. Most days, Len would offer to stay behind to clean the shop and himself, wander back to the house to share dinner with his mentor, then would spend the night in the room behind the shop to avoid that sense of unease. He took the extra time to organize Phil’s collection of herbs, drugs, and other various supplies according to frequency of use; extra care was taken to group like with like.

Then near the end of his trial, he found his own time to shine.

She was barely beyond the newborn stage, and her parents couldn’t understand why a simple feeding seemed to cause her so much distress. Phil inspected her from nearly every angle while listening to the descriptions of her symptoms. All both he and the mother missed the look of understanding that dawned on Len’s face until he started rummaging through the cabinets of dried herbs and tinctures.

“Leonard, whatever are you doing?” Phil sounded more curious than reprimanding, so he just continued until he came back with a few bottles and an empty vial.

“My daughter had the same illness and my wife would always give this to her after feedings when she fussed.”

They watched him as he crumbled the dried anise, mint, and chamomile, carefully preparing them before her stoppered the vial. He was so wrapped up in his task that he didn’t notice the appraising look Phil sent his way.

As he handed the vial over, he offered the haggard looking mother a reassuring smile. “Just steep a spoonful of this in a cup of hot water until the water is colored by the tea, let it cool while you feed her, and follow feedings with as much as she’ll let you give her if she starts fussing.”

Her eyes darted to Phil for confirmation. When he tipped his head in agreement, she offered Len a relieved smile and thanked them both before taking her leave.

Phil rested a hand on his shoulder when they were once again alone and grinned. “You did well. While we have a spare moment, I’d like to discuss your continued apprenticeship.”

Once they were settled in their chairs, Phil leveled Leonard with a critical look that put him on edge. It was almost as if he were deciding something beyond just him sticking around.

“Do you want to stay here as my apprentice?”

He didn’t even hesitate. “Yes.”

“Why?”

Len blinked in confusion as he tried to articulate an answer, “Well, I… Think you have a lot you can teach me. And I’m comfortable around you for the most part. I’m not comfortable around many people.”

“Unless I’m ‘parading around naked,’ you mean?” His tone was amused, and he seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the embarrassed flush crawling up Len’s neck and cheeks.

“That’s… An adjustment,” Len admitted as he fidgeted with his hands a little. “But I think I’m growing accustomed to it…”

“There’s much to grow accustomed to when living with me,” Phil chuckled. He leaned in closer, hovering just outside Len’s bubble of personal space.

Instead of shifting away, Len found himself leaning in closer and before he was fully aware it was happening their lips met in a chaste kiss. The next moment, Len was up and across the room, eyes wide with surprise and mild horror. Whether he was horrified with his own actions or the realization that came with them, he wasn’t sure.

“I apologize,” Phil cut in before Len could say anything. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“No, it’s… I don’t know.” He tried to look anywhere but at Phil as he spoke. “This seems wrong.”

“And is that the only reason you’re upset right now? Because it feels wrong?”

“Well it is wrong, isn’t it? It’s unnatural.” Even as the words left his mouth, Leonard felt uncertain. In the last two weeks alone, he’d gone from barely adherent enough to stave off suspicion to dropping all religious pretenses and yet the ingrained teachings were hard to shake. His entire life up until that moment had been spent denying his unusual urges.

The last thing he needed was Phil making him question things further, but at the same time Len found himself desperately wanting to give in. He was wrapped up enough in his own thoughts that he almost didn’t notice Phil approach him slowly, watching Len’s face for any sign he should step back. Len watched him warily, but made no move to put more distance between them. Once he was close enough, Phil brought a hand up to cup Len’s cheek gently.

“I don’t think you really believe that,” Phil murmured as he moved in close enough to let Len decide whether or not to take the plunge.

He did. After the briefest moment of doubt, Len leaned in that last couple inches. He pulled back just as quickly, however, when he remembered where they were and that anyone could walk in at any moment.

Len chewed a bit at his lip as he considered what to say next. Phil beat him to it, “Think about what you want to happen and we’ll talk about it during dinner.”

“Aye…”

~*~*~*~

Since that night, the two had been inseparable. The weeks dragged into months which turned into a year of Leonard acting as Phil’s apprentice in the public eye during the day and his lover in secret, hidden away behind the walls of their little cottage at night. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary (beyond the usual out of the ordinary that was their relationship, that is) until Leonard woke in the middle of the night to find Phil gone from the house.

He frowned, brow furrowing as he got up out of bed. Had someone needed help and he just slept through it? Unlikely, but still possible. He changed out of his nightclothes and grabbed a lantern so he could make his way to the shop.

Muffled noises from could be heard behind the door and shuttered windows as Len approached the building. It could easily be the sounds of someone injured, so he walked in ready to help in whatever way he could. The last thing he was expecting to see was Phil, mouth pressed against the side of a man’s neck. There were weak struggles on the part of the man- a traveler that Len vaguely recognized as coming into town earlier that day- but they were dying just as he appeared to be.

“Philip?”

The sucking noise that was followed by Phil yanking his head back to stare at him wide-eyed turned Len’s stomach, as did the stray drop of blood trailing down his lover’s chin.

“Leonard… What are you doing here, dove?”

“What am I… What in the hells are you doing?!” He was torn between waiting for an explanation and running as far and as fast as he could out of town. This creature couldn’t be the man he had come to love.

Phil held his hands out in an attempt to appear nonthreatening as he took a few tentative steps toward his younger lover. “Please come sit down and I’ll explain.”

“I’ll sit if you stay over there,” Len demanded, pointing toward the chair that sat near the back of the room. It would leave him an unimpeded path to the door.

The knowledge of that tugged Phil’s features into a distressed frown, but he followed Len’s instructions without question. When he was out of the way, Leonard pulled up his own stool just close enough for them to have a conversation in normal tones. The lamplight cast flickering shadows on both their faces and to Len’s eyes, Phil looked all the more demonic for it. Fear iced Len’s veins and he once again debated the merits of just leaving.

Instead, he took a few fortifying breaths and prompted, “Well? You said you could explain. How do you explain this?” He gestured to Phil face where he was finally wiping away the drying trail and then to the body on the floor. “Or how about that? What could you possibly say to me that would explain that?”

“What would you like me to say?” He seemed almost at a loss as he spoke. “I’m a vampire, my dove. I survive by draining life from others. For as long as I’ve been in the city, I’ve been able to find enough wastes of life that I haven’t needed to feed from the innocent.”

“This whole time? I’ve shared a bed with you. I... You made me fall in love with you. Was that some sort of devil’s trick on your part?” If Phil was offended by the question, Len couldn’t make himself care. “Was I next on your list, then? Be your next meal after you grow tired of me or need to move on?”

“Never,” the response was instant and fierce, the conviction with which it was said left no doubt in Leonard’s mind.

“What, then? Were you going to tell me?”

“And how do you propose I do that? ‘Pardon me, my darling, but I thought you should be aware I’m a creature that spends the occasional night stalking men of questionable morals and intent to sustain myself’? How quickly would you have me sent to a madhouse? Or worse?”

No matter how much he’d like to, Len couldn’t deny it was all true. This was a ludicrous situation. He tried to process everything, but found himself at a loss. This was still Phil. He had to allow himself to believe that. There had been every opportunity for Phil to take advantage of Leonard’s vulnerability as he slept to drain him if he wanted to, but he hadn’t. Too many thoughts, too many possible course of action, and none of them seemed sufficient.

When he finally spoke, his voice sounded so much smaller than he intended, “What do we do now?”

“Now you decide what you want to do. We can continue as we have until I need to move on to avoid suspicion and leave you as my replacement, we can part ways now, you could alert the city to my condition…”

“And if I wanted to join you instead?”

Phil leveled him with a curious look, obviously surprised by the suggestion. “Join me? As a vampire?”

“Yes.”

“It’s an interesting suggestion, but why?”

“I have nothing else to lose. My wife and child are dead, and if I choose to walk away I lose you,” he reasoned, still parsing through the pros and cons but becoming more certain as he continued. “If I follow you, I have the potential of eternity. In just the last few decades we’ve made leaps in medicine. We could do so much good by being here to learn it all.”

That answer received a soft, fond smile. “I can��t say I’m surprised to hear this from you. If this is what you want, I must admit I wouldn’t be able to deny the appeal of keeping you. I will, however, need to give you all the information you need to make a proper decision.”

“We have the time now.”

“Yes, I supposed we do…” Phil sighed and let his eyes close for just a moment. Len assumed he was trying to decide where to start. “If I turn you, I’ll need to drink from you… And you from me. The process following that is fairly quick, but it needs to be repeated over the course of a few days. Once you’ve turned, you’ll need to feed and then feed at least once a week. You can sustain yourself with the blood of livestock, but it’s not as satisfying.”

“Does it hurt to turn?”

“It burns like fire in your veins during those first days. Your body feels as though you swallowed live embers, and you may find yourself unable to leave bed. It rages through you like a fever, but breaks just as quickly.”

They sat in silence for long minutes, the silence only broken by the sounds of the night filtering in through the cracks in the shutters. Len glanced at the body on the floor with a raised brow. “What do we do about him, then?”

“Come morning, I claim he needed treatment that I couldn’t rend and he goes on the pile of the dead. Being the doctor has its advantages in that way.”

“I see… Could we go home? I need time to think and decide.”

“Yes of course,” his entire body sagged in slight relief. “You’ll come back to the cottage with me, then?”

“I’m not staying here with the body,” he grumbled back.

Several days went by without a single mention of that night by either man. Leonard spent most of those days thinking on what he wanted. There were easily a few dozen things on either side to consider, and he frequently found himself overwhelmed by just thinking about it all. He spent each night curled against Phil’s chest as he always did, but sleep eluded him and instead he focused on the even, shallow breaths. It was still difficult to imagine that someone so warm and so seemingly alive was actually among the undead, but he had seen the proof.

After nearly a week, he finally piped up during breakfast, “I want to join you.”

Phil paused mid-bite to watch him across the small table. Why he felt the need to keep up the charade of eating normal foods was beyond Leonard. “Are you certain?”

