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carrera-ffxiv · 4 years

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The Wolf of Yanxia

The typically clean bandages on his hands were dirtied and dyed a dark crimson hue. His grip trembled from all the blunt force trauma while he held the glass. The bartender seemed calm enough as he continued to serve drinks, seemingly unphased by the fact that a half dozen regulars donning black suits laid sprawled about the floor either unconscious or wailing periodically.

“It’s good to see you again, sir. You know the mistress will not take kindly to this, though. I wish you wouldn’t stir trouble for yourself here, sir.”

“Glad you still remember what I drink.”

“Neat whiskey is easy enough to remember, sir.”

“How’s the family?” Hadriel asked.

“Doing well, sir, business has been treating me well enough. Still gets rowdy in here quite often-” he paused to look around at the mess Hadriel made, “...but the mistress ensures all tabs are paid on time and any damages are compensated.”

“Yeah. Sorry about that. The only thing I regret is that I’ve made a mess for you to clean up.” he offered a sympathetic smile and drank the entire glass, set it down, and motioned for another. He smelled noticeably like booze as it were, using a pocket-brush as he waited for the drink.

“Don’t give it a second thought, sir. Again, I’m more worried for you right now.”

A different voice sounded as the attendant rushed down the stairs, looking exceptionally calm, “Sir, Mistress Himaa will see you now.” he offered a respectful bow as Hadriel downed the rest of his whiskey in a fluid motion.

Hadriel made his way upstairs guided by the attendant, walking past various rooms behind a series of paper partitions. When he got to the largest center-room, the attendant slid the door open and backed up for him to go through with another bow. Hadriel briefly rubbed a little omamori he was carrying, gifted to him.

“Did you have to be so mean to my boys?” The voice was pleasant but clearly laden with an irritated tone. She sat at a table, the lighting was dark with but a candle flickering in the private room. The young woman was a delicate looking Xaela wearing a rather agitated expression. Though she looked soft, she was dressed in an intimidating fashion donning a black suit. The most striking feature was, however, her heterochromia- specifically that one eye shined a bright blue glowing singularly in the darkness.

“Have to? No. But I did enjoy it. Maybe they should’ve let me walk in and see you instead of making a deal out of it. A healer friend recently took care of an old wound I had, figured I’d stretch my legs out a bit. You know, sometimes you don’t know what really ails you until someone else points it out. A passive pain that grows and grows and your body has already become accustomed to it so it’s like… just another part of life, another day.”

She huffed disregarding his little monologue, “Still wearing that dumb eye patch to cover up such a proud symbol.”

“Anyway, I know your attention span is pretty shit so, the moral of the story is that dealing with the lot of you is lately is making me realize what a festering wound it’s left.”

She narrowed her eyes, “The lot of us? You have some nerve coming in here with that attitude, Hadriel. I’m not your enemy. Most of us are content enough to leave you alone.”

“Most, Adala?” he responded.

“Most of us remember why the Garleans gave a kill-on-sight order and nicknamed you the Wolf of Yanxia. You set the record for most imperial regiment captains assassinated. Still gets me hot and bothered thinking about it.” she winked at him with a devious smirk, “Remember, if you ever get over your dead wife I’ll be more than happy to show you what you’ve been missing out on… anyway, I can’t say your hands are clean in this either. You’re the one who chose to walk away from the Black Blades of Doma.”

“I chose to walk away because even through everything I’ve done for the organization, none would help me chase the traitor I was hunting for years that fled to Eorzea.”

Another presence seemed to saunter in from the shadows, a Midlander Hyur with dark hair and crimson highlights wearing a raven-colored dress. Even for a spell-flinger she was known for her dramatic entrances. She often enjoyed translocation through aetherial manipulation. Her bright red eyes focused on Hadriel as she spoke, “That was a personal vendetta. Not something the organization was interested in.”

“Carrera. No one. Invited. You.” the Xaela spoke.

“As far as I care the organization has fallen far and deep from what we once stood for. Common thugs collecting ‘protection fees’ and harassing the citizens we fought to free from oppression.” he continued.

“Tch. Three executives in one room, how often does that happen? Anyway, waging war costs money. It’s not a stretch to say that it’s a protection fee.” Adala offered calmly.

“Former executive.” Hadriel rebutted. “Speaking of which, what happened to your eye?” he asked Carrera.

She slowly brought a hand past her face to cover her expression a moment revealing her left eye to be much like Adala’s- a lightly glowing bright blue. She reversed the motion and as her hand passed the color restored to a crimson. “A simple glamour any third-rate caster can manage. Well, without you our numbers fall to eight now.”

“We lost someone?” he inquired.

“Oh, it’s we now?” Adala retorted, “Yes. Daichi is the one who sent those boys after you that you chopped up and sent us in barrels. Nice, by the way. He’s the one whose been heading up those fees you’re talking about. We let it happen because, like I said, wars cost money.”

“But he was getting brazen and we handled it. You left but you did not do so on bad terms. We voted to leave you be considering your accomplishments and contributions. I don’t know what you’re thinking but we didn’t devolve into rabid animals after you left. The fact that you were left alone for so long so uncharacteristically of the Black Blades isn’t because we couldn’t reach you. Rather that we didn’t want to reach you. Then he broke that agreement. So we removed him. Believe it or not, the majority of us empathized with you and were sad to see our own brother go.” the other elaborated.

“The majority? Heh. Could have fooled me. Feels like we were always at odds.” He added.

Carrera continued softly, “Your spot has been left vacant in the hopes that you would return to us once your vendetta came to its conclusion. The vote to replace your position was a four to five split. Three did not want to replace you, a fourth felt there was no worthy successor at the time so voted against, a fifth also in your favor however felt it was easier to have nine executives rather than ten since it’s easier to get motions passed instead of having pointless fights to make a decision. And then we just lost Daichi so… we’re back to arguing a lot.”

“So three liked me. That’s three more than I thought. And far from a majority.”

“Is the bar-owner business going well? You have what, three now?” Carerra asked coolly, “I hear you joined a Free Company. Ashen Wolves? Mn? Oh and who was their director? A cute Miqo’te if I remember correctly… M-something... Mira? How is that working out for you?”

Adala slammed the table with a fierce expression, “You’re cheating on me?”

He simply raised his hand to his face with an overt sigh, “... Back to this again. How can I be cheating on you when we were never together. I really didn’t miss this part. And you, what are you getting at?”

“Nothing.” she responded in a sing-songy voice. “Just curious is all. So how about it Hadriel? Come back to us. We’ve fixed the problem, no harm, no foul and the power balance has shifted in our favor.”

Adala chimed in, “The wolf of Yanxia joining a pack of wolves? That’s cute.”

“I’ll consider it. Just stay the fuck away from the free company.”

“Ohh?” Carrera said in a faux saddened tone, “Here I wanted to see what you were up to. Well, how about we make a deal, hmn? No one has to know who I am, we can even say I’m your attendant. It’ll be convenient for me to operate out of the area since now I happen to have business in Eorzea as well.”

“My attendant? That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Oh? Attendant, assistant, whatever. Well I thought it’d be decent enough cover for me. You need help managing your business too, right? You know I’m pretty good with numbers.”

Adala figured Carrera had an ulterior motive but quietly listened. The two weren’t in the habit of getting in each other’s way.

“As if I’d let you touch much less look at my ledgers. What’s your angle?”

“I have my reasons. But also, let’s just say I want you to feel like you made the right choice. We didn’t support you when you moved your hunt to Eorzea and you needed us- put the shoe on the other foot. I’m asking you a favor right now too, and expanding my interests back into Eorzea. And making amends on behalf of the others. Are you going to leave me to fend for myself or can I count on you?”

Hadriel considered a hundred different reasons why it was a bad idea and thought of a thousand more as why specifically she was trying to angle into his new organization.

“So you want me to rejoin the Black Blades and you want to come over to my new organization. This doesn’t look, smell, sound, taste or even feel right.”

“There’s a lot in it for you that you refuse to see. Your networks in Hingashi and Doma will not only be restored to you in full, they’ve expanded greatly, and I’m sure that’ll be of personal benefit to you, as well as to your wolves. But one thing at a time. If you accept our offer then we can call for a summons of all the executives and discuss your reinitiation. Though I’m sure if but one of us simply drops your name they’d all show up regardless. Just think about it.” She slides an old Doman coin over with a devlish grin.

Hadriel opened his mouth and meticulously chose his words, looking to Carrera carefully, “I have a strange feeling that… one of us is going to regret this.”

#mentions: @smira-asah-xiv

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unchartedterritoria · 5 years

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Dangerous (Sam Drake x OC) - Chapter 29

*NEW CHAPTER*

Previous Chapters: Chapter 1 * Chapter 2 * Chapter 3 * Chapter 4 * Chapter 5* Chapter 6 * Chapter 7 * Chapter 8 * Chapter 9 * Chapter 10 * Chapter 11 * Chapter 12 * Chapter 13 * Chapter 14 * Chapter 15 * Chapter 16 * Chapter 17 * Chapter 18 * Chapter 19 * Chapter 20 * Chapter 21 * Chapter 22 * Chapter 23* Chapter 24 * Chapter 25 * Chapter 26 * Chapter 27 * Chapter 28

As always, you can read the story thus far on A03 HERE

Tags: @jodiereedus22, @shambhalala, @missdictatorme

Reviews and comments are always appreciated!

A hard knock on the door of the motel room announced Sully's arrival. Still cautious, Sam hastily threw the garish, flowery comforter over the assortment of weapons he had gotten from the Ricker brothers just an hour earlier. He gave a quick glance through the crack between the heavy drawn drapes, enough to see the casual short-sleeved style button-down that Sully always preferred.

"It's me, open the door," Sully's gruff voice came from behind the door as he noticed the slight rustle of the window coverings.

Sam closed his eyes and sighed, running a hand through his hair, feeling the dark cloud of inevitable guilt-laden ass-chewing that lay behind the door in the form of Victor Sullivan.

Sam undid the flimsy chain lock and deadbolt, opening the door. Before he could begin to argue and explain his actions in vain, pain ricocheted through his head, the unexpected punch to the nose, making him stumble backward. Tripping awkwardly over his own feet, he landed square on his ass next to the bed.

