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invincible-selfxmade-punk · 3 years

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Of course I’d have a dream like this before returning to work

So first I dreamed I was in school: sometimes it was high school, sometimes it was college, sometimes I was teaching schoool and the kids were all middle grade or younger, sometimes I was attending school myself with peopl who looked vaguely like people I knew then.

Chris was there and I would try to talk to him and he’d be short with me. In the dream we are coming to the last day of seniour year and I am panicking because I know I’ll never see him again.

So then IN this dream I am having a daydream. I am daydreaming that on the last day of school he gives me a drawing to remember him by. And in the daydream I’m thinking ‘Should I hug him or shake his hand? Or maybe I should act like I’m shaking his hand and kiss it instead (Oh god, no you shouldn’t, but in the daydream in the dream he had X’s on his hands). Finally in the dream I realize this is never going to happen and if I want a drawing I should start making one for myself (that’s deep). I leave school and as with many dreams I think “omg how am I getting home?” I reach down and feel car keys hanging on my beltloop and I remember I have a car and the dream changes. I never see Chris again, never tell him goodbye, but 99% of my dreams of him are like that: seeing him coming through a door, across a crowded room, down a hall and never actually finding him again.

Now I am stilll teaching but being forced to go back to working the nut stand at the mall (the second dream like this in as many weeks). The stand has gone to hell. It has no electricity, it’s in a part of the mall with no overhead lighting. There is a register that isn’t hooked up, we are writing the sales on notebook paper, most of the product is sold out and what we have are in open bags b/c we have no tape or ribbons. I am appalled and I am doing my best to sell stuff. I keep trying to call our owner Scott (who was a hardcore right wing Republican) which may be why I’ve been dreaming of him.), but I can’t get him on the phone. All kinds of other things are going on, including me telling people that LeAnn (disappeared under mysterious circumstances, rather than saying she killed herself). Suddenly these workers from another store chse out a bunch of kids for shoplifting and I recognize one of my ex students. I run over to tell my ex Dept Head (who has a stand at the end of the hall for some reason). I come back and my stand is surrounded by janitors and my owner is yelling at me through the janitors walkie talkies, telling me I needed to make the stand more “kid friendly”. This is better than the last dream where I popped off something sarcrastic to me and he tackled me to the floor and started hitting me!

So yeah, good times last night, all work.

#dreams #mall #Chris #teaching #students #LeAnn

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andrewsfic · 5 years

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Sarvos City

An alternative universe version of Enzo and the Empire setting. This one is quite straight up “Empire but modern day” with a lot of the magical stuff removed. One of the things I had to fight with this was the urge to get really spesific about the weapons and kit that gets involved. I have specific makes and models for a lot of this stuff, but had to realise that while specifying it would work for me, it’s a reference the average reader wouldn’t understand.

(CW: Violence, Drug references)

0730hrs.

A buzzing alarm fills the room. Wake-up time. I rolled over, disturbing the cat, and pulled myself out of bed. Glancing in the mirror as I did so.

Enzo Saverio, bouncer for the house of sweetness “private member's club”, glanced back at me. His, my, chest chest bearing it's usual scars, the ring on its chain hanging round my neck.

I pulled my gaze away before I ended up brooding on my facial scars again, and got dressed.

Red shirt, Black trousers with a covert gunbelt laced through the beltloops (complete with hidden handcuff key) brown leather shoulder holster looped over the shoulders. Black ankle boots with the backup knife clipped in the top.

I reached for the bedside table, collected the semi-automatic pistol from its resting place next to the water glass, checked it's chamber, and then slipped it into the holster. It’s pair of spare magazines, and the combat knife that sat behind thier pouches under my right arm, followed.

I pulled the sap, 9oz of lead shot wrapped in leather, from yesterday's trousers, and slipped it into my back pocket.

Finally, the tough black leather jacket went on, wallet, keys and burner phone already in its pockets.

The mirror confirmed that everything was out of sight that needed to be.

Time to go to hunting.

The club was just off Astolat boulevard, one of the main, entirely pedestrianised, streets of the city. As an island city, anything, or anyone, you couldn't move on foot, got transported by boat, on the network of canals that rove through the city.

I grabbed a coffee from one of the cafés on the boulevard, and headed towards my first stop.

