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ageeksnerdyworld · 4 years

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Shameful in the Light

Characters: Zale Young, Bonsai Warner, Mayor Whiskers

Word Count: 5,870

Trigger Warning: Swearing, Drug Use (kinda), Death

A/N: The only thing I actually had inspiration for so here ya go... As always the Cyber World belongs to @voiceoflarka

Summary: Life tricks even the best of men into avoiding the truth. Often subconsciously their daily thoughts and actions only aide and abet. Burying a man deeper into his sins and his ignorance. But nothing, not even the deepest love, can keep the demons out forever. Click that read more if ya want...

~~~

The bed was cold. Cold and oddly comforting. The sensation pulled him down and silently begged him to stay. Beckoning like a siren's song from the deep. It didn't matter that one arm hung off the side. Or that barely a corner of the thick blanket covered his person. Or that he couldn't properly breathe with his face buried deep in the pillow. He would've gladly kept laying there and slept the day away.

But the force on his back had other plans. The motion, the light push, was far too familiar for him to ignore. His eyes slowly fluttered open; blinking against the sunlight. What sleep continued to linger, attempting to call him back, made his dark lashes stick to one another.

"C'mon Mayor Whiskers," he groaned. "It's too early for this, man."

"Mmrow," came the response.

Turning over onto his left side he pushed the gray tabby off his back.

Laying on his side Bonsai's face filled his vision. Despite events of the previous night, the state of her hair and makeup, she looked at peace. Her chest rose and fell in perfect time with her deep slumber. She was clutching the blanket close to her chest. He didn't want to wake her. He didn't want to bring the moment to an abrupt end. But at the same time he couldn't not touch her.

Reaching out he softly pushed a couple strands of hair out of her face.

She instinctively moved away; turning her head in the opposite direction of his touch. A quiet, annoyed, grunt escaped her lips. She flung her right arm over her face to block out the light.

"Mrrow," the cat called again. The annoyance in his voice was clear despite the lack of human speech.

"Chill out wouldja? I'm up, I'm up," Zale whispered.

Pulling the blanket off he swung his feet over the side of the bed. Mayor Whiskers took this as a sign and jumped off the bed. The cat hurriedly rushed out of the room. Zale took a few seconds to stretch before stepping onto the bedroom floor.

A low, very aggravated, meow came from down the hall.

"Fucking relax," Zale muttered to himself as he left the room.

Outside the open door he stood in the short hallway. From there he could see the front door to the apartment and the kitchen beyond it. There was the gray tabby cat; standing by the food and water bowls. As Zale walked over the cat rushed back to him and rubbed against his leg. Mayor Whiskers continued to walk with Zale to the kitchen. All the while airing his grievances with drawn out meowing.

Stepping onto the cold tile floor sent a shiver through Zale’s body.

The cat rushed to the spot, adjacent to the small kitchen closet, where his bowls were kept. Once again he started meowing with an annoyed urgency.

When Zale saw the empty bowls he sighed. Bending down he ran his hand along Mayor Whiskers' head before scratching the cat's chin.

"No wonder you're so pissed, huh, bud? You must be starving," he said.

Pulling himself to his feet Zale shook his head. This wasn't the first time either of them had forgotten to feed the cat. It wouldn't be the last either. Even so each time he woke to a hungry, thirsty, Mayor Whiskers his heart sank.

"Some pet parents we are," he muttered to himself.

Bending down again he picked up the bowl on the right side. It was a light gray with a red line along the bottom rim. Crossing the short distance to the sink he turned the faucet on. Letting the dirty, hot, water run for a few seconds he waited for it run cold and clean.

You think you can take care of yourself and her when you can’t even take care of a fucking cat?

He blocked the thought out as he filled the bowl with water.

“Here ya go, Mayor Whiskers,” he said as he set the bowl back down. The cat quickly lapped up the water. He was clearly dehydrated as he didn’t take a single pause for a good minute or two. And when he did finally take a second it was only to lick the excess water droplets off his mouth.

Zale turned back to the sink and reached for the cupboards. Gripping the old, rusted, handle as gingerly as possible he lightly pulled it. The cupboard didn't open but the handle came off in his hand. Sighing deeply he put the handle on the counter. Putting his fingers underneath the lip of the door he pulled. This time it opened. Reaching inside he pushed the other one open as well.

The sagging, nearly empty, bag of cat food sat sadly in the cupboard.

He took the bag out and set it on the counter, next to the sink, before opening it. The sounds must have alerted the cat as he quickly jumped up on the counter. He was circling the bag; sniffing and pawing at the paper.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Zale said as he picked the bag up again.

He took a couple of steps to the empty food bowl. It was the same size and shape as the other bowl. The only difference was the coloring; opposite to its twin. Red all except for a thin line around the bottom rim. Zale quickly filled the bowl and returned the bag to the cupboard. Mayor Whiskers took the short window for what it was and began eating.

The loud, crunching, sounds filled the small space. Zale knelt down next to the cat and began slowly running his hand along the cat’s back. A thousand yard stare overtook him as the thoughts, that he had blocked out earlier, came back in a flood of self-defamation.

Suddenly he realized that the crunching sounds had stopped. Shaking his head, knocking the fog out of his mind, he rose to his feet. He quickly walked back to the bedroom.

From the doorway he could see that Bonsai was still in bed.

She had shifted onto her stomach at some point. Her arms and legs were sprawled out over the mattress. Zale tiptoed back into the room as quietly as he could. Stopping at the foot of the bed he reached over and walked his fingers up her leg. Grunting quietly and annoyed she tried to kick his hands away.

"Morning, gorgeous."

"Go away," she replied; voice groggy and muffled. "I'm sleeping."

"You can't fool me, miss black eyeliner."

He crawled onto the bed; closing the space between them. Sitting on his knees he grabbed her hand and curled his fingers in between hers. Pulling her onto her back Zale leaned in and softly kissed her cheek. He let go and hopped off the bed once more. He crossed to the short dresser that sat a few feet from the door frame. Opening the drawer he grabbed the first thing he saw.

Pulling the shirt over his head, he turned to her and, asked; "Wanna head out?"

She nodded.

~~~

“Gonna tell me where we’re going, babe?”

Zale shook his head.

They had barely left the apartment before she began asking. And even after a few blocks, and a half-assed game of twenty questions, she kept at it. Zale continued to keep it a secret. His silence ticked her off more than the secret.

"Better be worth it,” she said with a bitter voice.

“Oh it is, trust me.”

Bonsai rolled her eyes and scoffed.

She wore an over-sized gray shirt under a red flannel. Layered on top was a light blue jean jacket. The fabric was distressed and faded. Various patches covered the surface in a randomized pattern. A pair of black fishnets covered her legs under a short, pale pink, skirt. Ends of the fishnets were tucked into the galaxy printed high tops which covered her feet. Days, maybe weeks, old polish colored her nails a deep black. Except for the top edges where it had cracked and peeled off. The aviator sunglasses on her face glinted in the afternoon sun. Her makeup was still a mess but she didn’t care.

And neither did he.

To him she was always the most beautiful person anywhere they went.

Like a moth flying dangerously close to a flame he caught himself staring and looked away.

But he was too late and she already noticed. Turning away from the passing cars she side-eyed him. Bonsai pulled the sunglasses down over the bridge of her nose. Looking him up and down she nodded approvingly.

“Mm-hmm.”

Zale chuckled and shook his head in embarrassment.

He mindlessly echoed her gaze and looked down at himself. His eyes glued to each article of clothing for a long time; analyzing every tiny detail. The old and discolored white t-shirt with its peeling black triangle. A pair of faded, over washed, black jeans haphazardly shoved into a pair of boots. Various sized patches of different materials covered the larger holes. One of the zippers had broken. It was stuck half open and the pull tab had fallen off. He wore an aging, and tattered, navy-blue hoodie. The hood covered his head; blocking his peripheral like a pair of blinders.

How in the hell did you get lucky enough to have her? Fucking look at yourself, dude. Look like you crawled outta the fucking dump. Probably smell like it too.

Zale started to zero in on the things he couldn’t see. The hard calluses on his fingers. Scrapes on his knees that burned painfully. Heavy, dark, bags under his eyes. Bruises, scabs, and strangely shaped dents covered his skin in various places. Fading veins, originally a deep oxford blue, were now barely visible. A few had died from overuse and turned black.

All with track marks to match.

Nobody’s gonna see 'em. Even if they did who the fuck cares? Mom? Dad? Cove? Fae? Don’t make me laugh.

As these thoughts ran through his mind he began picking at his sleeve.

Bonsai reached over, standing on her toes, and pulled his hood off.

Before he could fix it she ran her hand through his hair. Pulling her close he wrapped an arm around her. She leaned her head against his shoulder. Her long, wavy, black hair cascaded down his chest.

“This is it,” Zale said after a few minutes.

She peeled off him and looked around.

The couple stood in front of a bookstore. Its exterior was long and rectangular. Square transom windows ran along the top of the storefront; metal latticework spacing the glass apart. The square designs were echoed on the masonry pillars and the bulkhead. Two old fashioned street lamps hung from the top of the pillars; along the extended cornice. Everything that made up the storefront, that was not glass, had been painted a dark turquoise color. Large, square, glass panes sat on either side of the recessed entryway.

Display windows gave passersby a clear view inside.

Above the transom windows, and cornice, the facade was painted white. A sign was affixed to the building on the space. The nameplate shaped sign matched the turquoise color of the rest of the building. Painted on the stylized metal, in thin and sharp cursive, was the name of the store. Bright golden letters stood out against the dark black behind it.

“The Book Nook?” she turned to him and asked.

Zale dug into his back pockets; pulling out a Sharpie and a couple of pens.

He held the items out to her with a smirk. She took them quickly and opened the door. He followed close behind.

The interior of the store had a cozy, welcoming, atmosphere. Two or three tables were set up behind the large display windows. A deep, dark oak, counter jutted out from the wall not too far from the large window on the left-hand side. An elderly woman stood behind the counter. Her white hair was tied back in a neat bun; except for a few strands that had fallen around her face. She smiled at them as they entered but did not approach. Zale nodded at her as Bonsai rushed to the shelves at the back.

As he walked over to where his better half had rushed off to Zale noticed that not that many people were in the store. It was a bit late in the afternoon so it made sense. Most people, with normal lives, would be at work or school. Catching sight of Bonsai he quickened his pace.

She was standing near the back of the aisle; near the emergency exit. Book in hand she seemed to be intently reading whatever was typed on its pages.

But he knew better.

“Whatcha got there, B?” he asked as he stepped behind her and rested his chin on her shoulder.

“Some stupid self-help book,” she said; the disgust clear in her voice.

The Sharpie was in her hand; hidden under the spine of the book. Her brow furrowed as she searched for something. Flipping through the pages she finally found what she was looking for. The empty space under the title of the eighth chapter gave her a perfect canvas. With a delightful chuckle she pulled the cap off the permanent marker and went to work. It didn’t take long. A minute or maybe less and then she moved to place the book back on the shelf.

“Lemme see that again.”

“Enjoy,” she replied with a wink as she passed the book to him. She walked away and went about perusing the aisles once more.

He quickly flipped to chapter eight.

The chapter was entitled Horrors of Hate. But a dark, thick, line ran through the word “hate”. Above the text, in harshly scribbled handwriting, was the word “youth”. Under the title was a drawing of a girl’s crying face. Her hand was outstretched with an unclear object in her palm. The overall shape of the object matched a small hole in the girl’s chest.

Chuckling to himself and shaking his head he replaced the book.

He wandered through the store once more. Taking a red pen out of his back pocket looked around for the bookstore’s owner. Not seeing her anywhere near him he turned toward the nearest shelf just in case. He held the pen in between his fingers and hid it under the sleeve of his hoodie.

Randomly picking up various books he scrawled his own messages in the blank spaces.

Zale wrote stupid things that were funny in the moment. Short phrases like “doing a book burning? start with me” and “only read when high”. As he finished a small drawing of a dog pooping on the title of a rom-com piece of erotica he felt a tap on his shoulder.

“Zay! Look at this,” Bonsai said as she shoved a book into his face.

It was a children’s graphic novel. The superheroes, in their brightly colored costumes, were fighting the villain. All of the typical violence that was associated with the heroes in question was nowhere to be seen. Or it was supposed to be as the book was for children. The heroes were supposed to talk the villain out of doing whatever damage they had planned.

Bonsai had taken it upon herself to fix the problem.

Red and blue ink turned a docile scene into a bloodbath. With the dialogue bubbles untouched the text remained the same. The juxtaposition of the flowery language with the added violence was hilarious. Now the scene ended with the villain, still claiming to be reformed, beaten and bloodied.

As Zale laughed she gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

“Thanks,” she said. “I really needed this.”

“Anything for you.”

She took the book from him and went to return it to wherever she first found it. He watched her go and smiled. After the night they had previously she was in dire need of a pick me up. Thankfully this did the trick.

He returned the book to the shelf and pretended to scan the rest of the books for another. After a minute or so of this miming he shrugged and walked away. Taking his time as he went he looked around for Bonsai. He knew that she couldn’t be far off as the place wasn’t very big. Walking around the store Zale felt the phone in his back pocket vibrate. He slowed to a stop as he took out his cell. A text came through from an unknown number. The message was a simple two word phrase.

In stock.

Before he could text back the phone buzzed again. The vibration was longer than the first time; signifying that a call was coming through. He pressed the green phone icon and put the phone to his ear.

“Howard Boulevard, green-gray,” the familiar voice on the other end said before hanging up.

~~~

The street was busy despite the odd hour. Most people should've been at work or school and yet cars practically flooded the street. Zale turned and gave Bonsai a confused look from under the weathered, dull, navy hood. She echoed his confusion with a cocked eyebrow. Turning back to the street they scanned the opposite side.

He felt her hand harshly squeeze his own.

A slew of parked cars lined the curb. A couple of bikes were neatly corralled by the edge of the sidewalk that turned down a narrow alleyway. But, mysteriously, only one appeared to have the engine on.

From this distance all they could see clearly was the profile of the car. Even with the bright lights above it was difficult to discern the color. They had no idea if this car belonged to who they thought. But already late they quickly rushed across the street. He held her hand as they ran; clutching it intensely. Like he was afraid she'd disappear if he let go.

Calm down, he mentally shouted to himself, nothing’s happened.

Slowing to a leisurely stroll once they reached the correct side of the street. Zale looked around for a car matching the color he was told. His head whipped around as he searched. A sharp exhale left his body when he saw it. Pointing it out to he lessened his grip on Bonsai's hand. She ran her hand through her hair; trying to shake out her nerves. As the couple walked the silhouetted shape of a person came into view.

The shape was leaning against the trunk; facing away from them. A thin reflection of the car's rear lights shined on the figure's dark jacket. Seeing the man's face Zale felt the tension leave his body. He heard Bonsai exhale a deep sigh of relief.

"Fuckin' took ya long enough."

Klynn Buffett was never a patient man.

He stood with arms crossed over his chest. An old, weathered, light gray jean jacket covered his chest. The sleeves were cut off in a very disordered manner. Fabric strands of varying lengths hung from the edges. He wore a white t-shirt underneath. On the fabric was an image of a skull; black on one side and white on the other. Behind the skull image was a series of pixels. Reversed coloring to the skull the pixels were of different size and shape. Dark blue jeans collected in a series of folds at his feet. On his feet were a pair of bright red street sneakers. The soles were white with black writing all over.

Klynn’s bright auburn veins cut through the dark.

Silver ink shone along the left side of his neck; illuminated by the car’s rear lights. Stylish filigree curled around his skin in an intricate manner. Inside the decorative ink was an image of raven feathers. Underneath the feathers was the Latin phrase; volenti non fit injuria. An impatient annoyance twisted his lips into a snarl. The emotion was perfectly reflected in his hunter green eyes. His white hair, shaved except for the top of his skull, was wavy and long. Swept to the right side of his face the curled locks covered his eye.

Zale shook his head and looked at the ground; "Sorry man. Lost track of time."

Kylnn scoffed. It was clear that he wasn't satisfied with that answer. But he pushed off the car and moved towards the front door. His dark eyes dug daggers into Zale.

"Gonna let it slide. This time."

Clutching the door handle Kylnn pulled it to open the door. It didn't budge. He chuckled and shook his head.

“You good, man?”

“Yeah,” came the struggled reply. “This piece of shit gets stuck all the time.”

Zale nodded and shoved his hands in his hoodie pockets. Bonsai moved closer and hooked her arm through his. Bonsai nudged him slightly. Looking over to her he gave her a questioning look.

“You ok?” he mouthed.

She shook her head.

He raised an eyebrow in confusion. Without saying a thing she nudged her head in Kylnn’s direction. Then she motioned to the area around them. Zale took a minute before he understood. Clearing his throat loudly he took his hands out of his pockets and stepped in front of Bonsai.

“Kinda noticing your boys aren’t here, Kylnn.”

“Yeah, so? If yo...” he suddenly stopped; freezing in place.

"Let's go," Bonsai whispered.

"What? Why?"

Bonsai's pleading eyes shifted back to where Kylnn stood. They took on a deep look of suspicion. A sprinkling of fear lurked inside as well. She crossed her arms over one another and hugged herself.

"I just have a bad feeling. Please, Zay."

Zale chuckled, smirking, "For real? We've been buying off him for years, B. If he wanted to rip us off he woulda done it already."

She nodded reluctantly. Zale could see that she was still bothered by something. He didn't know what it could have been but he pulled her into a hug. Holding her close for a minute; hoping it would help ease her nerves. Uncurling from the embrace he held her at arm's length. Zale looked at her for a few seconds before cupping her face in his hands. He kissed her on the forehead and rubbed her cheek with his thumb.

"I’m never gonna let anything happen to you. You're my tree of life, B. This soul," he said; laying a hand on his chest.

“This soul is useless without you.”

BAM!

The sound of the car door slamming made the couple jump. Turning in the direction of the sound they saw Kylnn walking around the car to the front side. He winked at them as he passed. Bonsai’s suspicions grew but she kept them to herself. Her veins began to glow just a little bit brighter as if to echo her feelings.

Zale put his hand on her shoulder.

Another loud slamming sound rang through the night as Kylnn let the hood of the car fall back into place.

“Why, man?”

“Just part of my charm,” Kylnn said with a smirk.

“So, the whole thing with the door was--?”

“Lost track of where I put it. That shit happens to the best of us.”

Kylnn joined the couple on the sidewalk and he approached Zale. He held his hand out. Zale took it and pulled him into a man hug. The exchange only lasted for a few seconds before they let go. As their hands moved apart a small plastic bag was passed into Zale’s hand. He curled his fingers around it before shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets.

“Pleasure doin’ business.”

Zale nodded and wrapped his arm around Bonsai again. As they walked away he leaned to kiss her head.

~~~

Once inside the apartment he pushed the door closed with his foot. Turning around to lock it caused the paper bag to shift in the crook of his left arm. He shouted over his shoulder.

“B? I’m back!”

Shoving the key into his pocket he simultaneously kicked his shoes off. After that he turned around once more. Now facing the inside of his apartment he could see that everything was exactly how he left it. An open carton of milk was still on the table. The small stack of books that held up the broken table leg was still askew from when he rushed out.

Exhaling the breath he didn’t know he held Zale walked across the floor.

“I got you something,” he called to the empty air.

He thought that maybe she had taken a nap. She had done that ever since they’d known each other. It didn’t matter what the argument was about, or who it was with, she always ended them the same way. When he asked why she explained that she didn’t want people to fight for too long. He always thought it was sweet.

So he turned the corner and walked to their bedroom. He took a breath before quietly pushing the door open.

But the room was empty. The bed, a small mattress on a thin metal frame, only housed a few pillows and a blanket. The beanbag that sat in the corner opposite the bed was also missing it’s typical occupant.

Walking out of the room he made his way back. It was clear that the kitchen was empty so he didn’t bother looking. As he moved to set the bag on the counter he turned to his right; scanning the small living room.

There she was.

Bonsai was sitting on the sofa with her back towards him. Her long, black, hair cut off at the base of her neck by the back of the sofa. It was clear that she hadn't heard him. Zale smirked and crept over to the couch.

It was the perfect time to surprise her.

Walking on tiptoes he approached the sofa from the left side. Turning the corner she had fully come into view.

She wore the same outfit from earlier minus the aviators. Her arms were on either side of her person. Palms facing up her thin arms were quietly laying by her side. A bright green colored rubber band tourniquet hung loosely off her left arm. Barely past the crook of her elbow was a syringe. The plunger had been pushed all the way down.

The needle was still in her skin.

On the old, dented, and stained wood table was another tourniquet. It was a bright yellow color. Next to the tourniquet was another syringe. Empty. There was an old, burnt and bent, spoon on the other side of the syringe. Also empty. A lighter and a couple cotton balls also lay on the tabletop.

The small plastic bag also lay on the table.

Most of its contents remained.

Zale’s eyes rapidly darted from each item he saw, to the next, and back again. His mind couldn’t believe what he was seeing. It just made no sense. In a daze, unaware that he was even moving, he rushed to her side. His knees slammed into the floor and he ignored the pain. His bottom lip quivered in fear.

With shaking hands he carefully pulled the needle from her skin.

He tried to call her name but the sounds remained in his throat.

The pulse of her veins was getting slower with each passing second. Slow and progressively more faint. Deep black broke through the bright orange every few beats. Her breathing was shallow and rapid. It seemed like there was something blocking the air from filling her lungs. Every couple seconds she would choke on nothing. The edges of her lips were turning pale. And a blank thousand yard stare glossed over her eyes.

"No, no, no," he repeated; anguish heavy in his voice.

"C'mon, c'mon stay with me, B. You were right. You knew and I... Fuck. I'm so sorry."

She pressed a finger to his lips and shook her head. The message was clear. Nothing he could say would change anything. There was no point wasting what time they had left on apologies.

"Babe," her voice a choked whisper, "can you sing something for me?"

He nodded as the tears ran down his cheeks. Clutching her hand in his own, a hand against her back holding on, he could feel the heat leave her body. A whirlwind of emotions ran through his mind as he started to sing. It was quiet and shaky. Completely off tune. He didn't even know if he sang any actual words.

But none of that mattered.

She wanted to hear his voice and so she did.

Lifting his head he took a deep, shaky, breath. Only then did he notice that the gray tabby had sat next to Bonsai. He had been purring quietly.

"Don't go, B. Please."

But she was already gone.

Panicked, afraid, and in pure disbelief he grabbed her shoulders. Shaking her lightly he called her name again and again. She didn't respond. Her head jerked back each time he moved her. Her entire body was limp, although still warm, and didn't put up a fight. Couldn't. Her eyes were dull. Veins now entirely black. Running his hands along her neck he cupped her face in his hands; thumbing her cheek.

He sat there, sobbing, until there were no more tears to shed. The grief poured out of his mouth until his throat was raw.

Why? Why? Why? the question repeated with the rapid, fearful, pulse in his veins.

Kylnn.

Shoving his hand into his jeans he aggressively searched for his phone. Pressing the button on the back brought the dark screen to life. The black void was immediately replaced with a picture of the two of them. He quickly tapped out the code on the screen.

But his nerves got the better of him and the screen informed him that he messed up. Shaking his head he bit his bottom lip and tried again. And again. And again. The screen stayed on the picture, the digital clock changing, as if to taunt him.

He screamed and tightly grasped the phone in his hand.

Mayor Whiskers walked over to where Zale stood. He let out a quiet meow to get the young man's attention. Rubbing his head against his leg Mayor Whiskers started to purr again. The sound was usually low and comforting, but, not this time. In the dead quiet apartment every minor sound, that typically wasn't easily distinguished from the rest, was now obvious. The loud mechanical hum of the fridge. A dull, rattle-like, sound emanated from the air vents. The creaking sounds from the neighbors' walking around their apartments. Even the cat's purr was loud.

The overwhelming sounds pulled him back into the moment. He took a breath and tapped the screen one more time. The picture disappeared. It gave way to the slew of apps that covered an image of gray squares varying in size and shade. Ignoring every other app in view his thumb moved to the dark, blue-green colored, phone icon. Pressing the square brought up his most recent calls.

Without a second thought he pressed the first number in the list.

Putting the phone to his ear Zale found himself hoping that the call went unanswered. But his hopes were dashed as the phone abruptly stopped ringing.

"What did you do?"

"Huh?" the voice responded.

"What the fuck did you do, Kylnn?!"

"Look man I don't know what this--"

Zale cut him off; "She's dead. So, I'm gonna ask again and you're gonna give me an answer. What. Did. You. Do?"

The sudden change in tone was shocking. Violent threats, subtly hinted at through his words, went unspoken.

“Alright, alright, ya got me. I put a lil’ somethin’ extra in it.”

Kylnn paused on the other end as if he was choosing his words carefully.

“Thought you two woulda got hooked on the combo. That’s it. Scout’s honor.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Zale could practically see Kylnn shrug. He could, very clearly, see Kylnn lounging in whatever hovel he currently called home. The man was most likely sitting on a dirty and ratty couch counting his earnings. His phone would be held in place by his shoulder. Even in his own base of operations Kylnn always had his cronies around for protection. He knew that one of the many girls and boys Kylnn kept would be there too.

"I was gonna marry her."

“Well, look, I gotta go. Same time next week?”

Kylnn hung up before Zale could respond let alone tell him off.

He quietly sunk to his knees; no energy to scream nor tears left to shed.

The shock overtook him again and he mindlessly scrolled through his messages. Quickly finding what he needed he typed out what he could. He didn’t look it over. He didn’t care. He clicked send and let the phone fall from his hand as his body melted into the floor.

Barely a minute passed before the replies came in. His phone loudly buzzed as it vibrated on the floor. At first it was a few short notification buzzes. Then it turned into longer, drawn-out, vibrations. Calls began to flood in.

He didn’t look.

He didn’t pick the phone up.

He didn’t move even when his front door slammed open.

Zale stayed in that spot, frozen in place, until his band-mates, his friends, pulled him to his feet. Someone wrapped a blanket around him. Someone else was pacing the floor; loudly yelling into a phone. Zale vaguely took in what was going on around him. Even as he did everything began to blur and blend together. He swore she was fine. He knew that she hadn’t shot up without him.

“She wouldn’t leave me,” he said. “Not on purpose.”

“’Course not,” Zephyr said.

“It’s my fault,” he continued; ignoring what Zephyr had said. He stared out at nothing and pulled at his hair. “It’s all my fault.”

They tried to talk him out of saying that kind of thing. It wasn’t true and they knew that. Emery interrupted at one point to tell the others that the police were on their way. Running a hand through his hair he looked around the room and whispered.

“Bro? Wanna go out into the hall? Cops are gonna be here--”

Zale cut him off with his ramblings; “She didn’t want to. I said it’d be fine. Same guy as always. She didn’t want to and bought it anyway.”

“It’s not your fault,” Dexterity said as they put a hand on his shoulder and quietly guided him out.

“I bought it! I left her alone! I was gone for five minutes all because I had to buy her some dumb fucking mini cactus! I bought her a cactus and now she’s dead. It’s my fault!”

Dexterity didn’t respond and continued to guide Zale out into the hallway. Their hand continuing to rub his back. Looking back to the others they saw Zephyr and Emery standing in the middle of the living room. Both of them were looking around for things they thought Zale might need. After they grabbed a few things, water and snacks, they followed Dexterity into the hall.

Mayor Whiskers followed the group closely behind.

The three of them stayed by Zale’s side until the police arrived.

#my writing #oc story blah #idk what else to tag this as #tw swearing #tw drug use #tw death #ageekwrites #zale young #bonsai warner

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ageeksnerdyworld · 5 years

Text

Guy’s Night

Characters: Jett Leach, Emery Becker, Kelly Ronan O’Connor

Word Count: 6,386

Trigger Warning: Swearing, Drinking, Bar Fight

Notes: Wrote out another one of those random ideas that often get stuck in my head. As always the Cyber World and the viruses therein belong to @voiceoflarka

Summary: One night the boys find themselves alone in the dorm. Instead of spending the night in the trio decides to go out. Drinks are drained, laughs are had, and shenanigans ensue. Confessions are said and long awaited secrets are spilled. Click the read more if you’d like.

~~~

The day was slowly bleeding into night as the sun began to set. Streams of sunlight, that came through the windows, diminished with the movement. On any given night like this the place was practically packed with its eight residents and various visitors. All manner of raucous from inside could be heard far down the hall. Time and again the group had been harassed by their downstairs neighbors. But on this night the dorm was far too quiet. Quiet and strangely empty. Only two members of the group, who called this place a second home, were inside its walls.

As far as they knew they were the only ones who didn’t have another place to call home.

Jett sat on the couch in front of the TV.

Sitting was putting it lightly.

His body was half on the couch cushion and half on the floor. Slumped in heap of boredom. His tail swished idly at his side. Both of his arms hung down on either side of him. Even the way his clothes, black jeans, a gray and red hoodie, hung off his body echoed his deep boredom. He didn’t even bother to put his hair up so it gathered around his shoulders. It was an odd sight to see. But the strangest part of Jett’s appearance was the fact that he was upside-down.

Emery sat next to him; cross-legged on the cushion.

His mohawk was bright, shockingly so, purple. A light gray tee, with the sleeves haphazardly cut off and a skeletal looking butterfly, covered his torso. He wore a pair of red tartan patterned pants. Mismatched patches, clearly from other articles of clothing, were sewn over the various sized holes. The jean jacket he had worn earlier was hanging on the back of the sofa. His collection of tattoos that covered his shoulders and arms were on full display. Emery’s face was a crinkled mess of confusion and concentration. A controller sat in his hands and he aggressively pushed its buttons.

"Bored."

"Shuddup bro," Emery snapped. "I'm trying to kill this boss."

"Booooooored," he continued to drone on as he slowly slid off the couch.

Suddenly the front door of the dorm slammed open with a loud bang. Kelly stormed through the door; fuming mad. He wore a dark burgundy bomber jacket, a white tee, and blue jeans. His brows furrowed deeply and red colored his normally pale cheeks. Kelly's dark gray veins pulsed brightly with the angry energy. He paced the floor in front of the door before slamming it closed. Leaning his back against the door his left leg bounced up and down.

"Fuckity fuckin' fuck fuck!"

"What's got your panties in a twist, Irish?" Emery asked; eyes still focused on the screen in front of him.

"Avia's gone."

Jett shot up and moved into a regular sitting position. He felt the sudden rush of confusion, worry, and fear. That mix of emotions made Kelly shake his head and put his hands. As he did so he explained the situation as best he could at a rapid pace. Halfway through his lengthy ramble he pulled his beanie off and ruffled his hair.

"No, no, no. It's not like that, Je. She is gone because she’s not here ‘least I don’t think so but it’s not in the way ye thinkin'. She's not abducted or anythin'. Well... technically she’s alright. Maybe? Yes. Wait... No? All I know is she didn't want to go, ye understand? She wanted me to come along but, ye know, it's her da. Éan beag can't say no."

Jett sighed and sunk back into the couch.

Kelly twisted his beanie in his hands as he took up the pacing once more. He mindlessly started to walk to the kitchen. Halfway there he stopped and backtracked to Avia’s room. But he didn’t go in. Instead he stood there for a minute; staring off into space. Fiddling with the zipper of his jacket he pulled it up and down repeatedly. Eventually he swore under his breath and turned around.

He walked to the others and plopped down in the empty space on the sofa.

The three teenage boys sat in almost total silence, save for the sounds from the TV, for quite some time. Emery was too focused on his game to care about anything else. Jett was half watching the gameplay and half checking his social media accounts. Kelly sat with his arms crossed, an angry scowl on his face, and his leg restlessly bouncing. Every once in a while he'd pull out his phone and look through it. But each time there was nothing new. He returned it to his jacket pocket and went back to fuming.

To no one's surprise Kelly broke the silence first.

"Where's everybody else?"

"It's date night for Holl and Kal, remember? And..." Jett said.

"Shit!" Emery shouted in frustration, as his character died yet again, breaking Jett's train of thought. He tossed the controller onto the coffee table with an annoyed sigh.

"Scribe dragged Isabelle to some boring ass lecture 'bout, uh, paleontology or whatever."

Jett nodded; "Yeah and Walker Texas Ranger's... Well, uh, I have no clue what they're doing."

"So," Kelly said with a mischievously raised eyebrow, "it's just us three?"

"Fucking obviously, Irish."

Kelly ignored the comment and slammed his hands on his knees. He stood up with an excited fervor. The others looked at him with slight confusion. Kelly was always a beanpole of energy, but, this was sudden. Not to mention the fact that he busted through the door furious.

"Off yer arses, boys," he said loudly.

They both rose off the couch with confused hesitation. Jett looked to Emery who only shrugged in response. So he turned his attention to Kelly; the source of his confusion. He could sense that the three of them were heading out and even though he didn’t know where, or why, Jett reached into the left hand pocket of his jeans and pulled out a thin, red, ribbon. As he gathered his hair together and tied the ribbon around it he gave Kelly a sideways glance.

"Where’re we going? What’s this about?"

"You'll see," he said with a smile and a wink.

~~~

Kelly led the others through the dark city streets. He dodged every question that was tossed his way. Eventually both of them gave up and let the man keep his secrets. Every so often he'd look back at them; smiling wide. His intense blue eyes shone brightly with overflowing energy that was also reflected in the glow of his dark gray veins.

After some time the trio reached their destination.

"Shit on a shiitake my feet hurt," Emery whined when they approached the bar.

The bar sat peacefully on the corner of an intersection. A pair of bouncers stood on either side of the front entrance. Sharp and almost blindingly bright lights hung high above the entrance. The flashy colors cut through the dark. Lights that formed the name of the bar; The Corner Pocket.

The bouncer nodded to Kelly and let the three teens in. Emery shot him a confused look. Kelly just shrugged and continued on in. While the other two began looking for an open table Jett pushed past them.

Clearly searching for an exit.

"Dude, where you going? We basically just fucking got here, man." Emery said.

"Heading out for a smoke," Jett replied as he pulled a carton from the hidden zipper pocket in his hoodie.

"We'll save ye a seat," Kelly said. "If we ever find one. Shite, this place is packed tighter than a whore's arse runnin’ a bloody two for one special on a Friday."

"Hurry back, dude," Emery said with an annoyed look on his face.

While Jett made his way to the rear exit the others looked for a place to sit. The bar was crowded with patrons, waiters, and a couple security people. Even though most of the patrons were seated throughout the bar the front was still crowded. It was very obvious that the three bartenders on staff were having a hard time keeping up with everything. Kelly looked above the crowds; scanning the area. Emery took a more hands on approach and weaseled his way through the crowds.

Kelly was exactly where he left him when Emery came back a few minutes later.

"Found an empty booth sorta in the back. It's shitty but it's probably as good as we're gonna get."

Meanwhile Jett was now outside; having made it out the back exit. The night was dark but he wasn't taking any chances so he moved some hair over his eyes. Just as an extra precaution he flipped his hood up. In recent months he felt better obscuring his face from strangers. People didn't approach him that way. People didn't try to make small talk or crowd around him.

Tapping the carton against his open palm he nudged a cigarette out of the box. Grabbing it with two fingers he immediately put the filtered end in his mouth.

Digging into his pocket he returned the carton. Jett thought about lighting the cigarette himself. He could create fire, after all, so why not? Just as he was about to try he thought better of it. There was no telling what could happen. He could do what he wanted; light a small flame on his finger.

Or nothing happens, his conscious whispered.

Maybe you shoot out a massive fireball and hurt a lot of people. Maybe somebody dies. Again. Or you set yourself on fire and burn all your clothes off. Then you'd be buck naked, in an alley, outside a bar, alone, in the middle of the night.

Despite everything he still didn't have a good handle on his power. No. Because of everything that happened, and the nightmares that followed, he couldn't control it. There were too many risks.

So he reached back into the pocket inside his hoodie and pulled out a lighter. It was one of the cheap plastic ones grocery stores sell at an insane discount. The plastic was blue and semi-translucent so he could see the lighter fluid inside. There wasn't much left.

Hope this works.

Luckily he managed to get a flame going on the second try. Lighting the cigarette he took a long drag. When he pulled the cigarette out of his mouth he let the smoke flow from his lips. Just before the smoke dissipated into the night he took a sharp inhale. The small cloud of smoke filled his nostrils and his lungs. He sighed and returned the cigarette to his mouth. Standing with his back against the wall he stared out into the night.

Back inside Kelly followed Emery through the mass of bodies. His eyes darted around; looking for a waiter or waitress. There were quite a few around thanks to the obviously busy night. He tried to get the attention of whoever made the slightest bit of eye contact. Just before they reached the booth in question Kelly managed to flag down someone.

He ordered a vodka tonic for himself and a beer for Emery.

Just as the two teens sat at their table a loud, male, voice cut through the music. It sounded close by. Or at least close enough to be heard.

"Lemme get you another drink," the voice said.

Emery heard the voice first and nudged Kelly with his elbow. Across from where they sat, at one of the tables, was a pair of young women. One had tan skin, long brown hair, and an intricate tattoo on her shoulder. The other had a silvery dress on and a short, angled, pastel purple bob.

A male satyr virus was standing in between the ladies. It was obvious that he was the voice they had heard. It seemed as if the man didn’t care to hide his unwanted flirtations from the other patrons. He had long, curved, black horns on either side of his head. They were a sharp contrast from his blonde hair and goatee. The sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled up haphazardly and a large wine stain splattered the front. Despite his clear drunkenness he somehow managed to stay standing. He had a clear look of lust in his eyes and his bright pineapple yellow veins pulsed with anticipation. And even though the women weren't having it he wouldn't back off.

"Fucking creep should leave 'em alone," Emery muttered to Kelly just as the waiter set their drinks down.

"You know," the satyr loudly whispered to the lady with the bob, "If you wanna get out of here I--"

"She clearly ain't interested creep!" Emery cupped his hands together and yelled.

"This don't involve you, punk."

The man went back to bothering the women. He leaned over again and began playing with the brunette's hair. Kelly pursed his lips together in anger as he watched the disgusting display. He bobbed up and down where he sat; filled with restless, furious, energy. Looking around he saw that no one else was seeing this. Or they did and just didn't care.

Acting instead of thinking he rushed over. Stopping just short of where the guy stood Kelly made sure that the ladies could see him but their harasser could not. He stood right behind the satyr, who barely came up to Kelly's chest, and waited. When the man didn't turn around Kelly tapped his shoulder.

"The fuck you want?"

"Ye better leave these women alone," he threatened. "Otherwise yer gonna regret it."

People began to gather around the two; itching for the obvious fight to breakout. Some of the onlookers began quietly whispering bets to one another. Quick exchanges of cash passed between hands. Emery chuckled and downed his beer before hopping off the booth. Once he was on the floor he pushed his way to the front of the growing crowd.

"Ha! Run back to your friend, kid."