Sully strode through the doorway, looking the rather imposing figure despite the cane in his right hand, which he used to slam the door closed behind him.

A few drops of blood caught on Sam's upper lip. He wiped it away gingerly with the back of his hand, careful not to touch his nose.

"I deserve that," He said, getting to his feet after a moment, sure that the bleeding had stopped and that his nose wasn't broken.

“You deserve a lot more than that,” Sully threatened.

“I know I do.”

“What kind of shitstorm have you gotten her into?”

Oh good, getting right into things.

"Something a lot bigger than I thought it was," Sam sighed sourly, leaning back against the door. His hand reached up occasionally to touch his nose while Sully paced elliptical patterns through the tiny motel room Sam and Faith shared. "Sit down before you fall down old man, you're looking a little pekid," He told Sully. Taking his own advice, he pulled out a chair and sat down at the small table.

"Don't tell me to sit down! I'm just fine," He said defiantly. Sully took a few more obstinant strides around the room. A layer of perspiration shone on his pale face before finally, he resigned himself to the chair across from Sam, muffling a gruff groan as he sat.

“How's the leg doing?” Sam asked.

“We'll talk about me later,” Victor answered quickly, shutting down Sam's meager attempt at small talk, “Now tell me what's going on.”

Sam took a readying breath. “How much did you find out from Nathan?”

“The high points. Lincoln's treasure. Springfield. Something about a goddamn barrel here in the Keys... Remy St. James,” He added the name of their fallen friend last. A stoic sadness in his dull green eyes, it was the hardened gaze of a man experienced with death and loss. “Damn shame. He was a good kid.” Sully reflected.

"That he was," Sam said, his face guilty and ashen as he shook a cigarette out of the pack next to the half-full ashtray on the table.

"Well, if that was the highlights, they don't tell me squat. Give me the play by play," Sully asked, adjusting his injured leg under the table.

Sam spent the next half hour chain-smoking and retelling the events of the last 67 days. The activities and finds in Springfield, the horrible and harrowing situation that had unfolded in the basement of the abandoned Edwards house, the previous three weeks of searching for any clues and finally finding a lead at the Martello Museum. Sam made the decision to keep what brought them to the museum, treasure hunter pillow talk that morning after Mother's Day, to himself.

“And that's when he grabbed her?” Sully asked.

“Yeah.”

“And you are absolutely sure it was Jasper?”

“Oh, I know it was him. Son of a bitch even left me a goddamn note,” Sam said bitterly, stubbing out the butt of his cigarette in the overflowing ashtray. Anxious, he pushed himself away from the table and strode around the space.

“A note?”

"Oh yeah, 'I've taken your queen, your move,'" He mocked in a thick Georgia accent. Sully frowned.

“Your queen?”

"Yeah, like it's a fuckin' chess match. You wanna see my move, Jasper? You wanna see my move?" Sam ranted to the warm air, giving the bed a kick with his boot, it made the weapons of his makeshift armory clack together. "Yeah, I'm gonna take these guns, shove them up your ass and leave a giant fuckin' divot where you stand. How's that for a fucking move?" Sam snatched the comforter from the bed, leaving it in a crumpled heap as he started to stuff the weapons in black duffel bags.

Your queen. Sully turned the line over in his brain. He scanned the room, his greying eyebrows furrowed.

With Sam having stowed his small arsenal away, Sully could see the large, singular dip in the middle of the mattress. The dip one could always find in the beds of an old married couple.

Samuel, please tell me you didn't, he thought, looking around the room again for another sign. The small pile of clothes that looked haphazardly thrown to the ground included Sam's t-shirt with a shiny aqua bra strap poking out from beneath it. That was all he needed to see.

“Samuel, I asked you two things, keep her safe and keep your hands to yourself.”

“Huh?” Sam poked his head up.

"I told you, I warned you, and you still couldn't do either!

"Alright, you know what, Victor?" Sam huffed, hastily zipping closed the last bag, and throwing it next to the door. "You got to ask your questions, now you're gonna answer mine. Who is Faith, and why is she so goddamn important to you?"

“Sam-” Sully said quietly, staring blankly at the table.

“No,” Sam interrupted. “No, this who time all I've gotten out of you is keep her safe and keep her out of my bed. I wanna know why.”

Victor silently drummed his fingers on the worn Formica. "You don't know," He said softly, the hint of sympathy in his voice made Sam cross his arms in confusion.

“Should I?”

"Where do you keep your whiskey?"

Sam went to the single cupboard above their sink/stove/fridge combination and drew out a bottle of Jameson and a glass. He put them both in front of Sully and sat back down in his chair. Sully grabbed the bottle and poured a third of a glass of amber liquid. He slid it in front of Sam.

“You're gonna want this boyo.”

Sam eyed the old man guardedly. “Is she your kid, Victor?” He asked, finally getting out the question that had been floating in his head for weeks.

“What?”

"You've never given two shits about who I fool around with, and now suddenly, you're acting like you're gonna chop my balls off if I touch here. Something like that, it's a dad thing to do; So I gotta ask, is Faith, your daughter?" Sam challenged.

“No, she is not my daughter,” Sully said with a mirthless chuckle.

“Is she your granddaughter?”

"No, now be quiet for a minute, and I'll tell you," Sully huffed with some annoyance before he continued. "Faith's grandfather was a fellow squid. We served together in the war. During one tour, our ship took two torpedoes in the side. I got knocked around pretty good, and Hank, that's Faith's grandpa, made sure I got my bruised, broken, and bleeding ass off that rig. Fella saved my life."

Sam leaned back in his chair, his head cocked to the side in interest. Victor Sullivan rarely spoke about his time in the Navy and his time during the war specifically.

"Hank was a hell of a guy. After we got out of the service, we'd get together a couple times a year and knock back a few. Talk about the old days, catch up. On one of these visits, he asks me for a favor. His daughter and her husband were looking to go on vacation. Somewhere that wasn't too touristy, but that was still a nice place to visit. He knew that I traveled a lot for my work and asked if I could hook him up with something nice for Sussi and her husband. Hank had never asked me for more than a quarter in almost 40 years, not to mention I owed him my goddamn life. So I took care of it for him."

Sully stopped for a moment. He rubbed his mustache and let out a deep sigh. Sam began to wonder with some annoyance where this story was going and when Victor would get to some concrete answers.

“I took care of all of it for him. I even had a place in mind when he'd asked. I'd just been down there, doing a little recon for you, Nate...and Rafe Adler.”

Sam's chest tightened at the mention of Rafe's name.

“Two full weeks in a king suite. Beachfront. In Panama. 18 years ago.”

Sam gripped the glass in front of him with both hands to steady the tremors that rolled through his body.

"You ever really get a good look at Faith's eyes? I swear they're the exact same as her mothers," Sully added after a moment, not sure if he should continue ripping the scab off the double decades' old wound that still oozed and throbbed for Sam in the night.

Sam could picture Faith's face perfectly. Her high, full cheeks. The small upturned nose that she called her ski jump. And her warm brown eyes that had stared right through him just that morning as they lay naked together quietly. Her eyes always seemed familiar to him, as if he had seen her his whole life somewhere.

Disbelief and denial crashed over him as he, at last, realized where he'd seen them. In his dreams. In his nightmares.

“You can really see it when she's angry,” Sully added quietly. The last nail hammering the truth home. The loud bang of the spike bringing on the memory of the night Sam had met Faith Spencer 68 days ago. When she had gotten in his face about family, her eyes ablaze with anger.

The same eyes of the woman that had called him a fucking animal those 18 years ago.

Sully smoothed the tops of his tan slacks with his sweat heavy palms. “I didn't have a clue until I dropped in on Hank two months later and found Sussi sitting at his kitchen table feeding Faith's father his dinner through a straw.”

Saliva flooded Sam's mouth as the bile rose in the back of his throat. He swallowed it back hard.

"I asked if they'd caught the guy," Sully continued. "When she told me he'd died in an escape attempt with two other men, I put two and two together." He sat back in his chair, his hands folded across the slightly bulging belly that had come with his old age. "I'd created this perfect clusterfuck of a storm, and of course, I blamed myself. Hank and Sussi, even Everett forgave me. Never blamed me in the first place cause that's the kind of people they were. Good people. Still didn't stop the guilt, it turned my visits from every couple of months to every couple of years."

Sully sighed, his lips tight together, but the heaviness that was in his eyes was gone, the burden of keeping this information to himself lifted.

"And this wasn't just about keeping Faith from finding out; it was about keeping it from you too."

Sam's jaw clenched, his head lowering in anger. None of it gone unnoticed.

"Before you go flying off the handle, let me finish. There was no sense dredging up the past and its accompanying bullshit. Not for you. I know you still have nightmares, Samuel. I've heard you wake up yelling in the middle of the night enough times to know that."

Sam dropped his head, unable to hold Sully's gaze as a rush of unnecessary shame shaded his neck red. Unaware of what he did in his sleep, he had always tried to keep his nightmares private. He figured, no info, no questions; No autopsy, no foul.

"I thought that if I could just keep a distance between the two of you, I could keep the past in the past." Sully leaned forward and grabbed the untouched glass from in front of Sam. "Guess we both failed pretty spectacularly, eh?" He muttered sarcastically before taking a swallow.

The seconds past. Sam still sat motionless, staring blankly at a random fixed point on the chipped table. The silence eventually proved too heavy for Sully to take.

“Christ, will you say something?”

"I'm leaving at 6AM. Be ready by then," Sam uttered in an emotionless monotone as he stood and strode out the door, closing it behind him quietly, leaving Sully and his cigarettes sitting at the table.

#sam drake fanfiction #sam drake x oc #samuel drake x oc #OC X Sam Drake #uncharted fanfiction #dangerous #My writing

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ellaofoakhill · 3 years

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Mother’s Malt, Part Three

The shrimp was untouched when they returned to the kitchen. Meline checked the temperature, and professed it nearly ready. Havel nodded, and his belly gave a great rumble. Ella gave a grunt of acknowledgement.

Meline clutched her medicine bag. She turned away from the roasting crustacean, and sat opposite Ella, staring at her until Ella looked up.

“What, Meline?” she asked. Havel loudly prepared a pot of tea.