“Yes.”

That night began the process. It was every bit as unpleasant as Phil had described, but there was also a sense of freeing elation. Their relationship already crossed so many boundaries, so what was one more?

Leonard was already damned, so what could falling further hurt?

Tagging: @pinkamour1588 @auduna-druitt @thevalesofanduin @mccoymostly @gracieminabox @yourtropegirl @southernbellestatues @thinkwritexpress-official @goingknowherewastaken @emmkolenn @randomlittleimp

#tia's vampires #leonard mccoy #phil boyce #tia writes #this was kinda fun to write #and i have more planned #because why wouldn't i get stuck writing vampires until the end of time

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edourado · 7 years

Note

Not to overbear u with Kastle writing prompts, but can u please write a Kastle coffee shop au? (Karen the bookstore barista and Castle looking for good coffee and a new Jack Reacher novel) I don't think anyone has done this which is surprising because coffee is Frank's lifeblood, lol.

Hello, hello! I’m sorryyyy, it took so long! I was supposed to have answered this one like one day after you sent it, but, you know, life.

Here it is, though. It’s really fluffy, because I need fluff, like alot of it. I do sincerely hope you like it. Let me know.

Much love ♥

Espresso and caramel

He first walked in there looking for one specific novel. After reading the synopsis on a magazine on the subway, he was interested, and walked in this small bookshop near his apartment to look for it.

He found a copy fast enough, it wasn’t difficult. But then he sat down to read it, on the counter of the small café on the very back of the place, and it felt like he got the story by the middle of it.

“That is the fifth book”, came a voice from behind the counter.

Looking up, Frank saw this woman, blonde and blue eyed, smiling at him, a pot of coffee in her hand.

“Coffee?” she asked, her long hair in a low braid, tucked casually but neatly over her right collarbone.

With a nod he hoped didn’t look too foolish, Frank returned her smile with a smaller one, the one, he had been told, was charming.

“There are twenty two Jack Reacher books”, she continued, bringing a white cup to him and filling it with coffee that smelled delicious. “The latest one just came out this year.”

“You a fan?” he asked, noticing a small ink stain on her chin, as if she had chewed on a pen recently.

“Not really. We had a signing when the book came out, I organized it.”

“A signing, huh?” he took a sip of the coffee and looked as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear after setting the pot back in it’s place.

“Yeah, my grandmother is very well connected. She called James and asked if he would like to have a signing here the day the book came out, he was all too happy to agree. This place was packed, I don’t even know how the walls didn’t give.”

Looking at him with the air of someone that just caught themselves at something, she offered another smile, this one with a hint of self consciousness.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you. You just looked a bit… Confused.”

Frank closed the book and set it by his coffee.

“I was confused”, he admitted, taking another sip. “I know nothing about this, I read a note about it, thought I’d give it a try.”

With a shrug, she picked up the coffee pot again to fill the mug of a lady that sat on the corner of the counter, reading a thick novel.

“I can help you sort it out”, she offered, smiling at the woman, who smiled back at her. (“Thanks, Karen”, she said), “If you’d like.”

When she was standing beside him in front of the shelf he had found the fifth book, he looked at her while she looked at the volumes.

It has been a while, since he had seen a woman that left him speechless. Beautiful women were not hard to find, it was hard to find an ugly one, but fuck him sideways, this one might not even be human.

“Ok”, she started, eyes focusing on the books in front of them while his inspected her face. “Do you want to read it in chronological order, or in publishing order?”

Frank doesn’t answer, because he’s busy trying to decide if he had ever seen a woman more beautiful than her, ever. She looks at him and he shrugs.

“What do you think?”

She was smiling again and then picking one up from the shelf.

“I’d go with publishing order. If he published them like that, it must mean they should be read at that order, don’t you think?”

Trying not to shrug again, he picked up the book she offered him, and gave her the one he had picked up for himself.

“Yes, ma’am.”

He went back to his seat and she offered him a slice of pecan pie to go with his coffee and his book. Frank found that her voice was a good soundtrack for his reading, talking to the waiting staff, customers, with a woman he assumed was the grandmother she had mentioned, who was the owner of the bookshop. It carried him through his reading, and, before he knew it, he had to go back home and walk the dogs.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asked, paying his bill.

“I’ll be here”, she offered. “It’s Karen, by the way.”

He knows. People have been calling her around him, familiar. She made conversation, served coffee and pie, cake, hot chocolate for children and lattes for teenagers. Black coffee for some. For him. Black coffee and a smile, every time. Sometimes, when he moved to stretch a bit, she would peek and check the page he was in.

“Frank”, he offered, and she nodded once, cocking her head and turning back to go back behind the counter.

“See you tomorrow, Frank.”

He got home wondering if he had spent the afternoon in another dimension, in the company of someone who was not real.

.:.

He was almost finishing the seventh book when when he noticed something different about her.

Her greeting smile wasn’t as bright, she stopped leaning in to read over his shoulder, didn’t ask if he wanted more coffee, just poured more every time she noticed his cup was almost empty. When she asked if he wanted carrot cake, her voice was smaller.

He couldn’t really tell what was different, or if something was wrong, but then, while she finished slicing a very nice smelling cake, her grandmother came behind the counter.

“Matthew called”, she said, in a small voice Frank heard only because he was paying attention. “Again.”

Karen sighed, apparently annoyed.

Ah. Explained.

“You’re not gonna call him?”

“I did”, she answered, short, losing the remaining grip she had on her temper. “We talked. There’s nothing else to say. I don’t wanna talk to him.”

The knife hit the plate under the cake at the word “talk”, as if to emphasize the finality of her decision.

“Alright, dear, alright”, sighed her grandmother, patting her on the shoulder and walking to Frank. “Hello, Frank” she greeted him.

“Mrs. Page how you doing?” he asked, closing his book.

“Good, good. Enjoying the books?”

“I am. She makes me read a different one in between these.” He motioned to Karen with his chin and was glad to see a small smile breaking her otherwise grim expression.

“Oh?” she turned to her granddaughter. “Which ones?”

“Just one”, Karen offered. “’New York Stories’.”

“Hmm”, she nodded, looking back at him. “To cleanse the pallet, heh?”

“That’s what she says.”

With a polite, affectionate smile to him, she turned back around and raised a hand to caress Karen’s cheek.

“Your hair’s gotten long”, she said, and Karen looked at her with the air of a little girl who had been caught stealing from a cookie jar that was meant for her anyway.

The older woman got inside the kitchen and the door swung behind her.

“I like it” Frank offered, if only to make her let go of that sad look, even for a moment. “The longer hair.”

Karen looked from the kitchen door and back to him, sustained his look for a few seconds, and he was happy to see a smile stretch on her lips.

“Do you want cake?” she asked, already turning to pick up a plate for him.

“If I take everything you offer me”, he said, draining the last of his coffee. “I’ll get as fat as I can get in no time.”

She turned to him with a teasing look in her face, a hand on her waist.

“So you don’t want cake?”

“I didn’t say that, did I?”

Turning back, she picked up the plate and placed it in front of him, offering him the fork with a twist of her wrist.

“You see the chocolate chips?” he raised his brows and she lifted her shoulder, charmingly. “I placed them myself.”

“Wow”, he said, sarcastically, happy to see her teeth, this time, when she smiled. “Practically a baker yourself.”

He ate and he read and he drank the coffee she filled his mug with. He pretended to read while she rested her elbows on the far side of the counter to look at a kid’s phone while he showed her something or other.

She was loved by those who frequented her grandmother’s book shop and café. It helped that she knew people by their names and memorized their favorite orders and their birthdays.

Still. Even as she smiled and joked, Frank saw the little sighs and how the smiles dropped every time she turned around and didn’t have to speak to anyone.

It made him wonder if she smiled at him just as she smiled to everyone else or if she smiled like he smiled at her - because she couldn’t help it.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asked when he got up to leave, like he did everyday, now.

“I’ll be here”, she replied, but he didn’t like that small, less than bright smile. Not at all.

.:.

She put the eighth book - The Enemy - in front of him when he sat down at a table on a Friday, because the counter was full. Men with laughter a little louder than the usual tone of the small café, but not enough to warrant a complaint, even if he could see all the other customers were not too happy with the newcomers.

“I’ll be right back with your coffee”, she said, almost in a intimate whisper, and turned back around with a wink.

Frank was watching her move around and serve coffee and pie to the men on the counter, not liking the polite smile she gave them, finding it nervous and on edge. Not a sincere smile at all. At the very least, the blonde, slightly plump suited man on the very edge of the group seemed to not irk her.

“You know”, said a voice suddenly by his side. Mrs. Page sat on the chair by his right on the square table. “It is not everyone that… Fits here.”

Frank looked at her, her blue eyes, very similar to Karen’s own, looking back at him.

“I thought you wouldn’t, to be quite honest. But you did.” She looked away from him and towards Karen, who now smiled genuinely at the blonde man. “Perfectly, I’d say.”

He didn’t really know what to say to that, so he just sat there and watched.

“She’s not the same, my Karen. Since Matthew, she has been… Dimmed.”

“Matthew?”

“Ex-boyfriend. They were something to watch, those two. I even do believe he loved her just as much - if not more - than she loved him. But, as you must know, men, they…” she made a dismissive move with her hand. “He couldn’t see with his eyes, but all the same. There was too much around him, in his past, that clouded his vision. She denies it, thinks she’s protecting me, but it’s obvious, isn’t it? She’s hurt.”

They both looked towards her, who now sat at a table with three girls, taking a selfie.

“We have a secret menu, you know”, said the woman he came to see, he now realized, as his own grandmother. “She came up with it. Just for her favorites. But you have to ask for it.”

“You think I’m one of the favorites?”

The woman looked at him and offered a knowing smile. Patting his hand, she got up.

“Ask her about the secret menu. She calls it ‘Karen’s notebook’, but don’t tell her I said that. If I’m very, very wrong, she’ll tell you there isn’t one.”

“And if she doesn’t?”

“You’re smart. I think you can figure it out for yourself.”