"What's the matter," Kelly taunted. "Too scared ta fight? Makes sense seein' ye pick on these nice ladies."

The satyr virus groaned and then swung at Kelly.

He moved out of way barely quick enough to avoid the full effect of the punch. The left hook did connect. But, the impact wasn't as much as the satyr virus was hoping for.

Kelly smirked and backed up again. Holding his hands out he motioned towards himself; egging the satyr to follow. He wanted to get the creep away from the two women as quickly as possible. The virus grit his teeth and his rushed at Kelly.

But he saw that coming and already had his hands up. If the guy was going to try his left hook again Kelly was ready for it. Instead the man kicked with as much force as he could muster. The attack landed and slammed into Kelly's shin.

Immediately after Kelly returned the attack with a hard punch to the man's stomach. A loud gasp of air escaped the satyr’s lungs from the impact. He staggered a bit and Kelly used the advantage to hit him again. He managed to punch the man twice more before the satyr virus caught his third swing.

He bent Kelly's hand backward with all he had.

It hurt like hell. The satyr was trying his damnedest to break Kelly’s wrist. Kelly tried to hit the guy with his free hand. But the man's quick reflexes were even faster than he thought. The satyr grabbed Kelly's other hand just as quickly as he did the first. Before he let go of his grip on Kelly he kicked the teen in the stomach. Kelly slid back from the force of the kick and the crowd winced.

Kelly stood up, put his hands up once more, and waited. The satyr virus shot him a deadly look but didn’t move. He smirked and scoffed. With an annoyed air he turned around and waved a hand; dismissing Kelly.

"I don’t have time to deal with children."

Kelly said nothing.

Instead he turned around and snatched a beer bottle from the closest onlooker. He downed the rest and flipped the bottle in his hand. He was now holding it by the neck. Without any hesitation he swung the empty bottle at the man's head. The force was enough to shatter the glass on impact.

The satyr hit the ground not two seconds later.

The small crowd around him cheered; shouting to be heard above the music. Emery gave him a proud, and clearly impressed, nod. Jett walked in on the scene and had no clue about what was happening. Across the way the two female viruses who were harassed mouthed their thanks.

Kelly simply nodded.

"I leave for a smoke and I miss everything, huh?" Jett asked as the trio made their way back to their table.

Emery smirked; "Yeah, bro, looks like it."

~~~

The trio settled into some semblance of calm after the fight. As calm as they could’ve been under the circumstances. It helped that the bar had began to empty somewhat. Emery gave Jett a loud, somewhat exaggerated, play by play of the fight. Jett listened intently completely taken by each and every word. Kelly just sat there; drinking his vodka tonic and shaking his head at each new embellishment. At some point Jett flagged down a waitress and ordered a rum and coke. She brought it back swiftly thanks to the lull in bar patrons.

When the story was over they got to talking about other things.

Jett decided to order pizza for whenever they got home. The others agreed. They showed each other funny videos that were on a whole new level of comedy thanks to the alcohol. Emery found a marker on the booth and began drawing a faux tattoo on Jett’s hand. Kelly switched entirely to Gaelic halfway through the conversation and didn’t notice. He finally realized it when he tried to order a round of whisky shots and the waiter couldn’t understand him.

While that was happening Emery finished the tattoo. Jett took a picture of it and sent it to the team’s group chat. He also sent it to Mazarin; hoping she’d get a laugh out of it.

“You think Walker’ll even get it?” Emery sincerely asked. “They might not have signal wherever the fuck they are.”

“Maybe, maybe not, guess we’ll have to see when they get back,” Jett replied.

"And what happens then? When Walker gets back from whatever? They'll go right back to all this being secretive and distant shite again."

At that moment the shots arrived. Kelly told the waiter to go back and bring the bottle over. The man nodded but gave him a suspicious look before leaving. A few minutes passed before he dutifully returned with bottle in hand.

"They said they weren't doing that anymore," Jett said shooting Kelly a sideways glance as he reached for his shot. He winced against the burn of the liquor as it hit the back of his throat. The tinge of disbelief was obvious in his voice. None of them knew Walker like they knew each other that much was true. No one could be sure that they’d do good on their promise.

"Yeah, well, I wouldn't blame ye for questionin' it, after everythin's that's happened, like." Kelly said before taking a shot and slamming the glass on the table.

"What's that supposed to mean, Irish?" Emery asked after he downed his shot.

Kelly twisted the cap off the bottle and refilled the three shot glasses. He immediately took his second before filling it up a third time. Setting the bottle down he looked at the others; waiting for them to take their shots. Jett shook his head but ultimately gave into Kelly’s pleading stare. Emery downed his quickly, with an angry glare, before continuing.

"Don’t get me wrong, dude, I get they're shady as fuck but c'mon! They gotta be attending the Academy, and in Dashland, trying to doing some decent shit with their life. Ain't that what we're all trying to do?"

"It means I just -- I've got a little leery of listenin' to all the bloody lies Walker tells us, of feckin' waitin' around like a bomb's gonna go off, of actin' like this shite is normal. Know what I mean?"

Kelly groaned as he pulled his beanie off and ran his hands through both sides of his hair. His left leg bounced aggressively under the table. He poured himself another shot and quickly knocked it back.

"You sure this isn't about something else, Kell?" Jett asked; shooting a suspicious glance at Kelly.

"I'm not the weird one here, ye bloody eejit!"

Emery laughed. It was jarringly loud and shook his whole body. His form buckled forward and he set his beer down on the table. Pounding on the table with his fist he continued to laugh. Jett and Kelly both stared at him with identical looks of confusion. When the laughing fit was over Emery sighed and wiped a tear from his right eye.

"We're all fucking weird, Irish. That's why we fit together dude. We're just a big ol' group of misfit fuck-ups. Ain't nothing wrong with that."

Kelly downed the rest of his vodka tonic and said nothing. Motioning for a refill he handed his glass to the nearest waiter.

The trio fell into a strange, and very uncomfortable, silence. Kelly touched his cheek with his fingers and winced a tiny bit. He muttered something about going to check his injuries and left. When he did the awkward silence left with him.

"The fuck's gotten into him?"

Jett shrugged; "I don't know, Beck. Could be the whole thing with his dad. Maybe it’s ‘cause Av isn’t here. Might be something totally different."

“Pretty sure Princess is ninety percent of his impulse control.”

Emery shook his head and sighed. He looked around the bar as if looking for someone or something. He started tapping his fingers on his beer bottle in perfect sync with the music. He watched the rhythmic movement of his own fingers before turning to Jett. Emery's bright purple eyes were filled with worry.

"And you?" he asked. "How're you holding up?"

Jett shrugged again; "Fine."

Emery shot him a look of disbelief. The two knew each far too well, and for far too long, to not catch one another's lies. "You sure?"

"Course I am," Jett said before taking a sip of his drink.

"Liar"

"No, I'm not."

Emery looked at Jett out of the corner of his eye and smirked; "Oh, so you're saying you're not okay?"

"I said I'm fine, bro. Just drop it alright?"

Emery put his hands up in defense; signifying that he was indeed dropping it. The two sat in an awkward, strange, silence for some time. This kind of silence was unfamiliar to them but neither knew how to fix it. In that lull Jett got a text from his sister about his “tattoo”.

You can’t be serious.

Serious as a heart attack, little lady.

Mom’s gonna kill you, dumbass.

His smile disappeared when he read her reply. Instinctively his hand flew to cover his mouth. Her words were a normal reaction under normal circumstances but they were far past normal. Even though it hurt he couldn’t blame her for forgetting. He did too sometimes. Just before Jett texted her back Mazarin sent him one.

Sorry. I forgot...

Don’t worry it’s alright. It’s just Sharpie anyway.

“Something wrong with Maz?” Emery asked seeing his friend’s face.

Jett shook his head and wiped his eye with the back of his hand. Showing Emery his phone he bit his bottom lip to hold back the tears. He took a deep breath before explaining.

“I’m not mad or anything, you know, ‘cause I forget too. Hell, I do a lot more than just forget. Sometimes I text them stuff that’s going on. They would’ve wanted to know when they were here so... But, there’s times... There’s times where I call mom just to hear her voice ‘cause I haven’t talked to her in so long and then I get that pre-recorded out of service message and...”

The tears fell despite his best efforts and his eyes stung from crying. His breathing was shaky. He wiped his hand across his mouth and chin. Both ears were flat against his head.

“And then it hits me all over again. Sometimes I don’t believe it and I try to call dad but I just get that same stupid robot voice telling me the exact same thing.”

Emery took Jett’s hand in his own and squeezed it. Scooting closer to him Emery reached a hand behind Jett’s back. He slowly rubbed his hand against Jett’s back to reassure him. Emery told him that it was okay. What he did wasn’t anything wrong. It didn’t mean that he was going crazy. It was nothing different than people who talked to their loved ones at their graves.

Jett instinctively laid his head against his best friend’s shoulder.

The pair sat that way until they both found it too awkward.

Kelly arrived at the table a few minutes later. He no longer wore the black beanie on his head and his hair was slightly wet. Small beads of water clung to his eyelashes and made his left eye twitch. He rubbed it away with the back of his hand. It seemed like the bruises on his face, and his hand, darkened. It could’ve been shadows from the lights above but it was hard to tell.

He sat and chugged the vodka tonic before signaling for another.

“You alright, Irish?”

“Aye. Fuckin’ bastard’s gone though. He bloody disappeared.”

Jett spit his drink out in shock. Emery didn’t try to hide his laughter.

“I’m fuckin’ serious! Look!” he protested; pointing to the area where the satyr virus lie on the floor not too long ago. The spot was indeed empty.

“Dammit!” Emery shouted; pounding his fist on the table.

“Maybe he ran with his tail between his legs?” Jett offered.

But his hopes were dashed by the sound of approaching footsteps. A virus in a dark suit and sunglasses walked up to the table. With the lighting of the bar it was hard to tell if the person was male or female or neither. The only part of their appearance the trio could make out was the dull, pale, chartreuse colored veins that crawled along their neck and face. Whoever they were they stood with an intimidating air.

“Who’s in charge here?”

The three teens looked at each in confusion and surprise. Jett gave the others a questioning look and a shrug. Emery nodded; seriously. Kelly quickly peeked at the mysterious visitor before nodding as well. Jett held his fist out over an open palm. The others followed suit. Jett counted to three and the trio hit their fists against their palms in perfect unison with the count and each other. On three they simultaneously revealed their hand.

Both Emery and Kelly had two fingers out; forming a pair of scissors. Jett was the only one with paper.

“Shoulda just gone with you from the start, bro,” Emery said with a chuckle.

Jett rolled his eyes and gave Emery a friendly shove. Then he turned his attention to the mysterious stranger in front of them.

“So you’re it, huh?”

“Looks like it.”

“The boss wanted me to talk to you. Care to step outside, little man?”

“And who might your boss be?”

“That’s for me to know and you to figure out.”

Jett held his finger up; signaling the virus to wait. He picked up his drink and slowly drained the rest of it. He hoped that it wasn’t obvious that he was buying time. That this person couldn’t sense the fear bubbling inside him. When the rum and coke was gone he set the empty glass down.

“They’re coming too,” he said as he got off the booth.

The stranger shrugged; “Fine by me.”

Emery and Kelly got off the booth and followed Jett around the table. Jett motioned for the stranger to lead the way. They chuckled and turned around. Before the group left the table Kelly swiped the bottle of whisky from the table. He shoved it in the hidden pocket of his long, army green, coat. The three teens followed the mysterious virus out the back door.

“The fuck are ye doin’ eejit? This guy’s definitely with that satyr whose ass I kicked.”

Jett nodded; “Yeah, I know.”

“The fuck?”

“Don’t worry, Irish,” Emery said; clapping his hand on Kelly’s shoulder. “Je’s got a plan.”

~~~

As it turned out Jett did have a plan. Even though it worked, and they caught the stranger off guard, the virus was prepared to fight. To no one’s surprise the mysterious stranger didn’t go down easily. It seemed that the virus didn’t feel anything they hit them with. Emery’s sonic screams didn’t even affect them. And yet the trio somehow came out the victor. When the fight was over the three teenage boys were bruised and beaten. They held onto one another as they stumbled home.

“You think he went easy on us?”

“‘Cause we’re kids?” Jett replied.

Emery nodded.

“Don’t think they cared, bro. I think they just ran outta gas.”

As they walked Jett ordered pizza as he promised earlier. Kelly told him not to order any anchovies on the pizza. Jett jokingly threatened to order only anchovy pizzas just because he complained. Emery quietly sang some nonsensical made up lyrics to himself. Kelly pulled his beanie down so that it covered his eyes a bit and obscured his vision. Jett noticed but before he could say anything Emery bumped into him. Emery saw that something was up and rushed over to Kelly.

“Irish, Irish, Irish,” he said wrapping his arm around Kelly’s neck and pulling him closer.

“Your sadness is pouring off you, man. Wha’s up, bro?”

“Nothing.”

“Liar,” Emery and Jett yelled in unison.

“Let’s just go home an’ eat some pizza, yeah?” he said; clearly deflecting.

The others shrugged and went on their way.

When the trio arrived at the dorm they stumbled up the stairs. As they ascended the stairs they both held onto Kelly. For the time being he couldn’t stand very well on his own. He had secretly been drinking ever since they left the bar. The other two weren’t that surprised. Everyone knew that he owned a flask and often filled it with hard liquor. Even so neither Jett or Emery thought he’d bring it to a bar.

Or that he’d steal a bottle from the bar either.

Jett let go of Kelly when they reached the dorm. He fumbled about for his key. As he was about to admit that he might’ve lost them Emery told him to check his shoes. Confused and somewhat impressed he did as he was told. Pulling off his left shoe he overturned it. Smacking the bottom with his palm he hoped the key would fall out.

It didn’t.

He did the same thing with his right.

Sure enough the key was there.

“Heh, forgot about that,” he said with a chuckle.

When he finally got the door opened the three boys stumbled into the dorm. Emery half dropped Kelly onto the couch. He gave Kelly a light slap on the cheek to make sure he was still awake. Kelly muttered a couple obscenities and Emery laughed. He assured Jett that Kelly was fine. Jett suddenly remembered that he still had the Sharpie tattoo on his hand.

He rushed to the bathroom to attempt to wash it off.

“Gotta use nail polish remover bro,” Emery called out as he popped in a movie.

“What?” Jett yelled back.

“Dude trust me, alright. That shit doesn’t come off any other way.”

“Beck,” Jett called out; the worry getting heavy in his voice. “You sure? I--I don’t think we got any, bro.”

“Gotcha dude, no worries. Gimme a sec.”

“I can’t have this freaking jacked Kit-Kat on my hand forever.”

“I said I got it!” Emery screamed as he raced to kitchen pantry.

Kelly ignored all of this as he took out his phone and, for the umpteenth time that night, checked his messages. Once again there weren’t any. Scrolling through for a second or two he looked for the last reply. It was right after. He sighed and pressed the phone icon that sat in the top right hand corner. Putting the phone to his ear he bit his bottom lip in anticipation. His right leg bounced up and down. The phone rang and rang before going to voicemail.

He didn’t leave a message.

Instead of closing his phone he walked out into the hallway and made two other phone calls.

Meanwhile, back inside, Emery reached up to the top shelf and began pushing various boxes and cans around. A hidden section of wall was revealed. He knew exactly where the space was and so he put his fingers on either side and pulled it away. Inside the secret compartment were a series of bottles of nail polish remover. He snatched one and set it on the shelf before returning the false section of wall. Before taking the bottle he quickly shoved the boxes and cans back to where they were before. He ran over to the bathroom and tossed the bottle at Jett. Jett was in the middle of trying to scrub the Sharpie off with soap and water. He caught it with one hand and then immediately dropped it.

“Nice.”

“Shuddup! It’s your fault I gotta do this anyway, Em!”

Emery laughed; “You asked for it, man. None of this is my fault.”

“I was drunk dumbass!”

“So was I bro!”

The stupidity of the situation made them suddenly burst into laughter. Jett cupped some water in his hand and splashed Emery in the face. Emery gasped in surprise. Jett chuckled, covering his mouth to hide it, and went to shut the faucet off. But he was laughing too much and Emery’s reflexes were faster. He slammed his hand against the spout and sprayed water all over Jett. When the impromptu water fight was all said and done both boys were practically soaked.

After drying off as best they could Jett went back to removing the Sharpie from his skin.

Emery went back to the couch and waited for the others so he could start the movie. There was no telling how long it stayed on the title screen. When Jett emerged from the bathroom he tossed the nail polish back to Emery. He stood up and caught it effortlessly. As he went to return it to its proper hiding spot Jett sat on the couch.

“Hey, uh, Beck?” he shouted.

“Yeah?”

“Why do have nail polish remover in the first place? Why’re you hiding it?”

“Oh, you know,” he said; response muffled by the walls. As he made his way back into the living room area his voice got louder. “That stuff’s good for a lot of things. Cleaning paint off windows, getting sticker gunk off pretty much everything, and whatever.”

At that moment Kelly walked back into the dorm.

“Doesn’t tell me why you’re hiding it.”

Kelly, who had missed the rest of the conversation, assumed that the others were talking about him.

“God, Mary, and the wee baby Jaysus, ye were right!” he shouted.

“Huh?”

“Earlier in the bar when ye asked if me rant was about somethin’ else. It was. Guess it’s a bunch of things. Me da’s one like always. But it’s been worse ‘cause me brother. He always says da’s a deadbeat and we’re better without him. That I’m away with the faeries when I talk about da. Avia gettin’ dragged away by her da was just the last straw. Made me feel I’m on me tod and needin’ some craic. Don’t why I fought that guy though honest. Ye know, ma always said I suffer from a double-dose of original sin.”

Silence fell when Kelly finally stopped talking.

Jett and Emery exchanged confused looks.

“I’m hiding it ‘cause acetone’s fucking flammable, and I’d rather be caught dead than have it anywhere that could have you burning the building down,” Emery shouted in exasperation.

A loud knock at the door made the boys jump.

“Delivery for, uh, Jett,” a voice called from behind the door.

Jett hopped off the couch and went to the door. Upon opening it he saw that it was the pizza that he had ordered. Digging into the back pocket of his pants he pulled out his wallet. Taking out just enough cash to pay he handed the money to the delivery man. The man handed the pizzas over and Jett went to close the door with his elbow.

But there was another pizza delivery person at the door.

“I only ordered these two,” he said lifting the boxes up for emphasis.

“Aye. I ordered those,” Kelly said as he went to pay the delivery person.

As Jett set his boxes down on the coffee table Kelly called for help. Emery rushed over and was immediately handed a series of boxes. It took some time to bring in everything but eventually the other pizza delivery person left. The teens were now looking at eight large pizzas, two orders of cinnamon sticks, an insane amount of dipping sauces and a few two-liters of soda. And that was just what Kelly ordered. In total they had ten pizzas.

“You never said you were getting pizza, Kell!”

“What can I say?” Kelly replied with a shrug. “I was really drunk and Avia’s pretty much all my impulse control.”

They all laughed and started on one of the pizzas. Emery rushed to the cupboards and took out three glasses. He filled each with some ice from the fridge before returning to the others. Jett poured the drinks when he brought the glasses over. Kelly opened a couple containers of marinara and ranch. Taking one for himself he dipped the end of his pizza into the ranch. Jett grabbed the remote and finally played the movie. When that movie ended they put in another.

The trio stayed there until the sodas were empty and all the pizza was gone.

#my writing #oc writing #larka's virus community #lvc #jett leach #emery becker #kelly ronan o'connor #ageekwrites #don't know what else to tag this with

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ageeksnerdyworld · 5 years

Text

Sibling Rivalry

Characters: Scout Carstairs, Paisley Carstairs, October Ispen, Nessie Granger, and Fabrizio Lapucci

Word Count: 2,083

Trigger Warning: Slight Violence

Notes: Originally I was going to write about something else but then as I wrote this it just kinda went in a total different direction. Here’s hoping it works. As always The Cyber World and the viruses therein belong to @voiceoflarka

Summary: Paisley doesn’t like the way Scout has been raising his daughter. But he thinks he’s doing just fine considering what he has dealt with. While they have this argument an unexpected visitor arrives. And he is not someone either of the Carstairs siblings want to see. Click that read more if you’d like.

~~~

"You were always the problem child," he says through an ice cold smile.

Scout reaches over to the small, silver, Newton's cradle that sits on the corner of his desk. Grabbing the metal ball at the end he pulls it back. He holds it in place for just a split second before releasing it. The metal ball swings into the adjacent one; setting off the proper chain reaction.

A low, melodic, clicking fills the room.

Paisley returns an identical, equally vicious, smile. The subtext is clear. In this particular moment she wouldn't hesitate to kill her brother.

"Oh, brother dear, insulting me won't lessen your infantile nature. Besides we both know where this anger is really coming from."

"And that is?" he asks without looking up.

"You've always felt bitter that mother and father liked me best. You're still desperate for their approval."

He doesn't reply. Paisley watches her brother tightly clench the golden wolf head of his cane. His knuckles go white. His dark gray eyes close into angry slits and his peacock blue veins glow just a bit brighter. Other than that Scout Carstairs remains as stone-faced as possible. But Paisley knows she hit a sore spot. A smirk curls the edge of her lips as she thinks of another harmful, even sorer, subject she can use to her advantage if this argument were to continue.

Truth be told she'd rather it didn't.

Unbeknownst to her, her older brother has other ideas.

Scout lifts a hand and motions for Paisley to take a seat. She looks at him suspiciously as she walks around the desk. Staring him down, trying to get a read on his motives, she slowly sits in the chair. The black leather bucket chair is directly across from Scout; separated solely by the desk. The siblings sit almost at eye level.

Paisley stares into his dark gray eyes and he returns her unflinching gaze.

Practically anyone else would wither under his stern, commanding, stare. And the garish scar, that started under his right eye and ran across his nose, only amplified that effect. But she's far more used to both. Growing up side by side with him Paisley is the only virus in the world who has seen her brother at his lowest moments. She's seen his chiseled features wrinkled and wet with tears. She has more dirt on Scout than his rivals could dream of. And he has the same for her. If they weren't as close as they were both could entirely destroy the other's career and reputation.

Scout leans over; resting his elbows on the desk.

"I think it is time for Avia to start learning what it takes to run a successful business. There is no one I trust more than you for this task, sister."

Paisley's eyes go wide and her lips purse in shock. This is the last thing she expected Scout to say. He's spent every ounce of energy, money, and time he could ensuring that Avia didn't need to leave the manor. And now he wants her to do something that can't be accomplished unless she goes outside?

Ludicrous.

He drums his fingers against the head of the cane. Waiting patiently for her answer.

"No."

Scout's left eye twitches ever so slightly. The involuntary movement is the only sign that he's angry. But Paisley knows her brother well enough to have noticed it. And to have predicted that reaction in the first place.

"Let me explain," she says.

He nods but stays silent.

"I understand why you've kept her in the manor for so long. I truly do. But, whether you see it or not, you've made her a prisoner in her own home. She--"

"Goes outside plenty. Besides just last month we all took that lovely trip to, uh, what was it? There were so many quaint shops. She bought a ballerina figurine or something."

"Anime District."

"That's the one," he says snapping his fingers and pointing at her. “Maybe we should go back there. I’ll see if miss Granger can arrange the trip.”

"Don't change the subject, Scout," she says; her anger rising once again.

"Avia needs to be around other viruses. Especially viruses her own age. She needs to learn and grow on her own terms."

"Are you telling me how to raise my child? It would be best if you kept your opinions on the matter to yourself."

But before Paisley can retort the intercom on her brother’s desk beeps. A blue light rapidly flashes on the touchscreen. An incoming call from his secretary, Nessie Granger, no doubt. Scout gives his younger sister a look that clearly says that they would finish the conversation later. He reaches over to the intercom and taps the screen.

A female voice with a Scottish lilt floats from the speakers.

“Mr. Lappuci is here to see you, sir.”

“Send him in.”

“Oh, and miss Granger,” Scout says after a second or two passes. “Do tell October to follow our guest in.”

“Yes, sir.”

Paisley seamlessly raises from the chair.

A few minutes later Fabrizio Lappuci opens the double doors to the office and steps in.

The virus wears a dark inky black three piece suit. The ceiling lights shine off his freshly scrubbed black dress shoes. A wide, friendly, smile paints his face. Crow's feet flirt with the edges of his dark brown eyes. Pale rose veins line his face and his hands; emanating a dull glow from under his skin. His long brown hair is tightly slicked back. The ends lay on the cusp of his shoulders.

The short form of October Ispen follows closely behind.

Fabrizio quickly crosses the floor as October closes the door behind. They stand in front of the door; blocking the only exit from the office. Their hands are clasped over one another in front of their torso.

"Scout," he begins to say but is quickly cut off.

"What do you want," Scout spits angrily.

"Can't a man just say hello to an old friend?" he says as he extends a hand towards Scout.

Scout accepts the handshake but doesn't return Fabrizio's smile. He firmly, threateningly, grips the other virus's hand. When the handshake ends Scout straightens the end of his suit jacket and shoots Fabrizio an angry glare.

"If you truly think we would remain friends after what you've done you're sadly mistaken."

Fabrizio ignores the comment and turns to Paisley. She smiles curtly. Paisley doesn't move to shake the man's hand. Instead Fabrizio grabs her hand and lifts it to his lips. He lands a soft kiss on the back of her hand before letting go.

Paisley's mouth curls up in disgust.

"What?" he says with smile. "Can't I show my respect to such a brilliant woman?"

"Touch me again, Fabrizio, and I'll show you where you can shove your so called respect." she retorts angrily.

"Tell me why you're really here before I have October rip you apart," Scout threatens.

Fabrizio sits in the chair in front Scout's desk. He straightens his tie and crosses one leg over the other. Resting his hands on both armrests he makes a big show of clutching the surface; feeling the leather. He sighs and cracks his neck.

Scout and Paisley remain standing; both giving the man identical impatient looks.

"If you must know," he says; clearly annoyed at the way he's been treated.

"I'm in a bit of trouble. There are some very powerful people after me and I didn't know where to turn. Then I thought of you, Scout, and our history. While I know you made it very clear that you never wanted anything to do with me I have no one else."

He pauses, clearly not wanting to admit the truth, and sighs.

"I need your help."

Scout laughs loudly and a clear darkness lurks in it. Paisley covers her mouth with her hand; covering her own amusement. Once his laughter dies down Scout responds.

"That's the richest thing I've heard in a long time. Wouldn't you agree, sister?"

"And entirely delusional," Paisley says with a nod.

"October," Scout says calmly.

Fabrizio turns around in confusion to see October lift a hand. Suddenly he was floating high above the desk. He desperately tries to stretch his feet to reach its surface. But his attention is quickly averted to his throat as his airways are cut off. His hands claw at the invisible force that chokes him.

"Should I tell them to drop you? Or toss you out the window?"

The man barely manages to grunt painful replies. Painful gasps escape his lips but nothing coherent. Scout cups a hand to his ear pretending to try to make out what Fabrizio is trying to say.

“What’s that, old friend?”

“I’m sorry--”

“How dare you!” Scout yells cutting him off.

“How dare you come here and ask for my help. You tried to blackmail me. You've tried to take everything from me. Telling the board that I was unfit to retain control of my company, which I built with my own two hands, due to the murder of my wife.”

"You know Wen--" Fabrizio starts to mutter.

With barely even half the sentence out of his mouth October harshly drops him on the office floor. Paisley saunters up to him and steps on his fingers with the pointed heel of her stilettos. He lets out a short, choked, scream.

Scout shakes his head and darkly chuckles.

"And then you have the audacity to call me friend? To apologize? To mention her by name?"

He walks around the desk with his hand clutched tightly over the top of the golden wolf head. The sound of his cane tapping against the floor adds a third sound with every step he takes. He doesn't speak. But the darkness in his eyes and the still expression on his face says everything. Fabrizio tries to scramble to his feet, to back away, but the invisible hands of October Ispen hold him in place. Scout stops just in front of the man's face and kneels down so that they're eye to eye.

The faint peacock blue scar that crawls across Scout's face adds a harsh viciousness to his threat.

"Don't ever show your face in here again."

When everything has died down and Fabrizio Lappuci has left a collective sigh leaves everyone. Scout runs a hand through his hair and sits at his desk again. Another call comes through the intercom. Once again Scout touches the screen to answer. Just like before the voice of Nessie Granger floats through the speaker.

"If you don't mind my saying so I think you handled that quite well, sir."

"Fabrizio really only responds to one thing, miss Granger, and unlike most it isn't money."

"Also, I didn't want to interrupt before but your daughter is looking for you, sir."

"What!? She's here?!"

Nessie clears her throat nervously; "Of course not, sir. She's stomping around the manor and yelling for you, sir."

"Oh, right," he says as he recovers his composure.

"October. Bring the car around and fast. Who knows what's happening there."

They nod and rush out of the room. Scout hurries behind as fast as he can with his injuries. Paisley stands in the middle of the office, entirely alone, for a moment. Looking around she takes in the emptiness of the office. For once there's no sound in the room aside from her own breathing. Suddenly she feels more than alone, she feels helpless, scared, and like she's the only person left in the world. Realizing that her niece must feel like this more often than not her anger towards Scout raises once again. She screams in frustration.

The intercom flashes again.

Paisley fixes her hair and goes to answer the incoming call.

"What is it, Nessie?"

"I think you're absolutely right."

"About what? Be specific."

"Miss Avia needing others in her life. About her personal growth. She's becoming quite a lot like her father these days--"

"Oh dear," Paisley says cutting her off; "that's the worst possible thing for the girl."

"I agree," Nessie says. A pause follows from her end of the line. It goes on far too long to be comfortable. But just as Paisley starts to say something she clears her throat.

"Well, um, that's it. Just wanted you to know that--that, uh, you're not the only one looking out for miss Avia. So, um, goodbye then."

"Goodbye and thank you."

#my writing #oc writing #larka's virus community #lvc #scout carstairs #paisley carstairs #fabrizio lapucci #nessie granger #october ispen #ageekwrites

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ageeksnerdyworld · 5 years

Text

Make the Same Mistakes

Characters: Zephyr Allen

Word Count: 4,815

Trigger Warning: Slight Swearing

Notes: Wrote this to take my mind off stuff. As always The Cyber World and the viruses therein belong to @voiceoflarka

Summary: In the dead of night Zephyr races through the city. With a growing number of police on his trail he has to act fast. Much to his surprise someone else is awake at this time of night. And for some reason this strange person comes to his aid. Click the read more if you’d like.

His boot covered feet hit the pavement with a repetitive sound. The quiet darkness of the late hour did nothing but amplify the sound. He didn't even think about turning around. There wasn't any need to. He knew that they were still chasing him. He knew they weren't giving up any time soon.

So he kept running.

It was a quarter past midnight and as dark as pitch out.

He didn't have a flashlight having dropped his when he bolted. The evenly spaced street lamps didn't provide much in the way of light. Rather small circles every twenty feet or so illuminated the pavement underneath his feet. Beyond the circles was once again utter blackness. As usual he wore dark colors to blend in. He wore gloves and a hooded trench coat that was probably two sizes too big. He still had the full face respirator mask on; not having the time to remove it. Even though the hood of the trench coat had been blown off his head his vision was still nothing but darkness and darker shadows.

He figured it was just a matter of time before he fell flat on his face.

The canvas bag that was slung across his torso made running slightly more difficult than usual. Despite the width of the strap the material harshly dug into his shoulder. The actual bag hung right next to his hip; stopping at the middle of his thigh. Every step he took caused the bag to thump against his left leg. Thanks to the protective layer on the inside of the bag he couldn't feel the multitude of metal cans inside. But he could still hear them banging against one another as he ran.

But none of that mattered.

Not really.

This moment, and what lead to it, was all he looked forward to. Creating something that would impact others and outlive you. The rush of excitement watching the piece come together better than he imagined. A strange thrill that came with almost being caught and the chase that followed. Running as fast as he could with a heavy threat at his back. The wind in his hair, against his ears, and his pulse pounding in his veins.

Performing with the band was the only other thing that came close.

He always wished he could somehow contain it. If only he could bottle it up and save it for when he needed it. Or sell it. Sell it to everyone who didn't understand, who saw him as nothing more than a troubled kid, who told him to put his passion to good use.

Because to Zephyr Allen that was what it was like to truly feel alive.

He rounded a corner and immediately slammed into the side of a building. Cursing under his breath he quickly pushed himself off. The impact with the wall slowed his pace ever so slightly. He stumbled a bit trying to regain his momentum. Just a few feet ahead of him he could see a trashcan. The streetlamps on the edge of the sidewalk reflected off the dark green metal.

Without giving it a second thought he rushed over to it.

It was one of those trash cans that had a built-in ashtray on the top. On either side there was a small, square shaped, hole cut into the metal. From where he stood the holes gave perfect view of his stomach. His ears perked up at the sound of the approaching officers. Grinding his teeth he pushed the metal can until it toppled.

"You can't run forever kid!" an officer shouted.

"There's three of us and only one of you. Stop running and put your hands above your head."

Zephyr looked back just in time to see the three officers finish rounding the corner. He saw the one who was closest trip on the overturned garbage can. The officer went down quickly. They yelled, more in shock than pain, as their face hit the pavement.

That caused him to laugh; "Looks I have the upper-hand, lawman."

With that he reached into the left side pocket of his black over-sized trench coat. He pulled out a small cloth bag. As he ran he tapped the open end of the bag against the edge of his gloved fingers. Some of the contents fell out onto his right palm. Faint glimmers of light from the streetlamps shone off the small metal spheres. Zephyr shoved the bag back in his pocket and transferred the items into his dominant hand. Turning around he quickly threw them on the ground behind him.

Unsure if the small ball bearings would have any impact he quickly reached into another pocket.

Zephyr's hand came back out clutching a small black canister. Quickly as he could he switched the short, cylindrical, object to his right hand. With his left he slid two fingers in the thin metal ring. He pulled the ring out and dropped it on the sidewalk. Immediately after, without bothering to look, he threw the canister behind him and hoped for the best.

Barely two seconds later the grenade did its job.

"Ah shit!" an officer shouted. The two left had been temporarily blinded and deafened from the flashbang.

He smirked underneath the respirator.

While the officers were occupied Zephyr made his escape. He turned down the nearest alleyway. Running to the end he turned to the left and rushed behind the buildings. His eyes caught sight of a thin chain link fence that sat at the end of the next alley. He didn't risk stopping to catch his breath as he ran over. Once he was at the fence he could see that it surrounded an abandoned parking lot. With all he had he jumped and grabbed the highest part of the fence that he could reach.

Climbing over the fence was difficult due to his bag and he hoped that the police officers wouldn't catch up to him.

Zephyr jumped off the fence and tried to stick the landing. He didn't. Instead he fell on his left side and hit a large rock. He felt the impact and heard a faint crack. Hoping it was just his imagination he stumbled to his feet. Upon standing he saw the three officers on the opposite side of the street. Just before he turned and ran he made eye contact with one.

Shit, shit, shit!

Zephyr took off as fast as he could; pumping his arms in time with his legs.

Rushing through the abandoned lot he headed for the first thing he could see. A tall, dark, brick building to his right seemed to be the closest. Biting his bottom lip he just hoped it was.

He could hear the frustrated shouts of the officers not far off.

The closer he got to the building the faster he ran. He had to make it there before the officers caught up to him. And even if he didn't he had to do whatever he could to lose them.

He had to do something.

Zephyr could feel his lungs heaving in his chest with each breath. It was getting harder to keep going. He had already exerted so much energy and he was starting to get tired. If he didn't figure out what to do, or find a place to hide, soon then he'd be caught for sure.

He could also feel his pulse racing under his skin. This was different than earlier in the night that was for sure. Earlier the rush of energy coursing through his veins felt better than anything. But now it was the opposite. He felt completely helpless. Afraid. Desperate. Cornered. Anxious. All of those emotions ran through him at the same time. The threat of it was truly real this time and he couldn't handle it.

He couldn't go back.

Wish I had Beck's power right about now. That would definitely help. Hell, I'd even take whatever the hell Dex has.

Without thinking he ran down the left side of the building.

A few minutes later he caught sight of a fire escape ladder. The ladder was partially down and he knew he could clear the distance. He ran over to it with the bit of momentum he had left.

Zephyr took a deep breath before putting everything into the jump.

His left hand caught the lowest rung first.

The right would've as well but it slipped just a bit. With the hold he had Zephyr began to climb the ladder. Once he was on the first landing he rushed up the stairs. From this vantage point he could see that most of the windows were dark. That was to be expected. It was very late at night and most people were normally asleep at this time. With a hand on the outer railing he turned the corner, reaching the seventh floor, and looked down.

The street below was empty. The cops had seemingly given up the chase. That or he lost them. Either way he was in the clear for the time being.

Oh thank fuck.

Zephyr half sat and half collapsed on the landing with a heavy thud.

His breathing was still unusually fast as he pulled the respirator off his face. The plastic had fogged over a bit thanks to his impromptu early morning exercise. It was a strange sight as his breath, and the paint fumes, usually filtered out. He set it down on one side while he slung the bag off the other. Running a hand through his hair he pushed the lengthy side out of his eyes.

He could feel the sweat on his forehead.

Pulling the gloves off he shoved them in his bag before setting his hands, palm down, on either side of his legs. The cool metal was comforting. He sat in total silence waiting for his nerves to return. Or for the cops to give chase once more.

Leaning his head against the wall behind him Zephyr let out a heavy sigh.

As he sat and looked out at the area around him, surrounded by the still night air, his left ear turned in the direction of a faint sound.

He turned his head to the left to see a pair of dark skinned hands opening a window.

"The hell are you doing?" a tired voice called from the apartment beyond the open window.

Zephyr's brows furrowed in confusion. "Uh..."

The person that the voice belonged to poked their head out and turned towards him. He could barely make out the virus's features from the light illuminating them from inside. What he could see didn't tell him much. Bright silver eyes popped against dark skin. Long white hair and bright periwinkle veins.

"Don't act stupid, jackalope-boy. There's nobody else on the fire escape."

Before he could answer the loud voices of the police officers rang through the empty air. This time around there were five voices. He immediately recognized one of them and held his breath. The voice belonged to one, very bitter, detective by the name of Cicada Thames. Detective Thames had it out for him for a very long time. He didn't know Zephyr was the one behind The Mythic Kid or the art attributed to the tag. But the again detective Thames was the one who got him on the whole trespassing, and vandalism thing. So the threat of him figuring it out was very much a possibility. He had begun angrily shouting orders to the rest of the officers.

It was obvious now, to Zephyr at least, that they weren't giving up. He put his hood back up and sunk deeper into the shadows. That mixture of feelings came rushing back.

"Are they looking for you?"

He nodded.

"Come inside, quick before they see you."

The virus crawled back inside and backed away from the window. Zephyr held his breath and hoped that this person wasn't an undercover cop. Or worse a serial killer.

But he had no other choice so he slung his bag back over his shoulder and grabbed the respirator. He would've beaten himself up if he went through all of this and still got caught. Whatever the reaction was would have to come later. He had to escape now and there was only one option. With one hand on the wall of the building he shimmied across the landing. Putting his hands on the edge of the inside of the windowsill he gripped it as tightly as he could. He didn't wait.

There was no time.

He pulled himself in and landed on his stomach.

The other virus rushed over and closed the window. It shut with a loud sound. A light click followed as they turned the lock.

Zephyr pulled himself off the floor with a light grunt.

He let the strap, and the bag it was connected to, fall to the floor as he stood. Now standing he brushed himself off. In the fully lit apartment he could see his savior clearly. The outfit caught his eye first as it surprised him. Seeing a person wear day clothes as opposed to pajamas at this time of night was a strange sight. A light washed jean jacket hung over a red, form fitting, turtleneck. The shirt had a small cutout in the front and a thick collar. Black leather capris ended just below the knee. White shoes.

She was human by the looks of it. And rather short.

"Thanks, but, uh..." he said as he nervously rubbed the back of his head. "Why'd ya do that? Why help me out?"

The virus crossed her arms over her chest.

"Way I see it you might've done something worth all this or they've got the wrong guy."

"Oh, um..."

"But you're already here so why not just wait it out?" she asked reaching for a handshake.

Zephyr looked at her outstretched hand and hesitated. This made no sense. It was too good to be there had to be a catch. She was a cop working with Thames. This was her way of getting him to confess and then she was going to throw the cuffs on him.

But his body screamed out, exhausted, fighting with his brain.

The exhaustion won out and he took her hand.

"Name's Armory by the way."

"Zephyr."

"Shower's down the hall on the right," she said as they let go of each other's hands. "You smell like you just ran a 5k."