Meline toyed with the strap on her bag. “I understand being upset that someone has snuck into your home,” Meline said. “I would be too. And I would be outraged if anyone flipped through my private musings like Vedris through the morning paper.

“But you only seemed watchful and concerned when we realized someone trespassed into Oakhill. And you were already angry when we saw your room.” She groped for words. “If you can tell me what the whiskey means, it might help you clear your head, and help us catch this burglar.”

Ella looked down at her hands for so long that Meline thought she wouldn’t answer. “My mother was a baronet in the Fey Queen’s court,” Ella said. “My father was a knight.” She shrugged. “Well, his mother was, so by birth, he was counted among the nobility, albeit he occupied the lowest rung of that ladder.

“Pops and I were close. He taught me how to work metal, though as a wood fairy, he couldn’t teach me much about iron.” She smiled. “His eyes were full of proud tears when I showed him my first steel knife.” The smile faded. “Mother and I were… distant. She would ask how went my studies, and I’d ask after affairs at court, but… we never just… talked. I wondered sometimes if she loved me at all, or if she was trying to be nice because I was her heir and required grooming.

“I was twelve hundred years old when the War began. Pops was a knight, but by blood only; his training with sword and shield had been cursory. He went as my mother’s armourer and squire. Mother, however, was skilled in magic and in warfare; she was a captain under Alluzandra.” Meline recognized the name. “But I think, like my father, she was at heart a peaceful soul.”

A small smile tugged at Ella’s lips again. “She loved growing things, even though she was a fire fairy. The day she and dad left—I stayed to run the estate—she gave me a bag of barley and a lump of bronze. She told me to bring as much joy with them as I could, in my own way. And she would love to see what I made of them.”

“So, in the Fey spring, I planted the barley. I watered it. I weeded it. I cut and threshed and harvested it. Again and again, through many long years. The bronze I made into a ploughshare, a scythe, and the instruments of distillation. The first two saw much use in those years.

“When I had grown that barley for twenty-seven years—enough to fill three valleys—I distilled it, and the instruments I’d made were well-used. I knew little of wood magic, but Pops had taught me some, and I consulted my younger sister, also a wood fairy and far more inclined toward gardening and growing things, and she helped me. So I worked, tweaking and modifying my brew, until I had a serviceable whiskey. I sweetened it with caramelized honey, and poured it into oak casks, to age until my mother returned and could sample it.”

There was a pause. The kettle started to boil. “After fifteen hundred years of fighting… Pops came back.” Another pause.

“I left Fey soon after. I gave the estate to my sister, who runs it with Pops now.” Ella met Meline’s eyes. “I didn’t realize my mother loved me until it was too late for me to tell her I loved her in any way but writing. That whiskey was supposed to be the start of something better than what we’d had.” She looked above the sink, at the sheaf of barley hanging over the window. “Every century, on the anniversary of her death, I return to Fey. I visit the Iron Field where she died, and Sycamore Rill, our family’s hall, where she’s buried. In both places, I pour a chalice of this whiskey, and have a glass myself. Sometimes Pops has one, too, but usually he leaves the two of us alone.”

Ella took a breath. Meline almost missed the hitch in it. “This cask was the last of it.”

Havel blew his nose with a sound like a muffled horn. Meline took the kerchief he offered her.

“So,” Meline hiccoughed after they’d mostly dried their tears, “do you feel a bit better?”

Ella wetly chuckled. “I’m not about to kill anyone now.”

There was a knock at the door. “Hello?” Ella was up in an instant, reaching for the handle and her pole.

“Wait!” Meline held up a hand. “Felix?”

A pause. “Yeah.”

Ella mouthed “You know him?” Meline nodded. Ella took an enormous breath. “Enter.”

The door opened. Felix was almost a head shorter than Meline. Like her, he wore neither boots nor shoes. His walnut hair would’ve been wild if he didn’t tie it down with a rag that might once have been blue. He had a small moustache and a beard that grew nowhere but on his chin and lower lip, not because he groomed it—anyone who looked at him could tell that wasn’t the case—but because it couldn’t be bothered to grow anywhere else.

Ella’s frown was deeper than a gorge. “Why have you broken into my hall and gone through my things?”

Felix looked more ashamed than Meline had seen him in a while. He glanced at her, then looked back up at Ella. “I mean’ no ‘arm. There was this big snake, ‘n’ she chased me up t’ this tree, an’ I dipped in through yer barn door. I—”

“Felix,” Meline said, “was this a black she-snake with light stripes?”

His head practically vibrated up and down. “Aye! Said she was Famofus er somthin’, but I didn’ stick around t’ hear more!”

Ella sat down. “How… how did you get into the stable? I have fairy bells on the door.”

“There was a fairy horse walked in same time I did,” Felix said, “startled ‘im a bit, near got kicked fer it.”

“I would imagine so,” Ella said. She sighed. “Why wander about my hall like a thief? If you’d come and explained yourself, I’d have given you a bath, a meal, spare clothes, and a bed. And more, likely, as you’re Meline’s friend.”

“No one was home,” Felix said. “Saw the shop downstairs, ‘n’ young’un there workin’,” Havel blinked at this description of him, “cursin’ up a storm, an’ left ‘im be.”

Ella spared a glance at Havel. “I cracked the sardonyx inlay I’ve been working on for a month.” He looked at Felix. “Did you bump anything on the wall as you closed the door?”

“I might’ve.” He registered Havel’s tone. “Sorry. No one else was ‘ome that I could see. Kitchen smelled nice, though.”

“About what time did you run into the stable?” Meline said.

Felix scratched his chin. “Just after moonrise?”

“So minutes after we left,” Ella said. She held the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger. “And going through my things? Misplacing them everywhere?”

“Felix is the actual worst when it comes to putting things back where he found them,” Meline said.

“‘arsh,” Felix said. He had the smallest smile on his face.

“But true,” Meline said. She was almost smiling herself.

“You were in my room,” Ella said. She sounded more exasperated than angry.

“I know I knocked over two books in the big nice bedroom, so I—”

“Did you read them?”

Felix and Meline shared a glance. Meline snorted. “I can’ read,” Felix said. Ella’s jaw dropped. She looked to Meline.

“Also true,” Meline said. “Felix is less literate than a botfly.”

“Also ‘arsh,” Felix said.

“Tellin’ it like it is.”

“Alright, alright,” Ella said, raising her hands. “So: Felix ran into my house because Thamnophis chased him; He found Havel in the shop in a temper, and accidentally shut off the lights; He wandered around looking to see if anyone else was home, bumping into things and replacing them in the wrong spot.” Her look turned quizzical. “Why, once you realized we were here, didn’t you reveal yourself?”

Felix cocked his head. “I never ‘eard a soul ‘til shortly before young’un here took a swing at me.” He looked up at Havel. “Not mad, defendin’ yer ‘ome, I get it.”

“But things have been moving around on us this whole evening,” Havel said. He looked like he was still adjusting to “young’un”.

“This is a big house,” Meline said. “The dining hall alone has three separate entrances.”

Ella nodded, staring for a while at nothing in particular. Eventually, she gave another sigh. “If it weren’t for the cask you spilled in my cellar, I wouldn’t actually have much issue with what you’ve done during your ‘stay’ here.”

“Fair,” Felix said. His eyes lit up. “The whiskey, y’mean?”

“Yes,” Ella said, “and for it, I’ll require—”

“It’s fine,” Felix said. Ella’s head snapped up. “I knocked over the little barrel when I put my arms in yer cellar, an’ I cracked it. So I switched it t’ another one. I’ll show yeh!”

The whiskey was in fact in another cask. Ella confirmed with a sniff and a taste. She held the cask tight to her chest for a moment; Meline saw a tear leak from her eye. She came up and wrapped an arm around Ella’s waist. Ella leaned her head on Meline’s.

Once she’d regained her composure, Ella turned back to Felix. He somehow looked even shorter. Just as Ella was about to speak, his belly gave a huge rumble.

Ella blinked. “Have you… when was the last time you ate, Felix?”

He counted on his fingers. “Six days ago?” At her raised eyebrows, he looked only the slightest bit defensive. “I’m a walker. We see the world, we live nowhere, an’ we take nothin’. I wouldn’ steal food if I ‘adn’ eaten fer twice that.”

Ella nodded. She thought a moment. “I won’t lie, you’ve made some unwise decisions tonight. But none that caused any lasting harm, and none that you can’t pay for.”

“Pay?” Meline said.

“I can chop wood,” Felix said, “and maybe add a room to Oak’ill, if you like.”

“Oakhill has enough rooms,” Ella said, shaking her head. “Cut and split a pound of wood for me, and I’ll count myself compensated.” She held out a hand. After a moment, Felix took it. “Now, shall we celebrate the Autumnal Equinox?”

The smell of roasted shrimp filled the dining hall. She was shelled, and laid out on a platter with herbs and berries. Felix looked flabbergasted; Meline could see him swallowing, probably to counter his watering mouth.

Ella raised her goblet. Meline noted her tired, relieved smile.

“Winter soon shall sally forth

From coldest waste in frigid North.

Balanced now twixt stars and sun

Remember we the Summer’s fun.

“Cherish warmth and scrumptious food,

And friends who lift the darkling mood.

Autumn’s here from west to east,

With milk and honey in jar we feast.”

As Ella carved the shrimp and Havel served mashed potato and salad, Felix nudged Meline with his elbow. “Does ‘er lordship play Fiz Bind?”

0 notes

ifishouldvanish · 7 years

Text

Objects In the Rear View Mirror

Part 4 of I Must Be Warmer Now

Summary: When Gold notices Lacey’s stopped listening to her Queen single, he wonders if he should be concerned. Rating: T Words: 2,481 Tags: Implied/Referenced Abuse, Panic Attacks, Hurt/Comfort, A little bit of fluff, fluff is good

@barpurplewrites said: Could I make a request for the wonderful and amazing I Must Be Warmer Now verse? Gold gets worried about Lacey when her Queen album is put away and she starts listening to Meatloaf Bat Out of Hell II on repeat. The reason behind this change is your choice.

