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eastertag · 3 years

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Nothing In This World

@bonsaiiiiiii gift for @myladykayo

prompts:

•anything Scayo

•Dance/Dancing

•“I need a hug.”

AN:

heyo there! I am your…Easter buddy…(?) well, here is my gift for you with the 3 prompts you gave me! it’s quite short but fluffy. I apologize in advance if this might be a bit of a trash but I really couldn’t find my inspiration these days and it’s been quite hard, I have to admit.

“My head is killing me.” Kayo snorted, hearing in response a playful scoff, Scott approaching her and assuming her own position, elbows lent against the balustrade and gaze lost in the lights of New York.

She changed position, leaning with her back to the balustrade. She looked for a moment at the large sliding glass window that gave inside, the breathtaking view of New York behind her. Then she looked out of the corner of her eye at Scott. “You know that. I should be anywhere but here.”

1½ hours earlier

“I understand that you wanted to take me on a date so badly, but was this necessary?” Kayo whispered nervously in Scott’s ear, clumsily clinging to her dress. She had chosen the dress of the most neutral color and that gave as little in the eye as possible, despite the attempts, failed, of Sally and Lady Penelope to make her choose something more flashy.

She still remembered the moment that morning; Lady Penelope attached to her right arm, Sally attached to her left arm, dragging her to shops, perfumeries, and so on. They had sailed their way between sequins, hoop earrings, golden eye shadows, scents of the rarest exotic flowers and, above all, very tight and very showy clothes. In the end Kayo had chosen a black dress, a little tight and long sleeved, with bare sides and the zip behind. Simple and without glitter, pailettes and other nonsense, even if this cost a bitter price. That was a makeup session.

“Well, because I thought this event would be a perfect date!” Scott responded by putting on an innocent smile, stretching out his hand as to show the ballroom imbued with people.

Kayo looked up at the large crystal chandelier to avoid the sight of all those people, then looked back at Scott without telling him anything.

“How about dancing to break the ice a little bit?” Scott asked, leaning his hand toward her.

She thought about it for a moment. “Okay.” She took his hand, letting him drag her to the ballroom. Only that the path was interrupted by an obstacle, or rather a friend.

“Scott! Kayo! What a pleasure to see you here. Good thing you made it.” Colonel Casey appeared in all her usual beauty, her various medals shining under the warm lights.

“Colonel, thank you for inviting us.” Kayo politely responded, although she didn’t have that much desire to come.

“Please, make yourself comfortable and feel free to have a glass of champagne or some appetizers. So how is…work going?” Casey asked, quickly changing subject in view of a gentleman who was approaching them.

After cordially greeting the man who turned out to be an important mayor, it was Scott who took the lead in the speech. “Tiring as always, although I must say it’s going much quieter than in the past few weeks.”

“I can tell by the white hair you wear, kid! Tell me, what do you do for a living?” The mayor commented, observing both him and her, that refrained from rolling her eyes exasperated.

“I work as a pilot for a major rescue organization.” He answered dryly but smiling, avoiding to omit more details than necessary.

“Ah, I understand…something serious then. My son tried to save lives, too, you know, as a doctor, but he realized it’s not for him anymore.”

“Oh, I get it.”

“Eh, that’s the way life is! We’re not all as good as International Rescue, are we?”

Although she had no desire to participate in the conversation, Kayo found herself grinning, of course always trying to pass unnoticed; meanwhile the others laughed at the joke, to then continue the speech. Noticing that it was taking a long turn, she excused herself to go out. Scott looked at her for a moment, then turned back to the group of people who had gathered around him and continued the conversation. Kayo took the opportunity to do the same thing that the Colonel did, which was to disappear from view, heading for the large balcony overlooking the fantastic view of New York.

She pushed the glass door to the side that gave access to the terrace and then closed it behind her, slowly walking towards the balcony and resting her elbows on the balustrade. The cool evening wind tickled her bare hips and legs, giving her some short shivers along her back. The view that she had in front of her was magnificent, and if there was one thing that she had to thank Scott for, it was this very view; she would have done it once she got back, possibly if he had been free from groups of people who had been following him. And it’s a good thing they didn’t know that he was the commander of International Rescue, otherwise Scott wouldn’t have survived a horde of people by now.

Kayo sighed heavily, looking towards an isolated spot where they had left Thunderbird 1 to rest. As much as she loved traveling with her Shadow they both preferred to save space, traveling together on 1. Although now she couldn’t see the blue rocket, she still laid eyes on it, hoping to teleport there and fly away.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a presence approaching from behind her. She knew that presence well, so she avoided turning around and kept looking at that dark spot. “My head is killing me.” Kayo snorted, hearing in response a playful scoff, him approaching her and assuming her own position, elbows lent against the balustrade and gaze lost in the lights of New York.

“And where exactly?”

“Home, for example! The hood is still out there, don’t forget.” She paused, passing one hand over her communicator, this time a thin silver bracelet with floral theme -according to Lady Penelope, the other bracelet, the one she usually wore, was too crude for the occasion-.

“In fact, now I’m going to search for-”

“No.” Scott interrupted her. “We’re not here to search.”

“But-”

“You’re at a party, and you might as well have a good time, right?”

The hologram Kayo summoned vanished from view, her looking at his blue eyes seriously.

“Well…I’m not exactly the type to party…”

“Start now. In the meantime, you owe me a dance.”

Kayo sighed, nodding and taking his hand, letting herself be carried back into the great hall, where all the couples danced embraced at a slow dance.

“Of course you have perfect timing.” Kayo smiled as she passed between the dancing couples, her hand intertwined to Scott’s.

“It’s a natural gift.” Scott smiled back, stopping in the center of the room, right under a glittering chandelier. He turned Kayo to him, who shyly approached him. “Ready to have fun like never before in your life?”

Kayo laughed, and for the first time in a long time her laughter was neither forced nor mocked. Just spontaneous. “But if this is a slow dance!”

“Then that means you’re gonna have to hold onto me.”

“That’s ok. I really need a hug right now.” Kayo approached him further, laying her hands on his shoulders, Scott doing the same with her hips. They both hugged each other, swaying in time with the music, while the whole world around them danced at the same melody.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds 2004 #thunderbirds 1965 #thunderbirds fanfiction #Scott Tracy #kayo kyrano #submission

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savannahsdrabbles · 3 years

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Ocean Song - Part 10/11

Rating: PG

notes: 2.9k words. A03 link can be found here. I can’t believe I’m almost done with this fic! <3 Big thanks again to my beta-readers, @starfiretheninja and @rusty-wayfarer.

ALSO! I posted character references of the boys here, and @bakedbananners over on Twitter drew them! <33 I may or may not have cried. <3 OK! Now on with the fic! :D

***

“Ay-puh-ril, nicetumeetchu Dawn-ee, Cay-see. I Don-ee, Cay-see, Ahpril nicetumeetchu,” the turtle hummed softly under his breath, still rolling the words over and over in his mouth. He squinted, brown eyes straining to focus in the dim light as he used a claw to trace abstract patterns in the dirt. It had been at least thirty minutes since Casey’s departure, and with their main light source being the soft glow from April’s phone, the two unlikely comrades had settled into a quiet reverie beneath the pine trees. “Don Dun Dunntello Don Dondon Dawn-ee… April?”

“Yes, Donnie?” April glanced down at her phone for what felt like the hundredth time, her teeth working impatiently on her already cracked and sore lower lip. When the screen only blinked back a warning of low battery, she tucked the device into her pocket and drew her knees to her chest. It was getting chilly out – hopefully Casey was doing okay without his hoodie.

“Cay-see go?”

“Mh-hm. Remember? Casey went to rent a boat, and then you’re going to guide us so that we can take you home.” She cast her eyes sideways, watching as Donnie furrowed his brow and bobbed his head to show he was listening. “Right now we’re just waiting until he texts and says that the boat is ready.”

“Tehks?”

“Yup,” April tapped the phone-shaped outlined in her pocket, then bit her lip and mumbled a silent prayer that he didn’t ask for a further explanation of technology and digital communication – she’d had a difficult enough time explaining that to her grandparents. “Until then, we’ve just got to wait here.”

The turtle tilted his head and squinted at her pocket for a long moment, his expression clearly saying that he had more questions, but finally nodded and turned back to his doodles. “Bōto o matsu.”

April blinked.

Bōto o… wait for boat? Okay, so not only had he understood, but he understood enough to respond in another language. Cool, cool, okay.

She brought a hand to the bridge of her nose and squeezed, trying to ignore the migraine that had been building behind her eyes over the past few hours. How in the …? She knew he’d used a few Japanese phrases when they had first spoken in the lab, and logically she knew that living in Japan that would be the language he was most exposed to – but in the same vein, none of this made any logical sense. What kind of person could imagine a multilingual, anthropomorphic mutant turtle, accept that as fact, and then continue about their day?

Before her brain could wander any farther down that trail of thought– what next? Aliens? Superheroes? - April felt her phone buzz and heaved a grateful sigh of relief. “That should be Casey – time to get moving!”

The turtle perked up, his head swiveling like a periscope to search the surrounding shadows. “Where-?”

His question was cut off as April surged to her feet, her hands carefully grasping and guiding him upwards alongside her. The turtle yelped in surprise and grabbed for handfuls of her top once upright, wobbling slightly as he tried to balance himself.

“Here – Casey’s hoodie is going to help keep you covered, okay?” April reached down to grab the jacket from the ground, bundled it up in her hands and then gestured for the turtle to raise his arms. He did so reluctantly, then yelped once more as she quickly pulled the material over his head and began to guide his arms through the fabric. “There likely won’t be too many people out at the marina on a school night, but we want to make sure we don’t draw any extra attention – plus there’s plenty of security cameras out there and it’ll be impossible to completely avoid those.”

“Mmmf!” Was Donnie’s only response, his arms starting to pinwheel frantically before April caught hold of them. A stretch of the hoodie’s neckline had gotten caught on the turtle’s snout, partially obscuring his eyes and totally covering his mouth. April adjusted the fabric with a chuckle, freeing the creature from his polyester prison, and then took a step back to examine her work.

Even compared to her relatively average five and a half feet, Donatello was short – if she had to guess, he probably wasn’t any taller than four foot ten. Considering that the hoodie he now wore was made to fit Casey’s nearly six foot self, it was hard not to see the turtle as a toddler playing dress up in his parents’ clothing. The way that the fabric hung and draped over his body made him look even smaller, if that were possible; should he sit down, he might get lost amongst the apparel. Were it not for the glinting metal collar around his neck and the look of growing discomfort on his face, April would have thought he looked ready to curl up in bed.

“Hmmm,” Donnie hummed pensively, clearly not feeling the comfort that April was perceiving. The turtle gave his fabric-obscured hands a hard shake, eyes wide and increasingly nervous noises emanating from his mouth as he rapidly rotated his limbs in search of his missing appendages.

April giggled and started to step forward to help him roll up the sleeves, but then held back when a quiet voice in her mind chided. Let’s see if he can figure this out.

Donnie glanced up with a piteous whine, looking as if he had her thoughts and realized she wasn’t coming to his rescue, then hesitated. April could almost see the cogs turning in his brain as he stared at her rolled sleeves and free hands, then turned back to his own predicament. After a brief moment of thought and one more comparative look, the turtle raised an arm to his mouth and bit down on the sleeve, then gently tugged until his hand slowly slipped free.

“Hoo-dee!” he chirped triumphantly, holding up his free hand and waving it in delight.

“Right, you’re wearing a hoodie!” April grinned, then reached around the turtle to guide the hood over the back of his head. He didn’t seem to mind now, attention already turning back to the process of freeing his second hand. “We’d better keep the hood up for now, but look at us! Just two normal teens on the beach!”

The turtle’s eyes lit up at her last word. He dropped his sleeve in surprise, then turned to point a claw in the direction Casey had disappeared. “Beach!”

“Yup! Now let’s get you home!”

***

Donnie’s heart pounded as he stumbled along behind April, her warm hand holding him steady as the ground beneath them slowly transitioned from poky greens to the tan, shifting sands he knew so well. He’d been able to hear the ocean for a while now, but the moment they pushed through the last bushes and stepped out onto the beach - suddenly everything felt real. The cool, moist air, the promise of water and food and Home and his family – he was so close!

With every step towards the illuminated Human structures in the distance, he felt the urge building in his system – the desire to break loose from April’s gentle guidance and take off running towards the ocean. A familiar tugging sensation pulled incessantly at the back of his mind, calling out in the voices of Father and his brothers.

“This way, Clever, this way! Almost there! Almost Home!”

Their voices were like a siren’s song, beckoning him closer and closer with promises of healing and reassurances that he would soon be safe in their arms.

A breathless half-sob caught in his throat, and he swallowed thickly before trilling in response, his voice echoing out across the beach. “Wait for me; I’m coming! I’ll be Home soon!”

No sooner had the call left his mouth when April shook his hand gently, calling his attention back to the situation before them. He sighed and slowly drug his eyes away from the shore. As much as he wanted to release April’s hand and take off running… something told him that he needed to wait and stay with the two Humans. They had gotten him this far, and if the danger was imminent enough that he and Brothers were going to have to relocate…

“It looks like there’s a few people out on the marina, but I think we’re good,” April spoke in a low voice as she gestured towards the fast-approaching structures with her free hand. Two rows of buildings stood tall amongst the rolling dunes, serving as a departure from the otherwise untouched beach. Sand made way for a long wooden platform that served as the buildings’ foundations and stretched almost a mile out into the ocean. “My dad brought me down to the pier a few times when we first moved to Osaka - it’s pretty fun during the daytime. There’s a few shops and restaurants out on the board walk, and during the summer they host a carnival.”

Donnie nodded absently, his focus already drifting back out across the ocean. “Casey?”

“We’re almost to him. His text said that he was under the –”

A long, shrill whistle suddenly cut through the air, followed by a loud ‘YO!’ that snapped Donnie back to attention. He startled slightly, the sharp movement shaking the hood from his head and sending it sliding down his shoulders.

April heaved a sigh.

“And that would be the Master of Subtlety himself.” Even without looking, Donnie could imagine the way that the girl’s eyes were rolling and her shoulders slouching. He’d seen that exasperated look – and worn it – whenever his brothers did something foolish. With a sigh and a tug on his hand, April headed towards a shadow-y area tucked under the edge of the pier. “Come on.”

The turtle nodded obediently, his pace quickening and heart fluttering they moved closer towards the shoreline.

***

“You know, the point of texting was supposed to be that we kept quiet,” April called out as they approached the pier. She squinted, searching the shadows until they slowly began to give way to separate, more distinct shapes. “You could have at least waited until we got closer before you let the whole beach know where you were.”

“I wanted to make sure that you guys found me,” Casey replied, his voice already sounding smug– clearly a sign that he was up to something. There was a soft grunt as he pushed against one of the pier’s support beams, and then he and the boat slid out of the shadows.

April opened her mouth, hesitated, and then closed her eyes. The headache from earlier was returning. “Casey – what in the world is that?”