~~~

Zephyr was standing in the middle of Armory's bathroom buck naked. A plain, light blue, towel lay crumpled on the floor by his feet. He dropped it after drying himself off. The tile floor under his feet was cool to the touch. It felt good against his sore feet. The dark red glow of his veins had stopped pulsing with excess energy. The color remained still and barely escaped from under his skin.

As he checked his body for cracks he hoped that he remembered to lock the door. Looking at himself in the mirror above the sink he could see a bit of discoloration on his left shoulder. The bruises were just starting to form. Most of his body was unscathed. Except for the short, thin, needle-like crack ran along his left hip.

Well, shit, guess I hit that wall a lot harder than I thought.

Unable to find any other cracks or bruises he changed back into the clothes he was wearing earlier. As he pulled the gray long sleeved shirt over his head a dull ache went through his arms. The sore feeling ran through both his arms and legs when he put on his boxers and then his pants. The shower had helped the soreness but he knew it would return in full force next morning.

Once he was dressed he picked the towel up. Patting his antlers and ears dry as he approached the door. He turned the knob and stepped out into the short hallway.

"Took you long enough," Armory called.

Looking in the direction of her voice he could see her living room and adjacent kitchen. She was sitting on a light gray couch. Her back was up against the armrest. She sat with both knees to her chest. Her arms were crossed over her knees and her chin rested atop them. She was watching some late night adult comedy. A small, black, digital clock sat in front of the TV. From where he stood he could clearly see the glowing green numbers.

2:35 AM

Zephyr knew that Thames and his men would've definitely given up by now. No self-respecting detective would've wasted so much time on catching a street artist. Sure it was illegal and the detective had his grudges. But it was nothing compared to armed robbery or murder. That was what Thames should've spent his energy investigating.

"Don't just stand there, jackalope-boy," she said. "Come over here and watch some TV."

"That's really nice for ya to offer and all, but, I should probably get going. Thanks again for saving my ass and for the shower."

"Yeah, I guess," Armory said; the sadness clear in her voice.

He suddenly felt like a jerk, nervously looking around her apartment, but was unsure what to do. Or say. She stuck her neck out for him without even knowing who he was. There was the possibility that Thames saw him go through her window. There was the possibility that they would’ve arrested her right alongside him.

Thinking about it as he walked back to the bathroom to return the towel.

Could just tell her the truth.

That makes it sound like I’m the bad guy.

Don’tcha see ya kinda are, though?

Zephyr ignored that thought as he opened the door. Those ideas were what his parents thought about him and his passions. His parents always made him out to be some kind of villain for following his dreams instead of theirs. Once inside he looked around for a hamper. His eyes landed on one that sat in the right-hand corner near the back of the room. Crossing over to it Zephyr could see that it was a dark brown faux-wicker. He felt stupid for not seeing it before and shook his head as he tossed the towel in.

An idea came to him when he walked back out into the hallway.

Walking back into her room he grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder. Picking up the respirator he opened his bag and tossed it inside. Running his hand through his hair he sighed and hoped this would work. He then cupped his hands around his mouth and hollered to his host.

“Armory? Ya got a sec?”

There was a pause but then he heard her footsteps as she walked over.

“Something wrong?”

He shook his head; “Nope. Just got something I want to show ya.”

Grabbing her by the hand he went over to the window. Climbing out of the window he pulled Armory with him. With her behind him Zephyr began to make his way to the fire escape. Holding her hand tightly as they moved in tandem he focused on the landing. The pair moved slower than Zephyr did when he made the trek alone. Every so often Armory would look down and, in her terror, freeze up.

"Why couldn't we just take the elevator?" she asked with a nervous edge.

"C'mon Mory live a little. Besides this is more fun."

"Yeah and more of a chance we'll die."

He chuckled as he set foot on the landing's edge. Still holding onto Armory he brought his other foot up. With both feet on the landing he gripped a part of the railing and pulled Armory across with one hand. His nerves got the best of him and he let go of the railing to grab Armory’s other arm. Once she was safe on the landing with him, barely a few inches from his face, he could feel her scared breathing on his skin.

The glow from both their veins gave him just enough light to make out the faint freckles on her cheeks.

“Where the hell are you taking me jackalope-boy?”

“You’ll see.”

Without explaining anything further he pulled her along as he ran down the fire escape.

He went through the area the same way he came in. Zephyr had no other idea of how to get to where he was going. There wasn’t a single other frame of reference. Once he had brought her to the fence Armory stopped. He gave he a reassuring pat on the shoulder. Then he went to the base of the fence and cupped his hands.

She hesitated.

“It’s not as high as the fire escape, Mory, ya’re gonna be fine. Besides I’m right here.”

Armory took a breath and then walked over and stepped into his cupped hands. He lifted her up and held her until she was on the top of the fence. Zephyr stayed there until he heard her feet land on the other side. Then he climbed the fence himself.

When he was on the same side as Armory she grabbed his hand and gave him a thankful squeeze.

It didn’t take them long to get to where Zephyr was painting earlier. They stood on the sidewalk and he told her to wait. Rummaging around for the flashlight he had dropped he gave up after a few minutes. He shoved his hands into his pockets of his trench coat with a sigh. Walking back over to where he left Armory he looked down at the sidewalk. His ears hung down as he gave her a disappointed look.

“Guess the surprise’ll have to wait.”

“The hell does that mean?”

He shrugged; “Ya asked why the cops were after me. Just thought it’d be easier to show ya but sun’s not gonna come up for a couple hours.”

She seemed fine with just waiting it out. He started to offer to get her coffee then realized that no coffee shops would be open at the late hour. They decided to wait it out nearby. Zephyr awkwardly apologized. They sat down at a bus stop across the street. He asked about her but she clammed up. She gave him short non-answers to his base questions.

Instead of that awkward first-meeting conversations he got her talking about other things.

They joked and laughed and soon the time passed and the sun rose.

Zephyr got up and told Armory to cover her eyes. He guided her across the street and positioned her so that she had the perfect view. Dropping his hands at his sides he backed away. A minute or so passed before he told her to open her eyes.

She did and he heard her gasp audibly.

The wall of the building in front of them had his latest work painted on it. The entire wall was covered with paint. It was the piece he was finishing as the cops saw him. At the moment it was his favorite piece. And even though no one would know it was a message to his parents.

The art itself was mostly grays and blacks. The backdrop was a black silhouette of the district’s skyline. A dark gray sky sat behind that. Silhouetted shapes of people moved about the space. In the forefront there was a cracked, broken, sidewalk. Out of the crack emerged a stark white hand. A few inky black veins ran along the fingers. The focal point of the piece was the large flower that grew out of the palm. The flower was the sole source of color. It was a mixture of multiple shades of many different colors. The text was white and cut through the skyline.

Flowers bloom where no one wants. But their beauty can’t be denied.

The last thing he had to do was tag it.

“This is amazing,” Armory whispered.

Reaching into his bag he pulled out a can of bright red paint. He took the cap off and gave it a good shake. Walking over to the wall he looked for the best spot. Kneeling down into a crouch he reached towards bottom of the outstretched palm. Pressing down on the nozzle he moved the can. When he finished his tag he stepped back and nodded approvingly.

“Now it’s done,” he said as he returned the cap to the spray can.

“You’re the Mythic Kid?”

“Yeah,” he said rubbing the back of his head with an embarrassed half smirk on his face. “Those cops caught me at the end of doing this piece. Only reason they were chasin’ me is cause there’s this one detective who has it out for me.”

She rushed up behind him and hugged him tightly.

“Whoa, the hell’s all this for?”

“I know this is crazy but I moved here for you. Well, not you, but your art. I followed you online from the first art piece I saw. Holographic Heart literally saved my life.”

He turned around and looked at her with wide shocked eyes.

“Ya know ‘em by name?”

She nodded silently as the tears began to fall. He wiped them away with a finger.

“Why are ya cryin’? What’s wrong?”

“I just wanted to meet you. There's not much more I could ask for being such a walking disaster.” she said with a sad half smile and a shrug.

“You’re not a disaster, Armory. Don’t say that.”

She laughed. It was a strange half laugh and half cry. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her close. She leaned into him; burying her face into his chest. Her body shook as her laughter died down and shifted into deep, racking, sobs.

Through her tears she told him everything he wanted to know earlier. She used to live in the Astronomy District. Up until a couple months ago everything was fine. She was going to college for a graphic arts degree. But everything changed when her parents kicked her out. They said she “needed a wake up call”. That same week she lost the only job she ever had. A few days later she had to drop out of college because she couldn’t pay the tuition. Everything in her life was going downhill with no light at the end of the tunnel. Armory was all alone with nothing to look forward to. She had nothing left and no way to change her situation.

A couple nights later she ended up in a gas station bathroom with a few bottles of absinthe and a razor blade.

Something told her to go and delete all her social media accounts before she did it.

And then Holographic Heart popped up in her Instagram feed. The piece summed up everything she was feeling. But the words he painted sent a message of hope. A rallying cry of love and support just for her.

“It was like a sign from god or something,” she whispered quietly.

“Ya know,” Zephyr replied with an intense seriousness. “If God was one of us he’d probably drink vodka.”

She laughed. Wiping away her dried tears she pulled away from him. She apologized for falling apart like that. In a whisper she said that her life hadn’t really gotten any better. Once she moved to Dashland her obsession, as she put it, grew and grew. Everything she did was just for a chance to see the Mythic Kid. Living through the day to day. Getting a job. Moving into the apartment she lived in now.

“Pretty stupid, huh, jackalope-boy? Living your life for someone else?”

He shook his head; “Not stupid at all. Everybody’s got a hero. Everybody’s got somebody they live for.”

Zephyr told her that his hero was a close friend. He had been through a lot of stuff when he was younger. This friend had people who constantly tried to change him into someone else. But he kept going. He stayed true to himself despite how life tried to suffocate his individuality. Zephyr explained that he focused on that person when things got bad. Whenever he got into that bad head-space. He lived for his friend because he was the embodiment of who he tried to be.

Someone who lived out their life dream.

He took a breath before confessing that his parents also kicked him out. He told her that he had began to really focus on his true passions in life; street art and music. School was just not for him anymore. There was nothing a formal education offered that would’ve helped him. So he dropped out. The thing that set his parents off the most was that he forged their signatures on the papers. That and his first arrest just a couple weeks prior.

“We’re not so different, you and I,” Armory said with a smile.

“Guess we’re doomed to keep making the same mistakes.”

#idk what this is #but here you go #my writing #oc writing #virus oc stuff #larka's virus community #lvc #zephyr allen #ageekwrites

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ageeksnerdyworld · 5 years

Text

Reckless and Weary

Characters: Walker, Khalid Asfour, Cordelia Nieves

Word Count: 3,600

Trigger Warning: Slight Swearing

Notes: I feel like parts of this are ooc but at the same time there’s nothing else they’d say or do in this situation. Which is totally contradictory in itself but it’s really how I feel. I don’t know. Writing is hard. But I kinda wanted to write this thing for a while now. As always The Cyber World and the viruses therein belong to @voiceoflarka

Summary: Practically alone in the safe house Khalid would rather spend the day by himself. But he has a job to do. And he can’t ignore it no matter how much he’d like to. Click the read more if you’d like.

~~~

In the quiet, cool, darkness of the lamp’s interior Khalid remains awake and alert. He hadn’t slept the night before and he isn’t about to start now. The others in the building need some semblance of safety considering the nature of their work. One never knows if or when an enemy will get the bright idea to attempt an ambush during the night. So he tries his best to give them the slightest protection that he can while they sleep.

He does this even though, inside the deepest caverns of his heart, he knows they’d all defend their employer before saving themselves.

Despite the deep blackness around him he can fully sense his surroundings. Years of practice have attuned his non-corporeal being to everything he can normally see, smell, and hear in his physical form. But the billowing nature of smoke extends the reach of his senses. The mental map of the safe house helps him a great deal.

From what he senses the safe house is oddly quiet and feels strangely empty.

This sends a foreboding feeling through his mind. The rational part of his mind screams that something is wrong. But the orders he received the night before violently shove the thought to the very back of his mind. He has a job to do. There’s no fighting it. Even in his twisting smoke form he’s powerless against her influence. The smoke gathers, rising, and coalesces into a thick column.

The column of smoke spins rapidly as it forms into a sharp point before it barrels through the thin space in the lamp’s metal latticework.

He flies through the safe house; rapidly making his way to his post. The dark cloud of smoke moves with ease. In quick secession he passes empty hallways, empty bedrooms, and an empty kitchen. The foreboding feeling dissipates as he remembers what he was told the night before.

He turns a corner and flies out the nearest window.

Floating above the safe house he watches the exterior and the streets below. He sees men he recognizes moving about. Some rush as if late to an important event. Others walk nonchalantly weaving expertly through the crowds. He wonders why they’ve all decided to leave the safe house at the same time. Quickly realizing that his employer was behind this, and that she wasn’t lying to him, he shrugs the thought off.

He stays there for a minute or so watching the unsuspecting viruses go about their day.

He knows he could do a number of things without a single soul noticing him. His mind itches at the thought of all the fun he could have. But that is quickly quelled by the echoing pull of his employer’s order. He flies back through the window and around the corner. He barrels his way through the empty hallway. Khalid stops just shy of an open archway.

The cloud of smoke slowly floats to the floor, billowing on the surface, before coalescing once more.

In mere moments his corporeal form returns.

Khalid walks through the tall, curved, interior archway without a second thought. He enters the room soundlessly despite his large, towering, frame. He stops just inside the room and adjusts his tie. The bright red is an intense contrast to the gray vest and the stark white dress shirt underneath. As usual he has rolled his sleeves up to his shoulders; revealing his tan, muscled, arm. The white and black metal prosthetic attaches to his left shoulder where his other arm used to be. Settling at attention his body tenses. His back becomes still and harsh. His arms fold behind his back; hands overlapping one another. As always the cold, hard, metal of the prosthetic feels unnatural against his bodily hand. He waits patiently for the other virus to notice his presence.

He does not speak.

As he waits his eyes scan the room; taking everything in.

The room is dimly lit by the light coming in from the windows. Tall, dark, shadows fill the corners. A black leather couch sits in the middle of the room with two identical armchairs on opposite sides of the coffee table. Under the coffee table lays a gray and white checkered rug. A white bookshelf stands in the corner diagonally across from the right back corner leg of the rightmost armchair. Books of all shapes and sizes line the shelves. Small glints of light shine off the curves and angles of the raven shaped metallic bookends. On the wall facing the front of the safe house sits a black oak desk. Papers lay strewn about the desktop. A round inkwell sits in the top right corner; feather pen resting idly in the dark, black, ink. A large black chair, with blood red cushions, is pulled away from the desk and turned to the right ever so slightly as if waiting for an occupant.

Directly across from where Khalid stands is another interior archway; leading out into a short hallway.

The other virus gets up from the black leather couch. Standing in front of it they stretch and run a hand through their hair. They sigh. Their left ear twitches ever so slightly as if they hear a faint sound in the distance. But they don’t move to investigate a possible source.

The virus picks up a small tablet device from the glass side table. With unaccustomed fingers they type in the code to open it. Walking around the short, long, red leather ottoman they stare down at the screen. It seems as if they were reading something. They walk across the room and turn their back to Khalid before exiting into the opposite hallway.

The djinni remains still and silent.

After a few minutes the virus reenters the room from where they left. Their eyes are still transfixed on the tablet screen. But they hold a small object in their other hand. Before he can make out the mysterious object the virus tucks it away in their pants pocket.

Keeping secrets are we, little rabbit? Khalid says to himself.

Almost as if they can hear his thoughts the black rabbit virus lifts their head. The light, almost white, blonde hair shifts up to reveal their face. Despite the obvious shock of suddenly seeing him Walker’s face is a mask. Only their right eyebrow raises in surprise. Once again their left ear twitches to the side. Walker holds the tablet out towards him.

“You wouldn’t happen to know about this, would you?”

Khalid shifts his head down and looks at the screen. The overload of white in the background hurts his eyes at first and he squints. But they adjust quickly. The screen shows an online messaging thread between a few people. Usernames written under small profile icons reveal who says what. None of which truly revealing who sits behind the anonymity of the internet.

But he knows what the message board discusses without having to read it.

Ms. Nieves has used online message boards ever since he came into her employ. They’ve all communicated that way whenever anyone wasn’t in the safe house per her instructions. Even though she had amassed a large control over the area one could never be too careful. So she made sure none of them would speak publicly about her plans unless the need arose. And even in the message boards they still spoke in code.

This one in particular was started by the boss herself.

“I do,” he says.

“Mind telling me what’s going on? And why in the hell you’re here?”

“I’m supposed to keep you here until she returns,” Khalid says; matter of fact.

“Excuse me?” Walker stammers.

Khalid smirks and nods without a word. Walker throws their hands up in disbelief. The emotionless mask they wore previously is now broken; betrayed by the hurt they feel. They angrily toss the tablet on the couch and start to pace. This restlessness lasts only for a few seconds as they clench their fists at their sides. Their eyes dart about the room, as if searching for an exit, before attempting to charge past the djinni.

But Khalid folds his large arms over his chest and steps forward; forcing Walker to backpedal a few steps.

His brown eyes are immediately engulfed in flame.

Walker knows exactly what that means and they hope Khalid doesn’t go through with it. Cordelia has some reason for keeping them around other than what she’s told them. People like her don’t reveal their true motives so easily; Walker knows that. But they don’t know if she would sic her attack dog on them to keep them in line. To prove that she should be obeyed. She’s done it before to those with the slightest ability to resist her powers.

Deep down Walker knows that, despite her strange trust in them, they’re no different than the others.

Walker knows that the djinni virus doesn’t speak, or act, of his own accord. The calm monotone of his voice reveals that even if Walker didn’t already know. And Khalid is nothing if not obedient. If Cordelia told him to do anything in his power to keep Walker here then Khalid wouldn’t think twice. They put their hands up in a clear sign of surrender.

Khalid nods approvingly.

Walker looks to the tablet that lay screen side down on the couch. The coded message told them that Cordelia would be taking care of something. That she wanted, needed, to be alone. But they thought they would be able to trail her without her knowledge. And Walker knows that no one, powered or not, should never be without backup. Never once did the thought cross their mind that Cordelia would go to these lengths.

She doesn’t trust anyone that much but neither do you, their inner voice mocks.

“Babysitting duty, huh? Betcha wished you were assigned something else.”

“She ordered and I acquiesced, but it’s not as if I had a choice,” he says.

The flames, that show the man’s true nature, have died down to a mild smolder. Walker swears they can see a flash of regret shining through Khalid’s brown eyes. But it’s gone just as quickly.

He turns his back on Walker and closes his eyes. He mentally releases all the tension in his body. Calming his mind he slows his breathing. As Khalid does this his body slowly begins to shift into black smoke; preparing to the return to his lamp.

“I’m sorry,” they say; reaching out to the towering marid.

Khalid senses the movement and his body freezes for a split second. His large frame flinches away from Walker’s touch; fast and instinctive. The years of mind control, of forced obedience, have whittled away at his being. There’s no space left in his mind, or his heart, for kindness. He can’t let people in. Not anymore.

There is nothing in him but pure strength and fiery anger.

Both of which his employer uses to her advantage.

Khalid mutters a curse in his native tongue and shakes his head. He lets go of the thought of returning to the lamp, the one place he truly feels like himself, and his form solidifies once more. Flowing black smoke gathers back to his feet before disappearing altogether. His hands clench into fists at his sides. In the same moment he violently whips around to face Walker once more.

His inner flames burn bright through his eyes and violently dance along their edges; licking at his eyelashes.

“Don’t you dare,” he snarls; pointed canines making his expression all the more threatening.

“You don’t know what it’s like, to be under her power. You can’t even begin to imagine how hopeless and helpless you feel when your hands, your mouth, your mind, are no longer your own. You walk free while the rest of us are bound to her every word. So take my advice and the next time you want to give me your pity…”

His low, quiet, voice spits venom; “keep your fucking mouth shut!”

Even in the rush of anger the resulting stillness of the room sends a shiver down Khalid’s spine. Silence such as this is has never been good. More often than not it has meant an unexpected party was listening.

And was a foreboding sign of pain that would follow.

Walker, slightly relieved to see the djinni acting like himself again, feels like an idiot. They look down and their ears droop. No matter how many times, or how long, the others are allowed to think for themselves Cordelia will hook her mental talons in them again. For as long as Walker’s been a part of her organization she’s never used her powers on them. Which is why the others, completely under Cordelia, will always have a veiled jealousy towards them. And Walker knows that Khalid’s right. They’ll never understand how horrible it must be.

Just like how they’ll never understand why Cordelia leaves them unaffected.

Walker runs a hand through their hair; nervously. They instinctively reach into their pocket and thumb the object within. They need some wisdom in this moment and even though they may not be a true believer it won’t hurt to try. The cold bronze brings a slew of memories to the surface. First the ones they’re fond of fill the forefront of their mind. Memories of a woman. Memories of her laugh. Her fire. Her spite. Her passion. Those memories fade into the ones Walker would rather forget. Memories of gunshots, spilled souls, and screaming. Of the woman’s violent sacrifice.

But the figurine, and the memories it invokes, gives Walker the words they need.

“You’re right, big guy,” they say with a half smile.

“And I know you want to punch me through a wall for it. But, that doesn’t mean you should.”

Khalid chuckles; “I’m not the only one who wants to beat the sass out of you.”

“I know. But she won’t like it.”

“Do you know how most of us got here,” the djinni asks seriously.

The sudden change in tone takes them aback. But Walker simply shrugs. Khalid explains that unlike Walker the others didn’t have a choice in joining Cordelia or not. She did not offer one.

Khalid sums up his story as shortly as he can. The rabbit virus doesn’t flinch or shudder as he tells them of the horrors he has seen. And the sins he’s committed. Khalid refrains from telling Walker everything because he needs something to himself. Walker appears to have their own secrets so to Khalid it’s only fair for him to have some as well. Much to his surprise the rabbit virus doesn’t seem affected by the gore and gross brutality of Khalid’s younger days.

It dawns on him that Walker has must have seen their own horrors to terrible to describe.

“We all do things we must to survive,” Walker says.

“But, unlike you, I’ve always been hunted. And survival is something else entirely when you are at war with everything around you.”

Khalid starts to say something else but his face freezes.

Walker watches in confusion as the marid’s demeanor fluidly shifts into a serious calm. He resettles his body at attention; straightening his back and clasping his hands behind. Walker’s eyes close into harsh slits and their brow furrows in suspicion. The playful djinni is definitely tricking them. He has to be. That nature is so deeply ingrained into the virus’s being he often says and does things just to mess with those around him. Walker has been on the receiving end of it more often than not.

“Earth to Khalid. Genie, you there?” they say waving a hand in front of Khalid’s face.

He doesn’t react.

Walker’s ear twitches in the direction of the unmistakable sound of heels against wood.

Cordelia Nieves emerges from the shadows that darken the edges of the room. She wears a fully black outfit that tightly hugs her form. A thin black belt wraps around her waist; light shining off the silver buckle. A small lantern, attached to the belt with a thin silver ribbon, hangs off her left hip. The lantern is made of dark gray metal. Small slits poke through the intricately shaped latticework. A small red cloth lines the bottom. Her stilettos are as dark as the rest of her outfit. It’s no wonder that the two didn’t see her prior to her arrival.

Walker smirks and gives a short nod of approval.

Cordelia walks slowly and her gait radiates power. Her long, blonde, hair cascades down her shoulders in uneven waves.

Her ivory skin glows a dull red; her veins emanating the color from within. A large wisp of her soul flows out of her right eye. It is the same color of her veins. Her pale green eyes shine with a deep smugness which reflects on her face. Ruby red lips turn up at the edge forming a smirk. She turns to Khalid but says nothing.

He immediately releases a harsh breath as his autonomy comes back to him. He spits bitterly.

“ الخراء اللعنة عليك إلى الجحيم ألف”

“Khalid, you don’t really mean that, do you?” Cordelia replies; a stern calm in her voice.

“لا.أنني أشعر بأسف عميق، عشيقة”

He whispers, hanging his head, suddenly overcome with an intense shame.

She nods and turns her attention to Walker. The rabbit virus stands firm. They hope their fear doesn’t show on their face. Fear is one of many emotional weaknesses. Weaknesses that they’ve spent years mastering and obliterating. But all that mental training left the night they met Cordelia. The fateful night when they saw exactly what she was capable of.

They’ve tried to regain that control over themselves but it’s taking far longer than they’d like.

“Ms. Nieves? I don’t–”

“Understand? I know. That was my intention.”

Walker waits for her to explain but she doesn’t. Not right away at least. She looks them up and down; her eyes intently scanning their body. Walker instinctively shrinks from her gaze. They never liked when people looked at them as if they were an oddity in a freak show. Even though Cordelia’s gaze was more so curious than mocking, or filled with violent intent, it bothered Walker immensely.

“I have a plan,” she says after a couple minutes. She turns her gaze from Walker to the djinni. She points a finger at Walker and then at Khalid.

“And it involves you both. Which is why I planned this alone time for the two of you. If everyone was still in the building you’d never come near one another. You’ll be working close together for the foreseeable future so I can’t afford to have you at each other’s throats.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Walker asks; voice ringing with hurt.

“Because if you knew you’d refuse,” Cordelia says.

Walker nods. They didn’t realize that their animosity towards the djinni was that obvious. They look to the djinni who stands perfectly still; waiting for an order. Khalid’s face is as still as a statue. In that moment Walker eerily sees a reflection of themselves in the marid’s face. Thinking of the story Khalid told earlier in the day they realize that they have more in common than they had originally thought. They start to think that this forced partnership might not be so bad after all.

A small smirk creeps on their face.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Cordelia says as she moves past the djinni.

As she leaves she touches Khalid’s arm. He doesn’t flinch at her touch like he did with Walker earlier. But it isn’t as if he could if he wanted to. Cordelia’s power keeps him frozen in place. She whispers something to him that Walker doesn’t hear. The marid nods solemnly. He relaxes once again. Cordelia exits the room; the clicking of her heels slowly getting softer the further away she walks.

“We need to get better acquainted. Don’t you think so, little rabbit,” Khalid asks.

Walker nods and extends a hand to the djinni. Khalid looks down at the virus’s outstretched arm; tiny in comparison to his own. Khalid smiles and clasps his hand against Walker’s. His hand fully engulfs the rabbit virus’s hand. The handshake is short and entirely professional. Despite the looming darkness he felt earlier Khalid realizes that nothing bad happened. As he pulls his large hand away from Walker’s much smaller one he lets out a sigh of relief.

“You hungry?” Walker asks; sincerely.

Khalid’s eyes go wide in surprise. In the time he’s spent with the others, with Walker, he never heard them sound so serious. And he never once saw them express any concern for his well being. It was an interesting development.

“You heard the boss,” the rabbit says, “we’re partners now. Partners look out for each other. So, you hungry or not?”

“Only if you’re buying,” Khalid replies with a smirk.

Walker smirks back; “Sure. Just, uh, promise you won’t make this weird.”

“Only if you promise to tell me about the statue you’re carrying around.”

Walker’s eyebrows raise and their eyes go wide in shock. Their mouth forms a sharp O. Khalid smirks again; seeing the genuine surprise he got out of them. Walker abruptly laughs. They promise to tell him their story over food and drinks; especially drinks. They wrap an arm around the towering marid’s waist. Once again Khalid shuns their touch but Walker isn’t bothered. They apologize. Khalid shrugs the mistake off with a tilt of his head.

The pair exits the room before leaving the safe house in tandem.

#my writing #oc writing #oc story #larka's virus community #lvc #virus oc stuff #walker #khalid asfour #cordelia nieves #tw swearing #ageekwrites

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ageeksnerdyworld · 5 years

Text

Dirty Words Pass Through

Characters: Dexterity Burrows, Raleigh Burrows & Felony Burrows

Word Count: 3,700

Trigger Warning: Slight Swearing

Notes: I tried my best but writing’s hard... Idk how I feel about this... As always The Cyber World belongs to @voiceoflarka

Summary: Dexterity Burrows goes back home only to endure very uncomfortable, and forced, interaction with their parents. Afterwards they head to the nearest bar for some well-deserved down time. Click the read more if you like.

~~~

They had purposely parked on a side street. The driveway to their childhood home was long so it was possible for them to go unnoticed. But there was also the possibility that their parents would use that to their advantage. Both their mother and father had done so in the past. If they were honest with themselves they'd admit that they didn't want to chance it.

Dexterity Burrows currently stood outside of their car, which was a red Shelby GT500, leaning against the side of the hood by the front tire. Staring at the ground they thought things over again. Maybe they should just leave. Nobody would know. There wouldn't be any guilt or anger. Nothing bad would happen. But they wouldn't forgive themselves if they left without at least a short hello. As they thought about it their legs carried them along the sidewalk and all the way to the front gate.

And now they were walking up the lengthy driveway.

After ten or so minutes they reached the front door.

The large, ornate, gold plated knocker loomed ominously from the face of the door. An angry scowl stared them down from the demonic face. Two large and curved horns sat on either side of its head. Its eyes were deep recesses carved into the metal. That detail made the creature all the more terrifying. The handle of the door knocker hung from the demon’s clenched teeth. The very bottom of the handle was more oval shaped and was carved into the shape of two identical fleurs-de-lis which both lay horizontally.

Dexterity grabbed the handle and knocked twice.

Their mother opened the door not five minutes later.

Felony Burrows was always the epitome of a trophy wife. She had impeccable looks and long, luscious, chocolate brown hair. Her eyes were an olive green. Butterscotch veins ran along her skin. Red lipstick colored her lips; accentuating the shape. She wore a stylish two-tone dress with full length sleeves. The right side of the dress was a dark navy while the left was a sky blue. A white belt ran along her waist.

Her unwavering poise was broken by the clear shock in her eyes.

"Dexterity--I, we--we weren't expecting you. This is quite the surprise."

They smiled and crossed the threshold before she bade them enter. As the thick rubber soles of their boots landed on the white tile their mother slowly closed the door. She turned around to scrutinize her child. Her eyes flattened to small slits and her lips pursed together in intense thought. She rested her chin on her pointer finger and thumb.

“Looking as horrid as ever I see.”

They scoffed; “I don’t dress to please you, mother. I dress the way I like.”

In fact, Dexterity wasn’t wearing anything different from what they’d wear on a normal day. Head to toe black. Black combat boots that stopped an inch or two above their ankle. The laces were untied and shoved in the boots. The tongue was pushed out a bit so that it appeared taller than the boots themselves. They wore a black tattered t-shirt with a white pentagram and the phrase “sinners are winners” on it. They also wore a dark gray leather jacket. Somewhat distressed black skinny jeans covered their legs.

A half moon shaped silver earring dangled from their right ear. The facade of the metal was engraved to look like a skull.

“Your father and I were just sitting down for lunch. Care to join us?”

Dexterity shrugged; “I can’t stay long.”

Their mother laughed, deep and full of disbelief, “What on earth could you possibly have to do?”

They didn’t say anything. It was pointless to try and argue with her. She was the kind of person who would say whatever would hurt you the most. No matter what it was or if she was given the information in confidence. Dexterity had been on the receiving end of her vicious words many times.

The two of them entered the dining room without a word. Their mother went straight to the opposite end of the table and sat down. She went straight back to eating seemingly without a care. Dexterity’s father, Raleigh, calmly asked who was at the door. She told him and he grunted a stern hello to Dexterity.

“Won’t you sit down, dear,” their mother said sweetly. “You must be starved. Have you been eating well?”

"Please," they said with an obvious annoyance. "Don't pretend you ever gave a shit about me, mother."

Felony Burrows gave her child a harsh look over her wine glass. Her dark brows furrowed and her nose crinkled.

“How dare you,” she said viciously.

Angrily setting her glass down on the table she shot them a deadly glare. She didn’t raise her voice but there was no need to. Her tone, harsh and cold, was enough. It was the tone Dexterity had heard her use many times. It was the voice she put on when she wanted her words to be heeded. When she wanted to be respected and feared.

“After everything your father and I have done for you? We gave you a home, food in your stomach, and clothes on your back. You never need or want for anything.”

“We could’ve left you in the Nursery like your poor, disgusting, friend.”

Dexterity laughed.

“Emery is a better person than the two of you ever could be. But, this is between you and me. Leave him out of this, mother.”

She scoffed, shocked and appalled, and looked in between her child and her husband. Raleigh Burrows sat at the opposite end of the table with his head down. He was staring at his tablet; reading something. Knowing him it was either company emails or company stock records.

He wore a plain, mottled gray, vest over a black dress shirt. The top of the shirt was unbuttoned to the part where both halves of the vest met. Both of the long sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. His dark pants matched the vest and he wore dark black dress shoes. Large, triangular, blue ears emerged from the top of his head. His black hair was combed back. The sideburns grayed slightly at the edges. A puff of cream colored fur poked out from the unbuttoned top of his shirt. His eyes were a bright, bold, red. Except for the right eye which darkened considerably due to the large wisp of navy blue soul that flowed from that eye. His skin was lined with the same navy colored veins.

Felony cleared her throat and said; “Dear, would you care to tell Dexterity why they shouldn’t say such things?”

“Oh fuck you!”

He set his tablet down with a sigh.

“Stop swearing at your mother. We raised you better than that.”

“First she brings Emery into this conversation, like this has anything to do with him, and then she...”

“You seem very stressed,” he said; cutting them off. “Is something wrong?”

“Yes, there is. I came here to visit and the both of you are acting like I never left. You don’t care at all.”

“Don’t think that, that simply isn’t true,” Raleigh said.

As he spoke Dexterity could feel their anger dissipating. The disgust that had been rising in their gut since stepping foot in the house was becoming an afterthought. Each shred of emotion was turning into something else. They knew what he was doing but they didn’t know how to stop it. After years of this they were still unable to resist his powers.

"Now, don't you feel better?"

Dexterity nodded; "Yes."

"Don't you have something to say to your mother?"

Again an unstoppable change in their emotion overtook them. They could feel the calm shift inside. Overwhelming waves of shame and regret slammed into them. A physical knot formed in their chest. They knew it was there. They could feel it.

"Sorry. I... I'm so sorry. I promise I won't do that again."

"Good, now sit down," Raleigh said with a nod of approval.

With that he sat back in his chair and returned to reading. Every so often he would take a sip of wine. He stayed silent for quite some time.

Dexterity calmly sat in the chair on the left side of the table. A plate of food had been brought out at some point in the argument. When they had no idea. They stared at their plate. They knew that if they tried to leave now things would only get worse. Their mother would make a scene and their father would make them stay. Even worse he'd make them want to stay and feel bad for thinking of leaving. They ate the food so as not to cause another fight.

The family of three sat in awkward silence for the rest of their lunch.

“So,” their father said after the plates were cleared away. “How long do you plan on staying with us?”

“What?”

“I believe you heard me,” Raleigh replied. He leaned back in his chair and brought his fingers together. With a serious, strangely almost concerned, look he asked; “Unless your friend’s horrible so-called singing made you go deaf?”

“I’m not staying,” they grumbled.

“What?” their mother exclaimed.

Dexterity knew that her surprise was completely fake, but, their father somehow was never able to see through it. He always jumped at every cry, or shock she endured, ready to help. He usually used his powers to help alleviate the situation but never in the way one would think. Raleigh always went for the supposed aggressor. And more often than not Dexterity was the cause of her emotional distress. For whatever reason she got off on having her husband manipulate their child. Or the control she got from having to do practically nothing. Either way in Dexterity found it very disgusting.

“It seems like your mother wants you stay,” Raleigh said.

They gave their father a harsh glare.

“This again?” they said; interrupting his manipulation.

“If your mother wants you to stay longer, then, maybe you should. After all, you haven’t visited us in a very long time.”

“Yeah,” they scoffed. “This is why. A person can only take so fucking much emotional manipulation, after all.”

Raleigh stood up from his chair and walked over to where they sat.

He stared Dexterity down as if they were a scuff on his newly shined shoes. It was a look of utter hatred and disgust. But Dexterity returned the angry glare right back. The two remained like that for a good five minutes. Then a strange, satisfied, smirk slowly crept its way on Raleigh’s face.

Unable to resist Dexterity suddenly stood up, with tears in their eyes, and hugged their father. Crying and shaking they apologized over and over again. They profusely apologized to their mother as well. Still overcome with regret and sadness they disavowed everything they believed in. Dexterity pulled away from their father and stood firm. Their bottom lip quivered as they begged for his forgiveness. Begged to be allowed to move back in with them. They vowed to quit the band and become their father’s intern. Once again they were the little kid, sobbing, exploited and dominated into doing exactly what their parents wanted.

Raleigh had made them do all of this without uttering a single word.

They didn’t realize what happened until they sat back down.

With that being the last straw Dexterity aggressively slammed their hands on the table and pushed their chair away. The legs of the chair loudly scratched along the floor. They stomped out of the house. As they made the long trek back to their car they stewed. They only felt better when they were finally in the car; turning the key.