[Read on AO3]

Gold wipes his feet as he steps into Lacey's apartment, grocery bags in tow, and smiles to himself. The first time she'd noticed him wiping his feet, she laughed and told him not to bother because she knows she's a slob and that her place is a pigsty. He continued to do it anyway of course— but over past few months, he has to admit that the place is looking a lot cleaner. For one thing, the pile of stilettos in the entryway is no more. Well—actually, it's just relocated to her bedroom, but he's willing to consider it progress.

He hitches into the kitchenette to set the bags down and starts taking out the ingredients for the baked lemon chicken they’ll be preparing together tonight. It’s a win-win, cooking together. He loves having somebody to cook for, it gets Lacey eating something other than Coco Pops, ramen, and pizza, and it gives them both an excuse to spend more time together. Lacey also takes her role as official taste tester very seriously, much to his delight. It feels so rewarding to have his work in the kitchen appreciated.

Milah would always inhale her dinner without a word and immediately disappear out to the back patio to talk on the phone. Some would say a meal devoured in silence was the greatest compliment a cook could receive, but it certainly never felt like one. And Bae, of course, was still just a boy. He couldn’t fault him for not displaying his best manners at home— besides, his jubilant, “Yes! Chicken pot pie!” as he barrelled down the stairs was always more than enough. But Lacey— she loves to watch him work and always offers to help— be it chopping vegetables, keeping an eye on some pasta as it cooked, or just giving him a peck on the cheek and commenting on how delicious everything looked.

Gold's rummaging through the cupboards for the baking sheet he likes when he realizes Lacey hasn't come over to give him a kiss yet. Odd.

“...Lacey?” He wanders deeper into the apartment and pokes his head into the bedroom, steam rising out of the master bath. Ah. The shower is running. He steps up to the threshold and gives a light knock. “Lacey?”

“Oh, hey!” Her voice comes muffled from behind the curtain. “Shower— be out in a minute!”

“Take your time.” He says. He's pretty sure it was too quiet for her to hear, but he feels too foolish to repeat himself at all, let alone louder, so he walks back out to the den without another word.

The little skulls scattered about every surface and every corner are like familiar friends to him now. Gold smiles at the row of tiny succulents she added to the window sill last week, potted in wee little skull-shaped planters. To think of Lacey caring for something living, as low-maintenance as they may be, gives him a pleasant feeling in his chest. His eyes drift over to the record player, and he has to blink a few times to make sure he’s seeing things correctly.

He frowns at the record on the turntable. Bat Out of Hell II. A quick look at the crates on the floor below reveals the record's sleeve— a rather frightening image of… well, he's not quite sure what he's looking at, honestly. He squats down and plucks it from the crate for a closer look, and is able to make out the image of a figure riding a motorcycle? Soaring straight into a… demon? Some kind of winged beast— perched atop a skyscraper like bloody King Kong, looming over a desolate dystopian landscape consumed by red hot flames.

His curiosity getting the better of him, he flips it over to read the track listing on the back.

The title of the first song makes his heart sink— I’d Do Anything For Love (But I Won't Do That). The idea that Lacey might identify with such a sentiment makes him feel uneasy. What might ‘that’ be? He's all too familiar with not being chosen. All too familiar with not being worth anyone's while. What if Lacey feels the same way? Where might she draw the line and ditch him, like everyone else inevitably does?

He scolds himself. They haven't used— well, that particular word with each other yet. Love. It's too soon for that. Isn’t it? What right has he to feel so threatened? Christ, it's just the name of a song on an album she happens to be listening to, he thinks. Stop getting ahead of yourself. He shakes his head and skims through the rest of the titles.

Life Is A Lemon And I Want My Money Back. Wasted Youth. Back Into Hell.

Now, he knows perfectly well that Lacey's endured a less than stellar past, but he likes to think that he makes her life better— even if just a little. She certainly makes his better. Was something wrong? Why would she be listening to such… angry, bitter music? What happened to her uplifting Queen single?

Gold sighs and peers inside the sleeve for the lyric sheet, relieved to find it still in tact. Sneaking a furtive glance toward the bathroom, he slides it out and scans over the finely printed verses. His eyes gravitate toward one in particular, and his mouth goes dry.

And my father's eyes were blank as he hit me again and again and again.

He sucks in a breath and clenches his eyes shut. Just like that, his pulse is thumping in that old, familiar way. He takes a deep breath, trying to steady his pounding heart before peeking his eyes open again.

I'll hear that ugly coarse and violent voice

And then he grabs me from behind and then he pulls me back!

“Stop!” He cries out, dropping the sleeve onto the floor where it lands with a smack , the lyric sheet slowly floating down with it. “N-no!”

“You uh… alright there, Gold?”

He stares at his feet, rubbing his sweating palms against his slacks, and flinches when he feels a hand rest on his shoulder. “I'm sorry, da!” He yelps, drawing his arms up to shield his face.

Lacey jumps back, almost losing the towel wrapped around her chest as she holds her hands up in surrender. “Sorry! I'm Sorry. That was bad—”

Gold wraps his arms tightly around himself, his eyes fixed on the turntable as his breaths grow faster, out of control.

“Gold? …Are you okay? You— you have to slow down, you gotta breathe.”

He can hear her voice, but his racing mind can't focus on it. It's flooded with impressions of his father's flat in Glasgow. The smell of the mill that would come home with him, the glimpse of blood on the walls, the sound of him yelling, the taste of dirt, and the unceasing weight of fear.

Lacey steps in front of him slowly, blocking his view of the turntable, and looks into his eyes. He's looking at her, and yet he's not— he feels like he's looking through her, like she's an apparition and not really there.

“Shh, shh… it's fine. It’s just me, baby…” She tentatively reaches a hand out for one of his, and he lets her take it. He squeezes tightly enough that he’s probably hurting her, which is the last thing he wants to do. For all the spinning his mind is doing, he can focus on that much. “It’s okay. He's not here…” She continues. “Just— Just try to count with me? Can you do that?”

He nods slightly, though his eyes are still distant and unfocused.

“Breathe in— one, two, three… And out— one, two three. In—” she takes a deep breath to demonstrate and slowly exhales. “Now four. In— one, two, three, four. And out— one, two, three, four.” She keeps increasing the count but his breathing never seems to be slow enough. It’s still slowing a little bit though, so he keeps trying, keeps listening.

She's up to ten when he finally catches his breath and he swallows. “L-Lacey… Lacey?”

“Mhmm...” She nods, giving his hand a squeeze. He slowly forces himself to ease his grip, and she gives him another encouraging smile. “That's right… It's just me, baby.”

He nods again and she pulls him close, letting him bury his face in her shoulder.

“There… you're okay.” She says, stroking his back comfortingly.

“I'm— I'm okay.” He chokes out. She's being so patient and understanding, and she's so warm and soft around him. He feels the overwhelming urge to cry, but it goes as quickly as it came, and he takes a step back.

“Why don't you uh, sit down?" She offers. "I'll get you some water maybe? Or… whiskey?”

“...Water.” He whispers, staggering backwards and onto the couch.

*****

“Feeling better?” Lacey asks. “You kinda looked like you saw a ghost there.”

He swills down what’s left of his water and sets the glass on the coffee table with a heavy thud. “I suppose, in a way, I did.”

She pouts her lips and rests her head on his shoulder, sliding a hand across his lap to twine their fingers. “Your father?”

He swallows hard and she sees the corner of his mouth twitch a little. “Aye.”

She rubs her thumb over the back of his hand, and presses a kiss to his shoulder. “I'm sorry.”

“S’not your fault.”

“I know… I just—” she shrugs. “It sucks, doesn't it?”

He stares ahead blankly and doesn’t say anything, so she continues.

“Used to happen to me a lot. ...Kind of why I started getting blackout drunk, after um… well, you know. They’re not as bad anymore, though.” She assures.

Gold nods, and she can see the way his jaw clenches. It’s the same way it always clenches whenever she shares another detail with him about her relationship with Gaston.

“You stopped listening to Freddie.” He says in a terse voice, and Lacey can recognize a plea to change the subject when she hears one.

She clears her throat. “Yeah. I uh— I've been in the mood for something else lately.”

“Is something wrong?” He asks, and there’s so much concern in his voice that she almost feels guilty. “You.. you love Freddie.”

“No.” She answers a little too quickly, defensively. “...And I love lots of stuff.” She says. Like you, maybe.

That's what started it all. On her days off, she would spin through a dozen records or more— but at the end of the day, her copy of The Show Must Go On was always restored to its rightful place on the turntable. The other day however, she couldn't bring herself to stop listening to love songs, lying on the floor with her eyes closed and thinking about him. God, she felt like a teenager.

Gold looks at the record sleeve on the floor and presses his lips into a thin line for a moment. “Maybe we could listen to it? Together?”

Listen to it? She just watched him get a panic attack just from looking at it. “I don't think you'd like Meat Loaf, baby.” She says. Over the past few months, she's come to find that he enjoys her blues, folk, and pop records to her power rock and heavy metal— Not that it surprises her in the slightest.

“Oh.” He sighs and he looks so genuinely disappointed. “...why not?”

Mostly, she's just a little embarrassed. Not by the music itself, but what it might reveal to him. Her feelings. They’re hard to reconcile with the past several years she spent trying not to give a shit about anything or anyone. “I dunno. It's just kind of… over the top?”

“I've found most of the things you listen to are, sweetheart.” He insists with a lopsided little grin.

Lacey chuckles at that. She still loves it when he calls her sweetheart and she loves the fact that he never belittles her for her taste, no matter how much he may not like it. “Alright. But don't say I didn't warn you. It's… something else, and a little corny at times.”

“Corny?” He hikes his browse, seeming caught by surprise.

“Well, it's… kind of a rock opera? It… tells a story.” She explains, giggling at his baffled expression. “...You'll see.”

“I'm sure I will.” He smiles and his eyes flit across her features in a way that she's pretty sure is making her blush. How does he even do that?

“...Okay.” She pats his chest gives him a quick kiss before getting up and firing up the turntable.

*****

Whatever he's hearing, it's certainly not what he was expecting. A galloping and uplifting piano melody layered over a squealing guitar part that sounds almost… triumphant? They fade away, making way for the opening verse, and Gold realizes it's not a song about putting love second at all. It's a declaration of love. A celebration of it.