“Oh, you mean this beauty?” the teenage boy patted the side of the boat, an impish grin on his face, and then threw out his arms as the tiny, rust-ridden vehicle slowly began to tip towards the right. He flailed wildly for a moment, water splashing as the boat continued to rock from side to side, then finally froze with arms outstretched in a T-pose. “Er – she’ll be much more steady once you guys get in and help distribute the weight.”

“Mh-hm.” April cocked an eyebrow. “I can deal with unsteady; I’m more concerned about getting tetanus, or that thing sinking the second I put one foot in.”

“Yeah, well apparently it’s pretty expensive to rent a nice boat to go ‘somewhere in the ocean’ and come back ‘at some point’,” Casey stuck his tongue out, but kept his arms outstretched. “The shop owner guy looked like he wanted to kick me out more than anything, but I managed to make a deal with him. Apparently they were planning to send this boat to the scrap yard tomorrow morning, so the Jonesman – that’s me - offered to take it off of their hands and save them a trip.” Casey moved to fold his arms across his chest, but then threw them out once more as the boat rolled beneath him. “I was – oh boy, one sec – thinking of naming it the O’Neilmobile, but with that attitude I just might have to reconsider.”

“How will I ever deal with such a loss?”

“I guess Jonesmobile: The Squeakquel will have to do.”

“Casey.”

“It’s Captain Casey now.”

“I’m not calling you that– do you think that thing will stay afloat with all of us? Maybe we should rethink our plans –”

Suddenly and without warning, Donatello dropped April’s hand and surged forward.

“Don-?”

The turtle stumbled heavily as he cleared last few feet of sand, clearly too frantic to think out his steps, but the moment his claws touched foam something seemed to click inside.

“Water – look! Water-water-home!” Breathless words and excited sounds spilled from his lips like a pot bubbling over, coming quick and fast and soon dissolving into a symphony of hums and noises that April could only think to call laughter. He tipped his head back, eyes closed and body shaking with the sounds as he kicked and frolicked through the surf, sending salt water splashing in every direction. “Beach-water-Family-water-water-Home!”

April cast a nervous glance over her shoulder, half afraid that his mirth would attract unwanted attention, but Casey waved the thought off.

“Just… give him a minute,” he smiled, eyes following the turtle as he danced amongst the waves. “I think he needs this.”

April hesitated, but she couldn’t help the smile growing on her face, nor the relieved laugh she gave as Donnie turned towards to them. He grinned widely, eyes shimmering, and then flopped backwards into the water.

“Look! Look water!” His chest heaved as he laughed breathlessly. “Water!”

“I’m happy for you, Bud,” Casey said, nudging the edge of the pier once more so that the boat drifted closer. “We’re so close to getting you home.”

The turtle nodded and laughed again, then pushed himself up into a sitting position. Rivulets of water ran down either side of his face, congregating under his chin and then dripping down to the already soaked hoodie that now hung heavily from his shoulders. He gave a slight shake of his head, sending droplets skittering across the water’s surface, and then lifted a hand to pat his chest. “Donnie.”

Casey cocked his head, eyes sliding to April. “Donnie?”

“It’s short for Donatello,” she smiled and held out her hand towards the turtle. He stood and took it gratefully, eyes gleaming with renewed energy and more life than ever before. With a little tug, she drew him alongside her and stepped closer to the boat. “He needed a special name.”

“Kind of a hard name for someone just learning English,” Casey leaned down to grab a few items from the bottom of the boat and then shifted backwards to give them more room. “I was thinking something more along the lines of ‘Bill’ or ‘Casey Junior’.”

“Pfft - as if,” April held the edge of the boat steady as Donnie scrambled over the side, then plopped himself by Casey’s feet. When the boat didn’t immediately capsize under the weight of a second passenger, she pulled herself in and settled on the bench seat opposite Casey. Now that she was actually in the boat, tucked beside the two guys she was on this adventure with… it suddenly didn’t seem so cruddy. No, this boat was just right for what they needed. “Hey – did you get life vests?”

Casey turned to face the motor and straddled his seat, the movement causing the boat to rock dangerously. “Naw, we’ll be in the boat the whole time, so it shouldn’t be a big deal. Plus you and Donnie can swim.”

“Wait – can you not?”

“And off we go!”

The engine took a moment to roll over as Casey tugged on the pull cord, but eventually started with a loud roar that sent Donnie scrambling for safety against April’s legs. She reached down and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, and then they were off! The little boat began to power forward at a steady speed – not as fast as she would have liked, but enough so that April’s hair began to tangle around her face. She squeezed her eyes shut, spitting a strand out of her mouth and suddenly wishing that she’d brought a hair tie.

“Here – take this!” Casey called over the sound of the engine. April opened one eye, then grinned when she saw what Casey offering. “Coach said I’m only allowed to keep my hair long if I pull it back during practice, so I always have extra rubber bands on hand!”

“Thanks!” April took the present gratefully and quickly pulled her hair back into a tight bun. Now that that problem was solved… “By the way – did you end up grabbing food like you mentioned?”

The boy’s eyes lit up, and he bent down to grab the objects he’d moved to make room for Donnie. “Oh, yeah! I hit up the McDonald’s on the board walk right before I went to the boat place. I asked the cashier what she suggested for my ‘pet turtle’ and she said suggested a head of lettuce. They were out of that at the moment though, so…” He passed a brown paper sack to April, and then extended a small box to the turtle. “Donnie, can you say ‘chicken nuggets?’”

“Chih nuddets.”

#savannah drabbles #sea turtles au #tmnt #rottmnt #tmnt 2012 #tmnt fanfiction #april o'neil #casey jones #tmnt donnie

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tsarisfanfiction · 4 years

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WIP #47

(Send me a number 1-60 [or a fandom/character I guess] for the corresponding wip) because I’m bored and brain-fried and have too many wips that’ll otherwise never see the light of day.

For @misssquidtracy who asked for “Number 47 - Thunderbirds (specifically da Gords)”. Luckily, this happens to be a Gordon PoV wip, so it’s all Gordon!

It’s also a Scott!whump, because it’s me and I’m terrible and I have way too many of these lying around, so watch out for that. There’s also a lot of this. Nearly 6k words, so enjoy :D

Gordon hated it when his squid sense started to tingle for no discernible reason. On a rescue, his squid sense was invaluable, warning him just in time that a building was about to topple, or that an aftershock was on its way. Lives had been saved by his mysterious power – hardly a power, more an instinct honed by too many years of military precision combined with a predisposition for pranks whilst living in a house with three older brothers. Alan joked about him being bitten by a squid, like that old superhero story about the guy and the spider.

It was easier to laugh it off than get into a debate with the astronaut about the biting habits – or lack thereof – of aquatic creatures his younger brother knew nothing more than the required basics about.

However, joking aside, Gordon’s sixth sense was particularly active, and while usually it was a life-saving boon, this time it was just a nuisance. He was at home, safe and comfortable in the clean water of the pool. He’d opted for lazy backstrokes, taking his time to reach from one end of the pool to the other before executing a neat flip to repeat the stroke back the way he’d come. None of his brothers were on missions, either. John was as ever up in Thunderbird Five, but from the far end of the pool he could see the holographic form of his brother just visible in the den. Alan was, last checked, also in the den – the two space mad brothers had decided to watch a documentary on, surprise, surprise, space, during what downtime they had – while Virgil had decided to do some maintenance on Thunderbird Two with Brains.

Scott was away on boring business, a stuffy CEO meeting that he couldn’t palm off onto the board of directors that were supposed to be handling that sort of thing for him, or even attend via hologram. They had insisted on a personal touch – literally – and as it was, apparently, a big deal, that meant Scott had to ditch the blues, send one last longing look at Thunderbird One, and let Kayo escort him in Tracy One to the meeting place.

The meeting had been due to start about an hour ago, if Gordon was getting his timezone calculations correct. Why Tracy Industries still had its headquarters in America, far too many hours behind Tracy Island, when there was a perfectly respectable landmass or two closer to home, he couldn’t quite fathom, but when he’d raised the point Scott and John had both fixed him with tired, don’t be an idiot looks, with just a hint of be glad you don’t have to deal with this nonsense to stop him from pestering further.

Kayo herself was who-knew-where, sneaking around in her sneaky Kayo way. He’d seen Tracy One return several hours ago, Kayo’s taxi service duties over until Scott called for her. Apparently, head of IR security did not equal anything in terms of Tracy Industries security, a fact that he knew grated on her. Still, she and Lady Penelope had run multiple background checks on all the men and women that made up Scott’s official security, and were as assured as they could be with Kayo not amongst their number that he was in good hands.

So if his squid sense could stop tingling randomly, that’d be great, thanks.

It didn’t, and annoyance turned to dread when the emergency signal went off, summoning them all to the lounge. A tingling squid sense, and an emergency? Gordon had a really bad feeling about that.

He made it to the den in record time, more damp than not with a beautiful trail of drips across the carpet that Grandma was going to murder him for later, and still in nothing but his swimming trunks. Alan made a face of disgust as he threw himself down onto the sofa next to him to face John. The documentary that the two astronauts had been watching was paused on what his old school lessons told him was a supernova eruption. The imagery of an explosion did nothing to help his jittery squid sense.

Virgil was last to join them, grease streaking up one sleeve and smearing onto the sofa he chose to sit on – at least he wasn’t the only one that would be facing the wrath of Grandma later.

“What have you got, John?” his eldest currently-home brother asked, looking far too laid back for Gordon’s liking. Not that there was anything wrong with it – Virgil still was far from relaxed, alert and ready for the briefing before launching himself down the slide of death – but Gordon found himself tense in comparison.

“A plane’s gone down in America,” John told them. “I intercepted a mayday call from the pilot; the GDF have already responded but it’s a bad one and they don’t have enough resources to get everyone out. Gear up; I’ll give you the details on the way.”

One of those, huh? Gordon flew towards the fish tank that housed his launch tube, slapping his palm against the hidden sensor and feeling the familiar downwards rush towards the hangars, splitting off from the route to Four and instead making a beeline for Two. He met Alan on the platform, his youngest brother jittering excitedly as always, just in time for Virgil to retract it, bringing them up into the cockpit.

Co-pilot was his chair, and the only person annoying enough to turf him out of it on ‘superiority’ grounds was Scott. Even Kayo knew better than to steal his chair, so Alan settled happily enough into the navigation chair behind Virgil, pulling up the screens ready for John to transmit the data straight though.

“You alright?” Virgil asked him as the hangar door rolled down, revealing rows of palm trees ready to bow in homage to the green beast.

“My squid sense is going haywire,” he admitted, no point in lying. Not on a mission. He expected John to scoff – his second eldest brother always slightly more dismissive of it than the rest of them. After all, there was no scientific explanation. All joking about fish and gills aside, Gordon was one hundred percent human. John didn’t scoff, and that made his squid sense reach an uncomfortable level. In fact, John didn’t say anything at all, his hologram not paying them any attention at all as he fiddled with something invisible up on Five.

“Well, it’s a plane crash,” Alan pointed out, his voice somewhat subdued. Virgil made a noise of agreement as Two’s engines roared to life behind them, punching them into the air. She was no rocket, but Thunderbird Two could still produce a decent amount of Gs. Gordon wished that was it, but the tingle had started before John briefed them.

“Guys,” John finally said, once Two was cruising at full speed towards America. “I’ve got hold of the flight details for the plane. It wasn’t easy; turns out it was a top-secret flight even the GDF didn’t know about.”

“That sounds ominous,” Virgil observed.

“It gets worse.” John’s face was grim. Really grim. Bearer of terrible news grim. “It was a private flight chartered for a top secret business meeting between the biggest aerospace companies in the world. Four CEOs were on board, including-” his voice broke in a very un-John-like manner, and Gordon’s stomach dropped.

“Don’t say it,” Alan begged. In front of him, Virgil’s knuckles were white on the yoke, Thunderbird Two’s engines whining as they went just that little bit faster.

“Including Scott,” John finished, visibly pulling himself back together. “In total there were thirty people on board, including the pilots. The reports from the GDF so far say that the rear of the plane is trashed but the cause isn’t yet clear. Two bodies have been recovered so far – neither of them Scott – but they can’t get into the main body of the plane. Scans suggest that approximately half of them survived the initial crash. I’m picking up fourteen life signs; two of them in the cockpit area so they’re most likely the pilots.”

“Scott’s communicator?” Virgil asked as sea gave way to land beneath them, the American coast looking unfairly beautiful.

“I’m not getting a response,” John admitted. “I’ll keep trying.”

“Anything from the telemetry?” Alan was tapping away at the screen by his chair, clearly manipulating the data John was sending him. Gordon envied him the distraction.

“It’s offline,” John sighed, rubbing his face tiredly. “Seems like it was damaged in the crash. EOS is attempting to reconnect but no luck so far.”

“Do you have any good news for us, Johnny?” Gordon asked hopefully.

“Colonel Casey is one of the GDF officers at the scene,” John offered, notably not rising to the bait. Well, Gordon supposed that was better than random officers, or worse, the ones that weren’t overly fond of International Rescue and didn’t fully co-operate. “Kayo’s just launched in Thunderbird Shadow for the airport they took off from. Lady Penelope is also on the way; she and Parker are already making enquiries to find out what happened.”

“They think sabotage?” Virgil asked.

“The CEOs of the four most powerful aerospace industries in the world were on that plane,” John pointed out. “It’s suspicious, at least.”

“Do you think it’s the Hood?” Gordon sent Alan a withering look. Not everything was the Hood’s fault, even if it felt like it.

“I don’t know, Alan,” John said. “Kayo thinks it isn’t his style. He’d have been looking to get money from them, not kill them.”

“He killed Dad.”

Gordon flinched. He wasn’t the only one.

“No-one said Scott’s dead,” Virgil said, voice steady even though Gordon couldn’t remember the last time he’d looked so tense.

“He’ll be okay, right?” Alan asked. “I mean, it’s Scott. If anyone can walk away from a plane crash, it’d be Scott, right?”

“Let’s hope,” John replied.

The co-ordinates John had programmed into Thunderbird Two’s navigation system flashed up, warning that they were on final approach. Slowed to subsonic, they came to a hover alongside a GDF flier and got their first glimpse of the downed plane. It wasn’t pretty.

The final third of the plane no longer resembled the tail of anything remotely flight-worthy. Twisted and warped metal was crumpled and torn ragged. Men and women in GDF uniforms were hovering around the area, large lasers deployed to slice their way in. Gordon knew instantly that no-one who had been in that part of the plane could possibly have survived.

At the other end of the plane, the nose was also crumpled but not as far back as the cockpit windows. It looked as though whatever had downed the plane had occurred at the back, with the damage to the nose only made by the impact of the crash. More GDF were swarming the cockpit windows, cutting their way in with infinite more care than their counterparts were cleaving the rear.

The area of most interest to them was the middle third. While not the complete write-off of the rear, massive dents and warps in the metal warned of a serious crash. Any survivors would be in that area, but the condition of said survivors was unknown. All of the emergency exits were untouched; from a distance, Gordon couldn’t tell if they were wedged shut by warped metal, or if there was another reason that none of them had been opened.

“International Rescue!” Colonel Casey flagged them down, guiding them towards a space just large enough for Thunderbird Two to land. “You boys are a sight for sore eyes,” she greeted. “The fuselage is too thick for our lasers to get through without endangering the survivors inside. We’ve got the pilots under control, but we haven’t been able to make contact with any of the passengers.”