Should've listened to yourself, you fucking dummy, their conscious scolded as they shifted the car into drive.

They knew exactly what they were going to do next.

Who was the real mystery.

~~~

Dexterity drove around aimlessly for awhile. They hadn’t been back home in such a long time that they weren’t sure where anything was anymore. But they eventually found their way to a local bar.

“Fucking finally,” they muttered to themselves.

They walked through the door and went straight for the bar.

A very tall, very buff, looking man was bartending. He had dark auburn red hair. It was slightly shorter on the sides than the top which was spiked up. He wore the, seemingly, standard uniform; black jacket over a gray top and black pants. The only part of his outfit which looked out of place were the round sunglasses on his face. Bright periwinkle veins poked out from his collar and shirt sleeve.

He was currently handing a drink over to the only one other virus at the bar.

She was a pale skinned woman with long, dark, brown hair. Purple dye colored the ends. She had bright yellow eyes. Her ears were sharply pointed at the top. Two curved horns protruded from the middle of her skull. They curved outward to either side of her head and curved around her ears before coming to a sharp point. A silver cuff covered a portion of the left horn; just below her ear lobe.

A series of bees were tattooed on the left side of her neck.

She gave Dexterity a nod as they sat down at the first empty bar stool.

They ordered a Death in the Afternoon and looked around the room as the drink was being made. The bar had a strange atmosphere. Most of the patrons were crowded near the back of the building. Dexterity craned their neck in a futile attempt to see what was occupying everyone’s attention. But the sheer number of bodies blocked their view. So they gave up and ran their eyes over the shelves behind the bar.

Bottles with strange names lined the shelves. Names they didn’t recognize. Some were very long laundry lists of nonsensical letter combinations.

Their drink was set on the bar and Dexterity barely noticed the woman move to the stool on their left.

"Haven't seen you around here," the woman said.

"Not really in this area much. Don't plan on staying long."

"That's too bad," she said. "I'd really like to get to know you."

Dexterity looked at her and decided to lay on the charm. It was what they did best after all. Their father could change and affect a person’s entire array of emotions and had a good handle on everything. But they could only affect one specific area; desire.

“In what way,” they asked.

“I think you know exactly what way,” she said.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?"

“Xylophone, but, most people call me Xy.”

“You should join us, big boy,“ they said to the bartender.

The man’s face went red. He tried to explain that they both of them had to work, but, it was useless. When Dexterity wanted a good time, or to block out a bad one, they made someone else want the same. Dexterity smiled seductively which only caused the man to blush even harder. He reached out to touch their hand, needing to feel their skin against his own, but Dexterity quickly pulled their hand.

“Soon.”

~~~

Hours later, well into the night, the three of them were laying on a queen sized bed. They had rented a room in a nearby hotel thanks to Dexterity’s father’s credit card. The thick, black and silver, comforter lay in a heap on the floor. As did some of the abundant pillows. Open bottles from the mini bar lay strewn about.

Dexterity stared at the ceiling with a shit-eating grin on their face.

They were in the middle of the bed with the bartender on their left. He was actually half on the bed and half on them; struggling for their affections. Xylophone was on their right. Hurried and without any regard tossed about the floor, mixed in with one another, were their clothes. It was pretty obvious which ones belonged to Xylophone as she was the only one who didn’t wear all black.

Not to mention the pair of bright, cerulean, blue panties that somehow hung off the lampshade across the room.

To no one’s surprise the bartender had enough energy and need to go again. He kept whispering sweet nothings, and very dirty words, in Dexterity’s ear. They ignored his advances. Truth of the matter was that so could they, but, the third member of their little ménage a trois seemed uneasy.

Xylophone sat up and stared off with a strange expression of mixed emotions. It was clear that something was wrong because their powers, which were still active, didn’t seem to be affecting her. They turned it off and the big, muscular, bartender collapsed onto them. It was as if the only thing that had kept him awake after.

Shoving the hulking man off of them Dexterity convinced him to give them some space. The guy begrudgingly climbed off the bed, pulled his pants on, and walked out of the room.

“Hey, you okay?” they asked once it seemed that guy was out of earshot.

“I lied earlier,” she said with an intense guilt.

“Everybody lies, darling,” they replied. “If I was honest I’d say I do it all the time.”

She didn’t laugh at the lame joke. Dexterity didn’t either but it was worth a try. She turned away and brought her knees to her chest. Looking down at the floor Xylophone stays quiet for a few minutes. The silence in the room was eerie. Unsure of what to do, and completely out of their element, Dexterity just sat there.

Comforting people, or staying this long after sex, was not their style.

Looking to the door they hoped the bartender guy, whatever his name was, would just barge in. Or that the room would spontaneously catch fire. Even getting a drunken call from the guys would do. Anything that would be a good reason to not have this conversation.

“I didn’t want to know you at all,” she said; still staring at the floor.

“Me neither,” they said.

Xylophone shot them an angry look. They then realized that what they said was the complete wrong to say at a time like this. She sighed; half angry and half sad. Running her hands through either side of her hair she closed her eyes tightly and grit her teeth.

“You don’t get it, do you?” she spit. “The bar, my outfit, my fucking lingerie... Did you really not see it? Or are you that desperate to get some?”

The realization hit them like a brick to the face. It was unexpected and hurt like hell. Their mouth hung open in a small “o” and they felt so stupid. The bar was a strip club which explained why most of the people inside were near the back. But it was crazy to think it was fronting sex workers. At the same time Dexterity thought that Xylophone had no real reason to lie. Despite their better judgment they spoke.

“Why do you do it?”

“What would you do?” she said with a serious look in her eyes.

“Do about what?”

Tears began flowing from her eyes. She tried to wipe them away but they continued to run down her face. Her makeup, some of which had previously from her sweat, was now ruined. Streaks of black eyeliner and mascara lined her face. Every time she wiped her nose she would accidentally take off her lipstick.

“For you this is just a good time but for me this is what I call life,” she cried through her tears.

“How much?”

“What?” she asked between sniffles.

In a half response to her question Dexterity got off the bed and rummaged through the mess of clothes. Turning the clothing items over in their hands they felt around for something unseen. Angrily tossing the clothes over their shoulder they finally found the pair of jeans they wore earlier in the day. Digging their hand into the rear left pocket they felt the cool plastic of their father’s credit card.

They held it up with a smirk.

“How much to get you out?”

Xylophone’s eyes went wide. She stammered; shocked beyond belief.

“It’s not fair that you have to do this to survive, to live,” they said.

“Nothing’s that simple.”

“And why not? If someone can pay to spend a night with you then why can’t I pay to make sure you’ll never need to do that ever again.

“Money can’t solve everything, Richie Rich,” she said.

Dexterity stood in the middle of the room; frozen. In that moment they felt disgusted with themselves. They had tried their entire life to prevent themselves from becoming this exact person. But they still came off as a patronizing rich elitist. She ran her hand through her hair and got off the bed. She walked across the room and picked her panties off the lampshade. Xylophone pulled her underwear on before grabbing her matching bra off the floor. She quickly pulled her shirt over her head.

The bartender walked in, just as she finished buttoning her shorts, and approached Dexterity with fiery anger.

“You little shit! You’re dead, you’re so fucking dead.”

Dexterity said nothing. They didn’t hear a word the man was saying. And they couldn’t care less. But Xylophone walked up and put a hand on the man’s shoulder.

“Leave them, we have to go back to work,” she said.

The door slammed as the pair exited. Dexterity sighed heavily and ran their hands through their short, buzzed, hair. An intense feeling of disgust filled their gut as they paced the floor. Looking around the room they decided it was best to leave. So, they dressed themselves as quickly as they could and left the room. It didn’t take long for them to head to the front desk. With barely a few words they checked out of the room.

Rushing to the parking lot they hopped in the driver’s seat of their GT500 and gunned it out onto the street.

They made a silent vow to themselves that they would never come back.

#my writing #larka's virus community #lvc #dexterity burrows #raleigh burrows #felony burrows #tw slight swearing #ageekwrites

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ageeksnerdyworld · 5 years

Text

A Facade Well Fed

Characters: Zale Young, Emery Becker, Dexterity Burrows, Zephyr Allen & Esteem Wells

Word Count: 4,934

Trigger Warning: Drinking, Drunk Shenanigans, Drug Mention, Death Mention

Notes: Good news is I figured out what to do with my cow boy. Bad news is this story is like all over the place. As always The Cyber World and the viruses therein belong to @voiceoflarka

Summary: After finishing a set at local bar the members of Midnight Decoy decide to celebrate. With drinks, and friends, to go around everyone seems to having a good time. Except for Zale who's having a very difficult night. His past won’t leave him alone tonight. So he heads off on his own to clear his head. But the night is just about to get even worse. Click that read more if you'd like.

~~~

"Now get the hell out," Emery shouts into the mic.

The small crowd, that actually stayed to listen, yelled. A few people called for an encore. But that wasn’t their shtick. Emery yells again, more vulgar and aggressive than the first time, and a few people back off.

As the band dismantles their equipment, and instruments, they chat about the show. It seemed that tonight, for whatever reason, was one of their better performances. They all thought so anyway. But the band didn't care. They made music they wanted to hear. It didn't matter to them if anyone liked it. A few people stuck around and voiced their opinions. Some were fans but most were wannabe critics. Most of them were screaming their thanks for the end of the impromptu concert. It seemed that everyone had something to say about each band member.

“Everyone always thinks they know music better than we do,” Zale mutters as he sees a few people approaching the stage.

The other three nod in agreement. Emery notices that he doesn't want to deal with any of the people tonight. So he gives Zale a nod; a verifiable go ahead to sit this one out. In turn Zale mouths his thanks before heading upstage. He starts to pack their equipment in the respective cases.

Alone, with the sound of chatter at his back, he feels a hand at his back.

Biting his lip he tries to ignore it.

Most of the comments Dexterity receives weren't really about their drumming. The viruses who walked up talked about the music, but, the words were nothing more than an excuse to get close. Dexterity approached whoever was speaking with a smirk. They did what they did best; flirted excessively. Dexterity pulled some of the viruses aside and spoke to them in private. Those then left with the drummer's number and the promise of a good night.

Emery just smiled, eerily, in each angry face. When each critical roast was over he told them all the same thing.

"I don't give a flying fuck what you think."

Zephyr was always the nicest of the group when it came to fans and critics. He knew of course that nothing anyone outside the band could've said would make a difference. Midnight Decoy was never going to make music everyone enjoyed. The band wasn't going to go on tour. Nor would they mass produce an album. That was selling out; something none of them wanted. But Zephyr Allen still spoke to each person with a genuine smile and an interested brow.

As the others dealt with the people as they saw fit Zale stayed upstage. He didn't say anything to any of the viruses who called out to him. Despite the excited screams, and the occasional jeer, he kept his head down. He was focused on packing up the amps and his guitar. Or so it seemed.

Something else was occupying his thoughts.

Someone else.

“You alright, man,” Zephyr asks; stepping behind him and putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

Liar, liar, a voice whispers darkly in his ear.

With the meet and greet, and clean up, done Emery hops off the stage. He lands on the barroom floor with a light thud. His bright purple eyes shine with excitement and leftover adrenaline. The lime green veins that cover his skin pulse rapidly. Hollering to the others he points out the bar. Zephyr nods and also jumps off the edge of the stage. When he lands he runs a hand through his long dark blonde hair; moving it out of his eyes. Dexterity smirks and gives the young man they had been flirting with a soft kiss goodbye. They rush over to catch up with the group.

Zale, somewhat reluctantly, follows the others’ lead.

As the group makes their way a very excited virus rushes up to them.

The virus wears a black leather jacket over a thin, green tartan, shirt. Light blue jeans are tightly tucked into his black boots. Dark boysenberry colored veins glow beneath his gingerbread brown skin. Wide, round, ears emerge from either side of his face. A brown tail, matching his skin tone, hangs lazily behind him. Small, curved, white horns poke through his side-swept hair. The virus’s hair is a light orchid purple with a few streaks of dark eggplant running through it. His eyes are blue at the edges but shifted to green. The bright green colors the rest of his irises.

Eyes that shine brightly with enthusiasm.

"That was your best set ever, guys," he says passionately.

Zale, Dexterity, and Emery simultaneously roll their eyes. This guy came to every random concert they had. His name was Esteem Wells and he was the group’s, self proclaimed, biggest fan. Every time he saw any of them he talked rapidly about how he wanted to buy merch and hear their music on the radio. In reality he annoyed the whole group. He completely missed the point of their band and the music they made.

But as always Zephyr talks to him with a smile and an open ear.

“Thanks, man. Glad ya liked it.”

“It was awesome. And the way Emery did his screaming thing when you played that riff? Epic.”

Before he could ramble on Emery pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. This guy was full of shit and he knew it. There was something else he wanted. It couldn’t just be the music. No one in their right mind would go see the same band over thousands of times. Running his hand through the hair at the base of his skull he looks away for a split second. He gathers the words and then outright asks the cow virus.

“E, my dude, my guy, how the hell can you be this excited about something I do every show?”

“I’m getting a drink,” Zale mutters to Dexterity. “Meet you at the bar.”

“See you there,” they reply with a wink.

As he leaves the others the thoughts come floating back again. It happens whenever he's not occupying every thought and movement with something else. He tries to shove them out and focus on something else. But he knows that neither his mind or his body are truly occupied at the moment. He's alone and oh so helpless against it.

Against her.

Bonsai Warner haunts his mind like a ghost. An ever present feeling, but, only showing up when no one else is around.

As he winds his way through the other patrons he feels her presence slowly materialize. He can see her in his peripheral. Every part of her is a pristine version of the last time he got a good look at her. Her white skin and long, midnight black, hair. The light coffee brown eyes and bright tangerine colored veins. She wears a white tank top, one of his thicker hoodies, ripped jeans, and thigh-high black boots. A silver and blue ring sits on her right hand. Thin, leather, bracelets cover her wrists. A thin metal ribcage, with a small red stone, hung from a chain around her neck. Her winged eyeliner is perfectly done. Bonsai takes his hand and leans her head against his shoulder.

He doesn't resist.

Her voice whispers in his head.

You did great out there, Zay. I miss you so much.

He looks down at his feet and smiles; embarrassed. To him their relationship never made much sense. She deserved to be with someone who could give her things she wanted. Not a punk with a skateboard, a guitar, and a drug problem. Not to mention the fact that Bonsai Warner was completely out of his league. But he doesn't say anything.

Zale makes it to the bar without any sort of incident. He sits at the only empty seat, the last stool at the very end of the bar, and signals for the bartender. The centaur virus nods and returns a half-empty bottle of scotch to the shelf. He trots over at a causal pace.

He orders a double bourbon with no ice.

The others still haven’t arrived.

A minute or so later his drink is placed in front of him. The drink comes in a tulip shaped glass with a short, round, bottom. The liquor itself is a rich and see-through amber color. The hanging lights above the bar hit the glass and reflect a bright orange glint in the bourbon. Zale picks it up and brings the glass to his lips. It has a strong caramel smell with a small hint of vanilla. The liquor is smooth going down and tastes sweet. As he swallows, the caramel and vanilla flavors linger on his tongue, he turns around on the stool.

The image, only he can see, of his once girlfriend stands next to him.

Looking for the others he accidentally makes eye contact with a woman on the opposite end of the bar.

Her hair is a deep, dark, red. It flows down her back in large, swooping, waves. She wears a black ribbon style choker around her neck. A tight, black, dress with a plunging neckline, and a slit along her right thigh, leaves very little to the imagination. Even from the distance he can make out the ink in between her breasts. The tattoo is of a knife surrounded by peacock feathers. This mysterious woman gets up and makes her way to where he sits.

Zale downs the rest of his drink as the woman steps through his vision of Bonsai. The image of her dissipates like fog clearing. He turns back around and rests his arms on the bar. She whispers one last message before she goes.

Say hi to Mayor Whiskers for me. I bet he misses me.

"Hey there, stranger," the woman says as she sits. She speaks with a slight twang and a soft, comforting, voice.

"Hi," he says; staring straight ahead to avoid really looking at her.

"Heard y'all playing earlier. You were really good."

He shrugs and puts his glass down. Signally for a refill he mutters; "It's just the bass. Nothing special."

"Don't sell yourself short, sugar. Name’s Lotus, but, you can call me Lo."

With the drink quickly refilled he picks it up again. Zale smiles at her comment but tries to hide it with the rim of his glass. This is the last thing he wants right now. The memories, and the love he felt, are far too recent. Far too strong.

"You seem familiar," he says; turning to look at her.

As she starts to speak her face shifts. Her nose changes shape; becoming shorter and more round. The woman’s eyes change color. Shifting effortlessly into a light coffee. The crisscross of veins lining her face also turn from a light daffodil yellow. The woman's face morphs into Bonsai's and he freezes.

"Like your dead girlfriend?"

Deep down he knows that wasn't real. He knows this woman didn't say what he heard. But his mind and his heart drown out his common sense. His eyes go wide and his lips part, just barely, in shock.

What the fuck?!

He mutters the expletive to himself and quickly turns away from her. She gasps, audibly shocked and offended, loudly. Her thin, white, fingers grasp whatever's nearest. They close around the short, thick, glass some other bar patron was drinking from. She throws the rest of the drink on him and stomps away. The liquor soaks his hair and plasters the fringe on his forehead. He sputters; spitting out the bit that landed in his open mouth.

Apparently I said that out loud, he thinks as he watches her leave.

He downs the rest of his drink and orders another.

Bonsai materializes once more at his side. Zale wipes the liquor from his face with a napkin. He blinks as the image of her comes into focus. But before he can say anything to her the voices of his band-mates ring loudly through the bar. He sighs, relived, and turns to see the group with their unwanted groupie close behind. Dexterity sits on the open bar stool to his left. Emery sits on the opposite side.

“Can’t believe Zeph invited this shithead to drink with us,” he says through grit teeth. “Why can’t the guy grow a fucking backbone?”

Dexterity nods in agreement. They lift a hand to get the bartender’s attention. The centaur virus trots over and takes the order. But before he goes to fill the drinks Dex touches the man’s tattooed hand. The bartender blushes at the touch and turns back to face Dex. They lean in to whisper in the man’s ear. The man takes a napkin from somewhere behind the counter and hurriedly scribbles a phone number on it. As he passes the napkin to Dex they take the pen from his hand. They take his non-inked hand in their own and writes an address on his skin.

“I’ll leave the door unlocked,” they say as the bartender leaves.

“Dude, what the fuck?” Emery exclaims with an annoyed expression. “Some of us wanna get shit-faced, Dex!”

“Oh, you will,” they reply with a wink.

Let’s get out of here, babe.

He thinks about it and his gaze shifts to where Zephyr and E sit. They’re in deep conversation about the logistics of doing a pub crawl/concert tour. His gaze moves back to the friends sitting on opposite sides of him. Dex and Emery started a shot contest. Both are currently on their fourth shot of vodka. The bartender is excitedly watching the face off and pouring shots. But his infatuation with the drummer makes it more difficult than it normally is.

Zale reaches over the bar and takes a bottle of bourbon from the shelf. Thankfully the bartender is far too busy with the others to notice. He shoves the bottle in the inside pocket of his hoodie and zips it up. Flipping the hood over his head he steps off the bar-stool. He quickly gives his goodbyes to the others. Emery seems the most upset by his hasty exit. But Zale has his reasons; a lonely and starving cat at home.

So they let him go.

He weaves his way back through the crowded bar. Shoving past other viruses he heads straight for the backstage area. Zale quickly finds his way to the greenroom. Looking around he takes a minute to find his backpack. The faded blue material blended into the gaudy 50′s decor. Almost everything in the room was blue. He swears that the place didn’t look like this when the band came in earlier in the night. Unless it was and he just didn’t notice.

Thankfully his board is still sitting underneath his bag.

He slings the bag over his shoulder and carries his board under his arm. As he walks through the room to the rear exit someone loudly clears their throat. He turns to see Esteem leaning against the door frame.

“Need a lift?” he asks with a surprising sincerity.

“Nah, man, I’m good,” Zale says; gesturing with the skateboard.

“You sure? My bike’s right outside. Pretty sure I can get you home faster than your board.”

An annoyed growl escapes Zale’s lips as he steps up to the cow virus.

“What’s your plan here? Weasel your way into the group? You want an in and you’re trying everybody. And that’s why you’re offering me a ride. You want some reason to have an input on what we do.”

Esteem shakes his head and pushes himself off the wall. He chuckles and closes the remaining space between the two of them.

“You’re a helluva lot smarter than you look.”

Zale scoffs but says nothing. He turns away and crosses to the exit. The last thing he wants to do is talk with this guy. But the other man isn’t backing down just yet. He follows Zale like a shadow; barely even a step behind. He puts his hand on Zale’s shoulder as he pushes the door open.

“Hear me out, okay,” Esteem says. “I know what I’m talking about. My uncle owns Renegade Records so I can hook you guys up. Think about it, Zale. Do you really want to spend your entire goddamn career playing in shitty bars?”

“Newsflash, asshole, we’ve hated you the entire goddamn time,” he says; turning on his heels and walking through the door.

~~~

He walks through the cold night air with hands in the pockets of his hoodie. The dark gray hood is pulled over his head. His light brown fringe pokes out from the edge of the fabric. As he walks he lays his board down on the concrete and steps on. Using the bit of momentum he had he pushed the skateboard forward with his left foot. Cars, and a couple motorists, pass by ignoring him. Headphones in both of his ears, blaring music, block out the sound of the cars. The sidewalks are empty. Zale is as alone as he could have ever been.

But he wasn't.

He feels her at his back; looking over his shoulder. He hears her voice despite the music.

I miss you. Come with me.

He ignores her words and keeps his eyes forward. He knows that she isn't really there. She can't be. Ghosts don't exist. But he still feels her body against his, her arms around his chest, her head on his shoulder. He hears her familiar melodic voice in his ear.

Zale, c'mon baby. You know you want to.

He shakes his head violently as if he's trying to physically push her off him. That doesn't work. She's still there. Digging his foot down on the concrete he tries to move away from her. But she stays on him like a fly on a wall. His thoughts can't escape her on nights like this. She's always with him whenever he's alone.

As is his guilt.

Biting his lip he brings his left foot down again; pushing as hard as he can. He places that foot on the back portion of the board. Gliding down the sidewalk from his own force.

Zale rides his board for a couple blocks before turning into a driveway. The driveway turns into a gravel covered lot that leads up to a fence. Two sections meet in the middle to form a gate. A large lock and chain runs through the front of the gate. Thanks to the streetlights he can make out that much. But everything else beyond that is dark shadows against pitch black night.

Stopping with a hard grind he simultaneously slips the backpack off his back. He unzips the front pocket and takes out a flashlight. Setting it down on the gravel next to him he fishes a large pair of wire cutters from the bag. Picking up the flashlight he clicks it on. The light illuminates the ground in front of him. He shines the beam on the fence and the gate. A pair of bright yellow signs with black symbols warn of the dangers within. One has a silhouette of a fire and the other has a skull and cross bones.

Leaning in closer to the fence he moves the light around to attempt to make out what sits inside.

This isn’t what I meant.

“Yeah, I know,” he says aloud. “But this is what I’m doing so deal with it, babe.”

Picking up his board he walks to the eastern side of the fence; away from the front gate. Holding the flashlight in his mouth he kneels down a few inches in front of the metal. He makes quick work of cutting the thin metal. Returning the wire cutters to the backpack Zale then grabs hold of the cut fence. He’s careful as to not grip the sharp bits. His face scrunches up in a grimace as he pulls the fence away enough to move through.

Before crawling through the gap he shoves his board and his backpack through.

With flashlight in hand he wanders the area.

He walks quietly, passing building after building, with the presence of Bonsai at his side. Surprisingly she stays quiet for the moment. After some time he sees an open door to a building on his right. With an excited smirk he rushes over.

The door is barely open but he squeezes through.

“Well, would you look at that,” he mutters to himself.

Standing in the doorway he looks around the building. A series of furnaces line the farthest wall. Large, grate covered, windows hang high above the structures. Everything about this place forms the coolest looking ramshackle indoor skatepark he could have ever wanted. Thick, curved, metal sheeting forms a half pipe. One overturned metal table sits in the middle of the empty floor. Just looking at it he knows that it would make a good rail.

He sets his backpack down near the door and takes out the bottle. Opening it he takes a long drag and returns the cap. Carefully setting the bottle down by his backpack he gets on his board.

As Zale rides around the empty building, landing a few tricks, exhilaration rushes through his body. He runs the same routine and tricks until he gets bored of it.

With a tired sigh he slowly cruises back to his backpack.

Clutching the bottle by the neck he takes the cap off and throws it behind him. Taking a long chug from it looks around and sees a staircase near the door. Pulling the bottle from his lips he wipes the excess off with the back of his hand. He walks to the staircase and stumbles on his feet.

Sitting down on the bottom step he drinks his way through the rest of the bourbon.

When the bottle’s empty he throws it on the ground and it shatters. He chuckles. Rushing over to his board he picks it up and throws his backpack over his shoulder. Zale trips on his own feet and almost falls on his face but he catches himself. He rapidly turns the edge of the bottom step; his hand grazes against the rail.

Climbing up the rusted steps he grips the side rails as tight as he can. Looking down he sees the glass, and dust, covered floor. He can see the furnaces that sit along the far wall. The metal structures have large black spots around their doors. Signs of the fires that burned in them some time ago. Something near one of the furnaces catches his eye and he slips.

But he quickly catches himself.

You’re gonna get hurt, you know.

"I'll be fine," he says to no one.

At the top of the stairs he sets his board down and carefully steps on. The metal underneath him shifts and creaks loudly. Zale can feel that it’s dangerously close to collapsing. He feels his heart jump in his chest as he grabs the rail to avoid falling. He laughs out a shaky breath. Righting himself on the board he pushes off.

As he skates the air whips through his hair. The feeling sends a shock of euphoria through him. He rushes from one end of the catwalk to the other. When he realizes that he did so and made it out without a scratch he laughs. Pushing harder this time he shoots off and immediately turns the corner instead of stopping. Much to his surprise Zale makes the turn without a problem. Slowing down just a bit he cruises atop the catwalk and feels the air on his face.

Remember what else felt like that, but, times a million?

“Yeah, I do,” he says to the voice of Bonsai in his head. “But this doesn’t come with a side effect of death.”

Not a problem for you anymore, though, is it? Guess it isn’t for me either since you already killed me.

“I didn’t know,” he cried to the empty building. “I wouldn’t have done it if I did and I sure as hell wouldn’t have let you do it.”

THEN MAKE IT RIGHT!

"I'm sorry. If I could take it back I would! I'd trade places with you in a heartbeat but, dammit B, I can't."

He sighs audibly with frustration and turns another sharp corner. But his mind is otherwise occupied and so he misjudges the timing. Instead of cruising with the rail he sharply collides with the rusted metal. The half-broken rail gives way and he crashes to the floor.

Zale lands on his board and his head harshly hits the concrete. The force of the impact knocks him out almost instantly.

Toldja.

~~~

An hour or two, he has no idea, later Zale wakes up. He’s lying on his back facing the night sky above. As his consciousness returns he feels something poking his back. He smells the uncanny reek of lighter-fluid. With a groan he reaches behind his back and grabs hold of the object. He pulls it out and looks at it; more confused than he already was.

In his hand he holds a small plastic wheel.

Once again her voice floats through his head; Don’t you remember? Or is your mind that worn?

He ignores her. Struggling to his feet he stumbles slightly. He barely notices when the wheel falls from his fingers. Zale reaches out to the nearest thing in an attempt to keep his balance. His hand touches a cold concrete pillar and he latches onto it. Even with that stability he feels like he can’t stand. Bile rises up in his throat and he puts a hand over his mouth.

“Hey kid,” someone yelled from across the street. “You’re not a kid anymore. What the hell are you doing?”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Zale shouts back.

The stranger says something else but thanks to the blur in his head and the white noise in his ears Zale doesn't catch a word of it.

Shaking his head he tries to shake the fog from his mind. Nothing about this makes any sense. But then again not much made sense when it came to Bonsai. Sometimes he felt like he never actually knew her. And now he’ll never have the chance to see her again. To hear her voice.

He hears her in mind, but, that isn’t really her.

With a sigh he pulls his phone out of his back pocket.

He isn’t the least bit surprised when the screen is shattered. Small bits of glass fall out into his palm. Muttering under his breath he curses himself for putting his phone there. Carefully as possible he taps the screen; bringing the phone to life. The images of the screen and the apps are a mess of static lines and blocks of black.

Oh, poor baby. Calling for help?

Clicking the small white text box icon he opens his messages. He stares at the screen; scanning for the group text. After a minute or so he finds it. The text thread sits near the bottom of the list. He hadn’t sent anything through there in awhile. But the thread underneath it had been empty for a very, very, long time. It had been at least a year. Maybe verging on two now.

Her name glows brightly through the screen.

Zale’s thumb hovers over it for a minute.

But he clicks the one above it. He doesn’t type a message to the others. Instead he simply sends an emoji. A red square with a white capital “B” inside it. Leaving the phone in his hand he leans against the pillar. It’s cold and strangely comforting in the moment. He slides down into a crouching position as he closes his eyes. Closing his empty hand into a fist he taps it against his forehead.

Times melds into nothingness as his consciousness fades once again. Blackness covers his vision and he lets it overtake him.

Wake up, Zale.

“Go away,” he says with a tired, drunken, voice.

“Zale,” the voice repeats over and over again. Each time the voice repeats his name it’s louder than the previous time. But with each new iteration of his name the voice of Bonsai Warner fades away. It deepens and drops a series of octaves. The typical subtlety on her tone is replaced by a brash, loud, attitude.

He blinks slowly. His vision is blurry and he can only see swatches of color. Most of what he can make out is white. The edges are black. But there is a bright, almost blinding, watermelon pink at the top of what he can see. Zale blinks hard but the sensation of a harsh slap across his face brings him to.

“Wake the fuck up, dude!” Emery shouts.

“Hey,” Zale says, still tired and drunk but, happy. “You guys came for me.”

“You texted us,” Emery replied as if that explained everything.

“Of course we came, man,” Zephyr says; wrapping his friend’s arm around his shoulders.

“You think we’d leave you when you need us the most? I’m hurt.” Dexterity says with a fake pained voice.

They shoot Zale a wink and a smile. They take the other side of Zale, wrapping their arm around his waist, and help Zephyr walk him out of the building. Emery leaves and comes back after a few minutes with Zale’s bag in his hand. The parts of his skateboard are in Emery’s other hand. He apologizes to Zale and promises to buy him a new one. Zale shakes his head and declines the offer.

The quartet exits the building and walk out into the night.

#my writing #larka's virus community #lvc #zale young #emery becker #dexterity burrows #zephyr allen #esteem wells #bonsai warner #tw drinking #tw drunk shenangians #tw drug mention #tw death mention #ageekwrites

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ageeksnerdyworld · 5 years

Text

Know My Weakness

Characters: Khalid Asfour and Kairo Asfour

Word Count: 3, 805

Trigger Warning: Death Mention, Violence

Notes: Another backstory. I’ve finally realized that writing things phonetically makes things better because the text alignment of Tumblr posts totally flips Arabic so it turns into nonsense. And as always The Cyber World and the viruses therein belong to @voiceoflarka

Summary: Kairo Asfour is determined to put his past behind him. To prove that he's better than who he used to be. And that all begins with saving his son. Click that read more if you’d like.

~~~

Kairo Asfour woke up before the sun rose. He didn't even think twice about it as it was an old habit he’d kept for longer than not. He sits up on the thin mattress and laces his fingers in one another. Cracking his knuckles he stretches his arms behind his back. With a light yawn he rubs his chin. The scratching sound tells him that his beard that has gotten fuller than he realized. Rubbing a hand over his face he fully shakes off the last throngs of sleep from his body. He pulls the thin blanket off and steps onto the cool, sandy, ground.

He crosses the short distance to the small wooden table that sits on the right side of the tent's interior.

He kneels on the ground and pulls a dust colored canvas bag out from under the table. Untying the brown leather cord that seals the bag he shoves a hand inside. Blindly searching in the dark of early morning he removes a couple articles of clothing from inside. He quickly changes into a pair of thin, cream colored, pants; deep pockets on either side. Tossing the dirty pair into a nearby wicker basket, which is fuller than he realized, he makes a mental note to do the washing soon. Hooking his fingers under the cloth he starts to peel the olive green shirt off his chest.

The shirt is halfway off when his long, tan, fingers graze a scar.

He freezes for just a second.

Kairo ultimately pulls the shirt off and looks down at his abdomen. Honey colored veins map the surface of his skin; lining his muscles and accentuating their definition. But the deeply indented scar breaks his carefully toned form. It remains as a constant reminder of his past.

Of his foolish mistakes.

The scar itself runs along his right side; curling around his back. It stops just above his right hip. Running his fingers along he winces at the memory of the pain he felt when the wound was inflicted.

He remembers the man’s sharp, angry, yellow eyes shining in the dark of night. The way the tiger virus gritted his teeth as he dragged the blade through Kairo's skin. The deep honey color of his own soul residue as it poured from the gash in his flesh. He also remembers the man’s soul residue as it leaked from the fatal wound; coloring his outfit a dark green. He remembers the light, and life, draining from the attacker's eyes.

Years, maybe even decades, have passed between then and now. Despite that the scar glows brighter than the rest of his veins.

Once his mind is back in the present Kairo shakes his head and blinks. He quickly puts on a deep navy short-sleeved t-shirt. Letting out a light sigh he pushes the small bag back under the table. Rising to his feet he turns back to where his minimal bed lay.

His dark brown, almost black, eyes pass over his mattress and look to the one that lies next to it.

A small, tan skinned, boy lays curled up under a blanket. His tiny fingers poke out of the dark cloth. His hair is a mess; sticking out at the oddest angles. The boy’s face was peaceful and innocent. His chest slowly raises and falls with deep slumber.

Kairo almost doesn't want to wake his son.

Did you really think you could leave your true self behind? Move on and do something good with whatever time you have left? You're a fool, Hisada. You'll never really change and he will pay the price.

The voice of his conscious mocks him. And in the deepest caverns of his heart Kairo agrees.

Tiptoeing to the side of his son's bed he crouches next to him. A smile forms as he watches his son sleep. Reaching out he brings a hand to the boy's head. Softly stroking the boy's dark hair he whispers quietly.

"Come on, meherya. You cannot sleep the day away."

"La baba," the boy says with a tired groan. He turns away from his father's touch.

Kairo pulls the blanket off the boy and grabs his shoulder. He gently lifts his son into a sitting position. The boy's eyes blink slowly. His mouth opens wide as he lets out a long yawn. Kairo leaves the boy's side to fetch him a change of clothes.

"I'm tired baba," he says.

Kairo nods; "I know, Khalid, I know. But there is work to do."

He passes the clothes to the boy and tells him to get dressed. The child nods and Kairo slips on a pair of sandals. He reminds Khalid that he will be just outside. As he leaves a ray of early morning sunlight glinting of a metal surface catches his eye. But Kairo ignores it and steps out into the early day.

The air is crisp and cold.

He looks out into the desert; watching the sun slowly rise over the sand. Coloring the dark sky in oranges, purples, and pinks the sight is breathtaking. He shifts his gaze to the right but remains still. Then he turns his eyes to the left. No one can be seen for miles in either direction.

Even though he knew they were completely alone he remains vigilant.

"Pretty," a small voice calls from behind him.

Kairo turns around to see his son staring wide eyed at the sky. The sunlight shines off the boy's face; lightening his tan skin. His mouth is open in a wide toothy grin of childlike wonder.

Kairo reminds himself that this, his son's innocence, is why he has to do what he has planned.

But, he says to himself, it can wait.

He takes his son by the hand and leads the boy to a large boulder that shields their tent from the harsh desert winds. He lifts the boy on the top of the boulder. Patting his son's hand he ensures that Khalid is steady before climbing up himself. Once they're sitting side by side Khalid curls up to his father. Kairo puts an arm around his son and pulls him close.

Together they watch the sun rise.

After they head back into the tent. Kairo gathers a few things. Khalid helps by carrying two plates as carefully as he can. Father and son make a small fire together a few yards away from their tent. When the fire is going Kairo carefully sets a rack over the flame and puts a pan on the rack. He makes sure his son is far enough to not get burnt accidentally but close enough for him to keep an eye. Kairo makes eggs with feta cheese.

He calls Khalid over as he plates the eggs.

Reminding the boy to be careful, because the eggs are very hot, he takes out a thick pita out of a bag by his feet. Ripping it in half he then rips one half into halves again. Handing the young sprite a fourth of the pita he takes a fourth for himself. Returning the uneaten pita to the bag he ties it closed before he begins eating.

His conscious whispers sinisterly; Time is not on our side. Don't you dare pretend that it's alright.

That was the last thing she ever said to him. And in the end she was right. The words bring on a wave of memories he can't stop. He stares off, chewing mindlessly, past his son and into the empty desert.

The vision, the memory, of his wife blossoms in his mind's eye. Meherya Nucati was still as beautiful as the day they met. Her smile is even brighter, and more soothing, in his memory. She was the light of his life in those days. A pleasant presence that cut through the dark and harsh reality he lived in. It was impossible to hide the truth of his work from her. She was far too smart to actually believe his lies. And then there was the reason they had met in the first place.

Her mother hired Kairo to kill her.

And Meherya paid the ultimate price in the end. She knew that trying to hide out was pointless. The organization that was after Kairo would find him eventually and they wouldn't stop until they did. They would send droves assassins just like him if they had to. But he was too stubborn, too confident in his own abilities, to take her fears into consideration.

She was murdered right next to him and he couldn't stop it.

It had been three years since then but the memory was as clear as the sunrise.

That day she wasn't feeling well so she stayed home from work. Even with her nose red, skin pale, and hair messy Meherya was still the most beautiful person he ever met. He insisted that she stay in bed. He could handle taking care of her and Khalid until she was better. It was going to be fine.

They barely made it through the morning when it happened. Kairo was in the kitchen, with the baby on his hip, making breakfast. He softly sang one of Meherya's favorite songs to the boy. When breakfast was ready he carefully carried a plate to their bedroom. He pushed the door open with his hip. Stepping into the room what he saw made him drop the plate of food in shock.

Meherya lay on the floor slumped against the left side of the bed.

Her hair was matted against the right side of her head; stuck there with soul residue. The clothes she wore were now stained a light mint green from the slash across her throat. That mint green color was entirely gone from her veins which were now dark black. Her eyes and mouth were still open so it seemed she had some final thoughts for her killer. Kairo now realized that she wasn't sick. She had been poisoned.