And I would do anything for love I'd run right into hell and back I would do anything for love I'll never lie to you and that's a fact But I'll never forget the way you feel right now I would anything for love But I won't do that

The piano and guitar return with all their symphonic glory as the next verse begins and builds into a booming chorus that he can feel in his chest with each pulse of the bass drum.

Gold looks down where Lacey's head rests against his chest, and smiles to himself. Settling more comfortably in the couch, he starts idly combing his fingers through her hair. Her nose wrinkles and she looks up at him.

“Cheesy, right?”

He huffs out a laugh and shakes his head. “No. It's lovely.”

They sit through song after song about bright-burning, all-consuming love, being the answer to one another's prayers, making each other feel alive. He presses a kiss to the top of Lacey's head and she shifts and tightens her arms around him.

Before long, the song with the lyrics that frightened him earlier is playing. But this time, the account of the terrifying father grabbing the protagonist from behind doesn't bother him. Malcolm's ghost is trapped in that flat in Glasgow, thousands of miles away and decades behind him. He seeks Lacey's hand while the chorus rings over and over as the song ends.

If life is just a highway, then the soul is just a car Objects in the rear view mirror may appear closer than they are

The next song isn’t much of a song at all, but rather a dramatic voiceover— It’s indeed very over the top and kind of corny. He smiles down at Lacey, who looks up at him with knowing eyes and a shameless grin.

“Let’s get dinner started, aye?”

She stretches up to peck him on the lips. “Let’s.”

#rumbelle fic #golden lace #prompt #barpurplewrites #fic: i must be warmer now

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gtfovacations-blog · 6 years

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Bend, Oregon is the West Coast’s Secret Outdoor Sports Paradise

Cindy Wright of River Wright Photography/Visit Bend Facebook What if there were a place where you could wake up in the morning and ski, whitewater raft in the afternoon, and enjoy a round of golf or hiking in the early evening? There is. Bend’s location in the high desert — with the Cascade Mountains to the west, open desert to the east, and volcanic monuments to the south —puts this central Oregon city at the perfect confluence of mountain, forest, river, and plain, making it one of the few West Coast locations suitable for nearly every outdoor sport you can imagine. Here are the best outdoor things to do in Bend, as well as the best places to stay, eat, and drink while you’re in this secret sports mecca.

Play

When it comes to outdoor recreation, Bend is a big hitter. Check out all its many options, from rafting to biking to hiking. White Water Raft the Big Eddy The Deschutes River is a major tributary of the Columbia and is responsible for draining almost all of the Eastern flank of the Cascade Mountains. That means water, and lots of it. In the spring, when snowmelt rushes down from the peaks of the Cascades, the river runs especially high, creating the perfect proving ground for novice and expert whitewater rafters alike. Bend’s Sun Country Tours will pack you up, provide you splash suits, and drive you to the Deschutes’ best rafting sections: the Big Eddy. There, experienced guides will lead you on an three- (or more) mile adventure through still spots bound by beaver dams and ancient lava flows and over rushing, white-knuckle Class III rapids. The water’s cold, the scenery is beautiful, and the trip is a perfect way to spend an afternoon. Ski Down a Volcano

Chase McPeak/The Manual Bend’s closest ski resort is located at the base of Mt. Bachelor, a dormant volcano. Because of the mountain’s steady cone-like topography and elevation over 9,000 feet, Mt. Bachelor is one of the only mountains in the world that you can ski down every single face — and from the summit, no less. Yes, a chairlift will take you within a short hike of the mountain’s peak, where you can head north, south, or east down the slopes. Challenging enough for expert skiers with plenty of lazy green runs for beginners, Mt. Bachelor is the type of place you can take the whole family. And, with over 450 inches of snow a year and a steady mid-winter base of 150 inches, Mt. Bachelor can be skied from fall to late spring. In fact, Bachelor’s 2018 closing date was May 27. Mountain Bike Dense Forests

Next to skiing, there’s no better way to careen down a steep mountainside than on a bike. Just outside of Bend, Cog Wild tours will take you on a few downhill doozies and cover transportation, bikes, and snacks. Cog Wild leads mountain biking enthusiasts on a full-day run from Mt. Bachelor all the way down to Bend. Trails are mostly composed of packed, Central Oregon dirt and weave through new- and old-growth forest. With plenty of options for every skill level, Cog Wild works with you and your biking companions to create the most appropriate, thrilling, and adventurous trip possible. Not into biking in the heat? They also offer winter fat bike tours. Play a Round of Golf (or Two)

Tetherow It may come as a surprise to some that there are over 30 golf courses in Central Oregon, many of them just outside of Bend proper. One of those is located at Tetherow Resort, a recent addition to Bend’s resort lineup and one that takes its design cues from lodges, cabins, and the high desert. Open from April to November, the 18-hole championship, semi-private course was designed by David McLay Kidd, the award-winning architect of Bandon Dunes and Castle Course in Scotland. Another great golf option in the area is Sunriver Resort. For all your options, take a look here. Hike on Dragon Glass

Wikimedia Commons It’s easy to think of Jon Snow from Game of Thrones when hiking at Newberry Volcanic Monument, just south of Bend in Deschutes National Forest. From massive, obsidian (dragon glass!) flows that you can walk on (just don’t take the rocks!), to lava tubes (which you can tour with Wanderlust Tours), to standard forest and hill-hikes, the 54,000 acre National Monument is a geology buff’s dream. And, at 12,000 acres (about the size of Rhode Island), the volcano is still very much alive and well. Think about that when hiking up to the caldera.

Eat

After all that hiking, biking, whitewater rafting, and golfing, stomachs will be empty and food will be needed. Luckily, Bend — like Oregon’s best-known city, Portland — is an up-and-coming food town. From steakhouses to breakfast joints, there’s something for every person and palette. Drake

Drake Think Parisian bistro meets local neighborhood diner-cum-steakhouse, and that’s close to the atmosphere, food, and service at Drake. With dishes like citrus- and brown sugar-brined pork chops, grilled beef tenderloin, and buttermilk fried chicken, Dungeness crab cakes, and salt-roasted marrow bones, Drake offers up expertly cooked meats in a quiet, casual atmosphere. Drake is also no stranger to elevated mixology. The proof? A sazerac composed of duck fat-infused rye, absinthe, sugar cube, and Peychaud bitters. The Blacksmith

The Blacksmith/Facebook What happens when an old blacksmith shop (which is reportedly haunted) becomes a modern, from-scratch kitchen and steakhouse? You get Bend’s Blacksmith. Leather booths and banquettes, along with low-lighting and dark walls, make for a very old-boys club feel. The food also adds to this atmosphere in the form of steak and fries, surf and turf, and the Blacksmith Signature Tomahawk, a 24-ounce, bone-in ribeye that is bacon-glazed and topped with foyot and gremalade with preserved lemon, lavender, and minced shallots. Looking for a drink to go with that giant steak? Try the Austin’s Anvil, a take on the Manhattan with Bulleit Rye whiskey, Bordeaux cherry juice, orange bitters and simple syrup over ice with a cherry and orange garnish. McKay Cottage

Chase McPeak/The Manual Before hitting the slopes or the rapids, a full stomach is a requirement. McKay Cottage can easily help with that. The best place for breakfast in Bend, McKay’s morning menu consists of all the favorites done especially well. From the standard American breakfast of eggs, bacon, potatoes, and toast to sweeter fare like lemon ricotta pancakes with fresh summer berries to heartier dishes like salmon hash to any kind of omelette that can be imagined, McKay’s Cottage will not disappoint when 7 a.m. rolls around and there’s a full day of mountain biking ahead. Fun fact: The cottage was moved to its current location in 1973. Spork

Spork In Oregon, it should come as no surprise that some of the best restaurants used to be food carts. Spork is no exception. Beginning life in an Airstream Tradewind, it wasn’t long before Spork’s popularity necessitated a more permanent location. Now, with a brick-and-mortar location and a huge line out the door for every dinner service, Spork is one of Bend’s most in-demand restaurants. A discordant, but altogether pleasant mash-up of Latino, African, and Southeast Asian foods comprise the menu. Think dishes like spicy pork noodles (warm rice noodles, fish sauce, fried pork shoulder, peanuts, cilantro, fried wontons, bean sprouts and more) and pozole rojo (a Mexican stew). In short, head to Spork for wild flavor combinations available nowhere else in the Pacific Northwest. Sparrow Bakery

The Sparrow Bakery Breakfast sandwiches, lunch sandwiches, pastries, and bread. That’s all Sparrow Bakery does and that’s all they ever need to do. A cult favorite of Central Oregon, Sparrow Bakery’s beignets are a miracle and the baguettes could bring a Parisian to tears. We recommend the chouquettes, aka sugar topped pastry puffs.

Drink

What is food without drinks? For the parched, Bend has plenty of breweries, bars, and beer halls to slake your thirst, but the following two destinations are standouts. Crux Fermentation Project

Chase McPeak/The Manual Good beer, good food, and a great location all contribute to Crux Fermentation Project being our pick for the best brewery in Bend. With every type of beer imaginable (sour, saison, IPA, pilsner, imperial IPA, American stouts, lagers, and porters), Crux has a pint for everyone. On top of the badass brews, Crux Fermentation also offers up some of the best pub grub in the area. Do not leave without ordering the charcuterie board and the pretzels. Trust us on this one. 10 Barrel Brewing

10 Barrel Brewing Company/Facebook Since its opening in 2006, 10 Barrel Brewing has expanded to include brewpubs in several other states (Colorado, California, and Idaho) in addition to its flagship brewery in Bend and a few outposts in Portland. Year-round beers include Apocalypse IPA, Joe IPA, and Out of Office (a hoppy pilsner). With a fantastic outdoor patio and pub food (think pizza, burgers, fish and chips, and other sandwiches), 10 Barrel Brewing is the perfect spot to drop in for a little apres ski (or raft or hike or bike). Order the cast iron cookie pie to top it all off. Don’t worry, all those calories can easily be burned off in Bend.