“F.A.B.,” Virgil answered her. “We’ll get them out. John said fourteen life signs?”

“Affirmative,” she said. “We have visual on both pilots. The other twelve are randomly positioned within the front half of the plane.”

“We’ll get them out,” Virgil assured her, and ended the call. “Gordon, Alan, get as much cutting gear and first aid supplies as you can carry.”

“You didn’t mention Scott,” Gordon observed, and he sighed.

“No point worrying her. You two know we have to treat him the same as the rest?”

Alan frowned.

“But couldn’t he help us?”

“If he’s fit to help, then that’s one thing,” Virgil told them. “But I don’t like that none of the doors are open. Don’t get your hopes up; this is a nasty crash.”

“Come on,” Gordon muttered, grabbing Alan’s arm and tugging him towards the module. “Faster we get in there, the faster we’ll find him.”

“I know that much!” Alan grumbled, yanking his arm back. “I can walk by myself, Gordon!” He stalked off ahead. Gordon let him, hearing Virgil catch up with him from behind.

“You don’t think Scott’s okay,” he said, quietly. It wasn’t a question.

“If he was, he’d have got word out somehow by now,” Virgil replied. “Even if his communicator’s broken, there are GDF swarming the place. He’d only need to catch their attention through a window.” He made a beeline straight for his exosuit, pulling on the heavy gear with the ease of practice and charging out of the lowering module door. Gordon collected their last hand-held cutter and shouldered a medical pack before following alongside Alan, who was kitted out the same.

Virgil’s shoulder laser was powerful and made short work of the fuselage that the GDF had been too reluctant to touch. A wrench with the claw arm and a thick wodge of metal slammed down on the ground in front of him. The opening wasn’t huge, too small for Virgil with his suit to fit through comfortably, but it was the largest they’d been willing to risk with the unknown structural integrity of the fuselage. Gordon slipped through first, hand laser in hand for any further obstacles, and let out a shaky breath.

“Woah,” he muttered, pulling his helmet on. The air was murky, dust kicked up and swarming around from the warped metal. None of the seats were upright; sheered metal struts protruded from where they should have been, in a circle around what was once a table. That had broken in two, the far end buried under the start of the truly warped area. “Hello? International Rescue!”

Silence.

Alongside personal effects and broken pieces of aircraft, the floor was strewn with bodies. Some were obviously dead, impaled by shrapnel made from the very plane that should have been protecting them. One in particular was grotesque, a metal strut that had once supported a chair stuck straight through his chest from where he’d been thrown on top of it. Gordon recognised him as part of Scott’s security detail and had to fight to hold back the bile.

Scott. Where was Scott?

Despite Virgil’s words, he wasted a moment looking around the scene, but there was no sign of his eldest brother. Unable to justify hunting for him before checking for signs of life in those immediately visible, he crouched down by the nearest person not obviously dead and checked their pulse. It was weak but there.

“Woah!” Alan mimicked his own reaction upon entering. “What a mess.”

“Alan, I’ve got a survivor here!” Gordon called him over immediately. “Mind your step.” His youngest brother picked his way over to him. “Find a way to get him out. I’ll look for more.”

“Have you found Scott yet?” he asked, kneeling down and opening his med kit. Gordon shook his head.

“No sign. I’ll let you know as soon as I do.” Alan nodded, and Gordon continued his search. It was a grim one. He’d suspected as such when no-one had responded to his call, but even when he found a warm body, they were unconscious. Virgil joined him, exosuit stripped off and replaced with more medical kits and a small group of GDF personnel courtesy of Colonel Casey. Between them, it was a far more manageable task to carefully remove the survivors from the wreckage. Those pronounced as dead were left for the moment as John’s countdown of life signs inside the remains of the plane slowly ticked down.

All in all, they’d so far found eighteen of the twenty eight passengers, including the dead pulled from the ruined tail section. Ten to go, two of which were still alive according to Thunderbird Five’s scans. One of the ten was Scott. Gordon felt cruel when he found another breathing body and mentally cursed her for not being Scott. It wasn’t her fault; she was lucky to be alive herself, torso contorted in a way he knew meant a broken back. He should be relieved to find any survivors at all, not cursing them for not being the one he wanted to be alive.

He flagged her up to one of the closest medics and moved on. It was almost too dark to see at the back of the plane, up against the crushed wreckage. His toe snapped on something soft and he tripped. Landing in a crouch, he turned around to face the obstruction. A dead body. He didn’t even need to check the young man’s pulse; the poor guy had been caught in the mangled metal and torn in half. His face was twisted in pain and terror, blue eyes wide and glassy with death. It wasn’t Scott, but Gordon knew he’d be seeing those eyes in his nightmares nonetheless.

Turning back around, he moved to stand before realising he was by part of the fallen table. Various limbs had been protruding from beneath the large slab at intervals during Gordon’s search, but here there was a gap. A seat, wedged beneath it, had left part of the table at an angle. It was too dark to see into it, so Gordon palmed a glowstick and snapped it, illuminating the area in an eerie green. Immediately the silhouette of a body greeted his eyes. Mindful of additional shrapnel, he reached in carefully, fumbling until he found their wrist.

Thump… thump…

Slow, but there. At the same time, a GDF woman called in another survivor. One more than expected.

“Virgil!” he called. “I’ve got someone under the table with a pulse. Going to need some heavy lifting to get them out!”

“F.A.B.” his brother replied. He raised the glowstick above his head with the hand not measuring the pulse and waved it around. “I see you.” A moment later, Virgil and a trio of GDF officers appeared. “How much of this are we going to need to shift?” he asked. Gordon shrugged.

“I can’t see. Got a silhouette but not much more. Give me your torch.” He dropped the glowstick and kept his hand open for Virgil’s gear. It landed in his hand and he carefully manoeuvred it down before turning it on.

A once sharp grey suit was covered in dust, but that wasn’t what caught Gordon’s breath in his throat. It was the dark brown hair, and the broken but unmistakable International Rescue communicator on his forearm, less than an inch from Gordon’s fingers on the slow pulse, that made him gasp.

“Gord-?”

“It’s Scott.” He cut Virgil’s query off. Behind him, the GDF murmured in surprise.

Virgil didn’t ask anything more. Gordon stayed where he was, watching the limp form of his eldest brother with a lump in his throat as they moved around him. His fingers didn’t budge from the pulse, a fear gripping him that if he stopped measuring it, it would stop altogether. Orders barked and a concert of groans resulted in a large part of the broken table slab being cut up and lifted, letting what pitiful light had reached so far back into the cabin illuminate Scott’s body.

It wasn’t good. Blood matted his hair, a mark of something striking him in the crash. One leg was twisted almost completely around, a dislocated hip at best, and more blood stained his arm.

Virgil took charge, nudging Gordon out of the way. He went willingly only because out of everyone in the world, he only trusted Virgil or Grandma to handle his brother in such a broken state. He tapped his communicator.

“John, Alan?”

Both answered immediately, eager for news. Inwardly he was glad not to be the bearer of tragic news, not sure he could have managed it.

“Found him; he’s alive.”

“How is he?” Alan demanded over John’s sigh of relief. Gordon winced.

“Alive,” he repeated. “Virgil’s got him. It’s too dark back here to tell past that.” That was a bare faced lie; even as he spoke he could see Virgil attaching the medical scanner to him, still glowing glow stick highlighting the frown on his face. Neither brother called him out on it.

“I’ll update the others,” John said instead. “Keep looking for survivors; you’re on one more than our scans showed. There might be more.”

“F.A.B.” He ended the call. “Virgil?”

“All in hand,” his older brother said shortly. “Keep looking.”

“Yessir.”

Seven dead bodies later, all thirty crew and passengers were accounted for. He exited the craft, removing his now filthy helmet, only to almost collide with Colonel Casey.

“You knew Scott was on board the flight,” she said without greeting. Her face was displeased, and he figured he was the first Tracy she’d managed to collar.

“Of course we did,” he confirmed. “But that didn’t change how we operated.”

“I can see that,” she said. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He glanced back at the corpse of the plane, where Virgil was still inside with Scott, carefully transferring him to a hoverstretcher, last Gordon had seen.

“Because it didn’t change anything,” he repeated. “Excuse me, Colonel, but my job isn’t over yet.”

He didn’t wait to be dismissed, heading towards Thunderbird Two’s open module to prep it for Scott’s transport. The GDF might be taking the other injured to hospitals, but there was only one craft their brother would be travelling in, and that was their own. He wasn’t naïve; Scott’s injuries were bad, beyond anything Grandma and Virgil could handle at home. John and Kayo were already working to locate a hospital both capable of treating him, and with enough security that he would be safe from ill-wishers during his recovery.

None of them were convinced this was a simple accident. Not with so many high profile individuals on board. The Hood aside, there were many people that stood to gain from the deaths of the four CEOs. Lady Penelope was already digging into the employees from the other three companies who stood to benefit from the deaths. Regretfully, the only CEO still with a pulse was Scott. All four of them had been towards the back of the cabin, all bar Scott caught up in the twisted metal that was the final third of the plane.

Scott had been lucky, for all that he wasn’t out of the woods yet. Gordon wasn’t a medical professional, but Virgil’s face told him that much.

“The medical carrier is ready to leave,” Colonel Casey told him. He assumed she’d followed him to Thunderbird Two, although had at least refrained from entering uninvited. “As soon as Scott is on board, they’ll be on their way.”

“They can leave now,” Gordon retorted. “We’ll handle Scott.”

“I know you are concerned, but this crash is a GDF investigation,” she told him. “All casualties fall under GDF jurisdiction.”

Gordon was shorter than her – the only one of his brothers bar the still-growing Alan with that distinction – but inside the module bay he could still look down at her.

“Scott is International Rescue jurisdiction,” he corrected her. “And as the CEO of the family business, also Tracy jurisdiction. He’ll be treated at a location approved by us, not the GDF, and if the GDF have an issue with that, they can take that up with our head of security.”

“And your other employees?” she challenged. Gordon pushed away the memory of a man impaled by a seat strut.

“None of them survived.” He turned his back on her, readying the finishing touches.

“I’m sorry for your losses,” she said, and he heard her walk away. He’d barely known them, the six men and women wearing Tracy Industries logos, but Scott had. John, too, and Kayo had hand-picked the four members of security.

Alan appeared beside him, putting away what remained of the medical supplies he’d taken out earlier and locking the hand-held laser back where it belonged.

“Is he going to be okay?” he asked, and Gordon shrugged, putting an arm around his shoulders.

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

“Do you think this was sabotage?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why would anyone do this?”

Gordon sighed.

“It might have just been an accident,” he reminded him, even if he doubted his own words. Alan looked equally unconvinced. “Come on, let’s get her ready to go.”

“F.A.B.,” Alan said quietly, and they headed out towards the loading platform, only to be brought up short at the sight of Virgil approaching them, hoverstretcher alongside. Immediately they got out of the way, letting their older brother brush past and secure the stretcher to the wall.

“Gordon, pilot,” he said. “John and Kayo found us a New Zealand hospital. It’s a fair distance, but it’s secure. Scott should hold on long enough to get there as long as you don’t dawdle.”

“F.A.B.” Gordon wasn’t a fan of the implication that Scott might not, but had no choice but to trust Virgil as he jabbed the button to raise the platform. Alan stayed behind – understandable, as he hadn’t seen yet seen their eldest brother – but Gordon didn’t say anything. He could pilot Two solo.

There were many words that could be used to describe the speed they left the crash site and headed for the other side of the world at, but ‘dawdle’ was not one of them. She was no rocket like One or Three, but Two was still one of the fastest planes in the world, and Gordon was determined to get as much speed out of her as he dared. Virgil could take her faster, another Mach at least, but he wasn’t Virgil and didn’t trust himself to keep her flight smooth at top speed. He just hoped it would be fast enough.

About halfway there, somewhere over the large expanse of water that Gordon would much rather be in than over, Virgil contacted him, a hologram flickering into life in his periphery.

“If I send Alan up, will you go faster?” he asked. Gordon’s heart sank.

“Is he getting worse?” Please no, please not Scott.

“I’ve got him stable,” Virgil reassured him. “But he’s still critical. The sooner we get him to the hospital the happier I’ll be.”

“More speed coming up,” he confirmed, reaching for the throttle. “Uh, yeah, send Alan up, would you?” He could probably do with a co-pilot if he went any faster.

“Sure thing,” Virgil agreed. “He’s on his way.”

Sure enough, no sooner than his older brother ended the connection, the door opened and Alan stumbled through it, all but collapsing into the co-pilot’s chair.

“He hasn’t woken up,” the astronaut offered as he reached forwards to power up the co-pilot controls. As soon as the second set of lights lit up, Gordon accelerated the craft towards top speed. “Virgil’s worried about the head injury.”

Gordon grit his teeth, remembering the red matted into the brown under the powerful beam of Virgil’s torch.

“Head injuries are tricky,” he agreed. “But Virgil knows what he’s going, and John’s found a hospital that specialises in them.”

“I know,” Alan replied quietly. “That’s what worries me. They’re not telling us something.”

“The hazards of being the youngest,” Gordon groaned, unsurprised but as annoyed as Alan about it. Scott was their brother too, dammit. “So, what are they not telling us?”

“Have you seen the results of the scan?” Alan asked him. Gordon shook his head.

“Nah, had to leave to look for other survivors once Virgil was dealing with him, and haven’t seen him since.” Five seconds of hoverstretcher rushing past didn’t really count. “What came up?”

“No idea,” Alan sulked. “Virgil’s been keeping it out of my sight all journey. But I know John knows.”

Gordon growled and slammed the comm button.

“John, Virgil, I want the result of those scans,” he demanded.

“You’re piloting,” Virgil responded immediately. “No reading while you’re controlling my ‘bird.”

“Then summarise for me,” he retorted. “Starting with that head injury.”

“Just get us to the hospital,” Virgil ordered.

“Already doing that,” he ground out, hackles rising. “Stop trying to keep us in the dark! He’s our brother too!” Thunderbird Two lurched under his grip before Alan hastily stabilised them.

“What are you doing up there?” Virgil demanded. “Be careful!”

“Letting my imagination fill in the blanks,” he lied – he was, in fact, keeping his imagination carefully blank.

“Is it that bad?” Alan interrupted before Virgil could find a fresh retort. “Is he dying?”

Silence filled the cabin, and Gordon’s temper flared.

“You said he was stable!” he yelled. “Dammit, Virgil, don’t lie to me about that!”

“I said critical but stable,” Virgil corrected. “He is stable, Gordo, but…” He trailed off, and Gordon glanced over at Alan to see his own growing panic mirrored back at him in blue eyes.

“He’s comatose,” John said quietly.

“What?” Alan yelped. Gordon stiffened, hands threatening to crush the yoke in his hands before he forcibly relaxed them.

“You didn’t think I might like to know that?” he growled, flashes of hospitals and white coats and bodiless voices stirring in the back of his mind before he trampled them down ruthlessly. Not now. Silence answered him. Clearly both his conscious older brothers knew they were in the wrong, and that whatever nonsense they fed him about not wanting to distract him while he was piloting wouldn’t pacify him in the slightest.