.:.

He stuck around longer, that day. Intent on seeing the men leave, on seeing his regular seat on the counter unoccupied, he sat there, not really reading, watching her for the rest of the day.

The group of suits left almost at closing time. The bookshop was empty already, there were only two couples still lingering on the tables, nursing coffee and tea and sharing pies.

Frank was about to tell her he was leaving, too, when she took her phone from her apron, listened to what he guessed was a message and then threw the device inside a drawer, banging it shut and taking a deep breath.

“You ok?” he asked, tired of that look in her face. He wanted the smiles again, the light expression.

Karen looked at him and blinked, making a face and a dismissive move of her shoulder.

“Yeah, just… My ex boyfriend.”

“He giving you trouble? You want me to rough him up for you?”

That earned him a blush and and coy curve of her lips.

“You would do that?”

“Just say the word.”

A little reluctantly, she told him all about this lawyer, this guy she had dated for almost a year, but had screwed things up because his ex girlfriend came back in town and hired him for something or other, and she couldn’t prove he had cheated, but she was positive, because he kept lying and hiding things from her, neglecting her, disappearing, missing dates.

“Stupid man”, Frank let out, and she looked at him with such sad eyes he wanted to hold her in his arms and make the memory of this Matthew guy go away.

“He’s actually very smart.”

“No, he’s not.” He moved his head, looking for her eyes, and she looked up from the counter, right back at him, and her throat moved in a way he didn’t know he liked until that very moment. “So. Am I teaching him a lesson or what?”

With a chuckle, she moved and picked up his empty mug.

“No, that’s ok”, she said. “I’ll keep that offer in mind, though.”

Placing the refreshed mug in front of him, she placed her elbows on the counter and leaned on them, and he noticed her hips going from left to right, a distracted sway of her body.

Her braid flew behind her shoulder when she looked back at him while he took a sip of his coffee - it was too late for coffee, but still -, watching him, her eyes a dark blue in the faded light.

“Did you know we have a secret menu?” she asked, whispering, even if the two couples still occupying tables were far from the counter enough to not hear their conversation.

Frank watched her face, a pleasant, eager feeling rising up inside him.

“Yeah?”

She nodded.

“It really is a secret. If you promise to keep it, I’ll let you have an item from it.”

“What am I having?” he asked after a second, deciding it was ok if she caught him staring at her lips.

“Will you keep the secret?” she whispered, leaning a little bit closer, making him lean, too.

He nodded, excited, eager, a little giddy, happy, even, when she pursed her lips, pretending to think, hummed a pondering note, and got back up from the counter, turning around and getting a tall cappuccino glass from the shelf and a tin pot of coffee from the fridge on the corner.

“Now, this is new. I don’t even know if it’s good, yet. You’ll be my guinea pig.”

She put a bunch of stuff on the counter in front of him, measuring and mixing and stirring. When she was done, she turned the tin pot on the tall glass, filling it with the cold drink until an inch from the top, finishing it with a layer of whip cream - not the canned shit he didn’t even like, the one he knew they made right there in the kitchen - and a thin layer of powdered chocolate.

With a look at him, she slid the glass on the counter towards him and then leaned back on her elbows.

“There you go.”

It looked like something a teenager would order. He was not the biggest fan of iced coffee, but, for her, he would give it a try. Hell, he had already decided he wold say it was good, even if he hated it.

Which he didn’t. It tasted of the espresso he liked, only cold and with a hint of caramel. She instructed him to stir the whip cream in before drinking it, and the texture was a pleasant one on his tongue. Bitter and sweet and smooth, cold down his throat. He wanted another sip immediately.

Frank looked at her, who was watching him. When their eyes met, she bit on her lower lip and raised her brows at him.

“So?”

He nodded, licking his own lips.

“Very good, ma’am.”

There it is. A non sad smile.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Reaching her hand, she picked up his mug and took a sip from it. It made him exhale sharply.

“You know what I call it?”

He just looked at her, studying her face, full on staring and hummed his question.

“Castle”, she whispered, sliding the mug back to him, looking at him, her eyes sucking his in, he made no effort to look away.

“Should I feel proud or do you mean an actual castle?”

She shook her head, dropping her gaze from his eyes to somewhere else on his face.

“I don’t mean a castle”, she said, and then looked somewhere behind him. The last table was asking for the check.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asked after finishing the drink named after him and getting up to put his jacket on.

“I’ll be here.”

.:.

He watched her closing the door to the café and walking to the door of the shop. He was sitting on a bench on the other side of the street, waiting for her.

Karen saw him just before she turned the lights off. While she locked up, he got up and crossed the street, coming to a halt by her side, leaning on the window display.

“I thought you left”, she said, smiling at him.

He shrugged.

“I thought I could walk you home. It’s late. You shouldn’t walk alone.”

Finishing with the locks, she squinted at him.

“I can take care of myself, mister”. Putting the keys in her purse, she turned to him and reached for his arm. “But since you’re here.”

She took his arm and they walked together towards her building.

She lived almost ten blocks away from work, so he suggested they stopped by his place to get his dogs.

“They must be going crazy, I haven’t walked them since this morning.”

She agreed easily, making cute noises at the two huge pitbulls that greeted them at his door.

The four of them walked slowly to her place, stopping when the dogs needed to stop, not rushing to cross streets when the signs were blinking, talking of nothing and everything.

“Here we are”, she announced, too soon to his liking, and he watched as she rubbed the dog’s faces in farewell. When she rose up again, the smile she offered him was something similar to the ones he was used to.

Frank was about to say goodnight, or maybe something else, when her phone vibrated, very loudly, inside the pocket of her coat. That made her smile fade a bit, her eyes unfocusing from his.

In a move he would have curbed if her face was a different one, he took a step towards her and reached inside her pocket.

“Your phone is ringing”, he said, low, his face inches from hers, and she looked surprised, but not displeased. When he got a hold of the device, he pulled it out and looked away from her to check the caller ID. “It’s ‘Matt’”, he announced, the name sounding sarcastic in his voice. “I’m gonna hang up on him.”

She let out a voiceless laugh when he answered the call, just to end it right after.

“Why did you do that?” she asked in a low, almost lazy voice, standing there so close to him.

“I don’t want you to talk to him.”

“Why not?”

“You’re talking to me, now.”

When he leaned in, her kiss tasted of the sweet coffee drink she had made up, espresso and caramel. They started slow, almost shy, the kind of kiss that Frank thought he had grown out of after high school. Apparently not.

Karen sucked a breath in when he nipped on a tiny portion of her lower lip, and it was like there were embers in his stomach. After that breath, he clutched her phone in his hand and moved to put that same arm around her, pulling her closer, her stomach touching his, her hands raising and resting, one on his arm, another on the collar of his shirt.

Letting go was not something he wanted to do. Not at all. But, he figured, they were standing on the sidewalk, it was late, she probably needed to get home, he did, too, he had work in the morning.

One of the dogs - he really wasn’t sure which one, so focused he was on the sound she was making, a gentle humming, and the feel of her hands on him - bit the hem of his coat, pulling on him, and he moved his hand to stop them, but he slowed down.

Allowing himself another second of two - or three. Five. Ten. Thirty -, he pressed on her lower back and moved to place a smaller, chaste kiss on the corner of her mouth.

“You won’t talk to him. Ok?” he whispered in her ear, liking how she moved her arm in an almost hug around his shoulders.

“Who?”

Calm down, ego.

“Matt”, he said, sarcastic, again, with another kiss to her lips because - because.

“Oh”, she said, chuckling, giggling, a small, timid huff of laughter. “Yeah, ok.”

“You’ll talk to me, now.”

She nodded and moved, asking for another kiss, and he gave it, of course he did, because her mouth, her eyes, her hands, this woman-

“You don’t think about him anymore”, he demanded, suddenly so possessive, he wanted her mind on him until they saw each other again. “You think about me.”

“Only if you think about m-”

“I’ll be thinking about you”, he interrupted. “It’s already all I do.”

Frank felt her smile in her kiss.

“Go in”, he urged after another minute, placing her phone back in her pocket, because he had to let her go.

He had kissed her lipstick completely off. Her cheeks were tinged a flattering shade of pink, her lips were a tad fuller. With a smile she tried to hold, she whispered a goodnight and turned around with another pat on one of the dogs.

He watched her climb one step, then another, then turn around and walk back to him.

He still tasted coffee on her tongue. He still felt something run down his back at the feel of her.

“What if he calls again?” she asked against his mouth, and Frank was losing that battle against himself. “What do I do if he calls again?”

There was a list of things, on the tip of his tongue, graphic and toe curling, he was ready to suggest them all, whisper filthy, amazing things in her ear, that she could do, but he thought maybe it was too early to say them to her.

“You’re not making it easy”, he said against her mouth, and felt her lips curving in a smile.

“Easy?”

“I’m trying to be a good guy, here-”

“Stop trying”, she said, kissing him one more time and then stepping back towards the stairs, climbing the first three steps and then looking back at him, keys in one hand, the other stretched towards him.”I already know you are.”

The thought “rebound” did cross his mind. While he stood there on the sidewalk, holding his dog’s leashes, Frank thought maybe he should go home, maybe he shouldn’t rush this, maybe he should make sure he wasn’t just a way for her not to think about the other guy.

But then, there was still the taste of coffee on his tongue. Castle, she had called it, even before this, which meant-

He doesn’t really care what it means, he can think about that later. Right now she’s reaching for him and he’s taking a step towards her, taking her hand and dropping kisses to her temple while she opened the door, climbing the steps behind her until they reached her apartment.

He did call again, that other guy. Her phone vibrated and vibrated inside her coat pocket, but neither of them heard it. Frank was busy learning what she looked like under her clothes, learning the ways of her body, how she reacted when he touched her here and there, when he kissed her on that spot and this, the look in her face when she was trying to be quiet, long dark lashes against creamy, rosy skin, beads of sweat on her neck, slaty on his tongue.