Only the poison didn't take the way it should have, it seemed. That’s why his wife was brutally slain in their marital bed. Kario knew that the fact of killing her where they lived, ate and slept together, was a message. A message that was clearer than it ever would have been. As he turned Khalid away, and knelt down to close Meherya’s eyes, that message rang through his mind. It played like a broken record; repeating over and over.

You failed. You tried to protect them and you failed. You’re not safe here.

Their son was barely even two.

Kairo owed it to his wife, and her memory, to save his son from his past.

He thought about all of this as they cleaned up. Taking the dishes and the laundry to the nearest water source Kairo remained silent. He could feel his young son's curious eye on him as they walked. His mind was still on the daunting task at hand. He didn't save Meherya and he needed to change that.

He would start today.

No more holding back.

Kairo didn't say anything until they were back at the tent. Together father and son began to hang the laundry on a thin wire that ran from the tent to a pole a few feet away. The wind was calm for the moment so they didn't have to struggle against it. While his son was attaching clothespins to a sheet Kairo ducked inside the tent. When he returned he had two wooden scimitars in his hands. He set them down quickly and rushed to help finish hanging the laundry.

When that was done Kairo knelt down so that he was eye level with Khalid.

He firmly placed his hands on the boy's shoulders. But when he started to speak he found that his voice faltered. Khalid asked him if he was okay and Kairo smiled; squeezing his shoulder just a bit harder than before.

"I'm going to teach you how to protect yourself," he said when his voice came back to him.

The young boy's eyes went wide with excitement. A beaming smile painted his face.

"You think I'm ready?"

Kairo shrugged as he picked up the scimitars. He told his son that there was no time like the present. It was better for him to learn now rather than wish he had.

Without warning he swung one of the wooden swords at his son. Khalid quickly ducked out of the way; truly afraid. Kairo praised him and then attacked again. But this time he swung with both scimitars. He raised one high in the air while swinging the other low. Khalid moved out of the way of the overhand attack but wasn't prepared for the other. He fell on his back as his legs were swept out from under him.

Kairo helped his son to his feet and fixed the boy's stance before going back into the impromptu training session. The fourth time the boy fell Kairo harshly shouted at him to take this seriously. His survival would depend on this.

"People do not like what they do not understand. And most of those people try to destroy what they don't understand."

"What do you mean, baba?"

"They don't understand that people can change. There are many things I have done in the past that others do not forgive. If they need to they will hunt you to get to me."

Kairo Asfour closes his eyes and hangs his head in shame. The wooden scimitars go lack at his sides. His stance relaxes; fully losing the defense. Khalid senses that his father has darker secrets than what he already knows. Darkness that has shaped him into the man he is today.

That forced him into a life of hiding.

"You're not like that anymore," Khalid says with tears in his eyes.

"They do not see it that way, habibi," his father says; regret ringing through his voice.

"Now, get up," he commands the harsh cruelty returning to his voice.

The young boy doesn't hesitate. He quickly scrambles to his feet and readying himself. Holding both hands, tightly clenches into fists, in front of his chest he was prepared for the next attack. His eyes narrow and he clenches his jaw.

~~~

Khalid wakes up the next morning being harshly poked in the shoulder. The object feels round and hard and cold against his skin. It jolts him awake and he opens his eyes to the deep darkness of early morning. Or maybe it was the middle of the night? He couldn't know for sure it was too dark. So dark that he could barely make out the silhouette of someone standing next to him.

All he can really see is the faint glow of the virus's latte brown veins.

A muffled voice harshly says; "Move it, kid."

Afraid and confused the boy scrambles to his feet. The muffled voice orders him to move again. He hesitates and is once again pushed by the strange cold object as its shoved into his back. Khalid exits the tent with the stranger behind.

Stepping out into the dark desert his eyes are now adjusting to the night.

He sees five more viruses; all with faces covered by balaclavas and masks. One is standing alone as if waiting for something. The other four are surrounding his father. Two are holding his arms back while another seemingly ties him up. One of which has a knife to his throat. The blade surprisingly shines, from the glow of the viruses' veins, in the dark. Before he can cry out Khalid is harshly shoved to the ground in front of the lone masked figure.

His hand hits a sharp rock and a cut forms on his palm.

A bit of his salmon colored soul, bright in the stark black of night, starts to come to the surface.

"Found this one asleep in the tent," the voice behind Khalid says.

"Interesting," the figure replies.

The man kneels down and harshly grabs the boy's chin. Digging his fingers into Khalid's skin he narrows his eyes; glaring. He shoves the young sprite's face to the side and surveys the boy's expression. Khalid quietly winces in pain; trying not to show it. The man’s mouth curls in disgust and looks up at Kairo. Their eyes lock and his expression shifts into a devilish grin.

"I had no idea you were a family man, Hisada. That seems highly contradictory to your line of work."

With that he forcibly shoves Khalid's face to the ground and crosses to the others.

"Look, whoever you are, your fight is with me. Not him. Leave the boy."

“Oh, believe me, you deserve way worse. But, this is the only way to really hurt you,” the man says as he pulls his balaclava off his face.

His hair is cut short, eyes are dark, and his face is clean shaven. Everything about his physical appearance is virtually perfect. He looks young, serious, and very proud of himself. A dark smile forms on his lips as his hand reaches up once again. His fingers run through something invisible and the edge of his jaw glimmers and shines.

The man’s fingertips cut through the image as he reaches for his ear. The gloved fingers curl around the back of his ear and pull away with a small device. It’s gray in color and shaped like a hearing aid but much more flat. A small circular light shines on the tip of the device; flashing red.

Kairo nods, slightly impressed, knowing exactly what the device is.

The man’s real skin is a bright white. Mauve colored veins crawl all over his neck. A few veins poke out from under the black finger-less gloves. Short cropped, army-style, silver hair blends into his skin at the base of his skull. Dark, brooding anger, clouds his moss green eyes. But that proud smile still curls the edges of his mouth.

“Paul? Paul Saakar?”

“Long time no see,” he says.

“Leave my son alone,” Kairo replies threateningly.

Saakar ignores him; “You thought you were finished with us when you killed my father, but, that was just the beginning. I took up my father’s position.”

He rolls up the sleeve of his left arm; revealing the underside of his forearm. A silver inked tattoo colors his white skin. In Kairo’s memory there was just a viper curled around a skull. But now a crown hovers above the head of the snake; the mark of the guild’s leader.

“I lead the Vicious Vipers and you know what exactly happens to anyone who crosses me. Did you really think I’d let that go? I’ve spent the last two years following your trail and I do have to say you are a hard man to find, Hisada.”

Kairo sighs and hangs his head.

“You found me,” he says. “Do what you want but, please, leave him be.”

“The Vicious Vipers will never be defeated. Cut off one head.”

“Isn’t that hydra?”

Paul Sakkar ignores Kairo’s comment once again; “You took the most important person in the world from me. It’s about time I return the favor. You’ve killed your last victim, Hisada.”

He turns his head to the man who stands over Khalid. The man holds the boy down; a knee shoved into the kid’s back. The muzzle of his pistol is up against his leg.

The leader of the assassins gives the man a slight nod.

The man shoots the boy in the leg. The bullet enters through the front, creating a hole on impact, and exits through the back. Small, fracture like, cracks explode at all angles from both wounds. Soul residue begins to slowly seep from the wound. Khalid screams as the bullet enters and then again seconds later when it exits.

He grits his teeth against the pain.

Without hesitating Kairo frees himself from the grip of the two men. Slamming their heads together he knocks them out. Twisting the other man’s wrist he forces the knife out of his hand. Brandishing the knife Kairo rushes Saakar. In response to his struggle four more shots are fired at his son.

“You’re going to regret that,” he whispers to Saakar.

Kairo pushes the blade into the man’s neck and slices his throat.

Within a few minutes all of the men Saakar brought with him are dead. Kairo doesn't even take a second to survey the violence at his front door. Instead he rushes over to his son. A small puff of sand shoots up as he kneels by Khalid. Taking his son's small hand in his own he squeezes it. Giving Khalid's hand a kiss tears stream down his face. He apologizes over and over again. This was the exact thing he wanted to prevent.

That's when he sees the damage.

Khalid's leg has been destroyed from the knee down.

Pieces of his leg, small shards really, cover the sand. So much of the boy's soul has been oozing from the wound that his veins have dimmed. The color glows fainter by the second. The sand underneath is deeply soaked with Khalid's soul. His eyes are shut and his mouth hangs open slightly. Kairo is completely stunned and horrified that anyone could do that to a child. But the shock last only for a split second as he gathers his thoughts and rushes inside the tent.

Kairo comes back mere minutes later with a long piece of cloth and a wet rag. He uses the rag, as quickly and carefully as he can, to clean the area around the wound. Then he unfurls the cloth and starts to wrap the wound. When he's satisfied with the tourniquet he places a hand on the boy's cheek.

Rushing back inside he throws a few necessities into a canvas bag and throws it over his shoulder. Then he grabs a long scarf and wraps it around his face. Pulling it over the bridge of his nose he goes back outside. He covers Khalid’s face with a cloth as well. As the winds pick up around them sand whips against Kairo’s covered face. He hopes the wind doesn’t pick up into a storm.

Kneeling down he gingerly slides his hands under his son's back, being mindful of the injury, and picks him up.

"Rest my boy. Rest, it's going to be alright."

As he trudges through the sand Kairo softly whispers a message, a prayer, to his wife. He doesn’t know if she’s listening. He doesn’t know if she can help. If he was honest with himself he’d admit that she was right. That he should’ve listened to her. Maybe then things would be different. He knows there’s nothing to be done about it now. So he does all that he can.

He braces himself against the harsh wind and pushes on.

#my writing #oc writing #short story #larka's virus community #lvc #khalid asfour #kairo asfour #tw death mention #oc backstory #ageekwrites

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ageeksnerdyworld · 5 years

Text

‘Neath These Lover’s Eyes

Characters: Temperance Filigran, Andrea Lombardi, Gris Sourir, and Nutmeg Paradise

Word Count: 4,730

Trigger Warning: Violence, Murder Mention, Abuse Mention, Rape Mention

Notes: More backstory stuff! Originally I wasn’t going to include the majority of what’s in here but then I changed my mind. Hope ya like it. As always The Cyber World and the viruses therein belong to @voiceoflarka

Summary: In an area chock full of Grimm the team struggles to hold them back. One of them gets hurt very badly. When things die down for a bit they hide among the rubble to heal up. And while they’re at it they start to look for survivors. Click the read more if you'd like.

~~~

The four walked into the city expecting a bad situation. They were told that many Grimm were attacking but the sheer numbers were far more than they thought. Their job was to clear the area and search for survivors when that was done. But the charging horde of Boarbatusks and the Ursi clearly wanted to make that very difficult.

The group immediately went on the offensive; attacking the nearest creature of Grimm.

Temperance squared up with a Boarbatusk. It dug its front hoof into the ground and breathed heavily. The creature was preparing for an attack she saw coming from a mile away. The Boarbatusk tucks its body in on itself and starts to spin rapidly towards her. She moved out of the way and brought up her crossbow.

When the creature stopped she fired. It screamed in pain, while she knocked another bolt, and she fired again.

The second bolt hit and the creature turned on her; charging once again.

Just before the creature would've hit her three rapid fired shots struck the left side of its face. The combined attacks were too much for the creature and it fell to the ground. It lay there for a second or two before dissipating into black smoke. Temperance turned to see Andrea standing barely a foot away from where the creature stood.

"Thanks, babe," she says with a smile.

"Let's show these monsters what they're really up against," he says with a smirk.

While they destroy Boarbatusk after Boarbatusk the others also took down their fair share of Grimm. Screams of wounded Ursi filled the air. Bodies of the various creatures litter the streets, amidst the rubble of the fight, all slowly turning into smoke. The group seems to be making relatively good progress. The horde of Grimm is thinning.

Suddenly a large gust of wind blows through the air.

"Nevermore!" Gris shouts over the sound of battle.

A massive, black winged, Nevermore swoops down from some unseen perch. . Its gigantic wings push violent gusts of wind through the area; knocking around a lot of debris. The creature screeches loudly as it flies. It reaches down with its large legs and sharp talons. Clawing at the group of hunters it tries to pick off one. Large, glowing, red eyes glare at them from underneath the white mask that covers its face. The group ducks out of the way. The Nevermore flies off with another screech before it starts swooping back around.

"Not on my watch," Andrea says through gritted teeth.

Andrea points his staff at the underside of the Nevermore. Shooting as fast as he can he tries to wound the Grimm enough that it would flee. Despite the bullets that puncture its body the creature continues to persist.

"Boost me up!" Nutmeg Paradise shouts to him.

He nods and kneels down; cupping his hands together. The iguana virus rushes toward Andrea. Just as her foot lands in his hands Andrea hurls her up in the air. She launches high up and crosses her arms in front of her body in an X shape. Holding her twin chakrams in each hand she prepares to strike. Sun shines off the sharpened blades and temporarily blinds the Grimm.

The Nevermore lets out a loud screech and flaps its wings. But it can't stop fast enough to avoid the attack.

Nutmeg swings her chakrams down into the belly of the Nevermore. Then she swings them again, upwards this time, striking even deeper into the Grimm.

The creature screams and falls to the ground. As the body of the massive Nevermore slowly turns to smoke the group surveys the damage. The streets are still cluttered with concrete, glass, and various rubble. A few of the remaining Grimm are running away. The group themselves look a bit worse for wear, but, faring well.

"Whaddya think, team? Give the place the all clear?"

The team's leader, Gris Sourir, asked the question. His deep southern drawl added a strange calm to his words.

He was standing on top of the trunk of a car that had been chucked through a coffee shop window. His trusted sniper rifle, that doubled as a long sword, hung across his broad shoulders. Wind blew through his short ash blonde hair; moving it ever so slightly. His face lit up in a hopeful smile. A bright, excited, energy shone through his intense indigo eyes. The forest green veins that run up and down his arms seemed to glow bright in his excitement.

"Maybe we could if you got your stupid arse off the bloody car."

Gris laughed; "Didn't know you cared so much about little ol' me, Nu-Nu."

Nutmeg scoffs bitterly. If she was honest she couldn't care less about the team's leader. His high and mighty, lets save the world, attitude made her skin crawl. She just wanted to get the job done and go back to her life. She never wanted to be a hunter in the first place. And she sure as hell didn't want to be there. Crossing her arms over her chest she stared him down. The twin chakrams hang from either side of her belt; light shining off them.

"A little help here," she whispers to Temperance and Andrea.

"Oh, come on, Nutmeg. What's the worst that could happen to him?"

Almost as if on cue a Boarbatusk charges through the coffee shop window. The remaining glass shatters on impact; spraying the street below. The creature slams into Gris and sends him flying through the air. In his shock and confusion his grip lets go of his rifle. The rifle also goes flying through the air and lands several feet away from the group.

Before the team can react the Boarbatusk stops its charge and heaves its tusks into Gris.

He screams in pain as his soul pours from the wounds.

"You had to say something didn't you?" Temperance whispers angrily nudging Andrea in the shoulder.

"Oh come on," he whines. "It was just a joke."

She runs a hand through her hair; unsure of what to do. To her left she sees the blue-green scales of Nutmeg’s tail back away. To her right she sees the somewhat tattered ends of Andrea’s navy blue coat whipping in the wind. He’s still frozen in shock from the unexpected attack. The sound of the creature throwing Gris about pulls Temperance’s attention. Shaking her head she mutters an expletive under her breath. Hooking her crossbow behind her back she rushes off towards the Grimm.

Running as fast as she can she darts in front of the Boarbatusk.

“Hey! Drop him!” she shouts.

Much to her surprise the creature stops violently whipping Gris about. It turns to her with it’s dark red, glowing, eyes. The Grimm heavily grunts in response. She knows that the Boarbatusk is about to charge. But this time she doesn’t move out of the way. Instead Temperance stands firm and digs her boots into the ground. She grits her teeth and attempts to brace herself against the impact.

The creature, it’s harsh tusks, and Gris ram into her.

She goes flying about five or so feet into the exterior of a building.

Temperance struggles to her feet; wobbling as she does so. She can feel a large rip in the left shoulder of her jacket. Shoving her hair out of her face she senses something that wasn’t there before. A small dribble of her gold, shimmering, soul flows from the corner of her mouth. She wipes it away with the back of her hand and smiles.

Feeling the force of the impact as it flows through her body she also feels Andrea’s arms wrap around her.

“If you’re doing what I think you are you gotta get closer,” he says as he rushes the two of them back to where Temperance originally stood.

“Stay close,” she says leaning in for a kiss. “Not entirely sure how this is gonna play out.”

Andrea kisses her and when he pulls back he nods. Holding his staff at the ready he prepares to aid her if need be. At the same time Nutmeg rushes up next to him. She whispers something in his ear. He nods and tells her to wait. He points to where Temperance is sneaking up on the Grimm.

“Gotcha,” the iguana virus says. “Let’s just hope she doesn’t kill Gris as well. That won’t look good.”

While they whisper and stand at the ready Temperance stops right next to the Grimm. From her vantage point she can see that Gris is no longer on the sharp, pointed, tusks of the creature. He lays on the ground, moaning in pain, clutching the gaping wounds in his body. One wound is in his sternum and the other is in his gut. A ever growing puddle of dark forest green lays underneath him. Black smoke flows out of the wounds in the Boarbatusk’s hide.

Temperance brings her hands to her chest in tight fists.

She pushes her hands out towards the Grimm. As she does so the energy from the harsh impact explodes from her body and slams into the creature. It shrieks in pain as the energy blasts through it’s side. A large, round, gaping hole remains in the flesh. Wisps of smoke flow out of the massive wound.

The Grimm falls to the ground with a loud thud.

She hunches over in exhaustion; heaving breaths escaping her chest. Andrea rushes up to her side and lays a hand on her back. Shaking her head she waves him off and tells him to grab Gris. Nutmeg also rushes up to Gris’ aid. As Temperance gathers herself the others get Gris to his feet. They slowly stagger back to where she stands. Nutmeg gingerly pulls Gris’ arm off her shoulder and turns to Temperance.

“Found a place we can take cover for now,” she says. “We’ll get there and I’ll do my thing and fix him up.”

~~~

It takes the group around fifteen to twenty minutes to get to the spot Nutmeg found. She leads them through the rubble of an abandoned building; pausing every so often to check in on Andrea and Gris. She slashes through some of the larger parts of rubble with her chakarams. When they make it to the clearer area on the ground floor Nutmeg puts a hand up.

“Safe and sound. Well, hold on...” she trails off as she looks around.

Temperance and Andrea stop at an overturned wooden cabinet. He kicks some of the rubble and ruined furniture and dust out of the way. Temperance looks at his work and nods. It’ll be fine for now. It has to anyway. Together they gingerly ease Gris to the floor. His eyes are still closed and his veins are now dimmer than before. But they can see that his chest still moves as he breathes.

The pair stand by their hurt team leader; unsure of what to do next.

A few awkward minutes pass by before Nutmeg Paradise comes back.

Explaining to the others that she secured the way in as best she could. Andrea shakes his head very bothered that she didn’t ask them to help her. Temperance puts a hand on his shoulder; telling him to stop. He looks to her with an eyebrow cocked and his eyes closed slightly in a somewhat confused expression. But Nutmeg just waves him off with a hand and kneels down by Gris’s side.

Nutmeg cracks her neck and shakes her hands. Rolling her sleeves up she takes a long exhale. She lays both of her hands on either side of the wound in his sternum. Closing her eyes she clears her mind and focuses on the injury. Her breathing steadies and an intense calm washes over her face.

“Do you need any--” Temperance starts to ask but the iguana virus bitterly cuts her off.

“Why in fucking hell would I need any help using my power?”

“I just thought I’d ask because it’s a real bad wound.”

“Just let me work.”

Temperance nods and takes Andrea by the hand. They walk away, exchanging glances, silently. When they’re about ten of fifteen feet from the others they stop. Andrea looks down at their intertwined fingers and sighs. He leans in closer to her and kisses her cheek. She whispers that it would probably be a good idea if they looked for survivors.

He nods and tells her to lead the way.

As they search through the abandoned building Temperance begins to hum a tune. They walk close together with hands still clasped. Passing by chunks of building and smashed glass everything seems clear of survivors. They agree that it should be taken as a good sign. Hopefully it means that everyone in the area got out before things got as bad as they did.

They come to a section where the floor above crumbled down into the ground floor. Andrea helps Temperance climb up first. In turn she pulls him up when she finds safe purchase. Unsurprising to the both of them the second floor is just as destroyed as the first. Blown in widows have shattered glass everywhere. Shards of piping poke out from various broken pieces of the other floors.

Temperance goes off a bit by herself; still humming to distract herself. As she walks she looks through the debris. Returning a chunk of concrete to where it lay something catches her eye. She rushes to the back of the building. The wall was partially torn asunder and the section that used to be intact now lay on the floor; a pile of destruction. Kneeling on the floor she peers under the rubble.

The faded pale pink glow pulsed in and out from the darkness.

She starts to remove the smaller bits of rubble. Tossing them aside she turns back and shouts to Andrea; “Babe, I need your help!”

Mere moments later he shoots up at her side. A few strands of his long, dark brown, hair fell into his face from the movement. She tells him about the situation and he quickly gets the gist of her idea. With the majority of the smaller bits out of the way Andrea walks around the left side of the rubble. Temperance moves to the right side.

They both tightly grip the underside of their side of the piece of wall and lift it.

A small sprite crawls out from under the rubble.

The pair lets go of the section of wall they were holding. It harshly lands back on the other pieces with a loud sound. Bits of dust and tiny rubble fall from the impact. The two of them turn to check on the child.

“Hey, kiddo,” Temperance says kneeling down to be at eye level with the sprite. “You’re safe now, okay?”

The child, small and skinny, wears a dirty and somewhat tattered shirt. Pants that are also as ruined cover the sprite’s short legs. One of the black shoes is scuffed and the laces are untied. But the left foot is without a shoe covering the dusty white sock. The young sprite’s pale pink veins glow brighter than before. A small wisp of the same color flows from the boy’s right eye.

A pair of round, furry, ears poke out from the boy’s short brown hair. Both ears are tan in color with black spots. He holds his fluffy tail, same coloring and markings as his ears, in his small right hand. He clutches his tail as if using it as a makeshift security blanket. His left-hand thumb is shoved into his mouth. Big, round, bright amber eyes peer out of the young boy’s face.

The child nods with wide, terror-filled, eyes but says nothing.

“Don’t worry all the big, bad, Grimm are gone. We got them.”

The hand falls from the mouth as the child’s mouth hangs open; “Really? You’re hunters?”

Temperance nods and the child smiles; slightly relieved. She asks the sprite’s name. The response comes out in a whisper. She offers her name and nudges her head to Andrea and gives up his name as well. He walks forward to the pair hoping that he doesn’t look as terrifying as he feels. Temperance takes the young sprite’s hand and squeezes it tightly.

“Steel,” she says calmly and sincerely. “You are braver than I could ever be; keeping yourself safe alone with all those Grimm.”

“Really? Do you think I’m brave enough to be a hunter like you two?”

“Oh, of course! Now, come on, let’s go meet the others.”

“Others?”

“You think we’d be here all by ourselves?” she asks with a laugh.

The boy shrugs. They walk hand in hand with Andrea behind. As they reach the crushed sections of floor that lead down Steels falls. Andrea bursts forth and catches him before he falls to the ground floor beneath. He clutches the boy to his chest and carries him the rest of the way.

When they reach the safe spot Temperance calls to Nutmeg.

The iguana virus rushes over and sees the young sprite in Andrea’s arms. She nods and takes the boy without a word. When they try to help Nutmeg pushes them away. In an annoyed, and audibly drained, voice she tells them to leave. That she’s got the situation handled.

Andrea nods and walks away. His partially tattered dark navy coat swishes as he turns on his heels.

Temperance follows; rushing after him. When she catches up to him she sees him sitting up against an overturned metal cabinet. She sits down next to him and lays a hand on his shoulder. He looks away from her. She asks what’s wrong. Temperance hints that she has an idea that whatever is bothering him at the moment has something to do with Steel. She reminds him that Steel is just a boy and is far removed from the both of them.

Andrea mutters that Steel reminded him of a younger version of himself.

"There's a lot you don't know," he says. "And I don't have the heart to tell you."

He looks down at the floor; the shame clearly written on his face. The silver veins that ran along his neck shined brightly in the dark. She reaches out and carefully moves the hair away. Looking at him, the man she loved with all her being, she shook her head.

"Whatever it is," she says seriously, "tell me when you're ready. We can handle it together."

He lifts his head and his red eyes are full of regret, shame, and sadness. Tears start to fill the edges of his eyes. His lips part in a worried quiver. The sharp, pointed, long canines poke through the small space.

"I don't deserve you, Temperance. You should be with someone better than me. A good person."

Andrea sighs and turns away from her. He sits up and wipes the tears from his eyes. He lets out a shaky breath as his hands fall to his sides. Temperance quietly moves to sit next to him. She grabs his hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze.

Andrea's head shifts as he looks down at their intertwined fingers.

"You know how I'm not from around here?"

She laughs; "Yeah, your clothes would give it away even if you never told me."

"Trying to lighten the mood and figure out how to tell you this."

She shakes her head rapidly and puts her hands out; palms down. "Okay, okay, okay. No more interruptions from me. Promise."

Andrea lets out another sigh. Running a hand through his hair he pauses. Thinking for a second he bites his bottom lip but then nods to himself.

"You know I'm from the Victorian District. Most of the viruses who aren't from there know the basics but that's it."

She nods; trying to get him to look at her but he can’t bring himself to do it.

"My mom was a maid for this high society guy. Lord Reeve Wickham. We lived in the servants quarters of his manor estate. The other servants were usually nice to me. Especially the cook. But I found out the truth about Lord Wickham when I was still young, not a child mind you, but young enough at the time. Far too young to react rationally when I... I saw..."

Temperance lays a hand on his back, patting him lightly, the action tells him that he can take his time. A few minutes, long and quiet, pass before he continues.

"He was abusing her. Raping her, pulling on her hair, and slapping her in the face. I ran into the room and jumped on him. He got off my mom, shocked to say the least, and tried to attack me. But I bit into his neck before he got the chance."

Temperance covers her mouth with her hand.

"I drank him. I drank him until there was nothing left."

The deeper Andrea goes into detail his hands clutches the rubble at his feet. His veins glow brighter and his knuckles go white. His mouth twists into a grimace; repulsed by the events and his younger self's reaction. Tears roll down his face as he recounts how Wickham's soul tasted. How powerful he felt as the other virus's soul flowed through his veins. Temperance nods slowly the severity of his confession dawning on her.

"Is that what brought you here?"

He nods; "I ran. I ran and never looked back."

She wraps her arms around him and he returns the embrace. He goes to wipe the tears from his face but she stops him. She whispers that it’s okay. Crying over something you regret doing isn’t shameful or bad, Temperance says, it shows growth and change. It was something to be proud of.

“What made you stay?” she asks; trying to take his focus off his harsh past.

“At first it was because this place, its people, need help. I can’t stand by while innocents are hurt for no reason. I don’t know how anyone could do that. Everyone deserves a home where they know they’re safe.”

“What changed your mind?”

He looks at his hands, sees the stains of Wickham’s soul, and pauses. For a moment he’s his younger self again; full of anger and hate. Just as quickly as it appeared the mirage passes. Andrea looks up at Temperance and sighs. She’s one of the few people he’s met who looked past the sharp teeth and the monster within. He reaches out and touches the side of her face.

“You did.”

~~~

In the middle of the night Andrea woke suddenly. He couldn't remember when he fell asleep but it was obvious he did. Sitting up in confusion, and slight fear, his hand brushed against something.

What the hell--

He looked down to see Temperance sleeping soundly next to him. Shaking his head he silently chuckled to himself; embarrassed that he forgot she was there. He leaned against the overturned desk they used as cover and sighed. Looking over at her, seeing the peaceful expression on her face, he smiled happily. She wiggled her nose as if something brushed against it. He laughed quietly to himself.

He didn't want to wake her but in this moment he couldn't hold it in any longer.

Andrea scoots closer to her as quietly as he could.

Gingerly reaching out he touches her shoulder and gives her a slight shake. She wakes up almost immediately; eyes wide and fists up. Then she sees that Andrea was the one who woke her. In response she gives him a harsh shove and a glare. She rolls over and tries to go back to sleep.

“Don’t do that,” he says. “You’re already awake. C’mon I have something I want to talk to you about.”

Temperance grumbles but she gets up. Andrea takes her by the hand and leads her away from the others. She understands and doesn’t object. They all need their sleep anyway. When their far away enough Andrea stops. Still holding her hand he looks over her head to peer at where they others lay. They’re all still sleeping soundlessly in a small pile. He looks down at the floor and whispers.

"I know this is weird, and sudden, but--"

"But what?"

"It doesn't matter. Temperance Filigran, I..."

Looking up his eyes meet hers and he just melts. A wide smile forms across his face as he gets lost in the deep amber. He trails off mid sentence. Temperance chuckles and snaps her fingers in front of his face. The action brings him back to his senses and he chuckles as well. Then his face goes white and his eyes go wide. He stumbles around; patting the pockets of his coat and his pants. It seemed like he was looking for something. His eyes searched the ground in desperation.

"What's wrong with me?" he says with a laugh; pushing his hair back. "I don't have a ring."

"A ring?" she asks; excited, confused, and shocked all at once.

Andrea gives her a defeated look. "Well, secret's out I guess."

He grabs her hand.

"I love you. I love you more than anything. You inspire me to be a better person. Not just for myself but for you and everything you care about. I want to wake up next to you every morning and go to sleep by your side every night. If you'd have me."

Andrea sighs and shakes his head; in utter disbelief that he's actually saying the words that pour out of his mouth.

"Temperance Filigran. Will you--uh... Will you marry me?"

She doesn't say anything. Instead she reaches into the inside pocket of her jacket.

She pulls out a small black velvet box. Opening it she reveals a pair of necklaces. Each is half of a heart and when put together they form the whole. The engraving is only legible when the pieces are together and it reads; TAKEN. Brushing a hair out of Andrea's shocked face she laughs.

"I was going to ask you!"

"Really? So, uh, is that a yes?"

"Of course it is, you dummy."

They embrace; throwing their arms around each other. He kisses her cheek. When they let go of one another Temperance looks at her fiancée with a smirk.

"This isn't very sudden you know."

Andrea nods; "I know. I've been sitting on that speech for a month."

The sound of someone loudly clearing their throat alerts the couple. They immediately turn in the direction of the sound. Nutmeg is standing a few feet away from them. She leans against the remains of the floor above which had fallen straight down and now stood upright. She seems better than when they last saw her; cuts healed and veins brighter. Her thick green-blue tail curls around her leg before laying still on the floor.

"So, how long has this been going on?" she says gesturing to them.

"A few years," Andrea says.

"Four actually," Temperance adds.

Nutmeg nods approvingly. She walks up to the couple and looks Andrea square in the eye. The look of approval wanes and a harsh stare replaces it. She harshly shoves a finger in his chest.

"If you do anything to hurt her, Lombardi, I'm coming after you."

Andrea puts a hand over his heart and bows his head slightly.

"You have my word."

"Good," she says sincerely. "You two should really get some sleep."

Temperance nods; "You too, Nutmeg. You've already done a lot."

Nutmeg shakes her head. She grips the handles of her chakrams; clearly ready for the next attack. She doesn’t notice that the sun is rising in the dark sky. Neither does Andrea as he starts to argue the point. Temperance is the first to notice.

She taps Andrea on the shoulder and tries to whisper something to him.

But before any of them does anything Gris walks up with Steel on his broad shoulders. The boy beams happily. His small hands clutch Gris’s much larger ones. Both of them look a lot better than earlier. In fact Gris Sourir looks exactly as he did before they even fought the Grimm. A wide, proud, smile paints his face and makes small crow’s feet at the edges of his eyes. Both viruses’ veins are now at a healthy glow.

“Actually, let’s get this little guy home.”

#so uh yeah #here's this i guess #idk how i feel about it #but i've been wanting to write this for awhile honestly #and uh yeah #my writing #oc backstory #oc writing #larka's virus community #lvc #andrea lombardi #temperance lombardi #gris sourir #nutmeg paradise #ageekwrites

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ageeksnerdyworld · 5 years

Text

Stains on Your Wings

Leaning his back against the wall he hoped running down the alley wasn’t a bad idea. He slid down; trying to make himself as small as he could. His clothes were dark so he hoped that would help him. He tried to breathe slower. Tried to calm his beating heart but he still heard it like a loud drum in his ears. He bit his lip hoping it was just his fear talking. Hoping no one else was able to hear. It would be life-threatening if they caught him. They wouldn’t kill him; he knew that. But, there were many other ways to destroy a life.

The young boy already knew that all too well.

He leaned his head forward, keeping his legs flat against the wall, and peeked around the corner. He needed to know if he was still being followed. The glimpse of the dark, heavy, armored boots proved he was. So did the unmistakable muzzle of a gun that was currently pointed at the ground. He sharply sucked in a breath and quickly laid his back against the wall once more.

It would be stupid to look out again, but, he needed to know just how close they were.

Suddenly something harshly pulled him further into the alleyway.

He wanted to scream but he knew better of it. The noise would alert everyone within earshot and they would find him. It was more than foolish to even think about it. Besides a hand covered his mouth so the sound of his cries would only be muffled.

“Do not speak,” a voice whispered from behind him. “It is not safe.”

He nodded and the hand slowly moved off his mouth. He turned to see who this mysterious person was, but, the alley was far too dark for him to make out anything more than a general shape. And that didn’t tell him much other than they seemed barely taller than him. But it was nighttime and the alley was dark. So he wasn’t sure if that was his imagination or reality.

A bright purple hand reached out from the dark and grabbed his wrist.

The hand, and the person it belonged to, pulled him close. Reaching somewhere on their person they pulled out a series of rags and tattered clothes. It seemed like magic to the boy because he could see where the items were hiding. They began covering his face and arms with the rags. They tied harsh and tight knots at the ends to secure the wrappings. But they were careful enough not to hurt him.

He watched the thin, purple, fingers as they wrapped and tied the cloth. White lines ran all over their hands; forming some intricate design. Some were spirals that seemed to never end, others were simple dots, and others were a series of maze-like lines. Their nails were a deep black and hung a bit over the end of their fingers. And just as quickly as they had started they were finished and shoved the extra rags back into their hiding place.

“There, all done. Now, we need to make our leave before the Harrows catch us.”

He gave them a silent nod and they led him out of the alley.

He followed his mysterious savior closely behind. Keeping his head down he tried to avoid drawing attention to himself. That was something he excelled at. A skill quite a lot of people would love to have. And unfortunately for him it was part of the reason he was in this mess in the first place.

As his guide waded through the busy open market he watched them. In part so that he wouldn’t get lost in the crowds. The city itself was very claustrophobic but the market was even more so. Anyone who had money was there and everyone had some. The other reason was more important to him. He desperately wanted to catch a glimpse of their face. He needed to know who would want to save him. But the billowing, deep black, cloak provided them with more than enough cover. The boy couldn’t even make out the person’s body shape under the cloak. The dark cloth covered everything.

Nearing the end of the market they came upon an archway.

The archway itself seemed out of place. It sat directly in-between two buildings and did not leave any empty space there. It was made of a bright, shiny, silver metal. An intense contrast to the dull, dingy, colors the boy was used to. Most places he had been to were nothing like this and he was stunned. He stopped just outside of it; marveling at its beauty and general unbecoming surroundings. A series of runes, ones he did not recognize, were deeply etched along the curve of the arch. Looking up he tried his best to make out the words but he did not recognize any of the runes.

“Oh, come on,” the cloaked figure whispered angrily. “This is not the time to sight-see.”

He nodded and kept moving. A few yards in the hooded figure stopped at a wall. They walked up to it and began running their fingers along the wall. The boy cocked his head to the side but said nothing. After a minute of two they stopped; finding a crack in the wall. If you didn’t already know you would’ve missed it entirely.

Then they slid their fingers through the crack and wrapped them around something unseen on the other side. They told him to stand back and he did; unsure and afraid of what was happening. The figure grunted, it was clear they were straining themselves, as they pulled open the section of the wall.

The hidden door opened into a dark room, or a hallway, the boy had no idea.

The figure motioned for him to enter; gesturing forward with a hand. He looked at them with a scared and confused expression. The figure smirked and chuckled.

“If I was going to hurt you I would have turned you over to the Harrows the moment I found you. It is okay. You can trust me.”

The boy nodded and slowly made his way through the door.

He was immediately met with a set of stairs which was surprising. But he followed them down into the dark. Soon his unknown savior followed behind and their shoes made a clacking sound against the stone stairs. They descended for what seemed like an hour or even more. He had no idea and if he was being honest with himself it terrified him.

When they finally reached the end of the stairs a mysterious light immediately lit up the room. And before him, a couple feet, sat another door. He turned to say something but his guide answered his question before he could ask.

“There are many precautions that must be taken,” the hooded figure said before walking up to the door.

They raised a hand, which was curled into a fist, and knocked on the door. Knocking once and then pausing before knocking three more times. They waited for a reply from the opposite side. After a couple seconds the opposite knock sequence answered. Then the heavy door opened inward and a tall, thin, gray-skinned man held it open for them. The hooded figure turned to the boy and smiled.

“Well, come on, do not just stand there.”

He looked from the thin man to the hooded figure and back again. He was afraid. There was no telling what was inside the room. He had no way of knowing anything about what would happen next. He took one more look at the man holding the door open and at the person who saved him. He nodded and walked in the door.

If there was anything he needed in his life it was someone he could trust.

Once inside the door was closed behind them. Despite being underground, and in a secret room, the place was surprisingly well lit. The tall, thin, man sat down on a small stool by the door and said nothing to them. Before the pair walked further in the hooded figure turned to him.

“Thank you, Münler. If it was Jatash I would have gotten the third degree.”

The tall man spoke in a language the boy did not understand. But his mysterious companion smiled and nodded. Then they began to walk away and as if they had just remembered they came back for the boy. The figure laughed and shook their head in disbelief. They led him through the room to a table near the back without another word.

The boy silently sat in the booth and looked around the room.

The place was a bit like the various bars and cantinas he had to go to in the past. But at the same time it was vastly different. There were an overload of various colors and sounds. Tables were almost thrown about the floor without any care for design or comfort. And not to mention the people themselves. All manners of people, either patrons or workers, were clearly from very different places. But they all seemed to be getting along; drinking, laughing, and some even singing with one another.

He was so engrossed in the atmosphere that he did not notice the drink in front of him until his cloaked companion cleared their throat.

“Got you a drink. It is just a water, do not worry,” they said.

Thanking them he grabbed the glass and downed the entire thing in one gulp. The figure across from him chuckled and told him to slow down. They called a worker over and ordered another. Then they stopped themselves and asked the boy if wanted anything else. He whispered that he was okay with just the water. The cloaked figure told the worker to bring a pitcher instead of just a glass.