Alan’s face had gone white, big blue eyes focused on him, and he knew his younger brother was remembering the last time he’d had a family member in a coma – him. He forced a smile for his benefit, which had about as much of an effect as any pacifying words John or Virgil might have tried to use.

“Why?” Alan asked, voice shaking. “Who would do that?”

“Kayo and Lady Penelope are looking into it,” John told them. “Whatever happened, they’ll find out. I’ve got EOS doing some digging of her own, too.”

“But… is Scott going to be okay?” Alan pleaded, looking back at Gordon, who was clearly the resident expert on comas. He remembered the fight for consciousness, pleading voices turning to resigned ones as they talked about their day yet again. He remembered wanting to respond so badly but being trapped by his own body.

The idea of Scott going through that filled him with dread – if he even did. Comas were different for different people, he’d found out later, when he’d torn through everything he could get his hands on in a desperate attempt to understand what had happened to him. He wouldn’t wish that on anyone, except maybe the Hood but then even only in his blackest moods. Scott had done nothing to deserve that.

“He’s a fighter,” was all he could say.

The hospital staff were ready and waiting for them when they finally arrived, a two hour flight that had felt far longer. No sooner had he touched down and opened the module than they were swarming, hurrying Scott inside with Virgil hot on their heels, presumably talking doctor-speak and filling in anything they hadn’t already been briefed about.

Gordon and Alan were left in Thunderbird Two’s cockpit, watching out of the windows as their elder brothers vanished into the maw of the hospital.

“Do we follow them?” Alan asked after a moment. Gordon looked at the doors with no small amount of dread, and shook his head.

“They won’t be allowing visitors just yet,” he said. “Virgil will have a fight to stay with him, and he’s our medic. We’ll just get shoved in a waiting room with sympathetic looks and no news.”

At least, that was the stories he’d heard from his brothers, regarding his own accident. International Rescue might have more weight than merely the Tracy name had back then, but a patient was a patient.

“Come home,” John said, popping up from the dashboard and looking them both over. He looked tired, too, and Gordon wondered how much worse it was for him, stuck up in space and fully reliant on holograms to see Scott. At least the rest of them had been able to see – and touch – him. It didn’t take much for Gordon to recall the thump-thump of a faint pulse beneath his fingers as he clung to the sign that he hadn’t lost anyone else.

Not yet, a nasty voice whispered in the back of his mind. He silenced it sharply.

“But-” Alan protested, clinging to the edges of his seat as though it was the hoverstretcher carrying Scott’s limp body.

“Come home and get cleaned up,” John said firmly, reminding Gordon that he’d spent several hours in a wrecked plane with dead bodies. It was hidden slightly better on Alan’s uniform, but a glance at his own showed red drying into brown on his yellow baldric. “By the time we get back there, they might have news for us.”

“We?” Gordon locked onto, and John crossed his arms.

“I’m not staying up here waiting for news to trickle in,” he snapped, and Gordon raised his hands in surrender.

“Never said you were, big bro,” he soothed.

“What about the investigation?” Alan asked, even as he started flicking switches and preparing the massive craft for lift off once more.

“I’ve got EOS on that,” John replied. Following Alan’s lead, Gordon took control of the massive Thunderbird again, her VTOLs roaring as they peeled away from their landing spot back into the sky. “I’ll let Virgil know where you are once he gets in contact.”

“F.A.B.,” Gordon acknowledged.

He pretended it didn’t hurt to turn their back on the hospital where Scott lay comatose, but even if it fooled his brothers (doubtful), he couldn’t fool himself.

...tbc..?

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds are go fanfiction #tsari writes fanfiction #wip excerpt #gordon tracy #scott tracy #john tracy #virgil tracy #alan tracy #colonel casey #thunderwhump #thunderangst

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golbrocklovely · 5 years

Text

only the lonely survive // colby brock - chapter two: ain’t it fun

A/N: let me know what you think of the story so far :)

description of the story here

trigger warning: swearing, drinking, douchey guy, graphic language, light physical fighting (no blood or anything)

word count: 2589

During the car ride, I stayed silent. Corey and Casey are two of the most outgoing people I had ever met, and my introverted ass couldn't really jump in and say anything. Not that I minded, to be honest. I was kind of pissed at Casey.

How could she not tell that Corey Scherer was her best friend?

She knew that I watched him and all of the Trap House guys, and yet never mentioned he was her friend. I was conflicted... I thought we were close but maybe we weren't.

"So, Skye, what do you do for a living?" Corey asked, looking at me through his review mirror.

"Oh... I work in retail at the moment. I also do youtube on the side." I shrugged.

"Same here." He laughed.

"Yeah, me and Skye watch you all the time. Along with all your room mates." Casey replied, giggling.

"Are you a fan?" Corey questioned, smiling.

I cleared my throat, feeling uncomfortable. "I guess you could say that. I do love your content."

He nodded. "Aw thanks. What type of stuff do you make?"

"She does amazing covers. She is seriously one of the best singers I know." Casey said, jumping in.

"You can sing? That's cool." Corey beamed.

Casey chuckled, "No seriously, she is really good. I mean, she did study musical theater in college so she better be at least somewhat good."

"Oh that's sick." Corey cheered.

While Corey and Casey went back to catching up, I looked out the window, watching the houses we passed. Everything was white and pristine. The lawns were mowed to perfection. Every so often there would be a person walking a dog.

The car came to a stop as Corey pulled into the driveway of the house we were staying at. He turned the car off and popped the trunk. All three of us slowly got out of the car. Corey helped us bring our luggage inside the house.

The house was simple but beautiful. Everything looked new: the furniture, carpets, curtains, every little detail.

Man her uncle must be really rich.

"It was good seeing you again, Casey. I gotta go pick up Devyn from the gym and then we're gonna go get something to eat. I'll see you tomorrow. It was nice meeting you, Skye!" Corey said, giving Casey a quick hug and leaving.

Casey and I waved bye, watching Corey pull out of the driveway. Then she shut the door.

"Okay... what the fuck Casey?" I demanded.

"Alright, I know I have to explain myself. I'm sorry I never told you about Corey." She apologized, grabbing her luggage and starting to bring it to her room.

"I think you need to explain a little bit further." I crossed my arms, annoyed.

She sighed, putting her bag on her bed. "Look, back before Corey blew up on Vine, we were friends. I was even in one or two of his Vines. Because of this, when he got a following, immediately people pretended to be my friend just to get to him. Then he moved, and we remained friends, but I never told anyone I was friends with him. Then I went college and I met you. One day you brought up the Trap House and I thought 'shit she knows' but you never asked about him. Then you told me how you never followed Vine back when it was alive and that you only knew of them because of youtube. So I was in the clear..."

"I thought you trusted me a little more than that..." I muttered, looking down at the floor.

"I do trust you. I wouldn't have traveled across the country with someone I didn't trust. I just wasn't sure how to bring up the fact that I'm friends with people you stan. It would be like me telling you I'm related to the Jonas Brothers." She joked.

I looked up abruptly, "You aren't, are you? Because you know I love them."

"No I'm not." She laughed. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I just wasn't sure how I could tell you. Besides, seeing the look on your face when you saw Corey was kinda hilarious."

"You know what's more hilarious? Me punching you directly in the throat." I hissed jokingly.

"You're all talk." She retorted, throwing a shirt at me.

I threw the shirt back. "I wouldn't be so sure about it."

"Well, let me make it up to you. Tonight, let's go out clubbing and I'll buy you alcohol." She smiled.

"You're only suggesting that because I don't drink that much, you fucking cheapskate." I laughed.

She nodded her head, "Yes. However, I do have another gift for you."

"Oh goodie." I clapped my hands mockingly.

"How do you feel about meeting the Trap House tomorrow?" She asked, smirking.

I gulped, "What?"

"Corey and I were talking about hanging out tomorrow. He told me all the guys are gonna be home and I figured I could catch up with him and all of them. They haven't seen me in like a year or so." She said.

"I-I don't know." I stuttered, looking around her room.

"They all know about you." She replied.

I turned to her, wide eye, "I'm sorry, what?!"

"You know how during the summer I go home to Florida? Well sometimes I come out here instead and hang out with Corey and everyone in the Trap House. The last time I was out here I told them all about you. How you're my best friend and how amazing of a singer you are and also how you're a fan of them." She smiled brightly.

"Did you... go into detail of how much of a fan I am?" I questioned.

She turned her head to the side, "Like?"

"Like how I have a fan account? Like how I have all of their post notifications on and I follow them on literally every social media platform?" I stated.

She shook her head, "No. I just said you were a fan. That's it."

I sighed in relief, "Thank God."

"So... does that mean you're gonna hang out with me and the boys tomorrow?" She asked beaming.

Take chances, right?

"Sure. I guess so." I rolled my eyes.

"Yay! Honestly, you're gonna love them. Well, you're gonna love them more than you already do. They are seriously some of the nicest dudes you'll ever meet." She stopped in her tracks, gasping, "Oh my God, maybe you can get with one of them!"

"Everyone in the house has a girlfriend besides Colby." I said, confused.

"You're right. But... weirder things have happened." She replied, putting her clothes in the closet.

/ / / /

"Casey! Come on! Our uber's gonna be here in like two minutes." I yelled, filling up a cup with soda and vodka.

"I'm coming ya loud hoe!" Casey screamed, running into the kitchen. She grabbed the cup from my hands and took a swig of my cocktail.

I grumbled, "It's a little hard to be a hoe when no guy wants to fuck you." I snatched the cup from her hands, "Also make your own."

"There are plenty of guys that want to fuck you, Skye. It's just most of them are gross and don't deserve a text back, let alone seeing you naked." She replied.

"I think you're thinking of yourself. If you find a guy that wants me, feel free to send him my way." I rolled my eyes. I placed my cup down on the counter, grabbed my purse and headed towards the front door.

"Well if you want to attract a guy, maybe don't wear jeans to the club." She smirked, downing the rest of my drink.

I looked down at my outfit: a low-cut top, jeans, and platform boots. This was an average outfit for me.

I sighed, "Look my dude, I didn't feel like getting dressed up. Besides I haven't unpacked yet and this outfit was on top."

"We've been here for seven hours, why haven't you unpacked?" She asked, shutting and locking the front door behind her.

"I'll do it when we get home, mom." I mocked, turning to look at her. She raised her middle finger towards me. I blew her a kiss.

/ / / /

"It surprisingly busy for a Sunday night!" I yelled, getting close to Casey's ear.

The club 'Roses' was packed tonight. I asked Casey how she even knew of this place, telling me it's where her and Corey go every time she's in LA. Apparently this is also the go-to spot if you want to see D-Listers and influencers all in the same tiny place.

The whole place smelled like shitty cologne, tequila, sweat, and poor life choices.

I was home.

"Let's just try to get a drink! I need one!" She yelled back, grabbing my hand and pulling me towards the bar.

When we got there, we ordered our drinks. First, shots. Two each. Then a cocktail.

"I'm surprised you're letting me drink more than one tonight, you know, since you're paying." I stated, elbowing her lightly.

"We're only in California once, why not live it up a bit? Besides you won't have more than three drinks, four tops." She shrugged.

I raised my eyebrow, "How do you know that? Maybe I'll surprise you and have FIVE tonight."

She rolled her eyes. The bartender came up to us.

"That guy over there ordered you these." He said, pointing at the other end of the bar.

We both looked over to see a tall blonde hair guy. He was buff, wearing only a muscle shirt and tight black jeans. He had one sleeve of tattoos. He smiled, nodding over at us. He disappeared into the crowd, coming over.

One guess as to who he was going to talk to first.

"Sup ladies, my name's Mark. It's nice to meet ya!" Mark said, eyeing Casey.

"Hey. Thanks for the drink by the way." Casey replied, smiling.

"No problem. What's your name, beautiful?" He asked, smirking.

I rolled my eyes but jumped in before Casey could speak. "I'm Christina, and she's Emily."

We both made a pack many years ago that if we weren't comfortable around a guy, the easiest way to let each other know was to change our names. It was subtle, but efficient; especially when you're drunk.

Why was I uncomfortable with this guy? Who knows.

"Nice. Why don't you come dance with me?" He requested, grabbing Casey's hand.

Casey turned to me, "Are you good, Christina?"

I nodded my head. She winked at me, slowly being pulled onto the dance floor. I looked back at the two shots Mark ordered for us. I downed both.

Haha, jokes on you Casey. I have gone over my limit.

Bitch...

/ / / /

After scrolling through my phone for the nth time, I looked at the dance floor, trying to find Casey. I spotted her; she had her phone in one hand and her drink in the other. She was also grinding lazily against Mark.

Ew.

I looked back at my phone, checking the time. Suddenly, a text popped up.

Casey: plz come ovr nd get ths douche away frm me

I looked up at her, seeing her stare at me. I nodded my head, finishing my sixth drink tonight, and started walking over to her.

Time to use my theater degree for something.

"Oh my God Christinaaa let's goooo home I'm tired." I whined, bumping into Casey 'drunkenly'.

Casey turned towards Mark. "Hey I'm really sorry but I gotta get my friend home now."

"What why? Can't she call an uber herself? I thought we were having fun." Mark groaned.

She sighed. "I'm sorry, but I want to make sure she's okay getting home. Don't need her to fall into the wrong hands."

"Okay I guess. Wait... isn't your name Emily?" He questioned.

I looked at Casey, she looked at me. I grabbed her hand and we ran outside.

"Shit, how did you forget my fake name?" She hissed, throwing my hand off hers.

"I'm sorry I forgot your fake name, I'll make sure to remember it next time." I grunted, rolling my eyes. I grabbed my phone, clicked the uber app, and called one. "What was the problem with Marky-Mark back there anyway?"

"Well for one thing, he smelled like Axe body spray and I immediately felt like I was back in high school grinding on a dude during prom. Also, I really can't understand how he was out of rhythm when I was the one doing all the work." She explained.

"I had a feeling he was gonna be douchey. However, being a bad dancer and smelling weird doesn't make him a shitty person." I quipped.

Casey's eyes widen. I scrunched my face, confused. Turning around, I saw the reason for her shocked expression: Mark. Standing right behind me, with a beer bottle in hand.

"So... you're not that drunk anymore. Maybe now Emily, or Christina, or whatever the fuck your name is can come back inside and dance with me some more." Mark sneered, reaching for Casey.

I jumped in front of his hand, "Look dude, I understand you want to keep hanging out with my friend, but she doesn't want to hang with you anymore. The both of us... don't want her hanging with you anymore. So, we're just gonna go home and you can go find some other girl to party with."

"You know bitch, you keep cock-blocking me and I'm getting real tired of it." He shouted, getting in my face.

"Fucker it ain't cock-blocking if you were never gonna get fucked to begin with. Also, calling me a bitch really isn't helping your case." I replied, stepping up to him.

He rolled his eyes, "Whatever, slut." He started to walk away.

I grabbed my chest, mockingly, "Ow, you hurt me."

He stopped, turn back towards me, reached out, and poured his beer down the center of my shirt.