The dogs heard the phone. It was annoying, they were trying to sleep under her couch, on that nice rug that felt good under their paws. But the damn phone kept vibrating, until it fell from her pocket on the floor and Max got it in his mouth, dropping it by the bed, to maybe force Frank deal with the thing, finally.

.:.

Morning found him awake, looking at her hair against the pillows while she slept.

Leaning in, he pressed a kiss on the back of her head, not entirely sure how she was going to react to the fact that he was still here.

To is relief and joy, she stirred awake and turned around, opening her eyes briefly, looking at him, smiling and then closing them again, scooting closer to snuggle against his chest.

“I have to go”, he said, hand running up and down her back.

“No”, was her reply, muffled against his skin.

“I have to get to work”. A kiss on her forehead, another on her cheek, forcing her to wake up and look at him. “So do you.”

“No”. This one was whiny, with an arm around his torso, keeping him close. “Let’s stay here.”

Tempting. Very, very tempting, but he had to get the dogs home, he had to eat something, he had to go to work, he had a lot of things to do.

“How about we have lunch?” he suggested, loving the blue in her eyes when she finally opened them. “And then I’ll stop by for coffee.”Another kiss, because why not? “And then we’ll have dinner.” Another. “And then we’ll come back here, or to my place.”

“And then what?”

“Then I’ll take your clothes off again. And you’ll take mine.”

“And then?”

Positioning himself over her, he got a hold of each of her knees and pulled, one leg on each side of him, making her giggle, dropping to kiss her deeply, too deeply, they had to get up, but not right now.

.:.

He kissed her soundly again three streets away from the book shop. He had to go right and get ready for work, she had to go left and open up shop.

“I’ll see you later?” he asked, musing on how difficult it was to let go of her.

“I’ll be here”, she answered, like she always did, kissing him again and walking away. He watched her cross the streets and she turned back to look at him. “Go”, she mouthed, smiling, turning back around.

Frank sighed, trying not to grin like an idiot at seven in the morning.

“Come on, let’s go home”, he said to the unimpressed dogs.

Hour later, after their lunch and quick rendezvous in a public bathroom, of all places, after he got off work and went to claim his place on the café counter, she looked at him with her usual smile again, and a hint of something more.

“Hello, Frank”, she said, as if she wasn’t wrapped around him just a few hours ago, biting on his shoulder to keep quiet. “What can I get you today?”

“I heard you have a secret menu?”

She squinted her eyes at him, dropping her voice.

“Who told you that? It’s a secret.”

“I’m well connected.”

With a look that made him swallow dry, she turned around and made his drink for him. He had three before she could leave, and she stole sips from every single one. Finally, when he kissed her again, removing her coat and lowering the zipper of her dress, he tasted Castle on her tongue.

#kastle #kastle fic #kastle ff #kastlelibrary #kastle fluff #Frank and Karen #Karen and Frank #coffee shop au #Hell's Kitchen Chronicles #answered #randomdcrambles #prompt #writing

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lpdwillwrite4coffee · 4 years

Text

CHILDREN OF LILITH CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Nikki stared out of the van window and adjusted the collar of her borrowed leather jacket for the fourth time just to have something to do. She’d thought the ride back from Amsterdam’s apartment had been uncomfortable- quiet and fraught with tension. That was leisurely compared to the atmosphere now. The silence was so jarring, every breath screamed in her ears.

Boz had climbed behind the wheel and shut off the radio before the first notes of any song could come through the speakers, and given Nikki’s brief glimpse at how he usually drove, it was uncharacteristic of him at best. He still drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, but he barely looked away from the road, and Nikki noticed the way his jaw clenched anytime Griffin shifted in his seat.

Which, granted, wasn’t often. The set of Griffin’s shoulders was reminiscent of carved marble, and while she couldn’t see his face, she could feel a scowl etching deeper into his expression. Once, she thought she’d caught him looking at her in the van’s side mirror, but as soon as the thought occurred to her, his gaze went elsewhere.

Lisa kept herself occupied by scrolling through social media on her phone, but every few moments she lifted her eyes, glancing between Boz and Griffin with concern.

Well, this is awkward, Nikki thought, tugging at the cuff of her jacket. Even more so than that time my parents walked in on me and Jimmy Cutler after junior prom…

Griffin straightened his posture, causing a domino effect of Boz gritting his teeth and Lisa staring at him expectantly for several beats. Nikki furrowed her brow at the back of his head but didn’t say anything. Doing a short check of herself, she noted she didn’t feel the strange grazing sensation across her scalp.

Good. He wasn’t reading her. Or trying to read her, as she wasn’t sure he’d ever fully attempted to before.

Part of her wanted him to, but the thought of being exposed and made vulnerable to him when he so clearly wasn’t comfortable in his own mind, made her go cold.

I can’t let him in yet, not like this.

Nikki frowned. Yet?

But she didn’t have a chance to over-think her word choice, as the van pulled into a deserted alley and Boz threw the gear into park.

“We’re here,” Lisa told her as she unbuckled her seatbelt. Looking to the guys, she asked, “You guys packing?”

“I’ve got my Beretta,” Boz said, turning in his seat. “But I couldn’t find my knives…”

“Boz,” Lisa groaned, popping open her door and climbing down.

“I know, I know.” He waved his hand and followed her lead, jumping down onto the pavement.

Nikki made quick work of her seatbelt and door latch, unwilling to stay in the van alone with Griffin for too much longer. He was taking his time, double checking his ammunition and the safety for both Glocks.

Slamming her door shut, Nikki strode towards Lisa and Boz, watching them adjust the weapons hidden in their club attire. Boz was disarmingly handsome in charcoal slacks and a burgundy button down. He’d forgone a tie, and left the top two buttons of his shirt undone, adding a nonchalant attitude to the mature outfit.

Lisa was a bombshell in black leather pants, red tank top, and brown leather jacket. Not to mention she was as stable in her red pumps as she was in her running shoes, a fact that made Nikki envious as she stared down at her own stilettos.

“Got everything?” Lisa asked her as she approached.

“I guess so. Unless you want me to tuck a switchblade into my underwear.”

Boz’s eyes bulged and he coughed, while Lisa chuckled.

“I’m sure I could find you something if you were desperate but trust me, the guys in here are packing more heat than a military base.”

Griffin shut the passenger door, coming around the side of the van, his black trench coat cloaking his huge frame in shadow. His gaze leveled at the building across the street as he strode past them.

“Let’s go.”

Annoyance tightened Boz’s features as he fell in line behind Griffin. Lisa took up the rear, keeping Nikki in the center of their group as they crossed the street. The line of people along the sidewalk was the first clue they were near a club. Then Nikki heard the usual bass heavy music, and noticed the purple flood lights highlighting the main entrance. There wasn’t a sign, and other than the black metal door, the entire building was solid brick. Two bouncers built like tree trunks stood watch, checking ID’s and passing metal detectors over everyone that entered. Nikki headed for the back of the line when Lisa tugged at her arm.

“This way,” she told her quietly, so they didn’t attract attention.

Griffin led them around the corner and down a narrow alleyway that was barely traversable for how many boxes and crates were scattered around. Stopping next to a wooden pallet propped up against the brick, he rapped his knuckles on a painted steel door and stepped back.

A strip of metal slid away, revealing a pair of stern grey eyes in the view slot.

Pushing up his sleeve, Griffin flashed his tattoo to the man on the other side, and Boz and Lisa did the same.

The man’s stare shifted to Nikki, and after a quick assessment asked, “Who’s the new girl?”

Griffin jerked his head towards her. “She’s with me.”

His word seemed to be enough for the doorman, as the window was shut and the sound of deadbolts turning echoed. Door swinging open, they all followed Griffin inside.

The bouncer- a hulking man with a shaved head and neck tattoos- closed the door behind them and locked it. “Most of your crew’s already inside,” he said, quickly stamping the backs of their hands with a purple outline of a woman’s smile with fangs jutting out over the bottom lip.

“Thanks,” Griffin said with a nod.

“Take it easy,” the bouncer said, opening up a second door and ushering them through.

“Stay close,” Griffin muttered over his shoulder to Nikki. It was the first time he’d spoken to her in hours.

And she quickly understood why. The narrow hallway was painted metallic black, and purple neon lights in the ceiling blinked in a ripple down the corridor with dizzying effects. The floor beneath her vibrated from the club’s house music.

Without warning, the hallway split like water pipes. Multiple corridors dividing off from the main one and creating a maze Griffin obviously knew how to navigate. He took a sharp left down a shorter hallway, the lights undulating ahead of him a few paces. When they neared the end, blue flood lamps clicked on, showcasing the staircase that abruptly melted out of the floor.

“Watch your step,” Griffin said, but she could barely hear him over the music.

Following him down, Nikki paused on the first landing, her jaw falling open. She’d entered a Circque du Soleil, Tim Burton fantasy land mash up.

The spiral staircase she was only half paying attention to was made of wrought iron and mosaic glass. The expansive club floor was covered in black and white spirals creating an intense optical illusion. She had to blink several times just to be sure they weren’t moving. In the center was a twisting, amoeba shaped bar with high glass shelves stocked with colorful bottles and glasses. LED lights embedded in the glass bar top glowed and shifted into all the colors of the spectrum in a wave pattern around the bar.

All around the cavernous room were lifted stages, where performers juggled knives or swallowed them, contorted their bodies and balanced on their hands, elbows or necks, and spun flaming hula-hoops or batons around and around. Nikki looked up, right as several aerialists swung down with their legs wrapped in black fabric. Their mostly nude leotards had sequin flames curling up their arms and their stage make up mimicked the pattern with red painted-on masquerade masks.

It was a carnival burlesque show on a heavy dose of LSD.

Griffin moved through the throngs of people swiftly, and Nikki had to quicken her pace to keep up. As they passed under the spinning aerialists, the two women called out, “Hi, Boz,” in unison.

Boz twisted around and waved, grinning broadly. “Hey ladies,” he called. “You’re looking good up there. I like the new outfits. They’re very… very flattering.”

Lisa shoved at his shoulder. “Let’s go, Casanova.”

Pointing at the women, Boz shouted, “I’ll be back! Don’t go anywhere!”