“Oh, yes, I forgot. You may speak freely here. There are no Harrows or those who aid The Collective. We are safe.”

When the worker left the cloaked figure turned to the boy. Before saying anything else they reached up and unhooked the clasp at their neck. The night black cloak opened in the front and sat on their shoulders. Then they reached up and pulled the hood off their head. They laid the cloak on the booth next to them.

“Thought you would like to know who saved your life before we got down to business.”

The boy nodded and tried to hide the fact that he was staring. He wanted to take in every detail of their person. He never wanted to forget them or this moment. The sinking feeling was always in the back of his mind; telling him it wasn’t going to last. So he soaked everything in; praying it would stick.

They were letting him take his time.

His eyes ran along their long, thick, arms. Arms that looked like they could crush his head without even trying. He was surprised that they had been so gentle earlier. He could see that the lines, and their designs, continued along the person’s arms. But the sleeves of their light gray jacket covered their arms starting at the crook of their elbow. The clothes they wore were a mix of black and gray and covered most of their body. A white scarf with an intricate silver pattern sewn into the cloth was wound around their neck. Then he looked at their face. Sure enough the intricate designs in their skin continued there as well. They did not have any hair and their bald head was also full of many designs. Their eyes were a dark teal color. They had long ears that were pointed at the end and curved along the sides of their head.

Then the boy noticed he was staring and looked away; apologizing in a soft voice.

“It is quite alright. You have not seen any of my kind before, have you?” they asked kindly.

He shook his head. At this time the worker had come back with the pitcher of water and a new glass. She set both of them in front of the boy. Reaching over she gave the boy a soft, almost motherly, pat on the back. This time his mysterious companion ordered dinner for the both of them. The boy started to object but the stranger wouldn’t have it. Before she left again the stranger told her that they would be staying the night. The woman nodded and wrote that down on her notepad before leaving. When they were alone once more they fell back into the conversation.

“Where I am from we do not see a lot of humans. We do not see any actually. Toorak is the furthest I’ve been from home, actually. My home planet is very far away and—”

A hand flew to their mouth and they gasped in shock; “Knu au! Where in Rutu are my manners? Forgive me. My name is Lótinah Fûtaknu. What is your name?”

The boy did not answer.

“It is alright. You are among friends. You do not have to be scared.”

The boy looked up and made eye contact with the person across from him. Their teal eyes were full of kindness and understanding. He couldn’t believe, and didn’t understand why, this person was being so nice to him. They saved his life, risked their own, paid for his food and lodging when he hadn’t done anything to deserve it. This stranger’s compassion was something so foreign to him. For as long as he could remember he had been treated like he was worse than garbage. And told just as much for just as long.

“Kiln. Kiln Dankrek,” he whispered.

“May I ask you something? You do not have to answer if you do not wish to,” Lótinah said quietly and respectively.

Their food arrived and they both thanked the worker who then rushed off to another part of the cantina. Kiln began to shove forkfuls of the food in his mouth without bothering to swallow between mouthfuls. Lótinah smiled sadly at the young boy and gingerly laid his hand atop Kiln’s. They told Kiln to slow down so that he would not get sick. The boy nodded and took a long drink of water before refilling his glass. By this point the pitcher was almost empty.

“What has brought a young human child, such as yourself, into the very center The Collective’s rule over the galaxy?”

Kiln looked down at his plate and said nothing.

“It is alright, young one,” Lótinah said; the apology ringing clear through their voice. “You do not have to—”

Kiln let out a deep breath and clutched his glass of water. If all Lótinah wanted was his story in exchange for all their kindness. Well, it was a measly exchange in his mind, but, he would give it.

“The Harrows. The Harrows came in their warships and nobody—nobody knew what was happening. They killed so many people and destroyed so much of the planet. It was horrible. They killed anyone who put up a fight. And they—the—they took my mom and obliterated her right in front of me. She was there and then she was… gone. A pile of ash on the ground. I screamed and cried when it happened. I couldn’t stop crying. They hit me and I kept crying. They took so many adults and kids on their ship. I kept crying when they took me so they put a muzzle over my mouth.”

Kiln paused and wiped the tears that had fallen from his eyes.

“They brought everyone here, Toorak, and branded us as slaves,” he said; pulling up the sleeve of his left arm. On the inside of his forearm, a bit above his wrist, was a tattoo. The ink was a deep red. The shapes that had been inked into his tan skin formed runes. Lótinah looked at the brand and read the runes. The runes were clearly The Collective’s distinct alphabet and spelled kahlden; their word for “worthless”.

Kiln rolled his sleeve back down; covering the tattoo. He continued to tell Lótinah his story.

He had been on the planet for years. He served whoever came to the slave runners with enough money and for however long they could pay for. Kiln told Lótinah about his first “master” who broke his leg and tried to the money back. He told them about the time he was caught stealing some food from this woman he worked for and how she threw him in a hotbox for three days. He told them about the one who wanted nothing to do with him except beat on him so that this man “wouldn’t beat his kids.”

“His words, not mine,” the boy said defensively.

Lótinah took a minute to process what they had just been told.

Then they got up and walked over to Kiln. They wrapped their arms around him and hugged him tightly. They whispered in his ear; “I am so so sorry. But you must understand, young one, it is not your fault.”

They let go of him and sat back down on their side of the booth.

Kiln gave them a sideways glance as they sat. Lótinah returned it until the boy spoke up.

“You keep calling me young one, but, you don’t look any older than I am. Back on Earth I’d be an adult. And you see me as a child so just how old are you?”

“I have lived for eleven-hundred planet cycles,” Lótinah said; pausing to think, “Which would be about one thousand one hundred years according to how you measure time on Earth. But on my planet you would be considered an infant.”

After a few minutes Lótinah asked; “Why were the Harrows after you?”

Kiln shrugged. Lótinah shot him a look of disbelief and the boy relented. He told them that he was working for a somewhat high-ranking member of The Collective. How this man was the worst person he had worked for in his entire life. Far worse than any of the others Kiln had already told them about. This man used his power, and his slaves’ non-being status, to do whatever he wanted. He would work them to the bone every single day. Make them to every menial task possible. He would starve them, would beat them, and wouldn’t give them new clothes until the ones they had were falling off them in rags. And he would repeatedly rape any of them whenever he had the fancy.

“The Harrows were after me because I slit his throat when I gave him a shave this morning,” Kiln whispered; vicious anger in his eyes.

Lótinah said nothing.

They sat there; thinking about their plan. They had come to Toorak solely to hit The Collective where it would hurt them the most. And this small, thin, weak-looking human boy had already done that. Most would see it as a small thing, that much was true, but in the terms of revolution it was huge. Lótinah leaned in over the table and Kiln did the same.

“The moment I saw you in that alley, and saw that the Harrows were after you, I decided to save your life. Part of that decision was because you looked so helpless and afraid. Like a rabbit in a bear trap.”

“You took pity on me?” Kiln interrupted; disgust in his voice.

“Yes. But the other part of my decision was because I knew they had good reason to chase you. They don’t hunt down everyone, you know.”

“Yeah, they told me as much,” the boy said with a smirk.

“You had to have done something very bad in their eyes. Something hurtful to The Collective. I had to help you in the hope that you would help our cause.”

Kiln sat back in the booth and nodded in understanding. He knew exactly what his newfound friend was talking about. And he wanted nothing more in the entire galaxy than to see The Collective burn. But he pretended to think it over for a bit; just to mess with Lótinah. When he thought he mulled it over enough he leaned back over the table and held his hand out to them.

Lótinah looked at it with confusion. Kiln laughed with embarrassment and ran his other hand through his scraggly black hair.

“Guess they don’t shake hands wherever you’re from?”

“No.”

Kiln sighed and ran a hand through his hair once more. Then he explained the mechanics of a hand shake. Lótinah nodded in approval and then the pair shook hands. After Lótinah explained the custom they had on their home planet for sealing deals like this. They put their elbows on the face on the table and faced his palms out towards Kiln. Kiln did the same. But the pair did not touch hands. Lótinah closed their eyes and so did Kiln. The pair of them sat that way for a minute or two.

“Are you prepared to take down a galactic dictatorship? To do whatever it takes?”

“You’re asking this now?” Kiln said with a laugh. Lótinah did not join in. They gave Kiln a serious glare; reminding him of the seriousness of their situation. And the expanse of what they meant by their words. Kiln held his hands up in mock surrender and apologized.

“I ask the question because doing this will stain your wings. Contaminate your innocence and infect your humanity. Can you live with that?”

“Pretty sure if I had any wings they’re stained black already. I’ve been forced to do a lot of bad things I’m not proud of; I’d love to do the opposite.”

#my writing #short story #sci-fi #sci fi #aliens #idk what else to tag #ageekwrites

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ageeksnerdyworld · 5 years

Text

Lies to the Liars

He was sitting in the backseat of the car; looking out the window. His head, and his body, faced forward in a slumped heap of exhausted flesh and bone. But his pale green eyes were seemingly transfixed on the view. He wasn't really looking at anything or watching other cars as they passed.

He was just staring off into the air. Seeing the bit he could of his reflection in the glass he didn't react. It didn't matter to him if he looked like death warmed over. He could still feel the blood in his mouth; hot and metallic tasting. Still felt the, now half dried, blood trail that ran down his chin. Turning his head away from the window he looked down to where his hands pressed a wadded towel to his stomach.

The once white towel was now a dark pink on the verge of turning a brighter red.

"Cross my heart and hope to die."

The words came out in a painful whisper as if it took more energy than what he had to say them. He let out a pained laugh immediately after but then abruptly stopped; wincing against the pain.

"Don't say shit like that, man," came a worried, and desperate, voice from the driver's seat.

He didn't respond.

Closing his eyes as tight as he could; turning away from the window. This isn't happening, he told himself. You're still at home; watching shitty game shows. But he knew that he was kidding himself. The cold shivers that ran through his body told him just as much. The blood that poured out of the hole in his stomach seconded the truth. Keeping his eyes shut he ran both hands along his arms. He could feel his best friend watching him intently.

"Just let me go, Trav."

"You gotta stop saying things like that, alright? This ain't you, Hunter."

"You sure about that?"

"You're gonna be okay," Travis said; ignoring the morbid statement. His eyes kept frantically darting back and forth between the road ahead and Hunter.

Hunter's eyes were closing, then suddenly opening, and slowly closing again. Seeing this worried Travis even more. He shook his head and pressed his foot on the gas just a bit more. There was no ifs, ands, or buts about it now. From what he could tell they were still a couple miles away from the hospital. He had to get Hunter there before it was too late.

Inside his head Hunter was screaming and crying for help.

Screaming unheard cries to end the pain and agony he felt. The wound and whatever was left of the bullet shot angry, white hot, pain through his body. His skin was starting to pale and he could feel himself dying on the inside. But on the outside he looked completely out of it.

"Stay with me shitface!" Travis yelled.

"I don't wanna," came the reply.

"You're gonna be fine, but, I need you to talk to me," Travis said; lying through a harshly clenched jaw.

#idk how to finish this #well i mean #i know how i want it to end i just have no idea how to write it #and if im being honest #i kinda don't want to #original writing #my writing #short story #original short story #song inspired #song inspired story #blood tw #gunshot tw #stomach wound tw #ageekwrites

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ageeksnerdyworld · 6 years

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Around and Around

Characters: Henry Stein

Word Count: 4,335

Trigger Warning: N/A

Summary: Henry heads back to the studio at the behest of his old friend Joey. Once there he starts to get a creeping feeling of deja vu. Is it just from being back in the studio after so long? Or is it something else entirely? Click the read more if you’d like.

~~~

His hand shook as he held the letter; reading the signature at the bottom over and over again.

Joey Drew.

He almost couldn’t believe it. The Joey Drew; his old friend and business partner wanted to meet. It was more than a shock seeing as how they hadn’t spoken in so many years. And the way Henry had left after everything that had happened? It didn’t really make sense that Joey would even want to see him. Neither of them had even so much as spoken to one another in the last 30 years. Well, Joey wanted to show him something at least. That much was clear. Henry couldn’t let go of the possibility, the hope more like, that the man would be there too.

He said goodbye to Linda, his wife who had been his rock during those first few difficult months of unemployment, got in his car and left for the studio. It didn’t surprise him in the least that he still knew the way. He had spent years of his life making almost the exact same commute back and forth every single day. Most people didn’t work nights, weekends, and holidays but then again most people had more regular kind of jobs. But then again most people weren’t building a cartoon company from scratch like he and Joey were.

Those days were so much simpler.

There wasn’t any talk of expanding the cartoon merchandise beyond the small scale toy line. There was never any talk of amusement parks, or animatronics, or life sized replicas of the characters. It was just the two of them. Henry and Joey just simply creating together. It was just the ideas and the characters. Back then it was just pen, paper, and ink.

And Bendy, he said to himself. There was always Bendy.

Pulling up into the parking lot of the studio Henry was truly surprised to see the place was still there. He parked and got out. As he closed the driver side door he stared up at the studio. Sure enough it looked the same as the day he left. A large, three story, brown brick building with the Joey Drew Studios logo hanging above the door. The logo of the studio was something that had been irrevocably branded into his brain; three movie reels with the name across. The only other thing that Henry could see with his eyes closed, could draw in his sleep, was and always will be Bendy. Bendy the Dancing Demon.

He walked up to the door thinking about why Joey liked that idea so much. Of all things he was stuck on the demon character. Henry knew his best friend was odd but this was pretty unsettling. Cartoons were supposed to be cute, and likable. They were supposed to be something that made you laugh. Something that made you forget about your problems for a while. A demon couldn’t possibly be any of that.

Trust me, Joey had said way back when. People will love our little demon.

Looking at the letter once more Henry took a deep breath. Was he really about to do this? Was he really going to face Joey after all this time?

He gripped the handle and turned it. The door opened with a slight creak.

He most definitely was.

You were right, Joey, he said to himself as he walked through the door. All those years ago we hadn’t even started but you knew. And you were right.

Walking through the hallway Henry felt like he was just coming back to work; starting a new day at the studio. Everything had an impact of familiarity. The floor, the walls, the chairs, the tables and even the air in the stuffy building felt so familiar. The cluttered papers all over the place was such a familiar sight it felt like home. Henry almost wished he hadn’t left when and how he did.

Almost.

But he did leave and there was nothing he could do to change it. All he could do now was figure out what Joey wanted him to see and then find it.

Walking in between the tables and chairs he looked for any sort of clue. Papers, a Bendy cutout in the corner next to an empty projector, a couple trash cans, but nothing telling where Joey wanted him to go. Then he made it to his old desk. Seeing his old desk sitting in the exact same corner, in the exact same position, and in the exact same cluttered mess, gave him a bit of a comfort in the unsettling atmosphere of the abandoned studio. Looking at the drawing of Bendy that lay on the surface of his desk sent a violent wave of uneasy recollection through his whole body. It was like a punch to the gut.

He shook it off and moved on.

He had to press on and figure out what Joey wanted him to find.

Henry didn’t know why but he had to do it.

Walking through the hallway, through the studio, Henry almost aimlessly wandered around. He wasn’t really sure what he needed to find. So his best plan of attack was to look until he stumbled across something that looked, or felt, like a clue that he was on the right track. He found a room with a sign hanging above that read; “Ink Machine Room.” But the supposed Ink Machine wasn’t in the room. Standing on the balcony Henry looked down to see a large cavernous hole in the middle of the room and a series of chains that fed down into the hole. Assuming that the chains were connected to the Ink Machine he looked around for something that would help him move those chains.

He chuckled to himself as his eyes landed on the large generator standing to his immediate left.

How’d you miss that?

Much to his surprise the generator was missing a gear and one of the power cells. Looking around he quickly found the missing pieces of the generator and put them back where they belonged. After lifting the ink machine from whatever dark depths it came from he made his way back out. Once outside he followed the large pipe that ran along the walls and ceiling. It was rather clear that the pipe was from the ink machine and connected to the power source. The pipe lead him to the break room. Once inside he saw a series of empty pedestals with small pictures hanging above each pillar. At the very back of the room there was a switch for the ink machine.

It didn’t take him long to figure out what he needed for each pedestal.

With each item in its rightful place Henry went over to the projectionist room to turn the ink pressure back on. Then he circled back to the power room to switch the power on. After that he headed back to the Ink Machine Room to turn the machine on. Much to his surprise the room was boarded up and blocked off.

How in the hell? he asked himself as he slowly approached the boards.

Suddenly a monstrous, ink-covered, living and breathing version of Bendy jumped up from behind the boards.

Henry fell back but then quickly righted himself again and began running for the exit. With the terrifying image of Bendy on his mind, and knowing that it was right behind him, Henry ran as fast as he could. Seeing the exit sign and the door underneath he took a sigh of relief. He was almost there.

Then the floorboards underneath gave way with a loud crash and Henry fell into the floor below.

~~~

Henry woke up on the floor of a room. Coming to he realized that there was a large, black, pentagram on the floor underneath him. A series of candles surrounded the outer circle. Two identical looking coffins stood directly across from the pentagram. An axe was leaning against one of the coffins. Getting up from the floor he walked over to the axe and picked it up.

I have to find a way out of here, he said.

With the axe in hand Henry swung at a series of boards that blocked the only way out of the room in which he stood. With nowhere else to go he walked down the stairs and through utility shaft #9. Entering the utility shaft Henry saw a small shelf with a small Bendy cut out, a few candles, and a few cans of bacon soup. Underneath, on the floor, sat a bowl, and a banjo. It had all the makings of a shrine.

HE WILL SET US FREE was written on the wall just above the head of the cut out.

The writing on the walls seemed new and rather odd but Henry found himself unmoved by the writing. He turned away from the makeshift shrine and turned the corner. There he found, much to his surprise, two more coffins leaning up against the wall and a pentagram painted on the floor underneath.

Strange, he thought and turned to see what else might be near.

He turned to see a tape player sitting on a ledge, next to a few eerie looking candles. Even stranger a tape seemed to be inside. Henry pressed play on the tape and the voice of Sammy Lawrence, the music director, emerged from the speakers. Henry stood in shock at the sound of Sammy’s voice; eerie and resonating loudly in the empty studio. What Sammy spoke of spooked Henry far more than both the coffin and the pentagram. He talked about Bendy as if he were some sort of god bestowing blessings on him in return for worship.

“I said, can I get an amen?”

Sammy’s voice sounded like he was right there standing next to him. Henry knew that was impossible but he also knew he had heard that before. He knew he had. But not while he was working at the studio. He felt like had been here before in this exact moment. No. He knew he had already found this tape and played it.

That he had felt this almost constant feeling of déjà vu before.

It’s nothing, he said to himself. Just old memories from the old studio.

But he couldn’t be so sure.

He shook the feeling off and continued to walk through the room; searching for an exit. Instead he found an ink-filled hallway. With no choice but to walk through it Henry held his breath and trudged through the murky, black, ink.

Henry was about halfway through the hallway when he heard a voice whispering.

Stopping he strained to try and make out what the voice was saying.

Then at the end of the hall he saw a figure walking across the floor. The figure seemed to be wearing white overalls, a mask, and carrying a Bendy cutout. This time Henry was close enough to make out what the mysterious figure said.

“Sheep, sheep, time for sleep.”

Henry waded through the rest of the ink and stepped into the room. Turning to his left he was very surprised to only see the Bendy cutout leaning atop another pentagram. Whoever the figure was they were gone. Shaking the creeping feeling off Henry turned away from the cutout. And there in the right corner of the room he saw a closed gate. Next to the gate was a lever which would seemingly activate, and most likely raise, the gate. On the opposite side of the gate was a panel of three lights; all of which were off.

Gotta redirect the power.

He knew the switches had to be in the room somewhere. So he retraced his steps and quickly found the ones he needed. With the power restored to the gate Henry flicked the switch and the gate slowly rose.

~~~

Henry shut the door behind him and took a few shaky breaths. This was insane. The characters are alive? The ink itself was alive? He was hiding in the bathroom on the music department’s floor. Hiding from the ink monsters that were outside the door; lurking the halls with murderous intent. He turned the faucet on and held his hands underneath the running water. Cupped hands now full he splashed the cold water against his face. He let out a shaky breath and held his hands under again. And again. After the third time he shut the water off, wiped the excess from his face, and looked in the mirror.

He had to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. In his dreams he could never see himself. He knew he was there but he never saw his reflection in a mirror or window or anything. He had to know if this was real.

He looked up and saw a man’s face. Seemingly his own he stared at his reflection just to be sure. Looking into the mirror he saw his tan skin, the sharp angled chin and square nose he always hated, his graying hair, the beginnings of beard he let grow, and his steely blue eyes. He also saw a few wrinkles he had been neglecting to acknowledge before. But sure enough the face that stared back was his.

“At least I’m still me.”

Once the words left his mouth he felt this pang of déjà vu. But this was different.

It wasn’t just the words that brought on that feeing. It wasn’t where he stood in or staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. It was the fear that ran through his body; sending shivers up his spine. It was the sense of dread and the desire to stay here for fear of the monsters on the other side of the door. It was that damn ink machine.

You should’ve paid attention.

The thought sent another shudder of fear through his body.

That didn’t make any sense. Pay attention to what? Wasn’t he doing that anyway trying to get out of here? He figured out how to turn on the machine, he found the axe, he figured out Sammy Lawerence’s little musical lock. Henry didn’t think there was anything he could have been missing if he wanted there to be.

~~~

He had just finished playing “Darling Little Errand Boy” to the corrupted combination of Alice Angel and the character’s original voice actress; Susie Campbell. The entire ordeal was like something straight out of a horror movie complete with an ending all audiences would have hated. He listened and did what she asked but it wasn’t enough. She wanted, needed, the incarnation of Boris the Wolf that had stuck by him since almost the beginning. And like an idiot he fell prey to her fool’s errand; leaving her to do her dirty work. Susie turned Boris into a hulking monstrosity just like her. Then, as if everything else wasn’t enough, she siced the corruption, her little pet project, on Henry.

Fighting his friend was the hardest thing he had to do since coming here.

Killing Boris was even worse.

Tears began to fall down his cheek.

Henry reached for the tape recorder that lay on the ground next to him and pressed the record button. He had to get this message out to whoever might be there. Whoever might be listening. Everything he was forced to endure was so horrible he just had to get it off his chest. First he talked about Boris. It was so fresh on his mind that it was almost impossible to not talk about it.

“Linda I miss you and I love you so much.”

He tried to stop himself but he still choked on the words and he recorded the short message to his wife. Linda was the best thing that ever happened to him. He hated that he couldn’t embrace her, hold her close, in that moment. He was so afraid and so helpless. He continued speaking into the tape recorder; frantically trying to get his message across.

“If anyone hears this, if you make it out, don’t ever return because the Ink Demon will find you.”

That’s one big “if” don’t you think? he said to himself.

He clicked the stop button and set the tape recorder down with shaky hands. At least he finished before the demon, or any of the others, found out. Henry knew if anyone else somehow made their way here, into the loop, they wouldn’t make it back out. Allison, Thomas, and The Lost Ones were proof enough of that. But he had to hold onto the hope. The hope that someone might find the tape. The hope that someone might come to his rescue. The hope that he would make it out somehow.

“Joey, Joey, Joey,” he said aloud instantly grateful he turned the tape off when he did. Despite everything else he had already said on the tapes his next few words seemed far more along the lines of a rambling crazy person than anything else.

“Human sacrifice is a new low; even for you. But sacrificing yourself, your soul, is something else entirely.”

Years ago a question had begun to rattle around in his brain after he dedicated a few too many years at his desk here in the studio. Being back here the old question made its rounds once again. The question was something most of the employees seemed to feel as well. Despite being a co-founder of the studio and co-creator of the characters it was one of the few things Henry Stein seemed to have in common with the others. The lower ladder employees like Thomas Connor and Wally Franks. No one under Joey felt like they had a voice in anything let alone the areas they were supposed to be in charge of. There was a part of Henry that was happy that he found the empty tape but another part of him hated it.

Being back in the studio that question rose back up in the deep corners of his mind.

How do you speak when you feel outspoken?

You do what any sane person would. Write those thoughts down in a notebook that no one would see. Keep a hidden diary or write in invisible ink. Or in Henry’s case you do both. The only difference was that Henry didn’t write in a notebook. Hell, he didn’t even write on paper.

You’re writing on the walls, old man. Just like a crazy person in the movies.

But that didn’t really matter when he knew that he was the only person who would see what he wrote.

And now, thanks to the corrupted inky soul of Allison Connor, he could see the messages some other Henry had left for him to find. With the inkified versions of Allison and Thomas at his side he made his way back through the studio.

~~~

The items from the departments used as a shrine. The coffins and pentagrams. The living demonic beast made of ink. The corrupted shell of Sammy Lawrence. The murderous, obsessive, version of Susie. The constant sense of déjà vu. It all made so much sense now. Bendy wasn’t evil and neither were any of the characters. Or even the ink machine for that matter. True evil was much more terrifying than fictional characters come to life.

And that evil was none other than Joey Drew.

Joey made a pact with the devil and this time it wasn’t Bendy. This time around he wasn’t sacrificing his time, energy, and hope for a life outside his work. Joey sacrificed everyone who helped him to make his dream come true. He killed his friends and co-workers; people he had considered family at one point. Henry was certain that Sammy was the first to go. He had so many fights with Joey it was a miracle either of them got anything done. It made sense in a sick, twisted, way. The last to go was probably poor old Wally. And none of them knew what was coming for them. None of them knew what was really going on.

All except for Henry.

Henry was the only one who knew.

And Henry knew that, his once best friend, Joey knew he had figured it out. Joey’s deepest darkest secret that was hiding in the shadows of the studio. It wasn’t the ink machine like Henry had originally thought so many cycles ago and like he had initially thought at the start of this cycle as well. But Joey’s real secret was the darkness that hid inside the man himself. The real secret to his success, the method to his madness, was deep within the obscurity of his ambition. The blood, and ink stained, hands of Joey Drew would never be clean and he wouldn’t have had it any other way. That was the secret. The secret that kept the studio afloat amidst all of the obvious financial issues; the multiple shut off notices, all the past due letters, and so many threats of eviction. The secret Joey kept buried for all these years.

A secret only Henry, and Joey of course, knew.

Remember when it was just us, Joey? Before you turned your back on your love for characters, creating, art and life itself. You used to be happy, kind, and full of wonderful dreams.

I miss the old you.

Henry thought about all of this as he stared at the ceiling of Joey’s apartment. He didn’t want to get up and walk over to who would ultimately be standing in the kitchen. He shook the dread off and got up anyway.

Walking through the short hallway Henry took in the atmosphere of the place. It had a familiar feeling but by now he understood what that meant. He had been here before. How many times he was highly uncertain. He passed by a table with a few drawings on it. The drawings didn’t surprise him. He was in Joey’s place and they were Joey’s characters after all. The drawings were of the massive, nightmarish, demonic entity that was both Bendy and Joey which he had encountered countless times before. Looking closely at the drawings he realized that they were short storyboarded ideas of that entity winning. Killing and eating Henry.

Then Henry saw the man who stood at the kitchen with his back to him.

A very familiar looking wheelchair sat next to the kitchen counter behind the man. Henry walked over to him knowing that it was what he had to do. He didn’t have to see the man to know that he was a man who walked like Joey. Who talked like Joey. Who looked like Joey. Who wove words like Joey. Who spoke of dreams like Joey. But it couldn’t be him, could it? That man seemed far too like the old Joey. The one who loved his work, who cared for his friends, and who enjoyed life. The Joey Drew who was a bit of an eccentric but who didn’t have any murderous secrets to hide.

But he knew who that man was before he even turned around.

“Didn’t expect you back so soon,” he said.

That was the voice of the Joey Drew he remembered from all those years ago.

Henry Stein also remembered another Joey. In his mind’s eye, through multiple flashbacks all layered on top of one another, he saw him in the same way as this Joey he was looking at now; cooling leaning against the kitchen counter. The other Joey wasn’t anything like this one or even the real one Henry knew in life. That Joey was cold, callous, and downright evil. As evil as the living, breathing, demonic corruption of their brainchild. No matter how many times Henry would wake up back here he dreaded walking out and seeing that Joey. He much preferred the one before him. And he missed the version he knew. The one that was larger than life, always dreaming, with an infectious energy despite what or how he truly felt inside. That Joey cared. The Joey loved what he did. That Joey smiled and laughed and joked and took his time despite knowing his little cartoon would be loved by millions. That was the real life Joey Drew.

The genuine article.

Well he was before his ambitions, his dreams, corrupted him into someone he never wanted to be.

Henry turned away from this Joey, whoever he was, and walked towards the door.

Some other Henry had enough sense to hide his own secrets for the next ones to find. How? This Henry didn’t know. He wasn’t like that version of himself. He didn’t have any secrets. And he definitely wasn’t like his old pal Joey; a man made of many secrets. He sighed and thought about what could’ve driven his once good friend to do something so heinous. Keeping it a secret he understood.

A secret that was now kept by the dead. And by the aging animator held prisoner in a loop.

He pushed open the door and saw what was waiting on the other side. The inner hallway to the front of the studio and the exit right behind; forever taunting him. And just like so many times before he emerged knowing what he had to do. Knowing he had done it before. Knowing he would, and always will, ultimately fail.

Again.

And again.

A never ending cycle of which he would never escape no matter how hard, or how many times, he tried. Poor Allison Connor. She told him, time and again, that he was the only one who could escape. Of course she said all this without knowing about the loop. And Henry didn’t have the heart to tell her. If he remembered the next time he saw her. If he could make it that far into the loop before “dying” and being forced to restart.

Henry clutched the letter in his trembling hand and read, and then re-read, the signature at the bottom.

Joey Drew.

#so here's this i guess #it totally sucks but whatever #fanfiction #fanfic #bendy and the ink machine #batim #batim fanfic #batim fic #henry stein #batim henry #my writing #ageekwrites #idk what else to tag this with #honestly i feel like this is unfinished and just a recap of the game and i hate it #but here i am #posting this

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ageeksnerdyworld · 5 years

Text

Will Not Betray You

"Babe, you look so cool."

Penelope laughed. She was just driving like she always did. Foot slammed on the gas. Right hand on the wheel. Left hanging out the open window. The wind blowing through her long, red, hair. Dark colored sunglasses on her face. A cigarette hanging out of her mouth.

She turned to her girlfriend with a smirk.

"Wanna see something cooler? Check the glove compartment."

She turned her attention back to the road ahead.

Dana gave Penelope a sideways glance but her lover's face was a mask of adrenaline. She shrugged and decided to check. Whatever it was couldn't be too bad. Right? Pressing the small plastic button Dana opened the glove compartment. At first she didn't see anything except a slew of papers and receipts. Then something caught her eye.

At first she thought it was just a shadow from the other papers.

But it wasn't.

She reached in and moved a handful of papers out the way. Dana still couldn't make out what the shadow was. She grabbed the mystery item, which was cold and hard, and pulled it out of the glove compartment. She quickly shoved the papers back inside. When she saw what it really was she dropped it and screamed. It landed softly in her lap.

"What the hell, Pen?"

Penelope laughed; "C'mon, Dana! You have to admit it's pretty cool."

Dana didn't say anything. She crossed her arms over her chest and huffed angrily. The glove compartment hung open. Papers lay precariously atop one another. The gun sat on her lap.

"Dana, look at me."

Penelope turned towards her girlfriend but Dana looked away. It was clear that Dana was very upset. And she continued her angry silence; staring out the passenger window.

"Seriously, Dana, look at me."

Dana continued to ignore her girlfriend's pleas. Penelope shook her head and let out an angry breath. Then she slammed on the brakes. Hard. Both of them were harshly jerked forward as the car suddenly stopped.

"What the fucking hell is wrong with you?!" Dana yelled; her short, brown, hair spun wildly as she faced Penelope.

"Got you to look at me, didn't it?" Penelope said with a light chuckle.

"Oh, fuck you!" Dana said; echoing her girlfriend's happy laughter.

Then Dana's eyes fell back on the gun. Her brow furrowed and her lips pursed together. Her face was white with shock. She didn't know how to feel so she felt it all in that moment. Anger, fear, disappointment and shame.

But before she could anything Penelope grabbed the gun from her lap and tossed it back in the glove box.

Penelope quickly slammed the door shut with a hand. Split seconds later she threw her back against the drivers seat. She saw Dana's expression through the corner of her eye. Dana was wrestling with what to do but she was clearly upset. And her cold shoulder was all the more clear. Penelope always hated it when Dana did that. She couldn't stand the bitter silences. Luckily they didn't fight very often.

Penelope took one last drag before throwing her cigarette out the window. She sighed and ran a hand through her hair. She threw an arm over the headrest of her seat and turned to Dana. Pushing her sunglasses over her head she gave Dana a stern, but slightly sad, look.

"We need the money, D."

They sat in silence on the side of the road.

They both knew how crazy this plan was. It was almost impossible for it to go smoothly. It didn't matter if they had etched out everything to the tiniest detail or if they were doing it on the fly. Plans fail more times than not. That’s just the facts. And all of that was before a gun was brought into the mix.

"Listen," Dana said after a few minutes.

"This is... hard for me to admit. Fuck, I lied to myself about it for a long time, but, there's no denying it anymore."

"Are--Are you pregnant?"

"No, you ass!" she yelled; smacking Penelope in the arm.

"You remember when I told you I had an emergency stash? The one we went through in a couple days? Well, it wasn't an emergency stash."

"Where'd you get it from?" Penelope asked.

"Killian."

Penelope turned away and stared off at nothing. She sat like that for a few minutes; completely silent. Then she began smacking the top of the steering wheel. Each smack was punctuated with an expletive.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuuuuuuuuuuuuck!"

"And because of that we owe Killian a lot of money," Dana said.

"Where do you think I got the gun from?!"

"Shit."

"Yeah."

Both women sat there unsure of what to do. In reality they only had one option. But they still entertained the idea of running. Dana had a cousin who was so good at making fake IDs that he almost fooled the FBI. They had a car. They had other plates in the trunk. And Penelope's sister worked as a stylist. Nina always gave the both of them the family freebie so a full dye job wouldn't cost anything.

They could just go.

Screw Killian. Screw the gun. Screw the debt. Screw the money. And screw the heroin.

They didn't need any of it.

They had each other.

Then there were the facts of their situation. They had to do this. If they did then they'd have enough money to pay off Killian. The debt would be paid. And they'd have a bit left over. Money that would be theirs to do whatever they wanted with it. So they wouldn't be coming out losers if they pulled it off.

"This is all my fault," Dana whispered as a tear fell from her cheek.

"It's not," Penelope said as she reached over and cupped her girlfriend's face in her hands. She wiped away Dana's tears with her thumb. Then Penelope softly kissed Dana's lips. And when she pulled away she stared at Dana, the love of her life, as if she was everything right in the world. In Penelope's mind she was.

"I love you more than anything, you know that right? No matter what happens today I'll always love you."

"I love you too," Dana said.

They kissed again. It was longer this time and a mix of passion and tenderness. They knew the risks of their plan but neither woman knew if they would make it out in the end. Neither knew for sure what would be the aftermath.

So they kissed each other as if it was going to be the last time.

When Penelope pulled away she turned her attention to the wheel and put her shades back on. She took the car out of park and eased it back onto the road. Once they were at a nice cruising speed Penelope slammed on the gas.

"Let's get this over with," Dana said.

"You sound like you don't want to rob a bank with me," Penelope said with a laugh.

#short story #original work #original writing #i wrote this at 2am #it's eh #but it's something #do with it what you will #my writing #ageekwrites

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ageeksnerdyworld · 5 years

Text

It’s Only A Nightmare

Characters: Jett Leach, Emery Becker, Avia Carstairs, Kelly Ronan O’Connor, Isabelle Lombardi, Scribe Jenkins, Holland, and Walker

Word Count: 5,437

Trigger Warning: None of note

A/N: I finished this and even though i really don’t like it and feel like it’s crap it is done. Tbh I wanted to drag it out more but I’m not good at writing. And as always the Cyber World and the viruses therein belong to @voiceoflarka

Parts: X,X,X

Summary: People are falling victim to heart attacks all over Dashland. None of the cases are alike except for that fact. The body count is growing. And so the team is sent on their first field mission. Click the read more if you want to.

~~~

Jett stared blankly in Emery’s direction; fear and torment in his eyes. Emery couldn’t face his best friend and his gaze fell to the floor. He whispered an apology but it went unheard. Isabelle tried to comfort Jett as best she could and rubbed the Nevermore talon that hung from her neck. After a while she got up and left the room only to return with her camera. She took pictures of the broken glass and the brick just in case they needed it later for whatever reason. When she finished she sat back down next to Jett on his bed. Scribe grabbed Avia by the arm and led her to the broken window. The two talked in hushed tones as Scribe pointed out something to Avia. Holland walked back into the room with a mug of tea in their hands.

“Here you go,” they said passing the mug to Jett. “Chamomile and peppermint. Drink, it’ll help.”

Kelly stood in the doorway fidgeting with the zipper of his jacket. He looked around the room, unsure of what to do, and then walked back out into the hallway. The squeak of his sneakers against the wood floor filled the empty space as he paced back and forth. He muttered to himself and gesticulated wildly in his distress. He looked back just as Emery looked in his direction. All Emery offered in return was a sad, and clearly worried, shrug.

“You’re right, Scribe,” Avia said just loud enough for the others to hear.

“Right about what?” Isabelle asked.

Avia said nothing as she walked over to the shattered glass that lay on the floor. She knelt down beside it and assessed the shards. Looking up she saw Kelly passing the hallway and she got up from the floor. Over her shoulder she told Scribe that the shards seemed to verify her theory. She walked out into the hallway and wrapped her arms around her boyfriend; nuzzling her face into his chest.

“So…?” Isabelle asked; her attention focused on Scribe.

Holland, Emery and Jett also looked to her for answers. Or whatever it was she was going to tell.

“Whoever threw the brick had to have been standing on the ground when they did it. The pattern of the cracks in the leftover glass and the placement of the shards prove it. Different types of glass break in different ways but there’s about five or so other factors that result in the cracks.”

She pointed to the hole in the top of the window; “This hole, and the surrounding circular cracks in the glass, correspond to the way the brick and the shards landed on the floor.”

“You can’t be serious,” Holland said.

Scribe shot them an angry look and crossed her arms over her chest.

“How could someone throw that brick all the way up here from standing on the ground? It just doesn’t make sense.”

“Evidence doesn’t lie,” Scribe retorted.

“I get that there’s a lot that I don’t know, or understand, compared to you all. But… This is something else. How is that even remotely possible?”

“Because the guy who did it is basically a giant and has super strength,” Jett said as he put the empty mug down on the nightstand next to his bed.

“Excuse me?”

“You know who did this?” Isabelle asked; worry and curiosity heavy in her voice.