"Look: two wet bitches for me!" He bellowed, smiling.

All I saw was red. This motherfucker is about to lose his balls. But as I was rearing up to go Tonya Harding on him, the bouncer grabbed him and slammed him against the wall, smashing the beer bottle on Mark's hand in the process.

"What the fuck?!" Marked yelled, trying to get out of the bouncer's grip.

Casey started pulling my arm. I looked to see our uber pull up. I looked at Mark, flipped him off, and jumped into the car.

After a silent, uncomfortably wet, 20-minute drive, we finally got home.

I sighed, stepping into the house. I immediately took my shirt off, walking into the kitchen.

"Woah, I didn't know coming home with you would get me a free show." Casey joked, dropping her body onto the couch.

I grabbed two water bottles from the fridge. I placed one down on the coffee table in front of Casey.

"I feel like buying you two drinks isn't sufficient enough for the bs that we went through tonight so... how about tomorrow I buy you dinner?" She said, smiling sweetly.

I took a long swig of my water. "Yeah that sounds fine. I would also appreciate it if you could steer clear of douche bags for the rest of the trip, for the sake of my sanity and wardrobe."

"I can't make any promises, but I will do my best." She replied, scrunching her nose.

<< CHAPTER 1 || CHAPTER 3 >>

#colby brock #corey scherer #colby brock x oc #colby brock fanfic #colby brock fanfiction #colby brock fluff #colby brock story #colby brock fic #only the lonely survive

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thegremlinofransei · 5 years

Text

Welcome to the Family | Ch. 4

Resident Evil 7 AU

Fandom: Split, Glass

Rating: M (strong language, intense violence)

Word Count: ~2.6K

Summary: Kevin has betrayed Casey in this growing house of horrors. Little does she realize that the worst is yet to come.

————–

Sloshing puddles and creaky iron gates. A series of sharp pains in her wrist, followed by a mellow female voice whispering, “You’re not dying on me now.” Casey wasn’t sure which parts were delirious dreams and which were her consciousness fading in for a few seconds.

When Casey finally came to, she heard the clinking of silverware and the messy noises of chewing. Her back was stiff against the hard chair behind her, and her head pounded thanks to a putrid smell emanating from in front of her. As her vision came around, she slowly lifted her head.

Casey was sitting at a family dinner, one that could hardly be called normal. Across the long table from her was the man that rammed her head into the wall, the fluorescent lights from the dank kitchen behind him glinting off his bald head and the candlelight from a few scattered fixtures on the table producing an ominous gleam on his glasses. To his left sat a haggard woman with stringy black hair and a gaunt jawline, and to his right, a young man with a greasy brown quiff and some emerging stubble. Finally, just to Casey’s left was a shriveled old man in a rusty wheelchair, whom she only realized was alive as she watched a slight rise and fall of his chest.

When she was fully awake, Casey looked to the center of the table and had to hold back a heave as she realized what the source of the horrendous smell was. The centerpiece of the dining table was a serving platter piled high with…Oh my God, are those intestines?!

Casey gagged at the horrific realization and took the opportunity to choke out, “What is this place?”

The decrepit woman gave a sinister chuckle as she met Casey’s rising gaze and, through a garish grin and in a calm Cajun accent, cut her off with, “It’s time for supper, sleepyhead.”

Casey shrunk back, flinching as the young man opposite this woman threw small bits of food at her. As her jaw trembled, she began to inquire, “Who…who are you people? Where’s Kev-”

She was interrupted by the woman slamming her fist on the table. After staring deep into Casey’s eyes for a few seconds, she lifted her fork and took a bite of the ghastly meal. “Eat it,” she taunted. “It’s good.”

The younger man jolted up from his seat with his plate in his hand and hollered, in the thickest Southern accent Casey had ever heard, “Stupid bitch wouldn’t know good if it hit her!”

With that, the disgusting plate crashed into her face, and the woman shrieked, “Luke! What the hell is wrong with you?” This was followed by the man directly opposite of Casey grabbing Luke’s hand in his left and a steak knife in his right, sawing off the young man’s hand in a few brisk strokes, and Luke half-heartedly protesting without showing any signs of pain.

As Luke cradled the bloody stub, Casey’s captor stood up and muttered, “Out of my way, Patricia.” Patricia obeyed and scooted her chair further into the table, and the man stomped around the table to where Casey sat, leaning down to gaze into her terrified brown eyes. In a failed attempt at a light tone, he announced, “This girl’s got to eat! She’s gotta have her supper…”

He lifted a spoon piled with innards in his right hand and forcibly held her mouth open with his left. “Come here, kiddo,” he grunted, “let’s do this, come on…”

Casey had already started to choke as the spoon neared her unwilling maw, and the minute the unsavory food entered her mouth, she spit it back out in a coughing fit. This sent Patricia into a hysterical fit, pointing at her and screaming, “Oh shit! She’s not eating it, Dennis! She’s not eating it!”

Dennis whipped around as Casey continued to expel the food from her throat, gruffly yelling, “Shut the hell up, Patricia!” Patricia screamed back to him, “I spent so long making that for her!” and was cut off by Dennis kicking a chair at her and commanding, “Get the hell out of here!”

Patricia stormed out of the dining room to a pair of doors by Luke’s side of the table, but not before glowering into Casey’s eyes and screaming, “You’re an ungrateful little shit!”

Dennis turned back to Casey and picked up what looked like a gallbladder from her plate, holding it in front of her eyes as she tried not to vomit at the horrendous smell. “This,” he started in an ominously calm tone, “was supposed to be a very SPECIAL feast!”

He lifted a knife from the table and moved it closer to Casey’s face, pointed directly at the bridge of her nose. Luke watched in deranged excitement, and the old man, presumably the grandfather in this fucked-up family, remained useless as before.

Brrrrrrring!

The knife point was barely a finger’s width away from piercing Casey’s skin when the broken doorbell rang. Dennis and Luke looked at each other before the assumed son bared his teeth, stood up to leave, and muttered, “I’ll bet it’s that cop again.”

Dennis slowly straightened his posture and tossed the knife back onto the table. Looking down at his yellow shirt, he grimaced at the blood staining his sleeve from the removal of Luke’s hand and grabbed a napkin. With a final look back at Casey, he threatened, “I’m coming back for you,” and stormed out.

Casey made a visual sweep of the room, ensuring that her only companion was the man on death’s doorstep to her left. The scent of the meal still burned at the back of her throat, exacerbating her fearful stupor. She went to bring her left hand up to brush away a snarled hair from her eyes, but it was cuffed to the arm of the chair by a small bracket.

Wait…left hand?

She confusedly looked down at her returned appendage. A smartwatch was wrapped around her wrist, but she could see the hasty and slightly festering stitches under the band. She attempted to move her joints, and, despite the shooting pain throughout her hand, she could somewhat grasp the edge of the chair’s arm with straight fingers.

So I didn’t imagine that part, Casey deduced, recalling her trance from earlier. But…who did this? How…

The odor in front of her face snapped her back to the task at hand, which was escape. She began to rock the chair back and forth, and in a few difficult tilts, she fell onto her side. This sent a shock wave of pain through her freshly reattached hand, but it jarred the bracket just enough to snap it loose, and she fell out onto the floor.

Casey rolled over onto her front and pushed herself up with her right hand, trying her best not to agitate the patchwork on her left. Finally on her feet again, she edged around the table, keeping an eye on the elderly man before turning to the large entryway opposite the door that Patricia had exited through. It led into a small living room, lit up by a bent light fixture and littered with papers strewn about the floor. A stack of newspapers sat on a coffee table in the center of the room, the top dated back only two weeks.

Three Missing During Local Urbex Trip

Identification pictures of Joseph, Jai, and a guy she assumed to be the cameraman Fletcher were plastered on the front page. After stepping away, she began to search the room. One drawer on the opposite wall housed a magazine of bullets, and Casey sighed in frustration. Dennis had taken everything she had picked up in the…other house? Are we in the same house as before? I don’t remember any doors that this room could have been through…Are we in the main house? She tried to make sense of the situation, but she also accurately guessed that she was going to have to navigate out of here like a rat in a maze.

Casey took the magazine anyway and shoved it in her waistband, hoping for the chance to find a gun soon. Cautiously stepping back into the dining room, she looked around at the various notes pinned on the wall surrounding the arches that looked into the kitchen. One was a hardware receipt listing a saw, ropes, and thirty pet collars. Another was a recipe, listing instructions on how to prepare a muscular female in her fifties. This led her into the kitchen, where several similar recipes were stuck on the fridge with magnets. Reluctantly, she pulled the door open.

Her mouth gaped open, but she clapped a hand over it to prevent the disgusted whimper from escaping. A plate of entrails similar to the one disgracing the table sat on the top shelf, and a bound pair of legs rested below it. Despite having been through worse a mere few hours ago, the blunt force trauma had resensitized her to each new shock, and she wished to go back to not feeling a damn thing.

There was a door at the end of the kitchen, and Casey slowly pushed the door open, only to find another room with garbage strewn all over. In its back corner, though, a hatch caught her eye. Lantern light filtered through the worn boards and barbed wire, but when she pulled, it was locked. Yet another locked door, she internally grumbled. I guess they don’t want their food to escape.

Casey turned back to the room and began to poke through the litter on the floor. Mostly papers, except for a small black boot wedged between a plywood pallet and the wall. Noticing something on it, she pulled it out and examined the heel, where one name was written.

Hedwig

That’s odd, she thought. There weren’t any little kids at the table, and I doubt this belongs to ol’ grandpa out there…

Casey let it fall to the ground and gingerly trekked back to the dining room, inexplicably unsettled by how Grandpa’s gaze followed her through the arches over the counter. She pushed open the double doors behind his wheelchair and stepped out into the hallway.

Across from her was a set of stairs with a scrap metal sign reading Garage. She crept over and down the flight, hoping to find something useful to get away. However, the door was shuttered and the control panel taped shut, putting that plan out of the question. She retraced her steps back to the hall.

To her right was a boarded and barbed window, so she turned left, going further down the hall. Before the turn to round the kitchen-and-closet wall, there was a heavy iron door off to the side. Casey tried it despite knowing it wouldn’t budge, then turned her attention back to the hallway.

Just in time for Dennis to storm out from around the distant corner, holding a metal snow shovel.

Casey turned around and ran as lightly as she could back to the previous hall, ducking behind the corner to watch his next move. He turned from the wall and began to swagger closer to her, and she resumed her graceful strides back to a new hideout behind one of the open double doors.

Stomp-clink! Stomp-clink! Stomp-clink! WHAM!

Dennis kicked open the next door from the hallway into the kitchen, and Casey knew she didn’t have a moment to lose. She jumped out of her hiding place, gently pushing the door shut behind her, and ran to the kitchen door. Once that was pulled closed, she began to sprint around the corner and down the hall. A small chest of drawers sat in the next corner, and resting on it was a small key. I hope this is for the hatch, she pleaded to whatever was out there putting her through this, tiptoeing back down the way she came.

“Where’d that little bitch get to?” she heard Dennis ask from behind the closed doors, edging along the wall to keep track of his pounding footsteps. He sighed, then continued, “You know what they say. Once a family, always a family.”

The kitchen door swung open, and Dennis stepped out, facing the opposite direction of Casey. She seized this chance to run to the double doors, threw one open, and stepped back into the dining room.

She made eye contact with Dennis, who had returned through his own door, in the process.

Casey bolted, hearing Dennis chastising her, “You thought you could just slip out before dinner was done?” as he charged toward her. As she sprinted up the hall to the kitchen door, she heard a great crash from the dining room, followed by Dennis’s complaints of how the room looked like an absolute fucking disaster.

After hurrying through the kitchen, she found herself in the closet again, slamming the door shut behind her and dragging a pallet in front of it. Casey knew it wouldn’t do anything, but at least she could get to the hatch. She readied the key and shoved it into the lock, just in time for the wooden door and pallet to crash into the room. In a swift series of events, she threw the hatch open, dove in, and fit the toe of her shoe into a small loop of barbed wire to pull it shut.

“Yeah, you have fun under there, girly,” Dennis spat at her from the room above. “I’m coming back for you later.”

The hatch had led into a long crawl space filled with a bunch of old junk and paced with mud and stone. Casey knew she was near the outside wall, based on the cold draft that blew in through cracks in the walls. She untangled her shoe and moved toward some boards, kicking and shoving at them until she accepted her defeat at trying to escape through here.

That was, until a bright light from up ahead caught her eye.

Casey ventured toward the lights, coming to a small metal ramp that ended at a hole in the floor above. She stood up and looked around, grateful to find the room empty, before climbing up.

It was a beat up laundry room, and two things grabbed Casey’s attention at once. A large, uncharacteristically clean hunting cooler sat in the corner with a bottle of antibiotic ointment on top. Meanwhile, another landline phone and a map, labelled Main House, sat on a counter in the center of the room. For a moment, she considered trying to call the police again, but remembered how that had turned out with the phone in the back house.

She finally came to the door. It was the same iron door that had goaded her in the hallway before, and she turned the lock to exit.

That damned electronic ringing echoed in the room behind her as she went to push the door open, and she turned. The light was flashing. Casey huffed, hoping it was someone from the outside but knowing it was this enigmatic Jade girl. Upon reaching the table, she retrieved the handset.

“You did good, Casey,” the mellow voice said somewhat cheerily.

“Jade, right? What the fuck are-”

“Shut up and listen if you want to stay alive. You gotta get outta that house. There might be a way out through the main hall.”

Casey sighed. “Alright.”

“Oh. And don’t lose that watch. It’s helping your hand heal itself. Don’t want you to get maimed or anything.”

Beeeeeeeeeeeep.

Casey replaced the handset and looked down at the smartwatch, realizing that it was much more elaborate than she had first noticed. Her pulse rate was being tracked, and a small needle held the monitor firmly at the top of her wrist.

“Hell-of-a-girl,” Casey muttered. With the bottle of ointment secured in her belt loop, she turned back to the iron door, ready to face whatever monsters came next.