Their melodic laughter cut through the dance music and he turned for one last appreciative glimpse.

Griffin led them to the opposite side of the club, towards an inlaid alcove cordoned off with red velvet curtains. Pushing the drapes aside, they stepped into the long oval area designed like a Gothic dining hall, with iron sconces and dark wood furnishings. The room was infinitely quieter than the rest of the club, and the lack of noise was jarring to Nikki. But what made her almost trip on her borrowed stilettos were the nearly two dozen Hunters who stood to greet them.

In a synchronized movement, everyone bowed their heads deeply, with their chins almost touching their chests, and waited in silence.

Griffin halted just inside the entry way, glancing around the room. Several chairs were empty at the head of the carved oak table and he led the others to their seats. Nikki watched as Griffin took off his coat and holster and hung them on the back of his elaborate chair.

His throne.

Boz and Lisa took the two seats nearest to them, leaving the chair next to Griffin free for her. She wasn’t sure why, but the action made her stomach clench. They were already deferring to her, and she wasn’t officially a Hunter yet.

Pushing the sleeves of his grey thermal tee up to his elbows, Griffin stared at the group around them. “Take a seat.” The edge in his voice cut through the room.

Everyone lifted their heads, but no one moved until Griffin was settled. Nikki removed her leather jacket, draping it over the wooden arm of her chair before sitting down. The silence didn’t break as everyone angled towards the head of the table.

“We’re still waiting for Tasha’s crew,” Griffin said, leaning back in his chair but looking just as uncomfortable. “So chat amongst yourselves. We’re not starting yet.”

At that, the room bubbled with voices as conversations they’d interrupted started back up again. Soon Nikki began to notice that, in turn, all of the conversations started to involve cautious glances and poorly hidden gestures in her direction, and she grew anxious.

“No need to be nervous.” A voice broke through the hum of noise.

Startled, she looked up, and saw a handsome black man leaning forward to catch her gaze. He was impeccably dressed in a grey Armani suit and white silk button down, with the collar left open at the top. Mid length dreadlocks were tied back at the nape of his neck, and a small diamond stud glittered in his right earlobe.

His smile was charming as he said, “They’re just curious about the new addition to our group. They won’t bite.”

Griffin gestured to the man. “Nikki, this is James. He’s the leader of the Bronx crew.”

James extended his hand and Nikki took it in a gentle handshake.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said.

“And you,” she replied.

Pointing to his left, he introduced the other members of his group. “This is my brother Joel, Grace, and her cousin Victor.”

Nikki looked to each of the others, studying their faces. Joel was dressed in a black tee shirt that did little to hide his muscular frame, or the Marine Corps tattoos on his forearms. His hair was trimmed close across his skull and he was clean shaven. The tight smile he gave her was less welcoming than James’ and it took Nikki a moment to realize that James and Joel were twins.

Grace was a petite fair haired woman with multiple rings in each ear and a gold stud in her left nostril. Her bright blue eyes were friendly as she waved a greeting. Victor was a lean man with similar coloring as his cousin but much less body jewelry and nodded as Nikki said hello.

The curtains parted and the waitress that walked in made Nikki do a double take. She was decked out in a black leather mini skirt and lime green halter top that was practically shrink-wrapped onto her torso. Her long legs sported bright blue tights and she towered over them in five-inch platform heels that lit up as she walked. Her mane of blonde hair was streaked with purple, and fell over her shoulders in waves.

She strode to their side of the table, balancing a drink tray on her left hand.

“Here you go, Griff,” she said, bending down to set a glass of scotch in front of him. Giving him an earnest look, she added with a whisper, “You looked tense, so I made it a double.”

“Thanks, Donna,” Griffin said, glancing up at her, completely unfazed by her outfit.

She smiled before moving over to deliver the other drinks- a cosmopolitan for Lisa and an old fashioned for Boz. When she finished, she came back to Nikki.

“Sorry, I’m not sure I’ve waited on you before,” she said quizzically.

Nikki shook her head. “I’m new.”

“Welcome,” she said, smiling. “What can I get you?”

“I’ll take a rum and coke,” she said. “And feel free to be stingy with the coke.”

“Sure thing.” Before leaving, she circled back to Griffin and picked up his now empty glass. “I’ll get you another,” she murmured, and disappeared through the curtains.

“Something wrong, O’Connor?” James asked, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

“It’s been a long day,” Griffin answered, voice tight.

James sipped his gin and tonic slowly and paused, holding the glass at his lips. His gaze turned distant for a millisecond before he blinked and rolled his eyes. “Here we go,” he muttered, taking a long swig of his drink.

The curtains flew apart dramatically as another trio of people strode in, and the noise level in the room doubled.

“Otto, I swear to God,” Tasha yelled as she wrenched off her white pea coat and tossed it over the back of an empty chair.

Otto, a heavily muscled giant of a man, followed in behind her. “Hey, we would have been here on time if you hadn’t thrown a fit when I started driving.”

“You were going ninety! Excuse me if I didn’t want my bloody remains smeared all over the Brooklyn Bridge!” Tasha turned to glare up at him, planting a hand on her hip. Her voluptuous figure was accentuated by a snug black cocktail dress, and the red heels she wore put her eye level with Otto’s chest.

“Oh, don’t start with that,” Otto groaned, running his hand through his thick black hair. “Have I ever gotten into an accident? Have I?”

“You have three speeding tickets from this month alone,” Tasha retorted, gesturing emphatically. “What were you gonna do if you got pulled over? Give the cop a blow job so he wouldn’t arrest you?”

Otto shrugged. “Maybe, if he had a nice smile and called me pretty.”

The other man with them chuckled and slid into his chair quietly, still watching the duo argue. He was leaner than Otto but just as tall, and his hair, while longer and pulled back into a pony tail, was the same shade of glossy black.

“Besides,” Otto continued. “I’d just be taking a page outta your book,” he said. With a high falsetto voice, and his fingers twisting a lock of imaginary hair, he mocked, “Oh, I’m so sorry officer. I had no idea I was going that fast. Please don’t give me a ticket. I’ll do anything…”

Tasha gave him a withering glare. “Kiss my ass Otto,” she snapped, before going to her chair.

He grinned smugly. “Well bend over, baby.”

A sharp whistle cut off the noisy argument and everyone looked to the source of the sound.

“You guys mind sticking a pin in this one until we’re done?” James asked. “I’d rather not have to spend the entirety of my evening stuck in here.” He made a circle with his finger, motioning around the room.

Regaining her composure, Tasha smoothed the front of her dress and nodded. “Of course,” she said, glancing apologetically at Griffin.

The waitress returned with Nikki and Griffin’s drinks, and after a short exchange of thank you’s, she left the room just as quickly as she’d come.

Quiet spread throughout the room, expectant eyes finding their way to the head of the table.

Griffin didn’t move for a long moment. He kept his gaze on a spot on the table, and sipped his drink thoughtfully, before shifting forward in his chair.

“I call this gathering to order.” His deep voice reverberated in the small space. “And deem it worthy, as Seer and Hunter King of New York. Are there any objections to proceeding?”

The formality of Griffin’s words made Nikki sit straighter. Nuances of his regal title were finally sinking in, and she had to admit she respected the amount of responsibilities that came with being King. Nikki stared across the table at the other Hunters as the silence stayed unbroken.

After a moment, Griffin continued. “Then we are agreed. What is decided upon here, at this table, will be law and code for us all. Does this meet your approval?”

Simultaneously, everyone’s knuckles wrapped on the table once, to signal their agreement.

“Good.” Griffin nodded, lifting his drink to his lips. “Announce yourselves.”

Tasha leaned forward and glanced around the table. “Natasha Moretti, leader of the Brooklyn Hunters. I speak for my crew, Otto and Nikos, and am seen as worthy of such a right because I am Telepath.”

When she was finished, she shifted back as another person moved forward. A redhead with freckled cheeks leaned closer to the table, and glanced around with nervous eyes.

“My name is Emma Collins, member of the Queens Borough Hunters. Our leader, Holly Matthews, is Psychic and speaks for our crew on most matters. However, she’s out of town for her sister’s wedding, and has appointed me as speaker for our group until she returns.” Emma rolled her eyes upwards, as if trying to remember a part of a rehearsed speech. “This does not, under any circumstances, question her standing as our leader and we remain loyal to her. We swear by our blood.”

Everyone wrapped their knuckles once again in approval.

Relieved, Emma looked to her left at the three other women who were part of her group, and smiled.

A sandy blonde haired man leaned forward, and cleared his throat. “I’m Brian O’Neil, from Hoboken, New Jersey. The rest of my crew is across the river, but I was elected to speak for them. However, I am not a Blooded Hunter, and it’s this gathering’s choice whether or not to find me worthy of a seat at this table.”

“What say you?” Griffin asked the group at large.

The sound of hard knuckles on wood filled Nikki’s ears, and she looked over at Griffin.

“Welcome,” he said with a nod before taking another gulp from his drink.

Brian smiled and lifted his glass. “Cheers.”

The large Staten Island crew went next, with their leader Derek- a dark haired man with bright blue eyes- being a Medium. Then it was the Bronx group. James introduced himself formally as their leader and an Empath.

“My brother Joel has the same ability,” he said, giving his twin a sideways glance. “But he decided against dual leadership.”

“Hunting’s less messy than bureaucracy,” Joel said, smirking into his beer.

Nikki assumed the introductions were finished, but then Griffin angled himself forward, pressing his forearms into the edge of the table, and spoke.

“My name is Griffin O’Connor, Hunter King and leader of the Manhattan crew- Boz Cavaletti and Lisa Gutiérrez. I speak for them and…” He paused, looking to his right. “And for Nikki Anderson, who is under my protection.”

Nikki’s skin tingled like she was under a heat lamp. Everyone was staring, and this time they didn’t attempt to disguise their overwhelming curiosity.

“Everyone has been announced,” Griffin said. “Are there any objections to any person’s presence here at this table tonight?” He waited, giving ample time for someone to respond. When no one did, he nodded and said, “Good, ‘cause that would’ve been awkward.”