Stay

While there are plenty of great places to stay in Bend’s city center, the best places are found outside city limits, closer to the mountains, rivers, and trails. Tetherow

Tetherow Located between Bend and Mt. Bachelor, Tetherow Resort is a combination hotel, vacation rental, and permanent community. Flanked by the previously mentioned golf course and with pristine views of the Cascade Mountains, Tetherow is the perfect place to lay your head if you’re heading up the mountain for skiing, snowshoeing, or other snow sports. Each resort room offers plenty of storage space for your skis, boots, and other winter gear without spilling into the room’s living space. A clubhouse, three restaurants, fitness center, and outdoor pool and hot tub round out the Tetherow’s amenities. Sunriver Resort

Sunriver/Facebook With 300 days of sunshine a year, Sunriver Resort, just south of Bend, is another great option to rest your weary bones between running rapids and bombing down hills. Much like Tetherow, Sunriver offers hotel rooms, vacation home rentals, and permanent living communities. A fantastic spa with men’s only hot tub, steam room, and sauna provides ample options for relaxation, while the resort’s multiple eateries fill even the emptiest of stomachs. Rooms include fireplaces, balconies, and rustic charm all wrapped in a clean and modern package. Riverhouse on the Deschutes

Riverhouse on the Deschutes Built on either side of the rushing Deschutes River, Riverhouse on the Deschutes is located just five minutes north of downtown Bend and 30 minutes from Mt. Bachelor. Rooms are spacious and many having direct views to the river (which also means the calming sound of water if you open your window); all have fireplaces. Riverhouse’s restaurant, Currents, is a fantastic dinner option with an unbelievable view of the river and local dishes such as stuffed Oregon rabbit loin and Oregon albacore tuna make the most of the state’s bounty of beautiful ingredients. Bunk and Brew Hostel

Bunk + Brew Hostel For a place decidedly less fancy than the above, check out Bunk and Brew Hostel. As one of our writer’s described Bunk and Brew: “This sustainable retreat is a part of the City of Bend’s Registered Historic Society and was remodeled by its new owners (and avid explorers at heart), Frankie and Jota (or “J” in English) to become an affordable lodging option for wanderlust travelers …. Book a room or bunk for as little as $39 a night, plus free breakfast — hello fresh-baked bread — free city maps, and linens and towels included.” For traveling on the cheap, you can’t get much better than this. Take heed, ski bums! Read the full article

#Outdoorsports

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beliefisghost · 7 years

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Stitches -- some fiction

Sid had been drinking all day in the sun and he was beat. He found a place in the yard next to a gnarly old maple tree where he hoped no one would stumble over him in the dark and he unrolled his ratty sleeping bag. He peed then sat down and took off his boots and dug his knife out of his pocket and put it underneath of the hoodie he was going to use for a pillow. He wasn’t really worried about something happening to him while he slept since he was crashing in the backyard of his friends’ place–called the “Crap Camp” by folks in the neighborhood–but he just put his knife there out of habit, because that’s what he always did.

He had just drifted off to a dreamy sleep when all of the sudden he felt some weight on top of him and something wet jammed in his dirty ear.

Smothered by the sweet stench of garlic-y body odor and whiskey breath, he rolled his eyes open to look into a pair of big brown eyes staring right back at him from a couple inches away. They were eyes he recognized well, but hadn’t seen for a while.

And below those brown eyes he could see a tongue running over red lips, making them glisten in the dark. Then those red lips were pressed against his wetly and in an instant their tongues began wrestling playfully. A few minutes of drunken making out and groping followed before, just as suddenly as it had appeared, the weight on top of him lifted. She pushed him away, at the same time rolling to his side. Their heads softly touching, Sid whispered, “Hey Stiah.”

The next week was a rollicking blur. Stiah and her large German Shepard companion, Odd Fella, rolled with Sid everywhere. And he loved the company. He loved having a partner in crime to scheme with and devise plans to acquire their booze for the day. And he loved the feeling of his usually pretty stoic face turning red when she teased him about something stupid he said, nudging him in the ribs with her elbow and grinning. Most of all, he loved having someone to snuggle up next to in the lonely night. He was secretly glad that she was always cold, so it fell on him to keep her warm.

Sid never tried to ask Stiah where she’d been. He we just glad she was there, back with him now. They got black-out drunk twice a day and laughed like pirates and made up long merry songs that they sang together. They fondled each other innocently whenever they were alone (Odd Fella didn’t seem to mind. In fact, you’d think he kind of enjoyed it because he usually sat there staring with his tongue hanging out while they playfully explored each other).

They busted into an empty house around the corner from the Crap Camp and started staying there most nights. They referred to it as “their place”.

And for the next week or two it was. To brighten up the room Stiah put some flowers she picked from the overgrown yard into a cup half filled with water that she set on the floor by their sleeping bags. Sid smiled because he never would have even thought of such a nice touch. So, they spent all their time together and you would never see one without the other. Sid and Stiah. And Odd Fella too, of course.

“You still awake?” Stiah hissed, directly in his ear.

“Am now,” Sid said drowsily, tickling her pale flesh shining in the moonlight.

“I can’t sleep,” she sighed. “Tell me a story, pleeeeeease…”

“Hmmm,” he said. Then he told her about a little farm-house hidden deep in the forest. Chickens and dogs and three gleeful children ran together in the yard. It was their future. Stiah-in-10-years was kneeling as she worked in a bountiful and fragrant garden.She looked as radiant as any blossom herself. She sang happily as she pulled weeds. Future-Sid was chopping wood and carefully stacking it besides the house while he reveled in her melodic voice.

“…And they lived happily ever after,” Sid said

“Yeah, right,” Stiah sneered. “She probably cheats on him with his best friend while he’s out visiting his side-girlfriend, her cousin.”

Sid snorted, “Damn girl, you got better stories than me,” he said with a crooked smile.

“I just don’t fucking believe in happy endings,” she said. “That shit only happens in stories.”

Sid shrugged and raised his clenched fist, “Yeah, fuck Disney!” He paused for a moment and smirked, then he touched her cheek, “I guess we’ll see.”

The next night they went to a party at a friend’s house. Stiah had the friendly and clumsy Odd Fella in a harness so he couldn’t jump all over everyone enthusiastically, like he was always so eager to do. As they opened the gate and stepped into the yard of the party house, they could see the front door of the house was open, but the screen door was shut.

They were walking up the stairs to the porch when suddenly the big pit bull that lived there, named Bucko, burst out through the flimsy screen on the door and instantly attached herself to Big Fella, who could hardly defend himself while wearing the harness. Stiah tried desperately to pull Odd Fella away from the angry pit’s bites while screaming, “Someone, help!”

Sid kicked at Bucko as the pit bull’s owner emerged from inside and ran to the spigot to turn on the garden hose and spray the enraged dog. Odd Fella whimpered, but he could take it.

Finally the dogs were separated. In the melee somehow Stiah’s left index and middle fingers got bit, and they were starting to drip fat blobs of blood onto the ground. A girl who lived in the house took Stiah to the bathroom to try to staunch the flow. Stiah took Odd Fella with her, she was way more worried about her dog-friend than she was about herself. The girl was so drunk she didn’t feel any pain anyway.

“Fuuuck,” Sid said. “That all happened so fast. Fucking party foul, big time!” He opened another can of warm beer and waited.

Stiah swore she was fine, but Bucko’s owner insisted that she go to the ER–at least for a tetanus shot, if nothing else. She didn’t say goodbye when she left and Sid was busy talking to some friends so he didn’t notice until later that she had left. When he did finally hear that she’d gone to the hospital he was a little worried, but he was also kind of drunk so he just passed out and figured he’s see her in the morning.

But the next morning she wasn’t back yet. When he asked the resident of the house who’d given Stiah a ride what happened, the girl said she’d just dropped Stiah off and that was the last time she’d seen her. So Sid rushed to ��their place”, hoping that she would show up there. But she didn’t. In fact, Sid didn’t hear anything from her or about her for a couple days.

Then he finally heard something from a friend of his with a bad heroin habit. He heard that she was staying with some psychotic drug dealer in his van, a couple blocks away.

“You don’t want to mess with that dude, man,” his friend warned him. But Sid couldn’t be dissuaded.

He found the van at about 10 a.m. and knocked on its side. There was no answer, but he could hear movement within.

“Hey Stiah, it’s Sid. What’s up, man. I’ve been worried about you.” He said through the metal side of the van.

The van’s tinted passenger-side window rolled down a crack, “Get the fuck out of here, before I shoot you,” a nasally voice said from inside.

But Sid pounded again, “Stiah, you ok?"

The annoying voice inside again, "I told you, fuck off!” The barrel of a gun stuck a few inches out of the crack in the window.

Sid yelled, “I’m not leaving until I know my friend is OK and I’ll blow up your spot if I have to!”

Suddenly the side-door rolled open and Sid could see Stiah sitting there naked with glassy-eyes and numerous bruises covering her flesh, in a pile of used syringes and condoms. “I’m fine,” she said in a cracked voice. “Now listen to my boyfriend and get the hell out of here before he shoots you. He hasn’t slept in a week.”

Before Sid could respond she pulled the van’s door closed again and the dude in the passenger-seat rolled the window back up all the way. Sid slowly trudged off, staring at the ground and kicking pebbles, feeling dejected in every way.

A couple days later, a deeply depressed Sid was getting ready to leave town so he decided to spend the night with his friends back at the Crap Camp, which was right across the street from the train-yard. Of course, just when he was getting ready to pass out, Stiah and Odd Fella trudged through the gate. Her face looked sort of dark and ominous, he thought.

Stiah didn’t even say hi or anything. She just sat down beside him, thigh to thigh, and started talking as if they’d been having a conversation all along.

“So…I’m ready to go. I think I am ready to hit the road.” She said nervously. “I need to move on…” She held up her hand to show him the 7 stitches she got in her fingers. “I took all the painkillers they gave me on the first night,” she said with a shrug.

Sid stared at her curiously as if by looking at her long enough he might be able to understand some of her secrets. He couldn’t help but notice the numerous track marks and scabs on her arms from re-using old needles over and over.

“I was actually thinking of heading south this very morning.” Sid said. “You wanna go to S.F.?”

That afternoon they left town together–Sid, Stiah and Odd Fella. For provisions they took only some tofu jerky, a bag of corn chips, and a box of cheap red wine. They had plenty of dog food, but hardly any fresh water. And they had each other.