———————

A/N: Jesus, maybe Patricia SHOULD stick to sandwiches…Anyway, I do promise that I will update at least every Saturday. School’s coming up so that’ll be fun, but I’ll do my best 👍 Be sure to like, comment, and reblog. Drop an ask if you wanna be on the tag list, babes! 😘

Tag List:

@lady-serenitty

@martina-leanza

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dabard · 5 years

Text

Immortality Is Wasted On Oneself

It was 1348 and London was in shambles. I had not been here since the time of the Romans and I had sought it out hoping for a final resting place, for a way to die here where the great Republic began to fall. People were sitting in the streets, either dying or already dead, nobles hurried by clutching perfumed cloths to their noses in an attempt to mask the scent and stop the spread of the disease. I was dressed modestly, but people still glanced at me nervously as I walked among the bodies of those that were not long for the grave without a care. My leg caught on something and to my surprise it was not an errant stick or wayward bramble. It was a child. “Water.” The girl croaked, her neck was swollen with the tell-tale lumps of the Black Death yet her grip held firm on my ankle. “Please, water.” For a moment I considered simply walking away, she would die anyway, if not today then in a few years when she took a wrong turn down a dark alley, or sometime after that when age got her. These people can’t help but perish. And yet I didn’t. There was a well nearby and although I was unfit from the apathy of my last few centuries, I hauled a bucket from the local smithy to the waterhole and filled it to the brim. No doubt I looked a fool as I struggled to drag that laden container from one side of the square to the other, but when I reached the girl she surprised me with a genuine, heartfelt smile. “Thank you m’lord.” She coughed, before almost plunging her head into the water and gulping down great amounts. “Woah, wait a moment.” I admonished, much to my own surprise. I pulled her back from the water and gently leaned her against a wall so that she was upright. “You need to drink it slowly, or you’ll just be sick and throw it up everywhere.” “I’m already sick sir.” The girl said, her wry laugh dissolving into another fit of coughs. “Then there’s no sense in making it worse.” Came my stern reproach, cupping some water in my hands and offering it to her. “Drink it slowly this time.” Her name was Emily, and underneath the grime of her days on the street she was a fetching young woman. I helped her first out of pity, but as hours turned into days, and days turned into weeks, I found myself worrying over her eating eating habits, her sleep schedule, whether she was being treated kindly by the other teenagers. When my ministrations brought her from sickness to health I thought my part in things was over, but a realization took that thought from my plans. “Where are your parents Em?” I had asked not long after “Borrowing” a blanket from a royal’s house down the street for her. “Dead.” She had replied simply, avoiding my gaze. “Rats got them. Where are yours?” “Dead.” I replied, already standing as the next half century or so of my life suddenly had a purpose. “Sumerians got them. Why don’t we find somewhere better for you to sleep? There’s plenty of empty houses around, there’s no sense in letting them rot with no one inside.” She was a curious creature, wry and laconic with a good sense of when to leave certain topics alone. We squatted in a house near the Thames for a time, I began working as a doctor to bring in some money so that she wouldn’t starve. Weeks became months and she finally broke the golden rule. “Why don’t you eat?” Emily had asked at the breakfast table, toast and oatmeal in front of her while I read a book on herbs rumored to be cures for the plague. “Can’t afford to feed two people.” I said with a shrug. “But you don’t eat at all.” She pushed, curiosity burning behind her eyes. That wit I admired so much in her now pointed directly at me. “That isn’t normal.” “I suppose it isn’t.” I admitted, resolving to give her at least a partial truth. “I don’t need to eat, I can if I want, but it isn’t necessary. That’s just how I am.” She accepted that with a nod, biting into her toast with a thoughtful expression. “Are you the devil?” I snorted, turning a page in my book. “Even if I was, what makes you think I wouldn’t just lie about it?” Months became years, and Emily grew nervous around me, at first I believed she still suspected me of being the devil, or a demon in some capacity, but that suspicion was dashed when she finally broke her peace while we sat in the living room. “When are you going to do it?” She had blurted, slightly fearful. “Do what?” I had asked gently, afraid of startling her. Tears welled in her eyes and I panicked slightly, worried that somehow I had upset her with some action or lack thereof during our time together. “You know what!” She had accused. “Girls don’t just get given dresses and a house and food and love. Not without something in return.” Realization dawned on me, along with a horror at the implication my new ward was making. “Emily. I’m not going to… To force you to do anything. You aren’t some prisoner or servant here, you aren’t some investment I’ve made. You’re my friend.” Those tears finally broke over her cheeks, relief and guilt mixing in her eyes and spilling down her face. “I am?” I stood, but made no move towards her, simply opening my arms and waiting. She lurched forwards and hugged me tightly, her face buried in my shirt for the longest of moments.

Months became years, and a new person joined our home. Her name was Christine, and her father was a drunkard named Thomas that I had no patience for. When Thomas’s wife had died of consumption the poor girl found out why her mother never went a day without “Falling down”. Emily and Christine were fast friends and often spent the night in Emily’s room gossiping and playing checkers, or so my young friend would have me believe. I hadn’t realized Christine had spent almost a week living in our house until Thomas came to my door. He was a foul tempered brute and the swill he had been drinking didn’t help that fact at all. “Give her ‘ere doctor!” He had yelled, red faced with anger and balled fists at his side. “She ain’t been doing her chores and I’ve had enough of it!” “Tom, you’re making a scene.” I said calmly, glancing up the stairs to find the girls watching. Christine was all but cowering with fear, while Emily gave me a simple, single shake of her head. “I don’t give a fuck what you think of what I’m making!” The drunk bellowed, trying to force his way past me. “CHRISTINE, GET YOUR ARSE DOWN HERE NOW!” I put my hand on Thomas’s chest and my leg swept behind him as I gave a slight push. The other man went tumbling into the street as I descended my front steps and rolled up my sleeves. “I think she’s perfectly fine where she is thank you Thomas.” “You’re gonna fight me doc?” Slurred the slovenly brute with a laugh before he brought up his fists. “Man like you probably never seen a real fight in your life.” I could describe for you what happened next, but if you had never seen the Visigoths lay siege to Rome, or the Persian invasions of Greece then you’d have no context for how my experiences played a part in the struggle. Needless to say however, that it was not my first or last fight. With Thomas squared away Christine moved into the house permanently, the girls would have liked me to believe they were living in separate rooms but I had visited the Isle of Lesbos and spoken with Sappho herself. They eventually came to realize that I understood their relationship and after years became decades we moved from London to the country, where Christine became my “Wife” and Emily became my “Widowed Sister” so that the girls could get by with relatively little problem. My appearance soon raised further questions with Emily, but at that point she accepted my vague answers with a small smile and a wry joke. It was when we had to move the third time, where Christine became my spinster aunt, and I became Emily’s son that I finally sat down with them and revealed what I was. It went over fairly well, but at that stage they had already accepted my divergence from mainstream humanity. “You’re my friend.” Emily had repeated, over four decades separating my words from hers. “Nothing changes that.” It was 1598 and I had just cleaned Emily and Christine’s grave stones. They seemed at peace beside one another in the churchyard, a fact I found solace in before returning to the task I had set myself. The Irish were trying to throw off the yolk of English oppression and there on the battlefield I put to work the skills I had honed in caring for my two friends throughout their life. I sewed the wounds of an English pikeman that had fallen victim to the claymore of a scottish mercenary. I treated the broken arm of an Irishman that had been separated from his kinsmen and run through with a spear. I shepherded villagers out from their town before the army of Robert Devereux could trample them into the mud. It was 1701 and I was headed for the New World with a ship full of others escaping the Spanish Inquisition, who had began a renewed hunt for those bearing the devil’s touch. Again I tend to the sick, because it has become a habit for me. If only the poor could afford the medicines of rich men. It was 1850 and I was running. We just needed to reach the border, where my Comanche friends would take over, but on our heels was a US Marshal that didn’t take kindly to people who freed slaves. I fired behind with my revolver, missing the Marshal by mere inches and forcing him to pull his horse to the side so that trees would give him cover. We were approaching the site and I could taste the freedom my friends deserved. I stopped in my tracks and waved them on, hoping to keep the Marshall busy while they escaped with the Natives and made their way to Canada. A few bullets weren’t enough to take me down, and it would be worth the reward. It was 1999 and Lana was talking to one of the boom operators. “I don’t know how to do it, I’m just not earning enough to put Casey through school and with my wife’s scoliosis acting up our medical bills are just…” Jack sighed. “It’s all just a little much right now.” “We’ll sort something out.” Lana promised, patting his shoulder. It was 1999 and I was in Lana and Lilly’s office. “You want us to do what?” Lilly asks with a gobsmacked expression. “Donate it all to the crew.” I repeated. “I’ve made enough right now, I can go without another ten million, especially if it means they earn what they’re worth.” “This is just… You don’t really see this happen in Hollywood.” Lana said, shaking her head. “Especially not from someone so young.” “Oh, it’s nothing.” I said, waving it off. “People my age should know better by now.” It was 1999 and a letter had been left in my trailer. Work on the movie had closed down for the last time and I was just going to fetch my laptop. Curiously I opened the letter, the writer had left out their name, but I had a feeling I knew who had left this two word note for me to find. The cursive letters were in an almost completely different language, but they reminded me of a study in London, where I taught a young girl to write. Now, thousands of years and miles apart, I found the same satisfaction in how I ended up spending my immortal life. “Thanks, Keanu.” Read the note.

#writing #keanu reeves #immortality #fic #fic prompt #I've reuploaded so it's easier to find #my writing #LGBT #Matrix #The Plague #Sumeria

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endlesstonic · 7 years

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Blade & Bullet

This is a Yakuza and Mafia themed AU concerning my OC Kiiryon and @deltastic OC Jack Casey. I did much research and some experience of stories told to me. This is a work of fiction, the towns and ‘families’ too are a work of Fiction. This is all stemmed from my mind alone with the speech and characterization help from Del.

I’m sorry it’s so long...

For Del, in dedication to our FFXIV Samurai and Machinist feels. ❤

Blade & Bullet A Jack Casey & Kiiryon Yakuza and Mafia AU Fiction.

Kiiryon had been standing on the bridge, leaning against the wood of the great and grand structure that spanned over the beautiful Jinsan river, a bundle swathed in cloth appearing light as it rested to his back, held a great burden, and he tried to make sense of his position--of how and why he had been set up--with him. The Hisuino-o-kai was a predominant family in Yohtoko. With great respect and power as well, the loyalty of their most humble men, they kept an odd sort of peace in society. Law dared not interfere and be made an example once more; and Kiiryon rather liked it that way. They proved themselves to be mature and with their great power--showed they were to be respected and kept to a silent peace treaty. One that the law dared to not break for the threads of their serenity were thin and never to be crossed. Each man proved himself, proved his worth--and yet, his brothers dared to nominate him to be the charge of that foreigner. And just like that, his boss with a proud smile, decreed Kiiryon to be the caretaker, of him.

How many times had he sighed. Looked at his reflection even and wonder what evil spirit possessed his family to condemn him to such a fate.

Your heart is too harsh Kiiryon. Enjoy the beauty of living in another world. Echoed the words of his boss.

No. This world is too simple and dense.

But Kiiryon had been wrong. Another scowl at his reflection in the murmuring river interrupted with a ripple by a skating bug. And much like the foreigners invasion in his life--his solace ruined by vicacious ripples and skips till--it was swallowed up by a fatty koi.

He snorted and withdrew with fingers caressing the smooth red wood.

That world is too complex with density.

Kiiryon’s feet carried him towards it. The whirring of cicadas and the ripe perfume of jasmine mixed with the tender warmth of a coming summer was interrupted. He should have turned and walked away, he knew what he was walking to, and yet there was a gravitating pull to that horrendously strong musk of western incense. Or perhaps, it was the desire to negate whatever troubles the scent usually brought with it.

A foreigner didn’t know their culture well enough to offer proper respect, or in most cases, said man did not know how to keep his loins fastened to himself.

He heard a woman's giggle followed by a guffaw that seemed rather beastly than charming. And as Kiiryon rounded the stone corner, he felt his eyes narrow at the sight of the man--his charge--nestled comfortably with his head on a womans lap. Their smiles shaded by the cherry hue of her delicate, paper umbrella.

“Jack Casey.” he announced in a tone far colder than he intended. How the man's name rolled off his tongue in an unfamiliar speech--yet he tried nonetheless with intimidation. To his glee, the woman gasped in surprise and with flushed shame, bowed her head with a swift turn away. This did not sit well with the man. His deep chestnut eyes pinched with concern, thick brows furrowed, and his lips pulled down into a frown from which his nostrils flared in a huff. Collecting himself, and sitting up with a nervous chuckle of his own, Jack Casey gave in when the cold and firm gaze of golden pools of his caretaker, failed to waver. A broad hand brushed through coffee coloured locks of hair held in a messy bun, and lips pulled back with a hissing inhale as the man shuffled forwards with a cat-like laziness. A yawn added in with defiance to being interrupted, and the western man sighed with arms crossing over his chest.

“Dere’s no need ta’ be so uptight all da’ time Kii.” he whined with that estranged dialect and fond use of that nickname. Kiiryon scoffed and gave a roll of his eyes. The quick sound of shuffling broke the pouty expression on Jack Casey’s face and swiftly, the man turned catching the faint blur of orange and blue flowers being swallowed up in the crowd.

“Ah! And dere’ she goes…” a forlorn sigh following.

“She’s smart to leave quickly. She should be ashamed for what she had done.” corrected Kiiryon with a glare and ever present scowl. And for a moment, Kiiryon was surprised and rather proud with Jack Casey’s rebuttal being a deep sigh and hushed, yeah. “I get it--foreigner and da’ bizness’.”

And with that, the swift admiration for Jack Casey’s understanding, like the tender breeze--was swept away and replaced with a sigh and shake of his head. “You should be careful foreigner-- you are no ordinary citizen.”

“Yeah? An’ wat-abou’-you?” quipped Casey with a smirk of challenge. He could not respond. Jack Casey was an obvious transplant into their society, his voice and manner of speech excluded. His flesh was fair, his eyes an odd shape, his build was strong and his clothes… While the man had tried to accept their culture in the form of fashions, he still so stubbornly kept to his leather jacket, and evergreen--woolen hat. A hat in which the man claimed to have been a symbol of historical appreciation; an era of true western society. He was however, proud to be engraved with a beastly art upon his back, a wolf. Perhaps in homage to his lone wolf tendencies that he had so recently inflicted upon himself. But Kiiryon, Kiiryon was a man of the culture and society, dressed in the influential western aesthetic mixed with their fashion of the blessed rising moon and tenacious winds. He bore the life-long markings of his family. His fair--though olive--flesh was forever engraved and covered with colourful and vivid tattoos that spanned over his arms and back--and to further damn him--upon his forehead. However, it was the tattoo of the intricate eye upon his forehead that was neither of his will or his family. It was of a curse, and one he was both proud and ashamed of. Nevertheless, Kiiryon tried to respect the civility of society, and brandished himself in suits and sleeved attire to keep as much attention away from him, his golden eyes, and his ruddish hair.

Jack Casey had won this little argument. “Come along.” was Kiiryon’s only response, and he dared not to stare any longer at that smug smile of victory on Casey’s face. Off they went, side by side. They had an appointment after all, and it was such meetings that were the cause and reason for Jack Casey’s existence in their territory, and the sole reason why he was playing baby-sitter to the man. Despite his disdain for the westerner, Kiiryon was to keep the man protected at all costs, even using his own life as a shield.

Down the busy sidewalks they went. Ignoring the tantalizing scents of meats soaked in seed oil, or the tickling waft of sweet pastries filled with mashed red beans--cautious of the heavy foot drivers that zipped by in their cars, or the stares of fear and possible disgust as they traversed on in the city. Yohtoko, was a bustling modern metropolis that was still stuck in a bubble of the past. The buildings though made of modern materials, still held the fond design of an era long gone-- red lanterns still swayed with pride, clutching to the rafters, and hither and thither. Shrines were protected by their stone statues or bamboo walls, and always welcomed guests with large red mouths. The fluttering sounds of people merged with nature and the tender wailing of violins, prancing flutes, and the occasional chirp of bells. Visitors often came with wonderment and romantic ideas of the city. After all, it was a historical town, and it was stubborn in keeping tradition alive. Yet it was not tourism where the city found its financial support. With great hesitation and silent acknowledgement, it was through efforts and donations from the esteemed Hisuino-o-kai that the city was still the bustling hub that it was.