“It’s a long story but unfortunately I do.”

“Well, I better go make some more tea,” Holland said. “And you need to get out of this room. This… It can’t be good for the nerves.”

The team congregated in the living room and Jett told his story. Emery already knew everything so he cleaned up the mess. He joined the others after tossing the shards in the garbage. Jett tried to keep his composure while telling the story but he broke. Telling the others about how he set fire to his home with his parents still inside was too much. He tried to get through it but his voice wavered and tears fell down his face. Isabelle saw those tears and grabbed his hand; squeezing it tight. Scribe left the room and then came back with her stuffed rabbit. She passed it to Jett and told him that he could hold it for as long as he needed it. He thanked her with a silent nod and held the rabbit to his chest with one arm. All the while Walker stood in the doorway to their room, on the outskirts of the group, just within earshot.

The others let him recover and continue in his own time.

When he finished his story he returned the rabbit back to Scribe and wiped the edges of his eyes.

“Why didn’t ye tell us before?” Kelly asked. “Not tryin’ to shite on you or anythin’. Just curious. Is it because this is literally the only reason here an’ ye didn’t want us to know that? Do ye not trust us or somethin’? Not trustin’ Walker I completely understand. They’re shadier than a forest in the middle of a thunderstorm.”

“I didn’t want to get you all involved in this shitshow, because I trust and like all of you, Kell.”

“Awwww, bless my bleeding heart!”

“Don’t get sappy on us, Irish,” Emery said with a smirk and a wink.

Avia and Isabelle asked Jett what he wanted to do now. He told them that he honestly didn’t know. In his mind this was the perfect opportunity to confront the woman who tore his life apart. But he didn’t know where she was or where she could be. She could literally be anywhere in the district or the world. There was no way to pinpoint a location.

“Actually, you’re wrong,” Avia said.

“Wh—what? How?”

“Simple. We just cross reference the places where the victims were found. Specifically the cluster... Wait a minute.”

Avia rushed to her room and grabbed her phone from where it lay on her desk. She pulled up a picture she had taken of the map that Detective Root owned. The picture had all the stickers she had put on. She passed the phone to Jett and asked him to pinpoint where his family’s bakery used to be. He zoomed in on the corner of Hawking and 1st Street. He stared at the spot for a few seconds before handing the phone back to Avia.

“Just what I thought. Your family’s bakery used to stand in pretty much in the dead center of this cluster of bodies.”

“Cordelia’s got to be hiding out there somewhere,” Scribe said.

“Let’s go,” Jett said as he rose from the couch.

Emery, who was standing behind the couch where Jett sat, pulled him back to a sitting position. He gave Jett a stern look which surprised the litten virus. He shoved Emery off with a harsh shrug and got off the couch. He was going to do this whether the others were going to back him up or not. He owed to himself and his little sister. He owed it to his parents. He told the group all of this before stomping off to his room.

Holland grabbed him by the shoulder and turned him around.

“I really don’t think that’s a good idea. Especially with everything you just told us,” they said. “But you are the leader so I’ll follow you.”

“This is the worst idea you’ve ever had Leach,” Walker said; shaking their head.

“I need to do this, Texas Ranger. You can sit there being all pouty for whatever reason or you can step up and help. Your choice.”

Walker nodded and took their nunchucks out of their back pocket as a show of solidarity. Jett nodded and looked to the others. Emery gave him a look that clearly meant he was in this for the long haul. He would go to the ends of the earth if need be. Isabelle disappeared and then reappeared shortly after with her flail gun in her hand and her leather jacket slung over her shoulder.

“Ready when you are,” she said with a smile.

“Give her a beatin’ she deserves far more than that,” Kelly said.

Avia and Scribe also expressed that they would see this plan through. Jett couldn’t believe that these people were more than ready to go to war for him. But he would’ve done the same if any of them had asked. He told them all that there was something he needed to do before they left and they were more than okay with waiting for however long it took. He assured them that it wouldn’t take long at all. Then he went around the room and hugged each one of them. Some were shocked by this sudden display of affection but they all hugged him back. Jett went up to Emery last and hugged him the tightest.

“Thank you for this, bro.”

“This is what family’s for, isn’t it?”

XXXXX

The next morning they went to the station bright and early. Much to everyone’s surprise Jett seemed to have slept fine that night. When they arrived they told the detective about what they had found and about the plan they had come up with. Jett had brought the piece of paper as evidence. Isabelle had taken pictures the night before and also brought those to show the detective. He sat at his desk with his arms folded over his chest calmly listening. It was clear that Legacy was impressed with their work and he didn’t hesitate to show it. But when they finished their pitch he immediately shot it down.

“It’s too dangerous.”

Jett’s mouth opened in shock; “Wha—Whaddya mean too dangerous? Are you saying that everything else we’ve done so far wasn’t dangerous? Fighting what’s his face almost got Holly and Avia killed!”

“That’s exactly why we’re not going with your plan, kid. I know that you want to avenge your parents and everything but the answer is no.”

“Bu—but Detective! You can’t do this!”

Legacy rose from his chair and walked around the desk. His tail swished from side to side as he did and his hooves clopped against the tile floor. He stopped just a few feet from where Jett stood. With a steely look in his eyes he leaned closer so that his face was just a couple inches from the teenager’s face. This close to the detective Jett could see every last wrinkle and freckle that lined and dotted the man’s face. He could the small hairs of the gray stubble that lined the detective’s chin. He could see the firmness and unwavering will in his eyes.

“I can and I will. In case you forgot I’m the adult here and I’m in charge.”

“Yeah but they—” Jett started to protest but the detective cut him off harshly.

“You’re students. Not real cops. I’m not going to let you throw yourselves into a situation that you already know is highly dangerous. I mean we’re talking about you all facing a Nightmare Aura, a djinn with super strength, and a woman with mind control abilities.”

“What if you came with us like last time?”

“I said no. End of discussion.”

Legacy left the group there in front of his desk and ordered one of the rookie cops to watch after them. Tyke Bunsen reluctantly walked over and introduced himself to the group. He told them all to sit right where they were and then he sat in the detective’s chair. After a while he took a small stress ball out of his pocket and began tossing it into the air. He caught it and threw it back up. He seemed to be focused solely on tossing the ball to himself. But the moment Isabelle got up out of her chair he caught her and viciously ordered her to sit down.

“What the hell do we do now?” Emery whispered to the others.

“I have an idea,” Walker said; pulling the others into a small huddle.

The group needed a distraction so that they could sneak out of the station without the babysitter noticing. And Walker’s plan was pretty simple. They were going to distract Bunsen by snatching the stress ball he played with. Emery could help if he wanted since he was pretty much a walking distraction all on his own. Emery grumbled at the jab but he agreed. So when Bunsen turned his back on the group Isabelle would rush over to the back of the building and pull the fire alarm. She had to be the one because she was the smallest and quietest of the group. No one would notice her.

In the sudden commotion, while everyone congregated to the nearest exit, the group would sneak out the back.

Everyone agreed that it was a pretty good plan.

“Cover your ears, Scribe,” Walker said looking over to her. “I’m sorry but things are gonna get a little loud in here.”

“It’s okay. I have headphones,” she said as she pulled a pair of noise cancelling headphones from her bag. She put them on and gave Walker a thumbs up. They gave her one right back and smirked.

“Are you sure about this, Walker?” Holland asked.

“Yeah. I’ve done this loads of times. What could possibly go wrong?”

XXXXX

Much to their surprise their plan went flawlessly. Once they were outside they hid behind the back of the building and looked around the corner. Sure enough all the officers were outside. But the group needed to work fast if they wanted to get back before the detective did.

“Anybody know how to hotwire a car?” Jett asked; half joking.

The group turned to Walker.

“What are you all staring at me for?”

They decided that it was better to make their way on foot. Stealing a car to do something they already weren’t supposed to be doing wasn’t going to look good for them. Even though none of them knew exactly where the detective went they had a good idea. There was really only two places that he would’ve gone to. One was the church and the other was where the cluster was. And lucky for them they knew exactly what was at the center of that cluster. Avia pulled her phone out and put the address into the phone’s GPS.

“Pretty sure you don’t need that, Princess,” Emery said.

“Yeah, uh,” Jett said. “Em and I know the way.”

Avia nodded and turned the GPS off.

They discussed and all decided that the detective would’ve probably gone to the church to see if Nonagon was there. If they really wanted to take on Cordelia this was the perfect time. Jett guided the group down the side streets. In his memory it was the faster way to get home from the Academy. And it seemed that his memory didn’t betray him. The group ran as fast as they could and hoped that they would make it before the detective.

Walker hung at the back of the group.

At some point Walker stopped and let the others surpass them. They ducked behind a nearby building and searched for a fire escape or some sort of ladder. What they saw instead was a windowsill a few good feet off the ground and a couple of various missing bricks and ledges. They decided that this would have to do and they made their way up the side of the building.

Meanwhile the group reached their destination a lot quicker than they thought they would have.

The street was oddly empty for this time of day.

“Weird, huh,” Isabelle said looking around the street. “Shouldn’t there be, I don’t know, people around?”

“Yer right this is pretty fuckin’ weird,” Kelly said as he tightened his grip on the handle of his war hammer.

The destroyed, and burnt beyond recognition, remains of the bakery still stood on the corner. All evidence that there was even an upper floor where a family had lived was all gone. Jett clenched his fist and grit his teeth in anger when he saw it. He broke off from the group and walked towards the building. Emery followed behind but Jett didn’t notice. Parts of the sidewalk were still stained black. A few sections of the walls were still standing. Jett reached out and touched the charred edges. His fingers came away blackened by soot. He knew what the message was behind leaving the husk of the building there for everyone to see. It was a reminder for him if he ever came back that much was clear. But it was something else as well.

It was a warning.

“Je, bro, come on. You shouldn’t be looking at this,” Emery said.

“You’d think that but I already have. I’ve seen this so many damn times that I lost count. I was the one who did this, Beck. It’s my fault they’re dead. I killed them.”

“That’s right my little kitten,” a voice called from somewhere in the vicinity.

Jett immediately recognized the voice and who it belonged to. His breath quickened and his fists erupted in flame.

Cordelia Nieves stepped out from where she was hiding with Nonagon and Khalid on either side of her. She wore a slim fitting black dress, a gold belt around her waist, and a pair of black heels. Her long, wavy, blonde hair fell a bit past her shoulders and covered her right eye. But the pulsing red glow of her soul leaked out through her bangs. Her green eyes were wide with an odd excitement that echoed in her smile. Two more of her goons emerged from somewhere behind the group. And then four more appeared from opposite sides; flanking the group from the right and the left. All seven of them were completely surrounded and had nowhere to run.

“And now you’re going to get all your classmates killed too. How tragic.”

XXXXX

The group rushed over to Jett but they were cut off by the goons Cordelia had brought with her. They had no choice but to fight the viruses that had blocked their path.

Kelly gripped his war hammer and swung the axe side into the nearest virus. But the small, orange and white, male gecko virus took the hit like it was nothing. The blade of the axe had knocked some of the scales off man’s cheek and cut into him. And yet he didn’t seem to feel it at all. Kelly stared at him with wide eyes and he just smiled in return; a strange crazed look in his gray eyes.

Sensing that Kelly was caught off guard the gecko virus tackled him to the ground.

Kelly blocked the man’s fist with the handle of his war hammer. He used the handle as leverage and tried to push the man off him. But the gecko had slipped away and someone else was holding him down. Kelly looked up to see a large, tan skinned, male virus with a thin beard and black hair holding him down with his foot.

“Oh yer a big one ain’t ye?”

Meanwhile Avia was fighting with another one of Cordelia’s goons. He was human; tall, skinny, with dark skin, sky blue veins, and a shaved head. Avia lunged at him with her rapier and he tried to jump away from the attack. But he was a little too late. She cut a thin line along the man’s side. The attack didn’t seem to do any damage to his person but he was angry beyond belief. His eyes seemed to glaze over and roll back in his head.

A large, dark, cloud formed right above where Avia stood.

Before she realized what was happening a bolt of lightning struck her.

She fell to her knees and she grit her teeth against the pain. She still had a hand on the hilt of her rapier and she rose on shaky feet. Just as she got up something struck her in the back and she fell again. Avia turned to see a small raccoon virus with a bo staff smiling at her.

But before she could turn her attention to the raccoon the man she was already fighting struck her in the face with a harsh left hook.

Gripping her rapier she shoved the blade at him; stabbing into his leg.

Holland was being attacked on three sides by three different viruses. One was human and carried a pair of identical scimitars. Another was a yellow canary and he flew above the others; just out of reach. His weapon of choice seemed to be a laser whip. He brought the whip and Holland dashed out of the way. The last virus they were up against was a dragonfly virus but he did not fly like the canary. He stood by the human and looked at Holland with his head cocked to the side.

“Well, these odds are a little unfair, don’t cha think fellas?” Holland said. “How about we level the playing field?”

Shadows ran from the alleys, and under lampposts, and other various areas to where Holland stood. The viruses he was up against didn’t seem to be the least bit dazed. The shadows lashed out at the canary; attaching to his wings. They pulled him down to the ground to where the others were. The shadows engulfed the space and completely shrouded Holland’s body.

“Wait where the hell’d he go?” the dragonfly virus asked turning to the others.

They shrugged in response.

Suddenly the human fell on his face with a yell. He dropped his scimitars and was dragged through the darkness. His screams rang through the dark but he had no idea where he was or what was going on. Neither did the two viruses with him. The others looked around for the source of the noise but all they saw was blackness.

Emery was standing by Jett’s side but then Fiyero Nonagon bum rushed him. He tried to knock the man to the ground with a scream but he didn’t have enough time.

Fiyero came at Emery with a harsh left hook. But Emery saw it coming and he ducked under it; grabbing the man’s abdomen. Pushing him to the ground Emery wrapped his legs around the other man’s preventing him from breaking away. Sitting upright on the man who was now grappled to the ground Emery grit his teeth in anger and yelled. He began wailing on Nonagon’s face; landing each punch with the sickening sound of impact.

Waves of fear emanated off Fiyero’s body and Emery’s face contorted in fear.

“Hehehe, that’s right kid,” he said with an evil chuckle. “Feel the fear and just let it wash over you. Let it consume you.”

Emery tired to fight it but the fear had already set in. He pulled off Nonagon and backed away from him; hands up in defense.

Meanwhile Isabelle was fighting the gecko virus and a raccoon virus. The raccoon virus was taller than both the gecko and Isabelle but that didn’t worry her. What did bother her was that the large bo staff with a fish hook at the end that the raccoon wielded. The gecko was small and fast but so was Isabelle. She swung her flail at his feet and he jumped over the chain. The raccoon virus swung the bo at her feet; knocking her to the ground.

“That all you got, mister raccoon man?”

Isabelle pulled the chain of the flail; separating the spiked ball from the handle. She swung the ball at the raccoon’s face. Shooting two rounds at the gecko she pulled herself to a standing position.

The raccoon returned her hit with a swipe of the fish hook against her face. Her hand instinctively flew to the cut and it stung. Smiling at the raccoon she swung the spiked ball at her side as if she was going to bring it down on his head. Instead she shot at the man’s hand; knocking the bo staff from his grip. He dashed for it and she turned her attention to the gecko. She shot at the gecko but he dodged each one of her bullets.

Angry she let out a yell and swung the flail at his head. But he dodged the blow and the spiked ball got caught in a cracked section of the road.

The small form of the gecko virus jumped on her back and laced his fingers together before hitting her over the head. At the same time the raccoon swung the bo staff at her side.

She fell to the ground.

Scribe had camouflaged the moment the group was surrounded. No one could see where she was in the midst of the battle. That was because she wasn’t actually in the battle. She had ran in-between her teammates and the gang members; ducking out of the fray. Running across the street she hid behind the remains of the corner bakery. But she couldn’t take her eyes off the fight. It looked like the bad guys were winning. She pulled on her sweater sleeve and began twisting the fabric over her fingers.

Looking to her left she saw Jett and Cordelia facing off.

She looked over to the others and thought about what to do.

Then Isabelle fell to the ground and didn’t get back up. Scribe’s hand formed fists underneath the long sleeves of her sweater. She got up and ran back into the battle. The others couldn’t see her so she kicked the gecko virus in the face.

“What? Surprised to see me, Fire Boy?”

“I knew it was you all along,” he said; hurling a fireball at her head. She flew off the ground and dodged the blow. She laughed.

“Are you sure this is how you want things to go, my little kitten? There is an easy way to do this.” she said; influence heavy in her voice.

“Get out of my head,” he said; his voice straining.

“Oh, but, we worked so well together last time. Are you sure? Come now, you know you can’t resist.”

“GET! OUT!” he yelled; holding both of his hands out directly at Cordelia. Huge flames shot out of his hands and a few smaller one flicked at the sides of his arms.

XXXXX

One by one each member of Jett’s team and various goons under Cordelia’s influence fell on the battlefield. Isabelle was still knocked out from the blow to the head. The gecko was fighting an opponent he couldn’t see. Avia had taken out one of the gang members and was still standing. Kelly was lying on the ground with his war hammer far out of his reach. Emery had managed to take out the human with the dual scimitars before he passed out.

Jett was being held in place by Khalid. Cordelia stood next to him with a hand outstretched; gesturing to the battlefield.

“Look at all this horrible destruction and pained you’ve caused, my little Fire Boy.”

“Me?”

“You’re the one who told them to come here. You’re the one who convinced them that they could do this. You told them that it was possible for them to help you in your fruitless endeavor.”

He knew that she was right. Regardless of what Cordelia had done in the past what had just happened was his fault. And his alone. Turning to face her he looked at her with a grief-stricken expression.

“What do you even want? You already took everything from me. What else is there?”

“That’s for me to know and for you to lose sleep over, little kitten.”

Suddenly a voice called out over the battle; “Kid!”

“Detective Root?”

The detective galloped into view; his face red with anger and worry. Seeing the results of the battlefield he stopped. He scanned the mess before him hoping and praying to no one that the students were alright. Rushing over to where Jett was he slowed to a walk. He held his hands to show the villains that he was unarmed.

In reality there was a gun in the holster at his side.

“Let him go,” he said; talking to Khalid. “He’s just a kid. They’re all just kids.”

Khalid didn’t respond and he didn’t move.

“Didn’t you hear me? They’re damn children. What you’re doing is ludicrous.”

“He’s not gonna do anything, Detective,” Jett said struggling under the Madrid’s strength. “And he never will unless she—”

“Shut it, boy!” Cordelia ordered and Jett’s mouth instantly closed.

“Oh. So you’re the woman he told me about.”

Cordelia unfurled her wings and took off into the air. She landed on the ground right in front of the detective. She stood uncomfortably close to Legacy but he didn’t let it show. He had dealt quite a few people like her in his time. But this was first time ever dealing with someone as powerful as she was. He had never seen anyone control this many people at the same time.

“What of it, detective?” she said; her voice taking on a sultry tone.

Oh, no. No, no, no, no. Jett cried in his mind. This was not going to end well.

“Well, for one I came prepared,” Legacy said as he pulled a gun on Cordelia.

She laughed, loudly, and then turned an icy glare on the detective. He turned the gun away from her and struggled to stop himself from what he was doing. His hand shook and his face contorted as he tried to fight her. But it was no use. He pointed the gun at his temple. Legacy looked at her with pleading eyes. He tried to pull the gun away but the smallest amount of space he would gain was instantly taken away. He mumbled pleases of mercy but they fell on deaf ears.

Cordelia looked him up and down and nodded; pleased with the new attitude the detective had taken on.

“Now, the question is what to do with you. What to do. What to do,” she said as she paced in front of the detective.

“What do you think genie?”

“Turn them on each other,” Khalid suggested; turning to Cordelia.

She waved that suggestion off with a hand. She had done that before and she didn’t like repeating herself. Ever.

Walking away from the detective she went about checking on her men. Those who were awake were badly hurt and she made them sleep; promising that they would be alright in the morning. Nonagon was the only one, beside herself, who had barely a scratch on their person. She ordered him to stand by the detective and he obeyed instantly. Then she went about checking the members of Jett’s team.

“Seems like they’re alive for the most part, my little Fire Boy,” she called back to him.

“Leave them alone!” he yelled.

“Oh don’t worry,” she said as she knelt over Emery and whispered something in his ear. “I’m not going to do anything to them. Not yet anyway.”

She walked back over to where the detective and Nonagon were standing. Resting her chin against her hand she nodded to herself. She ordered the two of them to fight for a few minutes. When she was satisfied she told them to stop. Then she told the detective to handcuff Nonagon and arrest him for the string of murders he was investigating.

“No! Detective don’t li—”

“Kitten!” Cordelia hissed; ordering him to stop talking. She walked away from the others and turned to him. She stood directly in front of him but he pressed his ears to his head and turned away. She lifted his chin so that he had no choice but to look her in the eye. Her next words weren’t just for Jett but for the detective as well.

“Fiyero Nonagon was the one who committed the murders and you know it. All of the evidence points to him. And only him. He had no help and wasn’t in anyone’s employ. He is going to be arrested for his crimes and that is the end of that.”

She ordered Khalid to let Jett go and he released his grip on the teenager.

The last thing Cordelia did before she left was make the detective and Jett forget that they ever saw her that night. They had fought Fiyero Nonagon and no one else. Once she was satisfied that her powers took effect she turned her back to them, revealing the skull shaped cut out on the back of her dress, and left.

Slowly but surely all of her goons, except for Nonagon, followed behind her.

#here's this i guess #it's total shit but hey #it's finished #the ending is epic shit but tbh i can't think of any other way to end it #larka's virus community #lvc #jett leach #emery becker #avia carstairs #kelly ronan o'connor #isabelle lombardi #scribe jenkins #holland #walker #my writing #oc fic #finished fic #ageekwrites

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ageeksnerdyworld · 6 years

Text

It’s Only A Nightmare

Characters: Jett Leach, Emery Becker, Avia Carstairs, Kelly Ronan O’Connor, Isabelle Lombardi, Scribe Jenkins, Holland, and Walker

Word Count: 5,836

Trigger Warning: Swearing, Fighting/Arguing

A/N: Not much to say about this except that it’s the second part. And as always The Cyber World and the viruses therein belong to @voiceoflarka

Parts: X

~~~

The detective had sent the group home after the fight despite their objections. He insisted that they rest up and heal. Everyone was hurt pretty bad and shaken to their core. Jett was still reeling from everything and couldn’t stand just yet. Emery sat next to him; comforting his friend. Avia had a winding crack along her forehead and small wisps of her soul began to flow out. Her eyes were shut and she leaned against Kelly for support. Holland was still passed out from over exerting their powers and so they had to be carried back to the detective’s car.

Once everyone was inside Legacy drove the group home.

Emery took up the window seat in the back of the van; leaning against the glass. Isabelle took up the other and Jett was sandwiched between them. Isabelle was staring out the window wide eyed. After a little while she looked away from the window and began pulling at a tear in her jeans. Walker, Holland, Kelly and Avia were uncomfortably squished like sardines in the very back row of seats. Holland and Avia sat in the middle, both fast asleep, and the other two flanked them. Avia’s head rested peacefully on her boyfriend’s shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her and held her close. He also held a cloth against her forehead in an attempt to ease the flow of her soul that had begun leaking out of the minor crack. Scribe sat in the front passenger seat next to the detective. She had a small pile of copies if each victim’s file. She was the only person on the team who thought to ask the detective if it was alright to take them.

“He’s probably hiding out somewhere near,” she said, after a long and uncomfortable silence.

“That’s what I figured,” Legacy responded; his voice stern and quiet.

“Then let’s fucking go back!” Emery yelled.

Legacy shot him a look through the rearview mirror that quickly shut him up. Emery crossed his arms over his chest and slunk deeper in the seat. He went back to staring out the widow; angrily muttering to himself. Obscenities and vile threats, mostly directed at the killer they were trying to catch, fell from his lips. Some were meant for the detective. Some of those angry words were directed at himself.

Walker reached over the edge of the seat and gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. Emery flinched in surprise, not realizing that anyone could hear him, but said nothing.

The rest of the ride was spent in total silence.

XXXXX

When the detective pulled up to their building they all filed out of the van; broken and defeated. He had offered to help those with more severe injuries inside. But, just as the words left his mouth, before he could even move to open the driver side door and get out of the van, Emery and Walker simultaneously shut down his offer. Legacy nodded, understanding that they needed to be alone for the time being, and watched the group stagger through the door. He continued to watch until they were fully out of sight.

He turned the key in the ignition, bringing the van back to life, and drove off into the night.

Once they were inside their dorm the group went their separate ways.

Walker carefully eased Holland onto the couch before going to their room. Scribe went to the room she and Isabelle shared; holding the files close to her chest. Isabelle also bolted for the room, grabbed a handful of clothes, and dashed into the bathroom. Jett went to the kitchen; head hung low. Emery followed at his friend’s heels.

Kelly led Avia to her room; nudging the door open with a hand. Her room had become a semi familiar sight since they had started dating. Sleek, stylish and neatly organized Avia’s room was an exact echo of her personality. Everything in her room had a specific place and it was entirely spotless. Upon opening the door and stepping into the room Kelly’s feet landed on the soft, white, faux sheep skin throw rug. He felt Avia slip on the rug and he immediately stopped.

If he let her fall and she got hurt any further he’d never forgive himself.

Kneeling down, keeping a hand on her back, he placed a hand under her legs and picked her off the floor. Holding her close to his chest he carefully passed by her stainless steel desk carrying Avia to her bed. Her bed was in the far left corner of the room and bookcase sat on the right side directly opposite the bed. A window sat a few above the floor, in between the two, which looked out onto the street. A long, rectangular, black ottoman sat at the foot of her bed.

The pair was nearing their sixth month anniversary and Kelly really wanted to do something for it. Avia always laughed the idea off saying it was asinine and childish. But after what happened earlier that night? He was definitely going to do something nice for her if they both survived this ordeal.

He carefully laid her on the bed and removed her heels; setting them on the floor. Then he unbuckled the strap of the scabbard at her side. Carefully lifting her up he slowly pulled the scabbard, and the rapier within, out from under her. Getting up from the bed he picked up her heels before walking over to the coat rack that stood by her desk. He hung the scabbard on one of the hooks. Then he walked across the room to the closet and set her heels down in the empty space on her shoe rack.

“Ke—Kelly?” Avia whispered; her voice weak.

“Shite,” he muttered under his breath before walking back over to her. He hoped he could’ve avoided being the one having to explain what happened. He sat on the corner edge of her bed and grasped her hand with a tight grip.

“It’s alright you—” he started to say but she cut him off.

“How’s Holland? Are they alright?”

“I’m not entirely sure. They sorta passed out after everythin’. Whatever the hell that guy did to Holly really messed them up.”

A sad look came over Avia’s face. She tried to explain to Kelly what happened when she was trapped in the shadows but he wasn’t having it. He gripped her hand even tighter and shushed her. This wasn’t a time for her to be worrying about anyone else. She needed to rest up and recover. He told her to lie back down and that he would get her something for the smaller cracks and bruises. She did.

“Get some sleep, mo ean beag,” he said leaning over to give her a kiss on the forehead. Then he quietly got off her bed and quickly crept out of her room.

He quietly closed the door behind him.

In the small hallway Kelly stopped for a few seconds, shaking his head with a sad sigh, before walking out into the living room. There on the couch, fast asleep, lay Holland. Emery and Jett sat next to one another on the other couch. Jett held a cup of cocoa in his hands, his ears flattened against his head, staring off at nothing. The other three were nowhere to be seen. It was rather normal for Walker to mysteriously disappear at random. It seemed to be a part of who they were as a person. Kelly assumed that Isabelle and Scribe were in their room; recovering from the events of the night. Kelly walked over to where Holland lay on the couch and lightly shoved their shoulder.

“Wake the fuck up.”

Holland didn’t move and Kelly smacked them in the face.

“Dude!” Emery yelled shocked.

Holland awoke groggy and confused; “What—What was that for?”

“Ye know exactly what ya big, steamin’, stinkin’, pile a garbage! Ye coulda killed her!”

Holland slowly sat up on the couch. It took a minute for them to realize what Kelly was yelling about. But eventually it dawned on them and their expression became remorseful and sad. They avoided Kelly and looked down at the floor instead. They sat with their hands clasped together in their lap.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Ye better think a somethin’ before I hit ye again. Yer fucking stupid shadows, and damn possums, are the reason she’s got a giant crack in her fucking head!”

“Wait… what?” Jett and Emery had yelled at the same time. Jett dropped his mug of cocoa in shock. At the same time they both turned to the other for answers but neither knew what Kelly was talking about. And they were both ignored by the others as they argued. Realizing that he spilled his cocoa Jett apologized to no one and left to get something to clean it up.

“It wasn’t me. It wasn’t my fault! Don’t you get that?”

“Oh fuck my little white Irish ass and call me Shirley. Anyone else have shadow powers you lily lickin’ wet noodle? I don’t think so.”

“It was that Empath and you know it,” Walker said; seemingly appearing out of nowhere.

“Whoa, whoa, hold up there, Irish. What the fuck do you mean by a giant crack?” Emery yelled as Jett walked back into the room.

Kelly turned to Emery and began a rapid fire explanation. He started by saying that he was probably exaggerating a bit but that Avia did have a lot of cracks all over her body from the fact. There were lots of bruises too. And he knew full well that they all had minor cuts, scrapes, cracks and bruises. But Avia had the most and one of those cracks was on her forehead and looked pretty bad. He quickly corrected himself and said that he saw it, that her soul was slowly leaking from it, so he knew that it was bad. As Kelly described the severity of Avia’s head injury Jett lost all color in his face and his ears flattened against his head once again.

Kelly turned his attention back to Walker.

“Oh, now what? Yer gonna tell us not ta fight? That’d be the funniest thing to happen all night. Where the hell were you during that whole battle anyway? I didn’t see ye anywhere.”

Walker shrugged; “Getting my ass beat like the rest of you.”

“You know it is pretty damn suspicious that no one saw you during the fight,” Emery said.

“What are you the fight police or something? We were all distracted! Besides Leprechaun over here couldn’t see jack thanks to Tall, Dark, and Shadowy.”

The argument continued to escalate as the group got louder and louder. Isabelle came out from her room and stood on the outskirts of the argument. She tried to get the others to stop but it was of no use. They didn’t care if the noises bothered Scribe. They didn’t care if Avia was sleeping. They didn’t care to realize that what they were doing was stupid and counterproductive. They just wanted to tear each other’s throats out. She sighed and went back to her room.

Jett quietly got up from the couch and stood on the wood side table in the middle of the living room.

“EVERYBODY SHUT UP!”

They did.

“What happened to Avia isn’t Holly’s fault, alright? It isn’t Kell’s fault. And despite their oddness, and super shady behavior at times, it isn’t Walker Texas Ranger’s fault either. Hell, it isn’t even that, Fredario or whatever his name is, guy’s fault. It’s my fault. Mine.”

“No, dude, bro, it’s not your fault,” Emery protested.

“Yes. It. Is. You said it yourself last night, Beck,” Jett said; hanging his head sadly. “I’m team leader. So that makes this my fault.”

“I just said that to get you to do something, bro. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“There’s something else too.”

“What does that mean? Something else?” Walker asked; giving Jett a sideways glance.

“It’s a little hard to explain and it’s probably better to say it when everyone’s in the room and not actively trying to kill each other. Everybody get some sleep we’ll talk about it in the morning.”

They looked around at one another and realized that he was right. Sleep was the best thing for all of them at this point. Everyone nodded in agreement and went to their respective rooms. Except for Holland who was still in a ton of pain, both psychical and mental, as they plopped back down on the couch and fell back asleep. And Kelly who went to give Avia something for her injuries that were worse than they looked.

XXXXX

Scribe had changed shortly after arriving and was now wearing a dark maroon, long sleeved, sweater and a pair of black shorts. She sat on her bed, cross-legged, with her back against her pillows. A worn, well-loved, stuffed brown rabbit lay on the bed beside her. She pulled a sleeve of her sweater over her thumb. She was intently staring at one of the victim’s files.

Earlier that day she asked the detective if it was alright for her to take the files with her. He chuckled and lightly shook his head.

“That’s the reason for making copies,” he said. “But I guess your teammates haven’t figured that out yet.”

Her eyes read the information over and over again but nothing was jumping out. The group had only been home for ten minutes, maybe a little more, and she already ran through the five files twice. There wasn’t a file for the sprite boy they had found earlier that night. Not yet anyway. Scribe knew that they would most likely be one in the morning or the afternoon at the latest. The other files sat in a small stack to her immediate left.

There has to be something that connects them other than just the manner of death, she thought.

If there was she wasn’t seeing it.

Frustrated she picked the files up and laid them out on the floor. She flipped open each one to the first page and then sat down in the middle of the room. Then she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Scribe imagined herself in a large, empty, pool. Not necessarily swimming but floating in the water; letting it softly push her about. That’s when Isabelle walked in.

“Oh! Sorry! If you’re busy I can come back later. I don’t want to bother you.

“You can come in. Just don’t touch anything and walk quietly,” Scribe responded; eyes still shut.

“No biggie. I can do that.”

Scribe calmly listened to the empty air as Isabelle walked into the room. Isabelle stopped, paused for a few seconds, and then walked across. A soft thud reached her ears as Isabelle plopped herself down on the beanbag chair. Then Scribe opened her eyes.

Naturally the first file before her was of the first victim.

Enjay Sno. A fox virus originally from the Historical District. Female. Eyes: Blue. Hair: Brown. No veins and no powers. She had lived alone prior to her murder. The front page of the file also had two pictures of the victim. One was prior to death. It was the only picture the police could find in her apartment. It was of her and her boyfriend. He was questioned by police but proved to be innocent. In that picture Enjay was happy, smiling, and alive. The other picture was a headshot taken by the police department’s M.E.

Same old, same old, Scribe said to herself as she moved on to the next file.

Key Scotts, the second victim, was almost the complete opposite of the first. A human virus born and bred in Dashland. Male. He had green/brown heterochromia and his hair was black. His veins were a deep navy. He had no powers. Unlike the first victim he came from a well-to-do family of lawyers and had a good relationship with his parents. There were also two photos of Key. The first was a typical stylized headshot, his soul leaking through his left eye, and said nothing about the man in the photo. The other was after he had been dead for a few hours.

Her eyes scanned the second file for a connection.

That’s when the fighting in the living room got too loud. Far too loud to be ignored, far too loud to be background, and far too loud for Scribe. Scribe couldn’t handle all the noise and the stress of her investigation at the same time. She shut her eyes tight and brought her knees to her chest. Her mouth twisted in a pained grimace. Scribe brought her hands up the sides of her head and threaded her fingers through her hair. Her hands clenched and she started to pull at her hair. She pulled hard but not hard enough to pull any hair out. Yet.

“Oh no. We are not doing this tonight,” Isabelle said the exhaustion she felt audible in her voice.

Isabelle struggled to get out of the beanbag chair for a minute or two. She loved the chair but it was a hassle to deal with. It swallowed her small form. Once her feet were on the wood floor she walked briskly to the door and left the room. She was always light on her feet so she did all without making a single sound.

Walking out into the hallway the argument was even louder and she clenched her fist. Getting mad at each other after what they went through was stupid. None of this was anybody’s fault and they had to keep it together if they wanted to solve the case. Not to mention the fact that this was a pretty important part of their training. Fighting was just going to make everything worse. She turned the corner and immediately was met with the sight of everyone yelling, gesticulating, and trying not to throw punches.

Isabelle bit her bottom lip and began playing with her necklace.

Part of her wanted to take it off and throw it away after what that murderer did. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it. The necklace was too sentimental, too important, and filled with far too many memories. Nothing would make her part with it. The area on her neck where the cord sat burned and would remain a constant reminder of the earlier events of the night until it healed. She shook the thoughts away and spoke up.

“Hey, guys, all this yelling is really upsetting Scribe. Can you stop? Please? Don’t you care that you’re all making a teammate, a friend, upset?”

They didn’t listen so she tried a different approach.

“You’re going to wake up Avia. Kelly! Kelly! Your girlfriend needs to sleep you, big idiot!”

No one seemed to even notice that she was there. If truth be told Isabelle was far too exhausted to put up a real fight with the others. So she just left and went back to her room. She turned the doorknob and slowly opened the door. Isabelle didn’t want Scribe to get the full brunt of the noise since it was already bothering her.

That’s when Jett decided to scream at the top of his lungs.

Scribe’s body shook at the sound of Jett’s scream.

“Oh no,” Isabelle said; her voice full of worry. “I tried to get them to stop before but they didn’t pay attention to me.”

“It’s okay. They stopped now.”

“You sure,” Isabelle asked with a suspicion.

Scribe nodded. She went back to looking over the files; thinking that she found the connection.

Nabiyah Tomas didn’t have any powers. Sorris Daughtry didn’t either. The fifth victim, Secena Orion, didn’t have powers. Scribe knew that the young sprite didn’t either.

Isabelle wanted to do something to make her feel better after everything that happened that night. So she walked over to the shelf that sat above Scribe’s desk. On Scribe’s desk there was a replica of a human skull, a stack of notebooks, a laptop, and a small tabletop calendar. The top drawer on the right hand side was locked with a small padlock. But Isabelle knew what was inside it; a small handheld labeler and a label maker. The bottom drawer probably held more notebooks and pens. Isabelle stood far back enough from the desk that she wouldn’t accidentally touch anything. She knew that the shelf held Scribe’s dirt collection but she had to stand on her tiptoes to see the labels on the small vials.

“Don’t touch those. Those are mine. Don’t touch.” Scribe called from her bed.

“I’m not gonna touch them, don’t worry. I’m just looking.”

“Looking is okay. You can look.”

“Thank you.”

A few minutes passed as Isabelle looked at the vials of dirt. Each vial was corked and labeled. Some of the vials were labeled with small handmade tags while others had actual labels. Each label was composed of two set of numbers. The numbers were written in the same format; the first number was followed by a little circle, the second was followed by an apostrophe, and the third was followed by a quotation mark. Or at least that’s what it looked like at first glance. The longer she looked at the vials she noticed that the dirt in each vial was clearly different from the one before and the one after. It made sense since Scribe told her that she collected dirt from the places she had been to.

That’s when Isabelle realized that the markings weren’t what she initially thought.

They were a degree symbol, foot, and inch markers.

“The labels are coordinates,” she whispered to herself.

She turned to Scribe and repeated what she had said. “That’s pretty neat,” she added.

“You really think so?”

Isabelle nodded; “It’s different than just writing the name of the district but it’ll help you figure out— ”

“Where I am if I ever go back, yeah!” Scribe said with glee. “That’s why I do it! Dad understood that and said it was really smart. Mom never understood.”

“Wanna tell me a story about one of them? The vials?”

Scribe nodded. She already figured out the connection between the victims so she was done with that. The others needed time to calm down so she wasn’t going to bring it up right away. It was better to wait until the morning. So she gathered the files and began telling Isabelle the story about the first vial on the shelf. The girls spent the next two hours swapping stories of their childhood adventures, their parents, and home.

XXXXX

Jett had trouble sleeping that night.

Emery did as well.

They both found their way to the living room at same the time. Neither knew which one got up first but they seemed to be the only ones awake. Holland was still sleeping on the couch and so they tried to be as quiet as possible. Jett had changed at some point in the night to a pair of red boxer shorts and a gray tank. His hair, a complete tangled, sweaty, mess, was currently in a low pony. Emery knew why but he wasn’t going to tell his best friend that. But he also knew that he didn’t look any better. He could feel bags forming under his eyes and could smell his breath.

“You look like shit, man,” Jett whispered.

“Hilarious coming from you right now, dude. You look like a semi ran you over. Twice.”

“Harsh,” Jett said with a laugh.

They fell into an awkward silence which was new for the both of them. Then Emery pulled Jett back into their room and began rifling through his backpack. He threw what he didn’t want to the side and almost hit Jett a couple times. After a few minutes he pulled out every single pack of hair dye he owned. He told Jett to pick, or two, and then left him alone. Emery came back after a few minutes; with a pile of snacks and energy drinks in his hands. He dropped them on the floor and asked Jett what colors he picked. Jett held up two boxes. One was labeled Electric Hot Pink and the other was labeled Holographic Blue.

Emery nodded approvingly and took the boxes from Jett.

Before they left the room Emery grabbed a bottle of hair bleach. Then he went into the kitchen to grab a plastic bowl and a couple pairs of disposable gloves. He explained to Jett that the current color needed to come out first. Otherwise the new colors wouldn’t turn out the way he wanted them to. He pushed the bathroom window open and left the door ajar to attempt some sort of ventilation. He explained how to mix the bleach to Jett and then turned the shower on. Sticking his head in, he stood underneath it, for a few minutes. Emery left the bleach in his hair for a good two hours before washing it out; revealing his natural hair color. The boys spent the next hour or so in the bathroom trying their best to create some sort of an alternating color scheme of the selected colors on Emery’s hair.

“You should try and do a pink swirl or something in the patches of blue,” Isabelle called from the doorway.

“Holy shit!” Emery yelled in surprise.

The sudden sound of Isabelle’s voice had completely spooked him. In his surprise he doubled back and ended up tripping on the bathroom rug. He fell on his back and landed in between the bathtub and the toilet. Jett laughed. Emery tried to get up but he quickly lost his grip on the side of the tub and he fell again. Jett laughed even harder and this time Emery started laughing too.

“Sorry,” Isabelle said; grimacing and trying not to laugh.

“Don’t be,” Jett said as his laughter died down. “You didn’t scare me.”

“You’re fine, you’re fine. I’m doing alternating tips, anyway,” Emery said as he stood up.

“Are you two almost done? I kinda need to go.”

“Shit, fuck, sorry, I didn’t realize. Shit,” Emery said.

They were in fact done for the time being. All they had to do now was wait until it was time for Emery to wash the dye out. So the boys threw everything in the trash and took the remainder of their snacks. They apologized to Isabelle for earlier, and for leaving the door open, and left. Isabelle shrugged and then shut the door behind them.

Out in the hallway, much to their surprise, the boys saw Holland up and walking around.

“Holly you, uh… you okay?”

“Yeah, thanks for asking, Jett. I really mean that,” they said with a smile.

“You wanna watch a movie or something?”

“Yeah, I’d like that. Anyway I’m pretty sure I slept enough for the next month and a half,” Holland said with a laugh.

Jett and Emery got rid of their dye stained gloves as well as the excess dye. Holland helped when they were needed. Then the trio walked back into the living and Jett dropped the leftover snacks, and drinks, on the coffee table. Emery went about setting up the movie. Holland went about setting a few small throw pillows on the floor for those who preferred to sit there. Then they headed to the hall closet and grabbed a few blankets.

Isabelle came out of the bathroom and rushed over to the others; excited.

“Omigod, omigod, you guys! Are we having a movie night!”

“Yeah, guess so,” Jett said with a shrug.

“Awesome! Wait, wait, hold up I’ll be right back. Don’t start it without me!” she said before running off.

“Guess I should make some popcorn then, huh?” Emery said getting up from in front of the T.V.

A few minutes later Isabelle came back with her camera around her neck. She then plopped down on the couch. After awhile the smell of popcorn wafted through the entire dorm. Kelly and Avia emerged from her room and joined the others. Scribe also made her way to the living room around the same time.

Jett and Emery sat next to one another on the opposite couch. Holland took a seat next to Isabelle and then Kelly sat next to them. He patted the empty space next to him; inviting Avia to sit there. She stood on the outskirts of the group, behind the sofa, arms crossed over her chest. Her face was a mix of emotions as she eyed the others.

Avia took a moment and then sat next to her boyfriend.

“Movie night?” Walker said.

“They don’t have that wherever you’re from?” Isabelle said.

Walker didn’t say anything. But they sat on the floor on the opposite side of Scribe. The large bowl of popcorn sat in between them. Together the eight of them watched one of those mind-numbing comedy movies starring some celebrity only known for comedies. Halfway through the movie Kelly and Avia started making out and Emery threw a pillow at them. Everyone laughed.

Isabelle took loads of pictures; promising to make a collage. Walker constantly ridiculed the main character while Scribe pointed out structural flaws in the movie. Holland told them just enjoy the movie for its jokes. Emery and Jett simultaneously shouted that the movie had no jokes.

They all had fun, smiled, laughed, forgetting the earlier events of the night for a little while.

XXXXX

It was the middle of the night and the entire dorm was dark and quiet. Everyone was sound asleep. Everyone except for Walker who was preparing to go out. They opened the top drawer of their dresser and felt around inside. Soon they found what they were looking for; a small square-shaped panel. They pressed the panel in and a small hidden compartment opened up. Reaching inside they pulled out the item and sat in the middle of the floor. The item was a small dictionary with intricate gold leaf designs on the front and on the spine.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor they set the dictionary down and reached into the right side of their pants; pulling out a thin chain. They unhooked the chain from the ring that was sewn onto their belt. A small, metal, key hung from the chain. They wrapped the excess chain around their fingers and held the key in between their thumb and forefinger. A small keyhole was hidden on the side of the box that was designed to look like the pages of the book. They put the key in the lock and turned it.

The box opened.

Despite the box’s small size it held quite a few things. Things that Walker would never show to anyone; especially their teammates. But at that moment they were only concerned with the two items on the very top. One was a black leather respirator mask. The mask had become a bit tattered and faded over time but they weren’t going to replace it any time soon. The other item was a pair of goggles with a double eye loupe on both sides. The goggles had also seen better days. The leather straps were pealing in certain spots and the left side lens had a large crack in it.

Walker pulled both items out of the box, relocked it, and returned the box to its hiding spot.

They put the mask on and then pulled the goggles over their head. They moved their hair out of the way before pulling the goggles over their eyes. Walker walked over to the other side of their room and grabbed a coat from their closet. The one they pulled out was long, hooded, and made of black leather. The coat had a series of buckles along the sleeves, underneath the collar, and a belt. They put the cloak on and pulled the hood up before creeping out of their room and out of the dorm.

Once they were outside they roamed the streets for a while.

Every few minutes a sound reach their ears, and one would flick in the direction of the sound, or some passerby would catch their eye; putting them on high alert. They pulled the hood tighter around their head before ducking in an alleyway. Looking up they smiled at the sight of a fire escape on the side of the building. They quickly climbed up the ladder to the first landing and then they kept on going. Once they were at the very top landing of the fire escape they grabbed the edge of the roof and pulled themselves up.

They stood at the edge of the rooftop for a minute; looking at the people below.

There weren’t many given the time of night but there were enough to be looked at. Walker breathed deeply and took in the dusk air. Turning on their heels they started to walk across the rooftop. They could see the rooftop of the building next to the one where they currently stood. From the look of it was less than a ten foot gap. They broke out into a sprint. Then they reached the edge. They swung their arms back and jumped. Their arms swung forward as they leapt off the roof. They landed with a practiced grace. Walker used the momentum to roll a bit further onto the roof.

Walker stood up and immediately broke into another sprint.

This pattern of parkour continued as they ran across a few more buildings. They had to admit that they missed this. Doing something only for themselves. Doing something just because they enjoyed it. It had been such a long time since they had done this they were a bit surprised they still had it in them. But repetition leads to muscle memory and they would be able to do no matter the breaks they took. This was something they would always go back to. The adrenaline, the alone time, the feeling of the wind in their hair.

Everything about nights like these was perfect.

They stopped on the roof of the sixth or seventh building. Or was it the tenth? They lost count awhile back but they didn’t really care.

The building was maybe a thousand feet, maybe closer to two, Walker had no clue. But it was tall and seemed to be one of the taller buildings in the area. From their vantage point on the roof they could see the tops of the other buildings. They perched on the edge of the roof and turned the eye loupes down so that they could actually see the city below. Doing so allowed them to see more of the city below. They scanned the area for anything that would be unnatural, or out of the ordinary, for this time of night.

“Old habits die hard, huh? Seems like yours die even harder, الأرنب الصغير,” said a voice, mockingly, from the dark.

#uhhh #read it or don't irdc #larka's virus community #lvc #jett leach #emery becker #avia carstairs #kelly ronan o'connor #isabelle lombardi #scribe jenkins #holland #walker #my writing #ageekwrites

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ageeksnerdyworld · 6 years

Text

It’s Only A Nightmare

Characters: Jett Leach, Emery Becker, Avia Carstairs, Kelly Ronan O’Connor, Isabelle Lombardi, Scribe Jenkins, Holland, and Walker

Word Count: 6,485

Trigger Warning: Death, Violence, Swearing, Fire, Flashback, PTSD Episode

A/N: So this took like forever to write because I’ve been sick and I had my wisdom teeth taken out. It’s real hard to write while you’re super drugged up and in pain. Also according to my laptop that word count equals 15 pages. And always The Cyber World and the viruses therein belong to @voiceoflarka