The atmosphere depressurized and everyone relaxed in their seats.

Griffin downed the rest of his scotch and clunked the glass on the table. “Alright, let’s get to it then.”

* * *

Michael wiggled his glass in his brother’s face, ice cubes clinking together enticingly. “You sure you don’t want one? It’s got cherries in it.”

“No thank you Michael, I’m fine,” Gabriel told him for the third time. He wasn’t sure why Michael even ordered the ridiculous concoction. It smelled like something a burnt out parent would sneak into a child’s birthday party in a plastic cup- cotton candy, peppermint, vodka, and a lot of regret.

Shrugging, Michael chugged the last of it and fished out the maraschino from the bottom. “Alright, so are we gonna talk game plan or should I order a fourth one of these like a desperate sorority girl on a really bad date?”

“I’ll remind you, that was your drink of choice. I had no say in the matter.”

Michael twirled the cherry stem in his mouth. “I couldn’t help it. It looked yummy.”

Gabriel sighed into his water glass. “Glutton.”

“Hey now, watch the language, bro.” Michael slid his empty glass across the bar and waved for another one. “So…” He stared at his brother, waiting.

“I’m not sure there’s much of a plan to discuss,” Gabriel admitted. “We did what we could, despite the possible repercussions. Now we can only-”

“Don’t say ‘wait’,” Michael interrupted. “Do not say it.” Gabriel glanced at him and he groaned. “Aw, c’mon!”

“Remember what I said about patience…?”

“Okay, ha ha, very funny, I get it. I’m the gung-ho solider chomping at the bit to get my fists bloody. But Gabe, this place is gonna turn into a zoo in an hour, and we’re just supposed to sip our cocktails and watch the madness unfold?”

“You’re assuming all that will happen if Mary doesn’t call,” Gabriel said. “But she should.” He thought for a moment before adding, “She will.”

“You mean you’re hoping she will,” Michael said. “Your last vision was nothing. A big blank spot of blinding white light and not even a snap shot from the b-roll to tell us what’s gonna happen. Which is exactly why we came here. To see what happens.” Waved a hand out emphasizing his point.

Gabriel lifted an eyebrow. “So are you opposed to watching or encouraging it?”

“I’m opposed to feeling useless,” Michael retorted, picking up his fresh drink and taking a long sip through the straw.

“You once told me battles are won with preparation,” Gabriel said, staring at him earnestly. “My vision, like you said, was blank. We have no way of preparing for this battle-”

“And neither do they,” Michael cut in, gesturing towards the red curtained entryway across the club. “We’re banking on a morally gray, fake witch to deliver the news those poor bastards are in desperate need of, instead of barging in there and telling them ourselves.” Narrowing his eyes on his brother, he said. “It feels wrong.”

“It always does,” Gabriel murmured. “Having so much information but not being allowed to do anything with it… It feels like a betrayal of trust.”

“But that’s why daddy dearest even sends you visions,” Michael said. “So you can do something.”

“Most of the time,” Gabriel agreed with a nod. “But sometimes, they’re simply messages foretelling events already set to happen.” Looking to Michael he continued. “Why do you think I’ve had such difficulty these past few days? It’s because I don’t know if our Father is telling me what is His will, or what could happen if I, as His Messenger, does not intervene in more meaningful ways. With every vision, paths are altered and fates change, and I do not know what my purpose is.” He dropped his gaze to the bar in front of him. “It’s exhausting.”

Silence between them lingered, and Gabriel sighed, closing his eyes and wishing for another vision- something to guide him in the right direction. Instead he got a whiff of candy and alcohol, and he blinked. Michael’s drink was under his nose.

“I think you could use this more than me,” Michael said with a knowing nod.

Gabriel opened his mouth to reject the drink for a fifth time, but instead exhaled and took the glass. “Thank you.”

“Atta boy.”

* * *

Griffin massaged above his left brow, trying to relieve the tension headache that had him in a vice grip. The argument that had boiled across the table was increasing in volume, and he glanced at the curtains, wondering when Donna would be back with his drink.

“I’m telling you, if we attack now, we’ll lose,” Tasha said, jabbing her finger into the table, punctuating her point.

Derek shook his head vigorously. “Not if we hit them hard. We have the man power-”

“Man power?” Tasha interrupted. “Look around you Derek. Do you really think this is enough people to take on two Alphas and a city’s worth of Vampires?”

James leaned forward on his elbows. “Are we certain the Alphas for our other boroughs are missing?”

Griffin straightened his posture, trying not to look as tired as he felt. “One hundred percent?” He shook his head. “No. But we have strong evidence that says they are.”

“What kind of evidence?”

“Rex has been buying up property in every borough, even in Jersey. He’s obviously staking claim. There’s no way another Alpha would allow him to treat the city like his personal Monopoly board if they were still around.”

Emma lowered her martini glass and frowned. “But Alphas generally keep the peace. They don’t assassinate each other.”

“They haven’t until now,” Griffin said.

Otto smacked Nikos’s shoulder. “You heard ‘em,” he exclaimed, holding out his hand. “Alphas are dead. You owe me twenty bucks.”

Nikos cursed under his breath and reached for his wallet. “I’m never drunk betting with you again,” he muttered.

“Guys,” Tasha snapped with a chastising glare. Turning to Griffin, she said, “So this Alexander Rex guy and Nicholas Bradley are working together?”

Griffin nodded. “Yeah, and there seems to be some discrepancies amongst their aligned and Familiars.” His eyes cut to Nikki briefly before he continued. “We encountered a few that believed Rex was the one running the show, not Bradley.”

“See?” Derek interjected. “They already have a weak spot in their ranks. With everything going on, they’ll be disorganized, so now is the time-”

“I don’t know what hunt you were on,” Tasha cut him off. “But those Newborns weren’t disorganized or weak. What happened yesterday was a planned ambush.”

“It was probably to throw us off,” Emma added. “To keep us occupied.”

“Why would they need to keep us occupied?” James asked.

“I don’t know,” Emma said, shaking her head. “But Manhattan was hit hard, right?” She looked to Griffin for confirmation.

He nodded, leaning back in his seat. “I’ve definitely had easier days on the job.”

Brian, who had been quiet throughout the discussion, leaned forward and looked around before saying, “What if we could… ambush them back?”

“How?” James asked over his drink.

“I’m not sure, but there’s gotta be a way, right?” Brian shrugged. “They knew how to get to us. And if this hierarchy business is their weak spot, then there’s probably a way for us to use it to our advantage. Catch them off guard like we were.”

At that, Boz straightened in his seat like an iron rod had been shoved down the back of his shirt, and he gestured to get Griffin’s attention.

Griffin jerked his chin towards his friend. “Boz, you’ve got the floor,” he announced, and the room fell quiet at his words.

“Thanks.” Boz nodded. Clearing his throat, he said, “Earlier today the Queens and Bronx crew found tracking devices under all of their vehicles, and after a sweep of their home network, I found multiple Trojan horse viruses that were siphoning information off and sending it to a separate server.”

“Uh, how about saying that in English for us community college folks,” Otto said, arching his neck to see the other man.

“They were being monitored,” Boz said. “We all are.”

Worried voices rumbled throughout the room, and Griffin knocked on the table several times to get everyone back in order.

“You mean Rex and Bradley have someone tracking all of our movements?” Tasha asked, scowling.

“In and outside of the virtual world,” Boz said. “That’s how they were able to ambush all of us so effectively. They knew where we’d be, and that we’d be off guard.”

“Great, so we can’t hide,” James said, slumping back in his chair.

“Not really,” Boz said. “But the thing about the type of software they’re using is it leaves a path. I’ve been back-hacking, trying to follow the trail they’re leaving but I keep getting blocked.” He shot an apologetic glance at Griffin. “That’s why it’s been taking me so long. You know I’m usually faster than this.”

“I’ll bet,” Joel commented with a smirk.

Boz gave a patented ‘really dude?’ expression and rolled his eyes.

“So our hacker’s getting hacked?” Otto asked.

“Not hacked,” Boz corrected. “They’re just throwing up road blocks every time I get through a firewall. I’ve been using some passcodes I downloaded from the hard drive of one of Rex’s Familiars but he only had limited access to stuff.”

“Not to diss your mad computer skills, Boz,” Tasha started. “But what good does hacking their system do for us?”

“I’ve got a program… A virus,” he amended. “If I can get through their firewalls I can upload it. It turns every webcam, every security camera, finger print scanner, any kind of identification tool they use, into a window. I’d have unlimited viewpoints of the inside of the Bradley Corporation, not to mention access to all their blueprints and files, all their documents.” He grinned, mostly to himself. “I call it Fly on the Wall.”

Brian nodded at Boz, impressed by what he heard. “Now that’s how you ambush somebody.”

Tasha wasn’t as certain though. “You’re sure you can do it?”

“Absolutely,” Boz told her. “Whoever they’ve got blocking me isn’t nearly as good as I am.” He winked. “Give me a case of Red Bull and some Bassnectar on repeat and I’ll get through in no time.”

Joel smiled and finished his beer. “Sounds like tech boy’s got our back,” he said, holding Boz’s gaze. It was the closest thing to an olive branch as was possible with Joel.

“You bet I do,” he said, popping an ice cube in his mouth and grinning.

There was a rush of harsh whispers coming from the Queens side of the table and Emma made several ‘cut it out’ gestures, trying to quiet the other women.

Tory, a brunette with sharp eyes, shot forward abruptly. “I’m sorry, but why the hell are we even planning this?”

“Tory, not now,” Emma tried.

“No,” Tory waved her off. “I wanna know why we’re being asked to risk our lives on some kamikaze mission to take out these Alphas.” She glared across the table at Griffin. “This isn’t our problem, its Manhattan’s. It’s your territory, you deal with it.”

Emma gripped her arm. “Tory, enough,” she warned.

She twisted in her hold angrily. “They’re the ones who broke code,” she snapped. “The Vampires are retaliating because of his mistakes.” She pointed at Griffin.