It was also with thanks to the Hisuino-o-kai, that the city had opened foreign trade. However, it was with such gates opened that Jack Casey was not invited, but rather he stumbled into with a passion--a passion of running away. Kiiryon snorted with a faint and almost fond smile of how the foreigner essentially crashed into all of their lives--but clutched onto his. Not that he had a choice for the past five years.

Jack Casey was a gunrunner--a man whom knew what weapons were the best, successful, and most importantly, how to transport them. A man with that knowledge was deemed important to his brothers and boss. Such knowledge was important in staying a formidable foe to the foolish who dared to rise against them. A fool was simply that--but a gang of them had the potential to cause chaos, a chaos that the Hisuino-o-kai wanted no part of in their territory. So whilst the threat of uprise was present, the need for Casey remained--and the need for him to remain begrudgingly at the man's side would too remain steadfast.

“Hey-uh...Kii”

Here it comes, Kiiryon exhaled silently through his nose, his eyes sharp at the crosswalk for any stray vehicle or person. “When dis’-er…transaction, is ovah’. Let’s get sumthin’ good ta eat.” Perhaps, it was nerves; the man hesitant in being seen again by his own--as he called it--famiglia. But, Jack Casey always had an affinity for wanting a warm bowl of ramen to, chase the distaste away as he explained once before--and doubtlessly, accompanied with bottles of sake.

“With extra chashu and and bambuu I presume.” was Kiiryon’s response knowing full well that Casey had a proud grin of his own and a sudden pep in his step to the inadvertent agreement to his indulgence.

The city was vast, but there was a point in which technology seemed to fade away just a bit and give in to more traditional structures. Soon, the bustling vibe of ones city-dwelling life morphed into the old and weathered ways of fishing. The scents of food replaced with rust and the tinge of salt; an ocean breeze was always refreshing but always very potent. The soothing trickle of music spilling from cafes or shoppes became the cries of hungry and curious seagulls, and the humming of people talking or car motors warped into the tender groans of boats and waves purring before their crash against the piers. Beauty was everywhere--or so Kiiryon believed-- in their home, his home.

“Think ‘dere here?” interrupted Casey, breaking the romanticized thoughts Kiiryon had about their ocean harbor. A quick tug as his sleeve to gaze upon the face of his watch showed that they had been on time, despite their little hiccup prior. But as the foreigner had raised curiosities of--their guest had yet to arrive, or be seen. The dust was heavy in the air despite walls missing in the fisherman's warehouse. Warfs had many nooks and crannies, plenty of hiding places--but they had nothing to hide really, no shame to be held. This was their city, and they had their rules and properties that others were expected to respect. However, they did have to make this meeting a brief and secretive one. Unfortunately, the trade of weapons, and foreign ones were something the law would greatly involve themselves in--and a great treason in their deal was the fact they gave tradition away. It ate uneasily at Kiiryon, having to take the finely smith-ed and well crafted art of a forged blade as payment and trade for these set of highly sophisticated guns. Blades were a treasure, an art, a mistress to be loved and a daughter to grow and raise with--not a lady from the whore house or a concubine to be taken into a dismissed and forgotten harem. But--if this is what it took to keep his family safe, Kiiryon would swallow a part of his pride and look the other way. And pray to all the gods above and below that Jack Casey--did not--screw this up.

“We arrived a bit early, so we may breathe easy for now.”

Simpler said than done, and Casey seemed to reflect those same sentiments with a lopsided grin and raise of his brow tossed towards Kiiryon. He sighed through his nostrils and gave a weakened smile of his own, at his own foolishness for giving advice that they both knew was currently difficult.

“Oh! Mi dispiace-- I didn’ mean ta’ arrive late!” exclaimed a rather cheerful fellow. Casey whom gasped in surprise to the greeting, didn’t turn to greet their guest, but rather observed with a small frown that gave way into a sigh and a light smile. Kiiryon hardened his expression and again with habit, pinched at his eyes to narrow with great distrust and already an air of being--holier than thou--wafted from him. Kiiryon had gone mute. “Nah! Welcome-welcome, dis’ here is my companion, Kii. Don’t mind ‘im.” exclaimed Casey with a somewhat graceful turn, clap and flourish of his hands. Something that Kiiryon had noticed the other man had in common with his charge. Actions that seemed to have the strange man sighing at ease and expressing his own warm though nervous smile.

All westerners dressed so oddly. Their style was a taste that the people of Yohtoko seemed to admire and want to emulate. But this particular middle man, had an odd and eclectic style of his own. For one, his blond hair seemed unkempt and yet, it was tamed and pulled into a fortified pompadour of sorts. His eyes were a deep blue that the yawning rays of sunlight hit and caused an odd tinge of violet to appear--or perhaps it was due to his rather reflective and colourful sunglasses that slipped down his nose. The man--much like Casey, was rather clumsy, if not in his posture than in his manner of speech. Taller than his charge but seemingly younger, They must take men from their mothers. He surmised with a small grunt. “A good evening gentlemen,” the flippant man attempted his greeting once more with a clear of his throat. His hand clutching to a case whilst the other reached out to shake hands with Casey, whom obliged. “My name is Dedrick! A pleasure to meet you--” and Kiiryon, who did not and turned aside to glare at the setting sun, “--both.” Nervously, Casey chuckled as he clapped a hand on Dedrick’s shoulder, to which the man jumped with his own startled laugh and turned to guide him away with hushed whispers. He’s a bit of’a ded fish--if-ya-know-wat-I’mean. Kiiryon snorted with a click of his tongue at being called such a thing. And simply crossed his arms over his chest whilst following the men further inside the rather spacious warehouse.

“Th’names Casey--as much as my pahtna’ an’ I enjoy plesantries. I t’nk we should get dis show on da road.” “Right-o!” upon this cheerful response from Dedrick, Kiiryon grimmanced at the odd jargon of westerners. Perhaps it was wise to have Jack Casey, he surmised. However, it was time for business to begin, and as they approached a work bench, Dedrick swept his violet eyes over the men with a curious beckoning and sudden distrust. He wanted to see their shared effort in the bargain. The manner of their meeting already debriefed and spoken to them individually, called for no more delay or need for further discussion lest either party reveal more than necessary. The simple glance over his shoulder was all Kiiryon needed to see from Casey to know that he would reveal their end of the deal. Weight shifting, Kiiryon slipped the rope that embraced the swaddled object with a tender gentleness and with a sensual brush of fingers to the ribbon, unbound a sheathed sword. Deep and sultry tones of lacquered wood was embellished at the kojiri--the scabbards end--with a finely pressed gold. Red rope was tied and knotted with care, upon the hilt, fastened and secure between the woven braid was a jade ornament, carved with fine artistry a waning moon caressed by gentle winds. Indeed, a treasure known only to Yohtoko. A treasure that was being appraised by the strange man, Dedrick. A treasure that said man would take with him in exchange for a demo case that contained a gun. One that would soon be shared among his brothers as a first resort. But he would use it as his last. Casey however found the gun to be quite enticing and emitted a whistle of approval. Brows drawn up and eyes alight with great delight to the smithing of the gun. The barrel peeked faintly from the slide, and how the metal was dull but was bent and shaped with a sleekness that even Kiiryon had to admit was admirable. Wood with a stained and treated hue embellished the grip, and in the palm would sit an emblem casted from silver, the companies own logo.

Whilst Dedrick took careful hold of the sword, treating it as a fragile gift. Casey grasped the gun with an eagerness and well practiced hand, making sure the safety was on with a few tested clicks, ejecting the stock, making sure the barrel was empty, and pulled the hammer back to give the trigger a gentle teasing squeeze.

“It’s perfect!” announced Casey with a delightful shiver. “Treat her well.” demanded Kiiryon. “I-I shall.” hiccuped Dedrick with surprise that the fellow man had finally spoken and even acknowledged him. But Kiiryon was sure the man had suspicion that he acknowledged only the sword, a longing in his amber eyes.

“I must admit gentlemen,” spoke the guest as he wrapped the fabric around the sword and knotted it securely in place. The sun glistening off his reflective lenses that still hung low on the bridge of his nose, “I am rather surprised that there are two of you--and not simply, him.” he gestured of course to Casey. There was a choice--either let Jack Casey speak and widdle his way out, or step in and hope to the gods that this guest of their accept it simply as is and go. “I represent the Hisuino-o-kai. Jack Casey as you know--is more skilled in the manners of such craftsmanship, and we strive to not be dealt a short hand. That is all.” Kiiryon concluded with a tone that held little emotion or care to be disregarded. Another nervous laugh, and Dedrick cleared his throat with a cough that Casey winced at--he could sympathize. “What my pahtna’ is sayin’ is, dese’ streets ain’t safe.” Casey shrugged with a finish, placing the gun reassembled back into its padded case and locking it up. “In fact, da suns almost set. Best you get along ta your hot’l an’ enjoy da city before your return.” A charming smile and a clap to Kiiryon’s shoulder and Casey gave a tip of his hat turning with a strut towards the exit, case in hand, “Nice doin’ business wit’ ya. Welcome ta Yohtoko.” Flushed as the man was for not knowing the cities personality at night, Dedrick gave a faint smile and ‘he-he’ of his own before fastening the secured sword to his back.

“Keep in contact.” Kiiryon commanded before bowing respectfully to their guest whom, in turn smiled rather shyly and offered his own befuddled bow.

“Nice doin’ business wit’ ya too! A presto! ”

The nights were always so cool. The lower temperatures a welcoming touch to his heated flesh due to the layers of his attire. Mechanically, he and Casey walked in silence. There was nothing to be shared between the two and what joyous things the man wanted to say, he wasn’t allowed to. They could not talk business on the streets--a golden rule when concerning such illicit trade. But there were other things, things they could discuss with little care or bother, one topic of Casey’s being his guardian.

“So Kiimurai--” a terrible nickname Casey had bestowed onto him, meant solely for him, “when are we going to go to the shrines again?”

“I didn’t know you had an affinity for religion.” Kiiryon quipped with a smirk. “Ah--c’mon! You know why ah’m askin’!”

“Yes--so you can stuff yourself with grilled dango and takoyaki. The city street-vendors have them too you know.”

“But dey aren’t as good!”whinned Casey with a slouch and tilt of his head back.

“Hey Kii--” his tone going soft. “--da wind feels especially cold against our backs, doesn’ it?” Kiiryon abruptly stopped. His charge held an expectant expression, a hesitant grin. Casey was watching, and waiting--waiting for that tattoo of a sleeping eye on Kiiryon’s forehead to wink sleepily open. The ink on his flesh warped, and the restful eye now was at half mast, and how the air seemed to change and indeed grow colder against their backs. An odd sensation prickling against their skin, and one that Jack Casey spoke fondly of once, saying, ‘it was like the arrival of an old friend.’

They were followed-- the shared phrase between them a code to being targeted, and Casey had noticed it first. Nevertheless, they would make it through. And with a smug smile of his own, sun-kissed eyes met with coffee. The amethyst that hung so innocently upon his wrist, tethered by a coil of metal and rope, shattered against Kiiryons palm, and grew into the length of his own finely honed and dearest blade. There was a reason to Jack Casey’s terrible nickname after all.

With sudden ferocity they were struck from sides, ambushed in the junction between harbor and city--just the outskirts. Where they wouldn’t be missed if dead, or helped if attacked as they had been. Casey jumped just out of harms way with a tuck and roll before bracing himself to the wall of an abandoned florist shoppe. His hands now gloved with fine black leather, and goggles slipped over his eyes as he was sure to be safe from any gunfire, reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small ebon marble. Tossed in the direction of the initial ambush and gunfire, Casey’s seemingly harmless marble expanded with a beckoning whistle from his lips, and grew to an intricate node of metal and technology, radiating red and scanning the vicinity; a scribbled ‘Procione I’ of silver on it. Swiftly, he brandished an odd gun that looked more like a hand-cannon, versus a simple pistol.

Kiiryon had taken residence to a wall to cover, waiting for the erratic gunfire to cease. A glare thrown Casey’s way and the western man knew all to well his role in this. Lips pulled in to moisten and a shove from the wall in silent countdown and Kiiryon watched as his companion charged out with a rolling dive to another alley-way and along mid roll fire his gun. He clutched his eyes shut as a sudden burst of pure white and glittering light, covered the area. Casey whose sight was protected by his goggles shouted out coordinates to Kiiryon who squinted at the ready. Out he burst from cover and advanced towards the first immobilized man shielding his now burned eyes with his arm. With a graceful roll of his wrist and lean of the shoulder to counter the weight, Kiiryon pierced through the man and with agile ease turned his blade up to slice up, thus ending his foe’s life. In the midst of battle, Casey had changed his blinding rounds to piercing shots. Clip loaded and ready, Kiiryon was confident in his charges ability to aim and not miss and hit him. Down their foolish attackers went till their screams and flailing died down. Backs pressed to one another, Casey still clutching to the case and hand steadfast with his gun that took practiced strength to keep so firm. Kiiryon breathing harshly through his nostrils with blade harmlessly poised to his side, though his muscles screamed at the ready to react. And react they did. Quickly with a shove, Kiiryon forced Casey into an enclave.

Bang!

“Kiiryon!” cried Casey in his stumble and scramble to get himself back up. Panic seeping through him and clutching to the erratic beating of his heart. Knelt on one knee panting and blade submerged into the nape of a mans neck, Kiiryon flinched with his left arm hanging limp to his side. His ruddish hair kept in a pristine braid was now disheveled with locks poking out. But their now dead assailant missed their mark and hit him instead. The worried look on Casey’s face as he approached warping in to a hesitant smile before once more he cried out--and oh, how his voice seemed to loose its charm an in place a muffled howl. Yes, Kiiryon felt he was drowning--a sudden exhaustion overcoming him, and how he wondered why that man’s terrible voice echoed in his mind as it all faded to black.

🌜🌚🌛

Indeed the nights were so cool in Yohtoko, how the cool air already caressed his cold flesh and how he shuddered, but delighted in the crisp sensation. In the darkness, he swore he saw a glimmering orb--was it a firefly? Perhaps a spirit. Kiiryon recalled as a child in the mist covered mountains, the stories of mischievous spirits tempting children to play with them, beckoning them off the footpath and to the mountains edge where they fell and were spirited away to a place, never return to their grieving family.

A heaviness consumed him--was it disappointment? After all, he had been one of those foolish children, he had strayed from the beaten path--following with giggles and laughter a taunting orb of light and fell. The fear that consumed him and dread of not knowing what to expect tickled his stomach with the wonderment of a brief flying, floating, sensation. But he lived...by luck, Kiiryon had fallen into a hedge of trees and the eventual tent of his now ‘father’ figure and boss--his new family.

What horror and luck to endure as a child. echoed the voice of his ‘father’, the image of his boss patting his cheek as a child enough to rouse consciousness into him. He felt that same heaviness now, with a groan, he attempted to sit up with arms quivering beneath him. His deep blood red hair trickled down his shoulder, loose and free, to which he promptly noticed a bandage pressed with tentative care to his wound. Sleeping yukata wound gently to his body, he pulled the fabric down exposing the image of proud and fluttering crows with a tengu of sorts playing his flute. Petals and wind wrapping around his body in a sensual embrace as if Kiiryon had the very tender winds of Yohtoko watching over him.