~~~

The young woman tried to run but it was of no use. The shadows that chased her looked real but they weren’t. The monsters that lurked deep in those shadows weren’t real either. She felt them. Her fear was real. And that’s all that mattered.

All Enjay Sno could hear outside of her own screams was the sound of her boots against the concrete sidewalk.

Her mother always comforted her whenever she had a nightmare when she was a child. But she wasn’t a child living in her parents’ house anymore. She had moved out years ago and started to make her own life; she hadn’t even spoken to her mother in months. And she wasn’t really having a nightmare.

She ran down the alley and out into the street; screaming.

When the local police found her body the case surprised everyone at the station. The young female fox virus didn’t die because she was hit by a car. In fact she wasn’t hit by any of the vehicles on the road that night. She miraculously didn’t have a single scratch on her person. It seemed that her heart just gave out on her. The medical examiner ruled her death as result of a sudden cardiac arrest.

A few weeks went by and the young woman was quickly forgotten.

Key Scotts could feel the fear running through his veins as he searched for the source of his terror. But there was no one around. There was nothing to be seen in the middle of the woods and the deep, dark, of night. He had no reason to be there on a normal day especially if he was in his right mind. But neither of those things were the case.

Everywhere he looked he saw something terrifying.

He ran from everything that was out to get him. He ran from his deepest fears. He died cold, alone, and afraid. He had everything going for him in life. Just like the woman his death was ruled a sudden cardiac arrest. He was the son of a prominent lawyer; going into the same field of study. He had a fiancé and a happy home life. There was no reason for him to die that quickly. His family issued a statement to the press against the dangers of drugs.

Suddenly there were five dead and no one had any answers.

XXXXX

The day started just like any other day; hell on earth. Mornings were always hectic ever since the group was put together as a team. It didn’t make much sense to any of them. Putting eight people all on a single team? It was insane. This meant that eight people had to share a kitchen, a bathroom, and a living space. While a few team members were somewhat absent in the morning from time to time it was always chaotic.

“Avia you can’t hog the shower! There are seven other people here!”

“Calm down, sweetie,” the bird virus’ voice rang out from behind the bathroom door. “There should be enough water for you when I’m done.”

“Are you sure becau—Wait a minute! Was that a short joke?” Isabelle yelled; banging on the door.

Emery was sleeping soundly on the top bunk but the commotion from the girls woke him up. He tried to go back to sleep but that’s when Isabelle started banging on the door. People who never lived with a larger amount of other people tended to forget that most places had thin walls. Most of those people also usually thought that walls were completely sound proof. Giving up on sleep he swung his legs over the side of the bunk and hopped down. He knelt down and peeked into the bottom bunk. He saw a body shaped pile of blankets and pillows but he nudged it just to be sure. Jett responded with an annoyed grunt and rolled on his side; away from where he thought Emery was.

Satisfied that his best friend was still alive he groggily walked out in to the hallway.

“Ladies, ladies, stop yelling. There’s a civilized way to fix this.”

He walked into the kitchen and turned the hot water on full blast.

Avia came running out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel; carrying her clothes.

“You stupid troglodyte!” she yelled as she slammed the door shut.

“Hey! I’m not a caveman!”

“I’m honestly surprised you even know what that means,” she retorted through the door.

He opened the fridge and grabbed the first thing his eyes landed on. Grabbing a spoon from the utensil drawer he spun on his heels and walked to the living room. Once there he plopped himself down on the couch with a sigh. He pulled the lid off the yogurt cup and licked it clean. Sitting alone in the living he peacefully ate his yogurt while the others woke up and made their way to the kitchen.

Soon the others woke up and the dorm got a lot more hectic as people fought for the bathroom, space in the kitchen, or some other thing. Walker was making pancakes for the group which surprised everyone. Holland made a batch of tea which surprised no one. Kelly sat at the table with a mug of coffee and a bottle of whisky and was currently pouring the whiskey into the mug. Everyone was going about their morning. Except for Jett who seemed to still be asleep.

Emery sighed and got up from the couch.

He knocked on the door to the bedroom that he and his best friend shared. Jett answered with a grunt. Emery tiptoed in and closed the door behind him. He could see that in the bit of time that had passed Jett had moved around quite violently in his sleep. The bed was now a total mess. One of the blankets was shoved off the bed and wedged between the frame and the wall, another blanket was half on the bed and half draped off the edge. None of the blankets were actually on Jett’s body. His black tank top was full of wrinkles and rolled up; exposing his stomach. He held a pillow over his face with one arm draped over it. His other arm dangled off the side of the bed.

Emery walked over to the bunk bed and sat on the edge of the bottom bunk.

“Bro you gotta get up.”

“Nuh-uh.”

Emery gave Jett a hard shove. Jett responded in kind by slapping his friend in the face with a pillow.

“Dude, today’s the big day.”

“I don’t care.”

“Pretty sure you don’t want to be stuck in here all by yourself while we go take down bad guys, bro.”

“I’m not moving until somebody finds that bitch.”

“Well, you’re not gonna know if we find her if you stay here all day.”

Jett grunted in agreement and got up. Emery left the room and gave his friend time to get ready. Everyone else was ready and waiting. He gave the group a wink and they all collectively sighed. Once he was ready Jett emerged from his room to see everyone waiting expectantly. Avia was a bit annoyed having wanting to make a good impression with whoever they were working with. Jett apologized and held the door open for everyone as they filled out of the room.

Once outside the team made their way to the police station.

XXXXX

They were assigned to tag along with Detective Legacy Root. He was a good cop, with over thirty years on the force, who was nearing his retirement. Root was a grizzled centaur virus with a splattering pattern of gray, black, and white all over his horse torso and legs. The human half of his body was tan and muscled even in his old age. He had gray hair that matched his beard and a few freckles across his nose. His tail was stark white. His eyes were a deep brown, almost black, color and they set a stern and steely gaze on the group as they entered the station.

“Look what the Academy sent us, Sarge, a buncha wannabe heroes,” the voice of rookie cop Tyke Bunsen loudly proclaimed to his friend as well as everyone else in the room.

“Think y’all took a wrong turn this ain’t the playground, kiddos,” Sarge Rajah added; laughing.

Legacy turned his stern gaze on the young cops and they quickly shut their mouths. He greeted the group as they approached his desk. He took in each person who stood in front of him for a minute or so. There were eight of them in all and the detective was surprised that the Academy let this big of a group even exist. Even though he had been given a briefing on the group prior to their arrival he let each one of them introduce themselves.

“Go grab some chairs for yourselves,” he said once introductions were over with, “unless you all prefer to stand.”

The group left except for the black rabbit virus.

All Legacy knew about the kid was what the Academy knew. Which was actually next to nothing. The rabbit, Walker was their name according to the Academy’s records, looked around the station as Legacy went about collecting the copies he had made of the case files. The detective watched the rabbit out of the corner of his eye as they surveyed the room. Soon the group was all together again the detective handed out a copy of the case files to each of them.

After they had discussed the known facts of the case he let the kids ask a few questions. The tall, lanky, ginger kid didn’t ask any questions so much as he just talked out loud. The rest of the group ignored him and so Legacy did the same.

“This is crazy. We’re actually working a case, you guys! Heart attacks ain’t much of a real case if ye ask me but I can’t believe we’re actually doing this! This is the best day ever. Actually, no, that’s not true. If we saw any 99ers out there doing stuff then it’d be the best day ever.”

“Babe,” Avia whispered. “I love you but do shut up.”

Walker picked up one of the files and stared at one it with a murderous look. After a minute or two Walker set the file back down on the desk without a word; leaned against the side of Legacy’s desk and crossed their arms over their chest. Two of the girls, the dark skinned one with round glasses and the one with the Devil’s Eyes, asked if he had any suspects yet. He chuckled lightly before going into detail about the few suspects he did have in mind.

A small time crook with who went by the name Hilarity was a possible lead. Hilarity was one of the local criminals with a power of the Empath variety. Usually the guy would make his victims laugh until they cried using the scene to commit robberies and make his escape but it wasn’t a stretch that he had changed his MO. There was a succubus virus that had become quite known to the police recently who could’ve been involved. Another possible lead was this suspicious vagrant woman who had been seen in the area recently. No one knew anything about here but this wasn’t the time to be leaving out any suspects.

And, of course, there was also Fiyero Nonagon.

“Fiyero Nonagon isn’t your normal Empath, kids.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Emery asked trying his best to tone down his usual snark.

“He’s pretty damn dangerous, that’s what it means.”

Walker turned a suspicious eye on the detective; looking him up and down but said nothing. The detective returned the look and Walker nodded; clearly impressed.

“What makes you think an Empath did it?” Jett asked; hand raised.

“No need to raise your hand, kid,” Legacy said with a chuckle. “This isn’t math class.”

An awkward silence fell as his joke went right over the group’s heads. Legacy gave them all a slight nod. These kids didn’t want to mess around and that was commendable. If any of them wanted a career in law enforcement in the future he wouldn’t be surprised.

“Like I said before every victim’s death was ruled by our ME to be cardiac arrest which is a big coincidence. The only thing that connects these cases is that fact that each victim’s body was found in a place they had no reason to be—”

“What about the fifth victim, the human?” Scribe asked.

“What about ‘em?”

“They were found in the only place they would’ve been. Seneca Orion had no other place to be besides the church. The only place.”

“Could be a fluke,” Legacy said, “or maybe our perp is just getting more confident. That happens all the time. Far too often, actually.”

“So you’re saying we could have a serial killer?” Avia asked knowingly.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

With that he stood up from his seat and told the kids to follow him. Sitting around talking about the case wasn’t going to get them anywhere. And if the group really wanted to help, or at least finish their assignment, then they had to get going. The more time spent doing nothing the more time the killer could use to strike. For all they knew the killer already could have. The group had to work fast if they wanted to catch this killer.

Legacy lead them out to the front and told them all to stay put.

In a few minutes he came back in a large police van. The group stared at him all with different expressions. Walker’s face clearly showed that they didn’t think the van was necessary. Avia was shocked to say the least. Jett’s expression didn’t really convey anything that Legacy noticed. Both Kelly and Isabelle stared with wide-eyed excitement.

“Kelly was right you guys. This is the best day ever!” Isabelle said excitedly as they all piled into the police van.

XXXXX

The sermon room of the church was large, empty, and cold. Even the large stained glass windows seemed darker than usual. Only a few candles were lit on the altar at the back of the room. The confessional booth that sat on the left side of the altar was open and empty. A few small pamphlets and religious texts scattered the pews. But the entire building seemed dead to the world. It was if the building itself knew of Seneca Orion’s death and was in mourning. If rumors were to be believed Seneca not only grew up in the church but he never left its walls.

“Right in the Academy’s backyard. No wonder they sent you all to work this case.” Legacy said; taking in the scene.

He sent the group to look around the rest of the building while he surveyed the sermon room. Walker went off by themselves to look outside while Kelly and Avia searched together. Neither choices were much surprise to anyone else. Isabelle, Holland, and Scribe all went to search the Jett and Emery decided to stay behind with the detective and search the scene of the murder for clues.

In the sermon room there wasn’t much to see or to search besides the body of the deceased. So the boys went to inspect it first.

“Don’t touch it, bro.”

“Dude, bro, why would I touch it?” Emery asked feigning innocence.

“Because you always do shit people say not to do and the detective told us not to touch. If you touch it I will burn your hands off.”

“You’re joking.”

“Dude, do I look like I’m joking?”

Emery knew by the sound of his voice that Jett wasn’t joking from the very beginning but he just wanted to test it. He held his hands up in front of him and turned them around to show that he wasn’t holding anything suspicious. Then he made a big show of putting them in the front pockets of his jeans. Jett nodded approvingly and then both of the boys laughed at how stupid that was. They turned their attention on the body of the deceased.

The body of Seneca Orion was still and unmoving. He lay in an odd pose; on his stomach, face to the ceiling, arms and legs akimbo. His jet black hair fell down over the front of his face in waves. The longer sections stopped just short of his eyebrow. The shaved sides of his hair had an intricate design cut into the short hair. He wore a long blue scarf that was wrapped around his neck a couple times. The rest of his clothing was typical of those who ran in religious circles.

“Isn’t it weird that his body’s still here?” Emery asked.

“This guy was killed last night… or was it this morning? I don’t remember, man. But yeah it is weird that his body is still here.”

“Guess they wanted the detective to check it out first,” Emery said with a nudge in the detective’s direction.

As the group went about searching the church for evidence the detective’s phone rang.

“Root, it’s me.”

“What is it, Rajah? I’m on a case.”

“That’s just it, we got another one.”

“Dammit,” he said with a sigh. “Where?”

“Harbor on Fanend. Not too far from the church you’re at now, actually.”

The officer gave Root the address of the where the victim was found and wished him luck. Root thanked him for the information. He told Jett to gather the test of the team and when they were all back in the sermon room he relayed it to the group. Then they all group into the van once again and drove off.

XXXXX

The body was recently deceased. By the looks of it the victim had been murdered not too long ago. The soul was still leaking from the victim’s right eye; a dull pulsing sea green. The victim looked to have died in the same way as the other five. The victim was another male. But unlike the others he looked to still be a sprite. His dark hair was cut angled across his forehead. He wore blue and gray tennis shoes, tan cargo pants, and a dark gray hoodie. The way his body laid on the sidewalk it looked like he had died while running from the building.

This one’s just a kid, dammit! he thought angrily.

Legacy knelt down and looked at the body of the boy more closely.

The boy’s brown eyes were filled with terror and his face was now a permanent fearful expression. He had a small crack on the bridge of his nose as if he had been in a fight some weeks prior and the injury was almost fully healed. While he inspected the boy’s body the students behind him argued.

“Whoever did this has to be in the area still,” Avia said.

“Yeah,” Walker said, “they couldn’t have gotten far.”

“Well, actually, they could have,” Kelly said. “If they were in a car, or on a bike, or a motorcycle they could’ve gotten far. They could’ve gotten pretty far actually. And if they’re a mervirus then, well, we are by the boardwalk. Or if they can fly or if they have super speed or even speed burst powers—”

“Fucking hell dude shut up! That isn’t helping.” Emery said; cutting him before he could continue any further.

“Control your boyfriend’s mouth.”

“You think I have any control over anything he says? Or when he says it?”

“What should we do, Jett?” Isabelle asked; bringing the group back to the task at hand.

“Why are you asking me?”

“Because you’re team leader, dumbass,” Emery said.

“Oh yeah… okay um… I think we should look for clues around here. Maybe there’s something that’ll tell us where the murderer went.”

But before anyone moved to do anything Scribe tugged on Jett’s left arm.

“He went north. Could be going back towards the Academy or somewhere else.”

“Oh,” Jett said completely at a loss for what to do.

“We’re going north. On foot,” the detective said; standing up. And before anyone could protest he galloped away from them. The rest had no choice but to follow.

XXXXX

The group was approaching from the area from the south; going up the street. They were only about four or five blocks from where the sixth victim was found. And Nonagon was just there; waiting. He stood underneath a street lamp with an expectant look on his face. He leaned against the lamppost with one leg bent at the knee and his foot resting up against the post. He wore a long tan, somewhat stained, leather duster jacket. Underneath the duster he wore a pair of dark washed blue jeans, black tennis shoes, and a plain white t-shirt. Legacy motioned the group to duck into a small alleyway and made them huddle up.

“I don’t like the look of this.”

“Oh yeah, really,” Emery said rolling his eyes; not even trying to hold back his snark.

Scribe tugged on Jett’s sleeve again and his ear turned to her direction. She whispered; “It’s probably an ambush. He’s just sitting there waiting for us. Ambush.”

“I agree, but, we’re kinda supposed to follow his lead right?”

“Maybe we can just talk to him,” Holland suggested.

“You really want to try talking to a guy who killed five people?” Walker asked. “Fucking pacifist.”

“I’m just saying we can maybe reason with him.”

“There’s no reasoning with psychopaths or serial killers, Holland.”

“Takes one to know one—”

All the while the kids were arguing Legacy was silent; blocking out the noise. He was unsure of what to do. It was pretty clear that this was an ambush. Maybe Nonagon wasn’t working alone like they thought. But he couldn’t see anything that pointed to signs of other people in the area. It didn’t make sense that he would just be here, a few blocks from where his latest victim was found, waiting for them. It was strange. Serial killers always do strange things but this was beyond that. He had to have backup posted somewhere or at least waiting on it to arrive.

But he didn’t want another body on his hands and so he had to act fast.

“By the looks of it he could be setting up an ambush for us. Now as far as we know he isn’t working with anyone else. I’m not sure whether he’s waiting for us or for his partner to arrive. So we’ll go with the latter and hope it works out.”

“What do you want us to do, detective?” Jett asked.

“You eight, damn they are eight of you isn’t there…”

“Yes, there is,” Scribe said matter of fact.

“Yeah. Yeah. So you eight are gonna all come at him from different sides, okay. How and when you do that is up to you, alright. I’m going to talk to him and maybe distract him so he doesn’t notice any of you.”

The detective walked over to the killer without giving the group much thought.

XXXXX

Jett divided the team into pairs and went about drawing a plan in the dirt of the alley. But then he realized that there probably wasn’t enough time for that and the plan was simple enough. They just had to circle the guy and then flank him when Jett gave the signal. He told everybody to make sure they didn’t all go in the same direction. He and Emery backed out of the alley and climbed to the top of the building on their left. They made their way down the opposite side of that building and rushed across the street. They had Nonagon’s lower right covered. While that was going on Kelly and Avia went in the opposite direction; ultimately taking the upper right. Isabelle and Scribe dived out of the alley and rushed up the street. They hid behind a couple trashcans and waited.

“Leaves us to stay here, then, huh?” Holland said turning to Walker.

“Guess so.”

Holland turned back to wait for the signal. The detective was alright from what they could see. The centaur virus was standing across from the guy, supposedly Fiyero Nonagon but Holland had no clue, with his arms folded across his chest. It seemed that whatever conversation they were having was going well. The detective wasn’t making a move to arrest the guy but the guy wasn’t making any moves on the detective. Then Holland saw a flash of reddish orange fly into the night sky before it dissipated into nothingness.

“That’s the signal, alright,” Walker said.

The group all rushed out of their hiding spots at the same time; affectively covering the killer from all sides. But instead of being frightened or the least bit surprised Fiyero Nonagon laughed.

“You’re resorting to this, Root? You’re sending Academy kids after me? That’s low. Even for you.”

“What’s he talking about, detective?” Jett asked; worried.

“Run along, little Fire Boy. Shoo. Go,” Nonagon said with a smirk on his face and a motion of his hands.

Jett instantly froze up.

But before anyone could react Fiyero turned his gaze on Holland. Holland screamed instantly and their entire body shook in fear. Their legs were quivering and felt like jelly; cold and weak. Their hands trembled at their sides. Their loud, terrified, screams never stopped. The shadows that crept in the corners of the nearby alleyways quaked in response.

The shadows moved with a rapid pace along the walls and the street; making their way towards Holland and the rest of the group. Long, outstretched, tendril-like shadows wrapped around buildings, pooled off edges of the sidewalk, and climbed up lampposts. A mass of shadows began forming on the ground next to Holland. The mass grew, pooling at the virus’ feet, and started to take shape. Soon the black mass wasn’t a mass anymore and instead was a pile of angry opossums. A few of the shadows wrapped around their legs and arms but the shadows slowly made their way up; creating a hooded cloak on Holland’s form. They were now concealed in total darkness. Their terrified screams echoed through the night air as they commanded the shadows to attack.

The black, void-like, opossums lashed out at whoever was near.

Avia screamed as the opossums jumped on her; slashing and biting at her. They scrambled up and down her body as she lashed out at them. But they were too fast for her and they evaded her attacks almost effortlessly. She struggled to pull her rapier out of its sheath at her side.

“Call them off Holland! It’s me, dammit!” she yelled in their direction.

“They can’t hear ye babe,” Kelly said rushing to his girlfriend’s side.

Suddenly he shadows were on him as well and many more were coming. Kelly gripped the handle of his axe with both hands and swung it at his feet. The blade of the axe cut the shadows and they dissipated into the night air. But more were coming, a few even starting to attack, and he still didn’t have proper footing on the ground.

“Get these things off me! Get them off now!” Avia yelled; her voice muffled through a sea of shadows.

“Give me a fuckin’ second will ya?” Kelly yelled back.

He swiped at the shadows but they were growing and growing.

The shadows engulfed his legs once more and he fell back on the ground. The shock made him lose grip on his axe and it fell from his hands. His axe was soon covered in shadows and unable to be seen. He lashed out against the shadows but it did nothing. More shadows crawled on his body; covering him from all sides.

Meanwhile Avia reached through the darkness; searching for her rapier. Punching and kicking at the shadow opossums didn’t seem to do much. And that didn’t do anything to the other shadows either. The shadows were suffocating her and she didn’t have many options left. She gritted her teeth angrily hating that she couldn’t get her weapon out. She tried everything she could and that was her only option. There was always the option of waiting for the others to possibly survive this fight with both Fiyero and Holland.

But if she did that she could be dead by that time.

Suddenly she felt a poke in the small of her back. She struggled against the shadows to turn and see what it was; hoping it wasn’t something that was actively trying to kill her.

There her rapier was seemingly floating in the darkness that surrounded her. But in reality one of the shadow opossums was holding it out. There was some part of Holland, deep inside the fear he felt, that knew what he was doing. Some small part of him knew that Avia wasn’t an enemy. Trying not to dwell on how insane and completely impossible this whole situation was she grabbed her rapier. In the same movement she swiped at the shadows around her.

“I made it out. I actually made it out,” she said between harsh breaths. Realizing what she said she shook her head and gripped her rapier tight.

“Of course I made it out.”

That much was true but the shadows were still everywhere; still on the attack.

XXXXX

Meanwhile the rest of the group, along with the detective, focused on Fiyero who was trying to get away during the commotion. While the commotion wasn’t enough to distract the entire group it was enough for Fiyero to dive across the street and into another alleyway. Legacy cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled to get the killer’s attention.

“We have you surrounded. This is over. You can--”

“It’s just you and those kids, Root. You can’t stop me.”

Emery stepped up, planted his feet firmly on the ground, and turned to the others.

“Stand your ground and cover your ears.”

With that he let out a scream that knocked over a couple trash cans and sent Fiyero to the ground.

“Dude!” Jett said giving Emery a slap on the back.

But the one attack wasn’t enough and Fiyero stood up once more; “Nice try, Songbird.”

“Songbird? What in the fuck?” Emery echoed with confused disgust.

“Oh crap,” Isabelle said readying her flail.

Fiyero rushed to where the others were in an obvious attempt to push the group back towards Holland and their shadows.

Isabelle swung her flail wide and it smashed into the side of Fiyero’s right leg. She pulled on the chain and the spiked ball of the flail fell away from the handle. With the spikes still embedded in the villain’s leg she punched him in the face. While that distracted him she yanked the chain and yanked the spiked ball from his leg. She pressed a boot down on the wound in his leg and leaned down; pressing the barrel of the gun against his temple. The black cord necklace hung off her neck the Nevermore talon dangling just a few inches from the man’s face.

“We got you now, mister. If you’d just--”

He gritted his teeth and yanked on her necklace; choking her and simultaneously pulling her face closer to his. Then he slammed his head against hers. She stumbled off him in a pained daze. He swung at her leg with his own and she fell to the ground.

In the middle of the group stood Scribe; frightened of all the noises around her. She sat on the ground, brought her knees to her chest, and held herself tight. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. As the noises around her became louder she thought about wanting to disappear. She closed her eyes tighter. Her shoes, and her feet inside, began to blend in with the dark gray of the road underneath her.

“Scri, do you have any—” Jett said turning to realize that she had seemingly vanished.

“Shit.”

“Don’t worry bro,” Emery said. “She’s probably gonna go do something awesome.”

Just as he finished his sentence he was tackled to the ground by Isabelle; completely caught off guard.

“What the hell? Stop it!”

Isabelle started hitting him and he put his arms up to block her blows. Kicking around he tried to use the momentum of his own body to throw her off of him. It didn’t work. Surprisingly she was stronger than her small frame made it seem and she held on. Elbowing her in the face he hoped the pain would distract her and he could wiggle free. But that was of no use either. He took a deep breath and waited for an opening.

He really didn’t want to do this.

But he had no other choice.

He let out a scream right in Isabelle’s face and it instantly flung her off him. Emery shook his head and pulled himself to his feet. Isabelle ran at him again but this time he was ready and he pushed her back a few feet with another scream. Soon she was engulfed in the shadows along with three other of his teammates.

“We’re fucked.”

Legacy and Jett tried to stay focused on taking Fiyero down. But the shadows at their backs were too much of a distraction. A large, swaying, shadow wrapped its form around Jett’s leg; tight. He tried to kick it off but it was of no use. A trickle of fear began to creep up his spine. Looking up his eyes met Fiyero’s and the trickle ballooned into a full on panic. His pupils went wide and his breath quickened.

Terrified, and unsure of what to do, Jett turned on the detective.

“What the hell’s gotten into you, kid?”

Jett didn’t respond. Instead he sent a harsh right hook to the detective’s face. Then he sent a knee to the detective’s chest. Legacy could see the struggle in the boy’s eyes as tears ran down his face. But he didn’t stop attacking the detective. His fear was too strong and overpowered any and all other rational thought. This was worse than the detective could have ever imagined. The rumors about Fiyero Nonagon were true. The virus wasn’t just some unstable junkie with powers.

They were dealing with a Nightmare Aura.

The detective shoved the teenage litten virus off him and he pulled his gun from the holster at his side. He turned the gun on Nonagon and pulled the trigger. But before he could actually get a shot off a small fireball hit his hands. In the pain and the surprise Legacy almost immediately dropped the gun. Jett’s right hand clenched in a fist and then opened again; a small fire emitting from his palm. He did the same with his left hand.

Jett launched fireball after fireball at the detective; forcing him back to the others.

Every last one of Jett’s team members were somewhere in that mass of shadows. And in this state he didn’t care if he was headed that way as well. He didn’t know, think about, or even care if his team was still fighting one another. The only thing that ran through his mind was sheer terror.

He forced the detective into the blackness and walked in after him.

Almost at the same time his fear suddenly melted away. So did Isabelle’s and her knees buckled underneath her. Emery caught her before she hit the ground. Holland gave one last terrified scream before they passed out on the ground. As Holland’s fear subsided the shadows began to crawl back towards the alley. The shadowy opossum figures dissipated into benevolent pools before gliding back to where they originated from. The long, flowing, hooded cloak that had engulfed Holland in complete darkness began to fall from his prone body.

Kelly was holding Avia; both of which were covered in minor cracks and scratches. Scribe came out from behind a mailbox; eyes wide and terrified. Her normal coloring slowly came back as she stopped using her camouflage. Walker found their way back to the group also covered in cracks and bruises. The detective slowly got to his feet and pulled small flecks of concrete out of his hair.

Jett was standing in the middle of the street; flames licking off his body. He stared out with wide eyes at nothing. His chest moved up and down in rapid time with his breathing. Panic crept up his spine once more. He wanted to run but there was nowhere to go.

Suddenly he was back home again.

He was outside and it was night. His parents were inside and they were crying; scared. His dad who always had a joke to crack or some other way to make light of a dark situation was shaking. His mom would always try her best to be a light in a dark room, to be there for those suffering, was now sitting the destroyed seating area of the bakery she tried so hard to bring to life. The majority of their small corner store bakery was trashed. Broken glass and cracked ceramic lay strewn about everywhere. He could feel the broken glass underneath his feet. He could feel a hand on his shoulder. He could feel the presence of two other people. One of those people stood next to him. She knelt down and whispered in his ear. Words he would never forget.

Burn it all down, Fire Boy.

He took a breath. Then another. A tear fell down his cheek. He couldn’t stop any of the others that followed. He stood there; stuck in terrifying moment he could never forget. Then he felt the very faint sensation of a hand on his back.

“Breathe,” a voice called. “You’re not over there right now, dude. Just breathe.”

Emery stood there with a comforting hand on his friend’s back guiding him out of the episode. Once his breathing was back to normal Emery pulled him away from the scene. Standing in the place where he almost set the detective on fire wasn’t a good idea. It wasn’t helpful. This whole thing was horrible. Emery talked to Jett the whole time he walked away from the middle of the road. Once they were safely with the others he sat Jett down on the sidewalk.

“Wh—where am I?” Jett said; blinking.

“It’s okay, dude. You just had an episode. But it’s okay. I’m here.”

“Oh, yeah,” he said forgetting about the others in the moment. “The others are here too, Je. The detective’s here too. We’re helping him with a case. You’re at the docks.”

“The detective. The docks,” Jett repeated; nodding.

“Where is that asshole by the way, Detective?” Emery asked turning to Legacy.

Everyone looked around for Fiyero Nonagon. But he was nowhere to be seen.

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