“Weren’t you listening?” James shot a heated stare at her. “Rex doesn’t seem to care one way or the other about codes being broken, since he’s breaking them himself.”

“So what if he wants to try to take over the whole city?” Tory retorted. “Everyone knows there’s no fucking way he’d be able to control that many Vamps. He’s gonna crash and burn, and I say we let him.”

“We don’t know that,” Tasha said. “He’s had a lot of support so far, and he and Bradley both are set on sending us a message.”

“Yeah, a warning to play by their rules,” Tory said.

Anger flashed in Boz’s eyes as he turned in his seat. “Are you seriously saying we should just bend over and take it?”

“If it means survival?” Tory glared at him. “Maybe. We’re nothing but glorified pest control to them.”

Joel’s expression hardened and he pegged her with a cold stare. “If that’s how you view this job, then maybe you shouldn’t be in it.”

“That’s not how I meant it, and you know it,” she shot back. “You all know things have been getting worse. At least when the codes were being followed, we didn’t have to worry about getting ambushed in the middle of the day, in our territory.” She curled her lip as she spoke, aiming the insult back at Griffin.

He wanted to argue, to tell Tory to shove her attitude in a very uncomfortable place. But he couldn’t. She wasn’t alone in her reasoning- Lisa had made the same points just three nights before. And from what his gift was sniffing out, there were others who saw logic in what Tory said. Griffin had fucked up. He’d broken code, and whatever motives he’d had for starting didn’t matter to Tory. He’d put them all in a position of offense, when they were barely able to defend what they had.

As King, he’d lead them into a battle they weren’t prepared to fight.

Tory continued her onslaught of accusations by saying, “Not to mention, our shitty situation got that much worse, when she showed up.” She jabbed a finger at Nikki, punctuating her statement.

Now that got Griffin’s attention.

“You’re out of line,” he growled.

“Am I? Because I know none of this is a coincidence,” she said. “We don’t even know who she is, or why she’s here.”

“Because it’s none of your business.”

“You brought her to a gathering, and you’re telling us we don’t have a right to know why she’s here?” Tory sneered as she added, “Just because you’re King doesn’t mean you get to do whatever you want. And that includes sending us on a suicide mission to take out two Alphas.”

Tory started to shout again, continuing to berate him for all his shortcomings when Nikki’s glass came down like a hammer and she shot out of her seat.

“Stop it!”

All the air was sucked out of the room in a millisecond. Griffin even felt his ears ache like they wanted to pop. No one blinked or moved, as they were all made statues by the force of her words.

“You think this is easy?” Nikki glared down the table at Tory. “That he likes this? He’s making these decisions because of me. Those two Alphas are coming after me. All because I’m a Luminari- a Blooded Hunter nobody has heard of, or seen, for probably hundreds of years, except for Rex and Bradley.” She ignored the questioning gazes as she spoke.

“They think I’m a threat, which is why they want me dead. To them I’m the ‘fire that overtakes’, but they won’t stop with me. They’ll kill me, and then they’ll come after all of you- powers or not. They’re trying to build an empire… Alexander Rex’s own twisted version of a Roman capitol. And he wants to use my corpse as a pillar.”

Nikki swallowed, holding back the rage she wanted to unleash on the offending woman only a few feet from her. “So fine, you don’t want to risk your life for the new girl. I get it. So don’t.” She glanced around the table at the other Hunters, all of whom were frozen in rapt attention. “Don’t do this for me, or even for Griffin. Do it for yourselves.” She inhaled a fortifying breath. “Rex and Bradley have proven they’re ruthless, and determined to get what they want. They don’t care about the codes- in fact I’m not sure they ever cared. All they want is power. And they think killing me, eliminating the threat, will give them just that.”

The heat in her stare was palpable as she looked at Tory and said, “You’re concerned about survival? If someone doesn’t stop them, none of you will survive. That’s what’s at stake. Now stop wasting your energy pointing fingers, and start helping your friends.”

After a moment Nikki lowered herself back into her chair with all the regality of a Queen. It made the space behind Griffin’s sternum ache and the dogs howled. His fingers itched to hold hers but he curled them into a fist instead.

Otto was the first to crack apart the heavy silence. “Sorry… What are you?”

“A Luminari,” Nikki replied. “At least, that’s what I’ve been called.”

“I’ve never heard of that before,” James commented.

“Not that many have,” she said. “But John Amsterdam said from what he’s been able to research, I’m… powerful.”

Tasha gasped quietly but tried to hide her reaction. She’d read either Nikki or Griffin, or maybe both. She knew.

“You’re…” She started, unsure of herself.

Griffin nodded. “Yeah, Tash.”

Otto furrowed his brow, glancing between the two. “What?”

“She’s Queen,” Tasha whispered.

For a very brief and satisfying moment, Tory looked absolutely mortified.

“Like I said, it’s why Rex and Bradley want me dead,” Nikki told them.

Brian gazed at her, astounded. “They’re afraid of you.” It was a statement, not a question.

“I guess so,” she said, shrugging. “I’m not even sure what I can do, or why they call me a ‘fire that overtakes’.”

“You were born with your gift though,” James said, leaning forward.

“Yes, but I didn’t know I was like this until only few days ago.”

Joel cut an anxious glance at his twin, and James gave a subtle nod barely noticeable to most.

It made Nikki frown. “What?”

James shook his head. “Nothing. We’ve just never encountered someone who hasn’t spent their whole life with their gift.”

“It’s kind of like meeting someone who wasn’t born with an arm, and then suddenly grew one in their twenties,” Joel said, eyeing her.

“Well, that’s pretty much how it feels,” Nikki said, a morose shadow lingering in her eyes.

“Alright, so…” Otto drawled. “We’ve got the new girl with the unidentified superpower, a couple of Alphas who’d like to see all of us six feet under, and a computer genius with three fourths of a plan.” He raised his dark brows in question. “Did I miss anything?”

Tasha whacked him in the chest with the back of her hand but Otto chuckled through the sting.

“This three fourths of a plan,” James started, glancing at Boz. “You think you’ll be able to make it into a full one?”

Boz nodded firmly. “Definitely. I’ve got this.”

“So when can we stick it to these fuckers?” Joel asked, looking to Griffin.

Amused, Otto cocked an eyebrow. “Itching for a fight, Marine?”

Joel smirked. “Every damn day.”

Griffin looked to his friend. “Boz?”

“Two days?” He offered. “I need enough time to compile the data and give us something to work with.”

“Does this meet your approval?” Griffin asked the other Hunters, the edge of formality returning to his voice. His stare lingered on Tory who flushed with embarrassment and anger, but she leaned away from the table, a sign of contrition.

At once, the leaders of each crew wrapped their knuckles on the table in agreement.

It was decided.

* * *

The moment Griffin declared the gathering had ended, everyone’s demeanor changed. No one was fully relaxed, but the tension eased, leaving them strangely giddy. Clusters formed as members from different crews mingled together. Nikki guessed they didn’t get to see each other socially very often given how readily they were willing to drop any lingering offenses and move on with their evening.

Tasha had gone to the other side of the room, chatting happily with Derek and Grace. Despite their heated argument, they still looked to be on good terms, with Tasha playfully digging her knuckle into Derek’s bicep, and he in turn swatting her away and wrinkling his nose at whatever she’d said. Otto stood nearby, admiring Joel’s new throwing knives and laughing with James. Nikki caught the suspicious glances Otto gave Derek as his hand skimmed down Tasha’s arm, but he kept whatever opinions he had to himself.

Bright laughter brought her head around to see Boz encircled by the group from Queens- all women, and all very interested in Boz. A blush crept up his cheeks as Emma and Ava smoothed the cuff and collar of his shirt approvingly.

“I think Boz has a few admirers,” Nikki said to Lisa, lowering her voice.

“You mean groupies?” Lisa replied, smirking. “Oh yeah. He’s their catnip.”

Nikki laughed, watching Boz pantomime his way through a lively story for his captive audience.

“Hey, Lisa,” a male voice cut through the hum and both Lisa and Nikki looked.

Nikos stood a couple paces away, gaze hooded and full of intention. A slow smile curved across his face and Lisa mirrored the expression.

“Hey, Nikos,” she murmured. “How’ve you been?”

“Good. Better now.” He tipped his head towards the curtains and said, “You thirsty?”

“Always.” Lisa moved to get up but turned to Nikki, remembering she was there. “Are you okay here? I can stay if…”

“No, no,” Nikki waved her hand. “I’m fine. Go, have fun.”

Thanking her, Lisa jumped up and took Nikos by the hand, leading him into the main club.

It was only then Nikki realized she’d been left relatively alone with Griffin. Squeezing her hands together in her lap, she braved glancing to her right. His jaw was firm as he stared at a spot on the table, hand still curved around his empty glass. It wasn’t a vacant expression- the opposite, actually- as if he were trapped in an ever-present loop in his mind and unable to break himself out. It was an expression Nikki had grown familiar with.

Swallowing, she clenched her hands together, firming her resolve. After a moment she turned his way, opening her mouth to speak.

“I’m gonna get another drink,” Griffin interrupted hastily. Shoving himself out of his chair, he averted his eyes as he said, “If anyone needs me, I’ll be at the bar.”

Nikki closed her mouth, nodding out of habit as he strode away. The soft place tucked beneath her ribs ached in a way she had almost been fortunate enough to forget.

Heartbreak.

Hot tears stung the corners of her eyes, and she blinked, glancing towards the curtain. She needed to leave, to duck into the ladies room before she embarrassed herself by crying in front of a room full of strangers.

A tan outstretched arm appeared in Nikki’s line of sight and she looked up.

“C’mon,” Tasha said, smiling down at her. “You need a stiff drink and an even stiffer man to serve it to you.”

“Oh, um, that’s alright, I’m-”

“Honey, do not let that jackass ruin your evening.”

Something hot flared in Nikki’s stomach at the insult. “He’s-”

“A jackass,” Tasha interrupted. “Or at least he’s being one right now. And while I love the man like a brother, I’m not going to pretend he’s not acting like a world class jerk at the moment. So c’mon, let’s get you something ridiculously strong to drink and we will vehemently ignore him while dancing our asses off. Besides, the bartenders here are man-candy perfection, trust me.”