Further down the boulevard, stands Stellare. Another club much like the house of sweetness, with a similar reputation, albeit often catering to a different clientele.

Natalia met me by the side door. At over a head shorter than me, she still cut an imposing character. Dressed in black from head to toe with black hair, this morning tied back in a business like pony tail, the only splash of colour, other than her skin, was her blood red lipstick.

The handle of a switchblade poked out of one pocket, and I knew for certain that she would have a number of other blades secreated about her person.

Her eyes swept me as I walked over. You got the distinct impression she was sizing you up for a coffin. Although the slight smile this morning suggested this was more a matter of habit than intent.

I smiled briefly as I greeted her. She might be a terrifying enemy, but there weren't many people I'd rather have at my back in a fight.

“Morning”

“Morning Enzo”

“Your message said you had something for me?”

“Yes. Couple of people out in the docks. Work out of an address near forecastle Street” she handed me a piece of paper with the address “happy hunting”

“You not joining me?”

“Not today” she replied, face darkening “I'm pretty sure someone's been watching the club last couple of nights”

“Oh?”

“Yes. Keep an eye out for a lady in bike leathers. Big knife on her hip. Probably packing heat too”

“Trouble?”

“That's what I intend to find out”

She turned for the door, and I began walking down to the docks.

The docks where rather less clean and pretty than the main streets of the city.

Lots of industrial concrete and steel warehouses, grimy old brick built offices and the kind of bars you could guarantee would host at least one fight before the night was out. Forecastle Street ran parallel to the waterfront, between the first row of warehouses, mostly marked as being for electrical goods and mechanical parts, and grubby offices, mostly bearing the legend “import - export” under Their meaningless names. Most looked empty and abandoned, some were boarded up. Several still had bullet holes peppering Thier facade, from when the enemy had made landing and met Their first resistance to the occupation.

The address on the bit of paper proved to be just such an office. Bars covered it's windows, and a heavy steel door stood at its entrance, although the peeling layers of paint suggested that this was nothing new. The equally peeling sign next to the door proclaimed it to be ‘Rossi inc, importers of bulk’

I approached the door and knocked on it with my left hand, leaving my right hand free to draw if I was met with a hail of gunfire. A small port opened in the door. Eyes peered out.

“Who’re you?”

“That doesn't matter. A friend tells me you can help me”

“How?”

“I'm told you can get me certain products which are hard to come by through regular channels”

“Eh?”

“You can get me things you don't get sold in the shops”

“Oh”

The door creaked open. A tall, thin man in a grubby shirt and jeans faced me. One hand behind his back. I stepped into the hallway. More peeling paint and dust told me that these offices weren't really in use anymore. And hadn't been for quite a while. It smelled of slowly decaying paper.

The man moved his hand back Infront of him, motioned me to follow him, and turned around to head down the corridor, deeper into the offices. From behind you could see the large handgun tucked into his waistband. He hadn't even searched me.

Clearly it was either amateur hour, or a carefully constructed trap. I looked around. No spots for his backup to ambush me from. No sign of any cameras, spyholes or other people. And the door at the end of the corridor was propped slightly open.

I was betting on amateur hour then.

I lunged forwards, grabbing for his pistol and aiming a vicious kick to the back of his right knee. It worked exactly as planned. His knee dropped from under him, and I didn't so much have to pull the gun from his trousers as hold it in place while he slid off it. I immediately followed up using the butt of the pistol to catch him around the back of the head.

I'd hoped this would knock him out cold, but luck wasn't that much on my side. But he grunted, and his attempts to stagger back to his feet became less coordinated, so it clearly had some effect.

So I wrapped my right arm around his throat, putting the pistol, fingers well clear of the trigger, on my left shoulder, wrapped my left arm round the back of his neck, and squeezed.

It didn't take long before his struggles stopped and he went limp.

I laid him down on the ground, kicked him solidly in the groin to make sure he wasn't faking, and then quickly checked him. Still breathing, good.

His pistol went in the back of my trousers, and I drew my own from its holster, slipped the sap into my left hand, and proceeded towards the doorway. A swift boot had it rapidly and suddenly swinging open, and I followed it in.

Jackpot.