They held hands as they waited besides the tracks and they only let go of each other long enough for them to hop into an open box-car on a slow-moving freight train. Sid jammed a spike he’d picked up for this purpose into the track that the boxcar’s door slid on, preventing the door from suddenly slamming shut on them and trapping them in the box-car. Sid didn’t know if this actually happened to people, but it is what he’d learned to do and he figured there was no point taking a chance.

Though they cuddled most of the time to keep Stiah from freezing, Sid noticed that Stiah didn’t seem as eager to kiss him as she’d once been. She almost seemed to physically wince as if she was being struck when he moved his face close to hers to try to kiss her. They were touching each other pretty much 24 hours a day, yet there was no other intimate contact, and in fact Stiah hardly said a word for the next few days.

Sid didn’t say a lot either. And he certainly never said a word about anything that he’d seen, or thought, since the night of the party where Stiah had been bit. He just didn’t even want to think about any of it. It made him feel sick inside when he looked at the fading hickeys on her neck and bruises on her breasts, or watched her do yet another shot of the black tar she seemed to have an unending supply of. Despite her near constant use of it, she never offered him a hit, so he just drank more and more wine, and occasionally sipped from the flask currently filled with a mix of tequila and whiskey that he kept in his backpack. The blurrier his vision (and mind) were, the easier it was for him to forget about everything and relax. He kept telling himself he was just happy to not be alone.

Train-cars are very dirty and Stiah rarely washed anyway. She had also thrown away the antibiotics the hospital gave her for her finger because they didn’t even give her a small buzz or anything. So, inevitably her wound had become infected. It itched and throbbed and was pretty much a constant thorn in her side and reminder of some of the degrading things she’d chosen and/or been forced to do recently. She could still feel the creepy guy from the van’s breath on the back of her neck as he rammed himself into her ass with his hands reaching around cupping her breasts, squeezing them hard while he sucked on her neck. She remembered how he laughed when she cried out in pain and how he spit right on her face when she asked him to stop.

Several times a day Stiah felt this immense “pressure” and anxiety in her heart and for a bit it felt to her like it was getting hard to breathe. This is when she’d again pull out some tin foil and a straw to smoke a little more of the tar she’d gotten from the creep. She preferred shooting up to smoking dope, but she couldn’t do it with her finger injury on the bumpy moving train. She tried to kind of turn away when she did it and she purposely never offered any to Sid, because she was scared to death that he’d end up strung out too, just like her, and she told herself she needed him to be her rock.

A couple days later they made it to San Francisco and the first place they headed was the Mission District to get some big burritos and then they took the BART down to the ocean beaches and built a small fire in the sand. Sid was thinking life was not too bad at all. Stiah was just trying not to think. They clung to each other but they rarely talked. They just sat there listening to the sound of waves crashing, drinking some more cheap wine, and watching the flames flicker and jump. Every so often Sid would get up and grab another armful of driftwood to throw on the fire.

Finally, Stiah broke the silence. “I really want to tell you something but I’m scared of how you might react…”

“How would you want me to react?” Sid asked

“Well, I guess I would just prefer if you didn’t really say anything–just listen….And of course please don’t judge me,” Stiah said.

“Too late Stiah,” Sid replied. “I already started judging you years ago and now, and based on that ongoing assessment, I am pretty sure that I want to be with you no matter what.” Sid smiled uneasily, friendly but sort of self-conscious too.

Stiah’s face didn’t change in the slightest. She was like made of stone while she took another hit of heroin. “Umm, so you know that guy you saw me with?” She asked.

Without making any eye contact, Sid nodded slowly.

“I ripped him off.” Stiah said. The words hung there heavily in the silence between them.

Sid finally understood how she seemed to have so much heroin–and cash too, come to think of it. Part of him was kind of proud of her. The other part was kind of scared for her. He knew that it was quite unlikely all the drugs and money she’d taken had actually belonged to the jerk in the van, and whoever she’d ripped off they were definitely going to be keeping a lookout for her. In his head, Sid vowed to defend her no matter what.

Had she known of Sid’s vow, it wouldn’t have made Stiah feel any better. What she knew that Sid didn’t was who the guy in the van worked for, and they were not very pleasant people. Stiah was pretty scared. She knew anywhere she went the men tasked with searching for her were not going to be too far behind, and she knew that despite Sid’s heart, he would stand absolutely no chance against the guns and numbers that would likely be coming for her. Her stomach felt like the eye of a hurricane, empty and foreboding.

The friends continued to drink together in silence, until eventually they both drifted off to sleep and the fire slowly died out.

It was pretty obvious that Stiah’s fingers were badly infected, but there wasn’t really much they could do. She refused to go to the ER for it, and really Sid couldn’t blame her. Hospitals are too much like jail, he thought. They were both hoping it would just get better on it’s own, but it actually seemed to be getting worse and worse. Thick, stinky pus oozed out of it and it was bright red and inflamed looking. Siah knew she had to go back for more medical attention sometime to get the stitches removed anyway, but she really didn’t want to make an extra trip to the hospital for just a couple red fingers and throbbing pain all the time. Instead she’d take another hit of heroin and try to keep her eyes from closing and her head from nodding as best as she could.

Sid and Stiah decided to walk through Golden Gate park back to the main part of town, instead of taking the train, so It wasn’t until about 2 p.m. when they made it to the end of the park on Haight Street. From there they hopped on a bus, saying Odd Fella was a service animal, and went downtown to try to make some money. Their plan was to spange up enough money to get some beers and maybe a sandwich or burrito they could split between them and eat.

They were walking past a large parking garage when Stiah said, “Hey, I gotta take a shit bad, man. Can you hold on to Odd Fella for a couple minutes while I go take care of this?” Stiah asked as she dug in her backpack for a wad of napkins she usually kept there for just such an emergency.

“Uhh, yeah, of course,” Sid replied. ‘I’ll just be chilling right here. Who knows, maybe I’ll make a little money while I wait. Take your time.“

Stiah smiled. "You’re such a sweetie. OK, be right back”, she said as she handed Odd Fella’s leash over to Sid. The dog whimpered once, snorted, and then lay down again and went back to sleep.

Sid was bored. There was nobody really walking around in the area where he was waiting that he could hit up for change so he just began to quietly sing to himself. It had already been about 10 minutes, so Sid figured Stiah should be back pretty soon.

Sid was looking at a zine that he’d picked up somewhere on his travels. It was a collection of personal stories related to relationships and love and sex. Sid thought he might be in love with Stiah. “Goddamn it!” He thought. “She is going to make me crazy…” Yeah, he sure liked her a lot anyway.

Suddenly there was a strange sound like someone had dropped a giant watermelon or something. From across the street there was a scream. Sid’s brow wrinkled as he tried to figure out what was going on. Odd Fella tugged at the leash and whined like he wanted to run.

“Cmon buddy, give me a break,” Sid said to the dog. “Your mom will be back any minute.” Sid looked over toward the garage entrance, hoping Stiah would emerge at any moment. That’s when he noticed a crowd was forming around something at the other end of the block. Sid couldn’t see what was going on but when sirens announced the arrival of an ambulance he decided he would walk down that way and see what all the commotion was.

A crowd was starting to build around something on the sidewalk. Sid and Odd Fella approached tentatively.

Sid and Odd Fella pushed right into the center of all the people and on the ground Sid saw there was a crushed pile of meat and broken bones in a hoodie with a Misfits patch. It was Stiah. She’d jumped from the top of the parking garage. Sid fell to his knees and threw up. ———– ###———end

DID YOU ACTUALLY READ ALL THAT? Wow, thanks. I thought no one ever would. I’d really like to ask any reader a question–message me if you are up to it, please.

ANY feedback wildly appreciated!! I’m glad to read any creative writing and give my own thoughts too, if anyone else is looking for a reader.

#ghost story #fiction #fuckyouiampunk

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mahou-no-kaibutsu · 7 years

Text

Does a pig Squeal

"I don't remember asking to see you." When Richard wasn't in his office drinking expensive scotch and acting like some big deal he was two floors up in his apartment doing pretty much the same thing. Jackson's unexpected visit meant there was very little time for him to change out of the thick red robe, that showed a bit more than Jackson ever needed to see.

"Well I needed to see you!" Jackson had tried to drink away his anxieties but the more he stared at the bottle of pills was the more his mind just couldn't let it go. He'd searched it on the internet and the stuff that came up only intensified his suspicions that the pills were anything but kosher. He tries to dispel his worries, telling himself it was certainly none of his business until a stiff drink wasn't enough to sedate his worries.

That is what had brought him here, unannounced and trying his hardest to act as aloof as he always did. “You look a mess,” Richard sighed, not knowing exactly why Jackson was like this but taking the wildest guess since for the last month they had hardly talked of little else except her.

“Aren't you going to offer me a drink before insulting me.” Like a good host Richard waved his hands in the direction of his bar. A good scotch was hard to come by and Richard was always a good source of something stronger than dime store beer. Jackson cracked open a vintage styled canter and poured two glasses. Dropping the second glass unceremoniously onto the table in front of Richard. The ice clinked against the crystal glass, half the contents spilling on the table. A thing Richard grimaced at before grabbing his glass and taking a long swig of the double shot. Jackson stood over him, polishing off his glass and refilling it without a moment's break. Stopping only after the third double shot and a curt cough from Richard.

Jackson pulled the pill bottle from his pocket and let it roll over towards Richard’s side of the desk.

"She's on them again." The scowl deepened and a twitch made Richards eyebrow jump with agitation. Fighting the fact that what Izumi chose to do to get the job done wasn't his business. He had said that enough times and when he stuck his nose too far into her business she was quicker to remind him. The results were all that mattered. They both knew this but then again, this was exactly why he had Jackson assigned to her. "There painkillers." He replied simply, as if he hadn't frozen up for a solid minute after seeing them.

"Don't insult me Richard. Unless she is some zombie, painkillers don't just patch up a ruptured lung like that."

"Who has a… she's… not…"

"I don't know what the fuck she's doing but right now but it's more than just the odd booboo she's getting. She's going to fucking kill herself."

"What would you ca…" Jackson leaned forwards and yanked Richard from his seat dragging him across the desk so he could see him eye for eye.

"I care that she's killing herself covering your ass. If she's got to die make it worth her while.”

“This is her mistake she's fixing. Not mine”

“She's there because you sent her. Now what does that jug of lard doing with her that she needs shit like this?!”