“Glad ta see you awake.” Casey spoke with a tenderness in his voice, hushed almost and whilst he wore a kind smile, there was a small bit of pain in his dark eyes. Knocking back the cup of sake he had tenderly craddled, Jack Casey reached for the clay bottle and poured not only himself another, but one for Kiiryon as well. He observed his charge, how comfortable he sat on the tatami mat, hat removed and settled aside, how despite the chilly evening winds, he wore his yukata down; tied to his waist with his obi to keep the fabric up and supported with knots. His tattoo that he demanded with great fervor to be a beast, a wolf and a peculiar one, but one that Kiiyon supposed was really him. And he recalled with suddenness, that the western man had often a hotter bodily temperature, one he had selfishly sought comfort from in the winter days and even more so, the winter nights. Suddenly, he was quite parched.

“Boss was pleased wit da gun. Says dat we’ll be busy da next few weeks, so, ya betta’ hurry an’ recovah’.” added Casey coolly before offering the drink. Looking down into his ceramic cup, Kiiryon nodded a bit distantly--perhaps a bit too slowly for his companion but, he was after all still induced with medicine for pain. The tender glow of lanterns mixed with the silver of the moon that was exposed by the shoji door let open. After all, Casey remembered his fondness for nature and the cool, crisp, air.

“He uh--he sends his regards too. “ Casey continued on nervously. “And--uh..I--thanks Kii.”

“There is no thanks to give Jack Casey--it is my job.”

“Yeah--yeah. I know, but I don’ ‘tink it fair ta not give my thanks--” the man paused with a warm hand to pluck the drink, untouched from Kiiryon. That same warm and rough hand caressed his sleeping amethyst against his wrist and grasped his hand to squeeze. The other reaching to push silken locks of red behind his ear and caress his cheek, to which Kiiryon felt his own cheeks fever and lean into the warm and open palm. Hesitantly, his eyes rose to search and find that of Casey’s which again held a sad but tender emotion--how deep and dark, and endless they were. Much like the sensation of that free fall that changed his life. Perhaps it was that abyss that he found himself a fondness for or perhaps it was the spirit of the mans existence that seemed otherworldly. “--or share my opinion of not wantin’ ya ta leave me behind. “ “I know.” Kiiryon replied with a hushed response of his own before inhaling slowly and curling his fingers within that warm hand.

A broken chuckle laced with shyness and those warm fingers traced the apple of his cheeks, an action that admittedly, Kiiryon was fond of. “Good, ‘deres only one pahtna’ I need here. --”

“You.” interrupted Kiiryon with a cocky smile of his own. Casey was at a loss of words, and it always tickled Kiiryon, how his forward nature at times, seemed to stump the western man, that spoke his mind too often than needed. “Wha-Well, ah’mean ya but, you too Kii.” stuttered Casey, a subtle scoot closer to his companion with a flush to grow on his cheeks. A rosy tinge that Kiiryon found himself smiling at and brushing fingers along in a mimicry of his charge. His touch unlike Casey’s however, was cold. Though it was a touch that the foreign man seemed to rather enjoy. The release of his own cheek to have his cool palm further pressed against Casey’s and supported by the man he had been assigned to protect--a man whom his boss told to venture the world with a new perspective, and to break his cold tendencies. However, it was this new world that they kept to themselves; it was a silent agreement. A shared world of their own, for only the two of them to venture and experience together. Again, Kiiryon found himself wondering what possessed his brothers, and also, what had possessed him over time. However, none of that had mattered-- he and Casey had lived on another day. And he felt it was time, that he collected his reward for having done his sworn duty. So, with a soft snort of his own, Kiiryon beckoned the man closer into his embrace, one that Casey was mindful of in a fragile encircling of arms and support to his broad chest. An embrace that had Kiiryon bowing his head to hush any protest that the man may give to his injuries with a tender press of their lips. Of course, his charge smiled against the kiss as he did, and as always, there was a hushed promise of vengeance to making the other so flustered.

The End.

#Jack Casey #Kiiryon #newjerseydetective #yakuza au #they get ramen #in the morning #ffxiv feels #Cakii #gross mens #for del

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notsofly · 5 years

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Ties in Blood Chapter 26

@mrswhozeewhatsis @impala-dreamer @idreamofplaid @winchestergirl-13 @percussiongirl2017 @squirrelnotsam

Chapter 26

“There’s something here feeding on the patients,” Aaliyah said once she heard the door click close.

“Like what?” Leo asked. “It’s not like there’s actual creature monsters roaming the halls here.”

“There’s more than just wendigos, werewolves, and ghosts in the dark corners of the world,” Aaliyah said. “Djinn is my first choice, but there might be a witch that might be putting hex bags around.”

“We’ve never dealt with Djinn before,” Nissa brought up.

“They’re hermits and tend to stay around ruins.”

“So, why would one be here?” Xander questioned.

Aaliyah shrugged. “Who knows? It’s why I’m thinking it’s a witch instead of a djinn.” She didn’t want to voice her concern that with the number of victims the source wasn’t a witch. “Leo, think you can actually flirt with some of the staff? Or should I …”

“I’ll do my best.”

“I’ll stay here,” Nissa offered. “Not that Xander can’t handle himself.”

“Love the confidence, Nissa,” Xander shot at her, no real anger in his voice.

“Okay, you two,” Aaliyah cut in, a tease of a smile at her mouth. “Love the bonding we’re having here, but we need to focus here. Leo, focus on with the staff and anything out of the norm they may have noticed. Nissa, same but stick nearby Xander. Xander …”

“I can try and play bait,” he offered with a nervous chuckle.

Aaliyah smiled as she moved to his bed, giving him a kiss on a cheek. “You start thinking of what you want for dinner. After this case, we’ll try and get it.”

“Mac and cheese. But not the cheap stuff with the powder stuff; the real gooey Velveeta type cheese.”

Aaliyah nodded and headed for the door while Xander started listing more things for dinner. Once out of the room, she leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes. Part of her didn’t want to acknowledge the thing they were hunting was a Djinn. The hunter part of her mind urged to question those who had access to the residents that had passed away and currently in a coma. Another wanted to move Xander to another facility in the hope of keeping him safe and not worry about what was going on in the facility. After all that she had been through, Aaliyah just couldn’t do that. Something had to be done. Rolling her shoulders to push off from the wall, she started down the hall and spotted a passing nurse.

“Excuse me,” she called out, startling the nurse. “Sorry. I was hoping you’d be able to answer some questions about those in comas.”

“I’m not supposed to. Whole doctor, patient…”

“People are dead and dying, and you’re worried about that?” Aaliyah fought to keep her voice low. She understood as a former nurse where the nurse before her was coming from. But as a hunter, Aaliyah hated red tape and those who prevented her from saving people and hunting things. “Were there any … signs before they slipped into the coma that you noticed? Any new additions to the staff?”

The nurse shifted her weight in a way that Aaliyah assumed that they were debating on if it would be worth breaking the doctor/patient confidentiality.

“There’s a new nurse,” the nurse told Aaliyah. “She’s got these tattoos on her arms that seem like they’re … I don’t know. Like they could be from the Middle East or some tribal knock off. She usually keeps them covered up with long sleeves, but I’ve seen glimpse of them. As for those in comas … Many of us had contact one way or another with them. But she’s been the main one to contact them.”

“Uh huh.” Sounded something like what a Djinn would do. “Is it possible for me to see one of the coma patients? Call it figuring out a hunch.”

The nurse glanced around before gesturing for Aaliyah to follow.

Aaliyah hadn’t fully noticed the music being piped through the PA system until then. It was one of those things one noticed when entering a new space. Her mind had filed it away within a few minutes of entering the lobby of the building. The nurse turned into a room with the light on low. Aaliyah never understood how having the low light helped any; even when she was at the hospital doing her last bit for her degree.

“This is Jason,” the nurse told her. “Came in due to no one in the family able to care for him. Yet they manage to be able to afford payments.”

“Don’t wanna put the time and effort,” Aaliyah said. “Just wanna be lazy and have other people do the work.”

“Something like that.”

She walked in and over to the IV stand and tilted her head at the way the lines were tied up. Almost as if … Aaliyah heard the soft click of the door closing behind her and turned around. The nurse pulled her hand from the knob and kept her gaze on it.

“I had expected to see a hunter or two to pass through here,” she said. “But not the barely known Aaliyah Fisher.” She turned her gaze to Aaliyah. “How does it feel; knowing that your only claim to fame is your ties to the Winchesters?”

“Oh, I’ve had a few victories of my own,” Aaliyah replied. “Don’t sell me short because of them.” Her mind wanted to race in panic mode. She had been lucky in her first Djinn encounter. This one may finally be the end.

“Are you sure about that?” the Djinn countered. “No silver knife coated in lamb’s blood. And I doubt you know any angels or demons.”

Aaliyah scanned the room in the hope of finding some sort of weapon.

“You’re out of luck this time,” the Djinn commented, closing the gap between them. “So, be a good dead hunter and just sit still for a minute. This won’t hurt.”

Aaliyah backed up and knocked over a small flower vase on the nightstand. Her hand fumbled for a few seconds before her fingers grabbed hold. She spun it on her palm, using the neck piece as a handle.

The Djinn sighed. “You are a waste.” She reached out and grabbed hold of Aaliyah’s neck.

Aaliyah pulled away from the Djinn, raising the vase in an attempt to fight it off.

The Djinn deflected the half hearted attack, the remains of the vase breaking somewhere on the floor.

Aaliyah fought against the poison that seeped through her skin, her head nodding in her efforts to remain alert. With each blink, her eyes took longer to open. So, this was how she went out. Against a Djinn that didn’t even break a sweat. Some hunter she was, Aaliyah told herself when her eyes closed. Couldn’t even take out a simple Djinn alone.

It had been Aaliyah’s last thought before the poison took complete control.

Aaliyah pulled up alongside the side of the long drive and put the car in park. She sat there and stared at the country styled house with its white siding and porch that spanned six feet from the building and wrapped around the front and side of the house. A small smile pulled at her mouth when the front door opened and the small pack of dogs charged outside. There were perks about having the family home out in the country. Having the large house with an acre or two of land were two. Having room to have seven or so dogs was another. Aaliyah climbed out of the car as the dogs approached.

She laughed as the barking stopped and the pack worked to greet her. Working her way through the pack, greeting each dog by its name or with a good scratch, Aaliyah managed to free herself from the car. Most of the pack darted off to do whatever while one stayed closed to Aaliyah as she grabbed her suitcase from the trunk. She saw a woman standing at the door as she came up to the house.

“Thought I told you to call me when you got in,” the woman said, a smile on her face.

“Figured I’d surprise you,” Aaliyah said, trying to recall a name for the woman who could easily pass as her mother.

“Come on in, your siblings are in the kitchen,” the woman said.

Aaliyah put her suitcase to the side of the entryway before moving for the kitchen. There was a shriek of a noise before she was plowed into by someone. Aaliyah made an oof of a noise when some air got knocked out of her lungs.

“Li-Li,” the person, a sprite of a five year old, cried. “I missed you,” they signed.

Aaliyah managed to free herself from the five year old and knelt down to their level. She smiled as she looked over the boy. “And I missed you, Tiny Terror,” she signed back.

“I’m not a terror,” he protested in play. “I’m Ripley.”

“Right. Little Ripley, the Tiny Terror.” Aaliyah chuckled before going in and tickling him.

Ripley squirmed and fought against Aaliyah’s onslaught of tickles while laughing.

“Alright, you two,” the woman spoke up, walking into the kitchen. “Aaliyah, want something to drink?”

“A beer if you have any?” Aaliyah straightened Ripley’s shirt before standing.

Ripley darted from the dining area part of the kitchen just as the woman turned and put her hands on the counter top.

Aaliyah glanced around and found her three siblings sitting at the table with similar expressions. “Did I say something wrong?”

“Dad died in a car crash,” Xander spoke up in a soft tone, almost as if he didn’t want to talk about it. “He was three times over the legal limit. Seriously fucked up the other car and the occupants were in the hospital for months.”

Sure, Casey was a terrible father for what he did, but Aaliyah couldn’t recall him ever being a drunk. “Are they okay? I mean, I musta missed that when I was outta town.”

“Physically, they’re fine,” Nissa chimed in. “Mentally, I’m sure they’re still messed up.”

“Enough,” the woman commanded. “It’s something we all have to deal with. Aaliyah, why don’t you and Nissa head out and check on the horses.”

Horses? When did they have them?

Aaliyah followed her sister out the back door and stared out the back with her mouth open. She had thought the front of the house and yard had been amazing in its upkeep, the back was even more so. Aaliyah had seen shows where the backyards of high end houses were well sculpted with a pool, which was set off to a side with a rock formation and a working waterfall and spanned a good twenty feet in length. A playscape structure stood further back and away from the pool; something for Ripley to play on Aaliyah guess.

“So, how’s the show coming along?” Nissa’s voice broke into Aaliyah’s mind.

“Oh … um … good. We’ve gone on break for a couple weeks due to spring break before we wrap up for the season.” Aaliyah kept up with Nissa. “Refresh my memory; horses?” She could smell hay and the lingering one of manure some ten feet away from the barn.

“Yeah, Mom was big on horses growing up. She was wanting some long before you started on that show.” Nissa came up to the barn door and opened it. “You’ve helped in the up keep of them.”

Aaliyah followed Nissa into the barn and heard the neigh of a horse and the noise of another. She allowed her eyes to adjust before walking down the aisle and stopped at a stall.

“You never forget yours,” Nissa commented.

Aaliyah held out a hand as the horse walked over to her, as if curious on who the new person was. “I don’t know why, I’ve always wanted one. Maybe mom…”

“Prisilla,” Nissa said. “Or Pris. You’ve never been comfortable calling her mom.”

Aaliyah nodded. “Why did she want all this? Not like she and I got along well.”

“Oh, you do. When dad first brought you and Xander in after your mom died of cancer, we all weren’t sure of each other.”

Aaliyah stroked the horse’s muzzle and listened. “We eventually grew close.”

“Took you standing up to a bully in junior high.” Nissa half chuckled at the memory. “Told ‘em that if they messed with Leo again, you’d kick their asses.”

“Yeah, sounds like me.”

Aaliyah remembered how she stood up to one of the cheerleaders in high school when they were picking on the new kid. It was when she talked with the new kid that Aaliyah learned they were hard of hearing. Some signs still stuck with her; most faded away from unused. “And Ripley?”

“You really musta put yourself into work,” Nissa commented. “Mom and dad adopted him shortly after he was born. It was a few months before we learned he was hard of hearing.”

The horse nudged Aaliyah, pushing her off balance. Aaliyah recovered and shot her horse a look and saw it moving its lips into a smile.

“And that’s why you named him Jester,” Nissa said with a smile. “Come on, let’s see if the others are up for a ride.”

#supernatural spn fanfic Djinn caused family drama

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