The adjoining room had clearly been some kind of packaging space in a previous life. Big steel work surfaces stretched along the right wall, while on the right shelving units carried faded old boxes.

On the big steel work surface was a black holdall containing several packages heavily wrapped in brown tape, an enormous box spilling small ziplock baggies, a couple of sets of scales, a chrome finished pump action shotgun, and a lot of the baggies, now filled with the same blue crystals that sat in one of the packages, cut open to access it's contents.

Unfortunately, the lady stood at the workbench was reaching for that shotgun.

Rather than shooting her, I drove my legs forwards, adding to my momentum, and aimed my shoulder to collide with her face.

Against someone like me or Natalia, it might not have worked. In a situation like that I'd have known I didn't have time to bring the shotgun to bare, and instead simply driven the entire steel lump into my attackers face.

Luckily, she was not that person. I impacted her bodily, pinning the shotgun between the two of us, and as I did so, brought the sap down on her shoulder.

There was a nasty crunch, and the shotgun dropped as she half fell, half slid back.

The fact she was still standing was a surprise. Usually that trick leads to my opponent landing on Thier back as they stagger backwards.

Then she raised her hand to her nose and snorted. A fine dusting of Blue crystals was left on her hand.

Shit. She wasn't just selling the stuff, she was using.

She threw her head back, howled like a wolf, and launched herself at me, catching me with a punch to the head that made me feel like I could hear bells ringing, and another that I was fairly certain had cracked a couple of ribs. I drove my pistol butt into her nose, and brought the sap down on her right shoulder again. Even so, her fingers raked at my eyes, leaving deep scratches in my cheek, and before I could use it again, her left hand was clamped around my right with a grip like a vice.

I pulled back slightly. And drove my foot into her knee. The gret thing about that is it almost always drops someone, because it doesn't rely on pain, just on the physical removal of Thier stability. She dropped to her knees, and buried her teeth into my thigh.

If you've never had someone juiced up on bite bury Thier teeth into your thigh, allow me to explain the experience. It hurts like nothing else. I saw a blinding flash of light, as my pain receptors overloaded and dumped Thier excess information into the visual processing part of my brain.

Part of me was tempted to shoot her. Instead, I fought through the pain enough to swing the sap into her temple. She immediately fell unconscious. No amount of pharmaceutical assistance keeps you awake after that.

Unfortunately, it also caused her head to snap to the side, tearing at the flesh she was biting down on. Even more pain signals cascaded into my brain, at which point, it decided something was clearly wrong with it, and it needed to reboot. The world went black.

I came to a few seconds later, I think. My leg still hurt, but now there was no one actively chowing down on it, it was a manageable pain. And surprising little blood.

The lady was still out, slumped against my legs, I rapidly tore off a few strips of her trousers and used them to bind her wrists and ankles. I then limped out to the man in the corridor, and used his shirt to do the same. He was just starting to stir as I finished.

I then returned to the workroom, dumped the brown taped parcels out of Thier bag, and replaced them with the shotgun, the pistol from the man in the hallway, and a small revolver I found taped under the workbench.

And walked out the door.

As I did so, I pulled my phone from my pocket. Dialed in a number, and after a couple of rings on the other end, began speaking.

“Hello, yes, police please”

“What is your emergency?”

“I have two drug dealers unconscious in a building off forecastle street”

“What address?”

I gave them the address, reading it from my piece of paper as I walked towards the waterfront

“Ok sir. I need you to remain calm, and stay on the line…”

At that point, I hung up, pulled the battery out the phone, and as I reached the dock wall itself, just down from a large cargo ship proclaiming itself the “freeborn storm”, I tossed both the battery, and the phone, into the depths. They sank quickly.

Then I turned, and limped for home.

I slipped back into the club by the back entrance, walked upstairs, stashed the guns in my big lockbox at the foot of my bed, cleaned my leg, which had a deep set of teeth marks, bandaged it over an application of ointment I had acquired from a cousin in the medical business, applied the same ointment to the scratches on my face, and put on a clean pair of trousers.

I checked my watch

1007

Breakfast time.

I headed down to the kitchen, grabbed a coffee, and prepared to greet my coworkers for the morning.

“Busy night Enzo?”

That was Ness, the boss.

“Pretty quiet really”

#Fic #Fiction #AUEnzo #AUEmpire

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