"I didn't ask." Richard's body guard placed a solid hand on Jackson's shoulder and he released Richard from his grip. "It's not my place to ask what he does. However," Richard pressed down on an invisible button built into the desk. The whole thing suddenly illuminated with a screen. Rodriquez written in the corner and a small blinking red light over a map showed all that Jackson needed to know right now. "She's still my hound. So I have the right to know where she is. Even if I can't know what she's doing."

"That's enough for me." Jackson picked up Richard's drink and finished the rest off for him before turning to leave.

"Don't leave any loose ends please." Was the only thing Richard asked as Jackson ran towards his broken down truck and in the inky darkness took off to where he'd seen the red light.

Jackson walked into Chad's den, escourted by two of his men to a bored looking guy with a fucked up looking leg. The four of them stood in the small box room, each sizing up the other and making their own assumptions of how likely it was they could take them down without getting a bullet in the head.

"I came for the girl."

"Lots of girls pass through here. Gonna hafta be a lil' more specific." It was always the useless ones that ended up being mouthy little fucks. Though he was probably like that before he messed up his legs. Over compensating fuck ups were probably born rather than made.

"The one with blood on her hands. You know which one I'm fucking talking bout! "

"Boss already sent her home. He got what he wanted from her." The bum leg snickered. Jackson's mouth twitched into an amused grin and soon they were all pretty much laughing at the unfunny joke. The one with the fucked up leg looking positively beside himself with pride that he made such a good joke and the two escorts would be amused at any dirty joke.

A shot fired through the bum leg’s skull. The smoke hadn't even left the barrel before jackson spun around, and two more silenced shots sprayed the back of the wall with his escourts’ brains. Jackson stood in the box room lowering his arm until the throbbing shock stopped ringing through his muscles.

“Good one.” Jackson said humorlessly, swiping his hands over his eyes to see a clear map of the layout cast over his retna. There was four other heat signals in the building. Besides one they were all downstairs packing what Chad was pushing.

Jackson continued on towards the distant heat signal, whistling a tune he never could remember the origin of but boy did it put him in a mood. Perhaps it was something his dad would whistle while he chopped wood, or maybe his mum when she was scrubbing crap off the floor boards or even his sister… he knew it was nostalgic just not how.

Concentration was a little hard at the moment so he whistled trying to keep a clear head that he needed to not get carried away. A bullet through the head was a nice clean end. Nice and clean. That wasn't too much to ask for, right?

"You pig!" Izumi's voice! So they had lied! Suddenly nice and clean was burning up before him. Jackson hurried on down the hall until the voice was just beyond a single door. Jackson’s boot broke the shoddy lock from the door, the whole thing swinging on it’s hinges and slamming against the wall so hard it was thrown back into his face but not before seeing Chad and all his glory. His pants down, legs spread and hand stroking himself happy as he leaned into several screens showing security footage. The largest was a recoding and unlike the voiceless security footage her voice came through loud and clear. “Is this how you get your kicks you dickless fuck” she spat, staring directly into the camera.

“I told you… who the fuck are you?!” Jackson gave him the politest of smile.

"Good afternoon."

The film looped to another recording. Izumi spat at the screen, blood dribbling out of her mouth and a defiant look on her face. She wasn't going to scream. That was all you could read. she wasn't going to beg. She wasn't going to say a word more. The screen looped back to the beginning. Izumi screaming at the camera. Yelling. Hurling abuse at him. Then again it looped to another. Silent Izumi trying to breath through broken bones and quiet no matter how much pressure an invisible tormentor put on her injuries, she remained silent but her face twisted in pain.

"Who the fuck let you in here." Chad leaned for his gun but lube on his hands made the whole thing a haphazard scramble for a weak grip on the handle.

"The devil" Jackson smirked, pushing the door shut behind him.

Jackson sat in his pickup truck watching the building burn. Richard had said no loose ends. Well he need not worry about that. Jackson hadn't even been bothered to loot the place. It was never his style to pick up anything more than a good bottle of something strong. It was rare that he couldn't find something adequate enough to wash the taste out his mouth and the blood off his hands.

An old rag soaked in the whiskey he'd found in a broken fridge. Warm ass fucking whiskey never tasted good. He rubbed the whiskey soaked rag over his bruised knuckles as the sound of the burning building and the static from the car radio brought him to a better place.

A part of him knew he should have checked the place. Made sure she wasn't there but there was no logic in him right now and he wasn't ready to face the possibility that she wasn't lying on that damn futon back home.

He'd gone to a bad place he had thought he was done with but the look of her on that screen brought old demons to the surface. Those dark green eyes watching him as he cut the little pig into small chunks, hacking away at his body with a blunt switchblade. Jackson usually only carried it around for the sentimental feeling of having the weight of it in his back pocket. His father had always said that there was nothing like the feeling of a gun in your hand and a knife in your pocket. From that alone you could probably tell what sort of man his father had been. The problem was there’s one slightly better feeling then that. One Jackson hadn't quite realised until today. When someone you knew could see the darkest part of you. She wasn't there of course, just her eyes, watching him through the screen and bathing the room in a sickly green. A green that even dyed the darkest red of Chad's blood green.

Usually he never remembered much, just that he wasn't himself and so it couldn't be his fault that something bad happened. This time he knew it all was his fault. He wanted it all to be his fault. Chad's cries of pain alone weren't memorable enough though for him to want to remember it happened. Her voice, however, was. The sound of it in his ears as he ran the knife down the shaft of Chad's penis and split open his bullsack. Her teeth gritting and jaw locking on the screen as Jackson found the joints in Chad's pelvis and knees with the tip of the blade, using it to pop them out of place. How he'd broken her and made her cry and by then all Jackson wanted to do was stab him. To stab him and stab him again until she stopped crying. Had Chad even made a nosie. Had Jackson even cared to think about what that sounded like. Nope. The audio was louder and all he heard was Izumi's grunts as she fought back the pain and then that last moment when she screamed. When you could hear Chad's voice in the background laughing as she finally let out an scream that quickly turned from pain to anger, that tore through her throught as she screamed in frustration and warning. That she would scream but she would kill him one day. She would kill him. She would not even see him again.

Then the whole movie looped and she feel silent.

Jackson had felt some calm when the video looped back to silence. He let the blade drop from his hands and stared at Chad's broken body. And now here he was watching ever spec of that burn before he turned on his truck and drove on back to the one he hoped he hadn't burned too.

Izumi had gotten as far as his futon in the front room. Her body curled into a tight painful ball as she slept. Jackson knelt beside the girl. Her breath was shallow and sweat pasted the hair to her face. He could see the remains of puke and blood dribbling from her mouth. In spite of how bad she looked Jackson couldn't unseen that look in her eyes that made him hate any sympathy he could have for someone like Chad. Izumi in pain had been oddly beautiful. Not the pain but the moment of weakness that even now he couldn't see as she slept. That small slither of a moment when he could see that girl Richard’s cock and bull schemes were trying to bring out or kill. Either way she couldn’t stay within this limbo of being a girl doing a demon’s job. Jackson moved her face towards him, her eyes slowly opened, blinking awake.

"Did you take your medicine?" She gave a horse answer that sounded like a yes. "Good. Then… go back to sleep." She didn't need to be told twice and her eyelids fell shut almost instantly, her head rolling to the side like a steel weight. She looked like death and smelt even worse. Blood, sweat and puke. Then how comes at that moment Jackson couldn't help feeling more than he's ever felt for another human being he knew he shouldn't give a shit about. He bent his head, pressing his mouth to her temple before walking into the kitchen to fix himself something to eat.

The day dragged on into night and still Izumi didn't stir from the futon. He warmed up a can of soup and brought with it a murky glass of water. Laying it beside her head for when she woke up. Jackson pulled his dirty shirt off and threw it away; the blood had settled and it was just one of hundreds of shirts ruined, between Izumi and all the blood stains he was running low on shirts these days. Jackson dragged the pile of dirty clothes down the stairs and threw them in the washer. All the colours would be fucked as he pour bleach all over the clothes and turned it on. Fucked up colours were better than stains he assumed and he’d at least not have to worry about mixing lights and darks. At least that was the theory. It was well into the evening by the time he had all the laundry strung up on the line outside and a number of other chores he had chosen to do to fill the time and the silence.

“Don’t think this is gonna become a habit.” He warned the still sleeping Izumi as he stared over at her from the counter. “The moment your good again I’m gonna make you scrub the shit stains out my boxers. You fucking idiot.” He huffed but it wasn’t nearly as much fun when she didn’t reply back. Jackson sat down beside her, propping his head up with his hand as he watched her chest rise and fall. The sweat had dried into her skin and she looked as peaceful as death. Jackson reached a hand out towards her, drawing her hair back from her face. Her eyes flickered but didn’t open. “You really something you know that kid.” He sighed to himself. Her skin sticky from the sweat as he brushed his hand over her cheek. Jackson lay his face down in the crook of her neck. His arm resting around her body and soon fell asleep in that loose embrace.

It wasn't until dawn that he felt her stir beside him. She tried to sit up but whatever was broken inside of her was giving her a hell of a warning sign to stay where she was. "Hey," She said to him, pushing against his shoulder, "Hey, where are my pills?"

"You don't need them." Jackson replied. His hand enveloping her skull and forcing her to lie back down. His voice goggy with sleep. He’d been up for so long waiting for her to wake up that he was a little pissed that she decided now was the perfect time to disturb him.

"Like… SHIT!" She complained as she tried to squirm out of his hold but her injuries prevented her from having more fight than a stray pup. "Get the fuck off me.” She smacked his hand away and rolled out of the futon. Jackson sat up and looked at her with an amused glare. “And tell me where you put them” She continued, using her hands to half crawl her way to his jacket, hanging over the door. “I got shit to…"

"The job 's over." He said quietly, "I took care of it.” She stopped for a moment which was enough for him to lay back down and try to get back to sleep. “Now, can you quiet down and let me sleep?"

"What do you mean?" She asked hesitantly, He couldn't tell if it was silent anger or just plain distrust.

"I mean you owe me." Jackson rolled over, turning his back to her and covering his head with the pillow. “Now shut up!”

#J.Jackson #Ashe

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