Nikki considered her a moment, still feeling the burn of unshed tears. She wanted to hide, retreat into a bathroom stall and wait for the night to be over. Kaelin would say, yes, let’s go gawk at hot men and forget about the six foot four tall problem brooding over a glass of scotch.

She smiled. “Okay,” she said, and took Tasha’s hand.

#Children of Lilith #free fiction #free novels for pandemic times #my writing #my work

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howardpaulanderson · 6 years

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Here’s to Labor; An American Beehive

Homer is short and wiry, proud, you can see it in the way he punches his time card, and at fifty-five his job is to push and pull eight hundred sixty pounds of yarn, crucifixion style, a buggy of steel in each hand, three hundred feet up the concrete hall of the plant. He does this sixty times in eight hours. Sometimes he dreads coming to work. But he says the workday passes fast for him and I believe him. He walks down to fetch the first pair, shoulders drooped, arms barely swinging, as if they’re accustomed only to having weights attached to them. Over the years scores of persons a third his age have turned down the job.

As Homer sweats his way down an aisle he passes Louie, also short but overweight. Louie is sitting on a bench and wiping his brow, for it’s hot down here in Continuous Spinning, what with the double deck being so confining and the heat coming off the drums to the yarn dryers. Like Homer, Louie has been around a long time, thirty-three years seniority. He’ll get up in a little while and putter for fifteen minutes with his broom and dust pan, then he’ll be back on the bench. He has all the accouterments of a subordinate, but an attitude of nonchalance washes over what is material. “It’s taken me a long time,” he says, as he watches Homer scurry back with two empties, ready to grab another haul, “to get to where I am.”

Every time I see Louie I get reminded of the song, “Louie, Louie.” I think part of the lyrics are, ‘why dontcha sit yourself down now...’ Homer doesn’t remind me of any song. Homer is like a grand old relative one remembers from childhood, greatly admired, probably single, fondly thought of every once in a while.

A person must haunch over while walking down the aisles or between the machines of the bottom deck if he or she is more than five foot eleven since pipes and conduits and structural members hang or protrude everywhere. Every so often, when someone’s new, when a trainee, they forget. The machines here run silently, effortlessly. The intercom speakers above crack to life; “C14, Ethel, coming down the hole.” Ethel, on her way to aisle C, fourteenth machine row, smiles as she passes. There are massive tanks on the upper deck. The cellulose xanthate is formed to a solid and a spinning jet carries it below, where the filament is washed with a finish and wound about the heat drum by an operator, and after a few minutes this end is snipped off and wasted, and the regular yarn, flat in its youth, is laced onto tubes or cones.

Continuous Spinning is the procreator of rayon industrial and tire yarns. The machines never stop, except for the once a month washdown maintenance or during production curtailment. A doff is made every eight hours, three times a day, seven days a week. When it runs full blast, fifty-six machines spin, eighty-six ten pound cakes to a machine.

The lead truck is rolling freely, but the rear one is fouled with lint and stray ends and it drags. “Click,” goes the electrical box, the lead truck having been turned from the hall, the light beam between eye and reflector broken, and the doors to Warping begin to swing open. A roar from sixteen twisters, seven to one side and nine from the other, and dead center ahead is a spray booth through which the buggies are shoved, what it sprays most of us don’t know except that it’s yellow; the protective hoods are lifted off the buggies, a red spot on the yarn indicates acid. The buggy is put aside if acid shows. One of the uses for the defective yarn is the stuffing put in coffins.

In Warping the flat double deck yarn is given a ‘Z’ twist, 2.3 turns to the inch, or 2.0 or 3.4; it could be put right on beams, the creels on the far side of the shop in lazy motion compared to the crazy, buzzing twisters. Or it could be hauled another three point six four minutes worth, the figure is from a man with a clipboard and stopwatch who charts such things, farther up the hall to Twisting, ring twisting as opposed to Warping’s up-twist; different machines but with the same noise, there to be plied or re-coned or twisted as in Warping, then possibly to be processed with adhesive dip, and packed, weighed, and shipped out. Thousands of pounds an hour, millions of pounds a month.

The primitive sound of metal rapping metal is continuous too. The very space overhead drones and at regular intervals throbs with the thudded drumbeat of a multitude of pipes pressurized from afar. Running their own course are row upon row of fluorescence, obscuring the time of day, while above all of it is steel or concrete.

Hundreds are tucked away where the chemical process begins in Viscose and other hundreds labor in Waste Treatment and Water Softeners and Acid Reclamation and the power plant, hundreds more in Staple or Coning or the Box Shop and scores of others from Engineering sashay through the halls behind their tool push carts. Very slowly fork trucks vie for the right of way and pedestrians always win by default, usually because they step aside. Every so often one passes a soul that is straining, eyes bugged and glazed and face a frozen daze. Hurrying executives in ties and button down collars weave through the traffic on bicycles while ringing their bells. In its heyday the plant employed eight thousand people.

Each has a part, isolated but synchronized, vital, compromised by the sheer weight of the place. Sixty-two acres are under roof, more mill than all the mills in New England during the time of John Stuart Mill. No one truly comprehends this creature of mass production. Homer’s vision is one of sweat, Mr. Kittel in .861 deals with it in pounds, the plant manager issues directives. The plant doc conducts ten physicals a week as he welcomes and examines newcomers. Accountants do their thing, the girls in shipping track cases and pallets on their computer screens. Each is obsessed by his own little function. And so it is with the good folk in Industrial Relations entrusted with image stewardship, and Research and Development enmeshed in routines of inspection, and Human Resources weeding out bad apples, and the nurse in the Dispensary doing her nails so pretty, and the guard force doing spot checks for pilferage, and Mr. Duke, the Plant Safety Director, spearheading the drive toward renewed safety awareness with a plant wide bingo contest, each space carrying a message on how to be safer.

I have to push two trucks of .056 twisted yarn which is always on the small solid green tubes through the spray booth and up to the .861 finishing area and while I’ve been doing it for a while I still don’t know what .861 means, and as I weave through Warping one of the girls careens out from between the twisters on the little one cubic foot box with wheels on the bottom that she’s sitting on, and I have to dig the heels to my safety shoes against the concrete to stop the first buggy from colliding with her. She’s cute and soft looking and it reminds me of baby fat yet remaining and she looks up at me in a dreamlike way and all of a sudden I’m thinking of Mr. Willis the Department Head’s favorite saying, “The longer you wait the harder it gets,” and I make my beeline for that gray area of safety, the one that shows preoccupation with business at hand, and now “Taking Care of Business” by BTO pops into my head, and then I’m hustling my buggies out of Warping with an exaggerated determination.

It’s the graveyard shift, midnight to seven, usually the quietest one, but the foreman’s been breathing down my neck all week. My job is authorized to make the adhesive dip and this shift is the one scheduled to do that, though lately that’s become more of a retreat than a chore for me. The dip room is a cubbyhole adjacent shipping, which is outside the main part of the plant. A pair of double doors snap open as their light beam is broken by the fork truck I’m operating. You don’t drive it or ride it or run it, you operate it. The doors snap shut after a time delay switch somewhere is activated, jaws snapping shut on the mechanical monster that is within.

Up in the dip room, alone, out of the way, I am doing my thing making dip. Sometimes I feel like Homer, sometimes like what’s his name, Louie. Sometimes I wonder what other factories are like, if things are different or the same further up and down the chain.

Water, liquid latex, resin, water dispersion (which sounds like soap), formaldehyde (which definitely does not), soda and ammonia get dumped together by the drums and by the buckets full to create a batch. A single large vat, one smaller that’s higher and off to the side, both elevated on a steel platform so that gravity drains the batch into the two hundred fifty gallon tank that is carried by fork truck out to the floor where the women can fill their five gallon pails for the dip pans located in front of their spindles. Some of the ingredients are mixed in the large tank, some in the small, the formaldehyde is added as a catalyst, a valve is opened, and for thirty minutes everything is mixed together. When it’s done it has a froth on top and looks like a giant strawberry milkshake. There’s noise from the overhead exhaust and hardened dip slung all over, even on the walls, testimony to the labor of decades of dip making by us dip makers, and the bright light from the spots casts weird effects on everything. Sometimes I can all but see ghosts flit by, so loosely does this place fire my imagination. But the eerie sense of working among dwelling spirits is somehow uplifting.

I only have four years seniority. Last week a man retired from Continuous Spinning.

“Everything okay? Good.”

Those were the last words he said to me. Three cakes, I mean the real kind, homemade were baked for him. Everybody in the shop signed the card. And in Warping, another cake was brought in for a lady who is to retire at the end of the month.

It’s a unique achievement, this synthetic, creating a fiber out of chemicals. It seems almost like getting something for nothing. This dip that I’m making tonight, it could be the coating that goes over the yarn that’ll go into the tire that will go on a jet plane. Maybe Air Force One, for all I know. Sometimes I haul the carbonized yarn which is patented, the heat resistant fiber that has made the space shuttle possible.

So what is success, anyway? A means or an end? Independence or acceptance of responsibility? Subjective? Objective? Is it conditional and varied, or in compliance to permanent moral standards? Is it found in the tangibles of life, like mazuma, or is it intangible? Does it lie in a reputation, or in selfish satisfaction, or in helping others? Is expediency, advantage and privilege more worthwhile than trust and honesty? Is the long run the sum of all short runs, or more? The very word conjures enigmas in my mind.

I don’t believe it necessarily has to be a regimental tie around one’s neck, or being the leader of a regiment, or regimenting one’s life to a bank account.

Hey! Last Wednesday night, I had to vote, down at the Union Hall, and the sensation of waiting and standing in that line I would be hard put to define. But it definitely had a lot to do with being with brothers and sisters.

But those snapping doors scare me. Makes a person wonder.

(1982. Avtex Fibers, Front Royal, Virginia.) Last production run completed, July 9, 1989.

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