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dirtwatchman · 6 months

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TIMING: Around September 8th or 9th LOCATION: Amity Road PARTIES: @dirtwatchman and @lithium-argon-wo-l-f SUMMARY: Caleb is being a creep on Amity Road and staring at the passersby, Gael sees him and gets curious. A conversation is had but neither of them get anywhere before Caleb spots someone from his past and scurries off. CONTENT WARNINGS: Slight mentions of abuse

Eye contact. He needed that so that he didn’t look so fidgety as he stood there assessing the people walking by. It probably didn’t help him look any less suspicious though. A grown man standing in the middle of the sidewalk in the downtown area with no clear destination in mind as he watched people very closely looked pretty conspicuous but for some reason Caleb couldn’t bring himself to sit down on the bench that sat two feet away from him. The nervous energy coursing through him might have been a clue. It would have caused him to shake like a leaf in another life but luckily his stance stood strong even while his hands were balled into fists inside of his jacket pockets. It was his eyes, those were the problem as they continued to dart every which way in search of…well, that he wasn’t quite sure of.

The zombie had come to Amity Road because it was full of tourists and sketchy people alike. He’d wanted so badly to get over himself and choose someone to help restock his supplies but he seemed to make an excuse for every single person he set his sights on so there he stood, awkward and looking sketchy himself. How people weren’t crossing the street to get away from Caleb was a question in itself but he was too busy staring at a lone man walking across the street to care. Was this the right target? Was this person someone that nobody would miss? Was he someone that would leave the world a better place if wiped off of it completely?

Alone with an air of superiority, yes, but he had a wedding ring on his left ring finger which instantly made Caleb shake his head and move on to another target. He would be missed. It wouldn’t be fair if he had a family. More excuses to add to the list. The zombie sighed as he began his search again, his eyes flitting over every single person but it was half hearted at best. His nerve was dwindling by the second and he feared that today, just like the previous two days he’d tried to do this, he would come up empty handed.

Amity Road felt a little young for him sometimes, but Gael was a go-getter and once he ignored the existential dread of Regan leaving, whatever weird things would happen on the upcoming full moons with the medical examiner and Alex (and the underlying responsibility he naturally had for her even though what the hell was he going to do if she was a werewolf??) and the tinnitus that affronted his ear on occasion as the lasting remnant of Siobhan’s visit, he was doing great. He needed to get back to what he was doing before, when he would just… go out for walks. Go exploring, meet new people. Take in the sights, the sounds, the smells, learn to filter those from each other and not to get overwhelmed, which strangely he never did (which he still attributed to his previous lifestyle). That’s what he was doing at the moment. That was to say, taking in the sights, sounds and smells, not whatever he did in his previous lifestyle. He walked down Amity Road, popping into the Siren’s Song briefly to say hello to Fluffy Joe as well as another few buildings that he’d been to once or twice. Gael wasn’t sure how far down the line he got when his dark, sunken brown eyes fell upon the visage of a man standing in the middle of the sidewalk, hands in his pockets and… very still. The professor’s eyebrows raised slightly with curiosity and he carefully approached the man, placing one of his hands in his pocket while the other rested on his messenger bag lightly and he stood next to the stranger for a moment. “So… what are we looking at?” He asked casually, glancing sideways at the taller man.

His head turned towards the voice and the man it belonged to, Caleb’s defenses immediately going up even if he was completely caught off guard. Who did that? Who just stood next to somebody and interrupted their search for a kill? He didn’t look like he was accusing Caleb of anything, he looked normal, but the zombie knew better than anyone that normal was a different thing entirely around this place. “Uh...” What did he say here? What was he looking at? What was he doing? Well, he was panicking obviously but what was a good excuse for a weird man to stand in the middle of a busy street staring at people? “People...watching. I'm people watching.“ That sounded plausible, right? Man, he wasn't subtle was he? The good news was his nerves could be considered a reaction to another equally strange man standing next to him for no good reason...unless.

Was there a reason? Who was this guy and why did he want to know what Caleb was looking at so badly? Reaching back into his memory, Caleb tried to compare this man to the faces of those cops that had questioned him about the blood in the cemetery but he couldn't place him in any of those encounters. Still, it didn't seem like they had been willing to let him go as a suspect so maybe they'd sent someone to check in on him. 'You're assuming, Caleb, stop.'

”I'm sorry...do I know you?“ That's it...stay polite, turn the questions on him, and Caleb would be just fine. As long as he kept his face neutral through this interaction there would be no reason to suspect he was up to no good. His heart couldn't race, he couldn't sweat, and there was no way for his cheeks to flush to give away his uneasiness; all things that had gotten him in trouble when he was human. Sometimes, very rarely, it was good to be a zombie. ”If I do, I apologize. I just don't recognize you.“

People watching in the middle of the sidewalk. A little bit unconventional, to say the least but Gael wasn’t one to judge; he’d done equally as strange things in his youth, which… the man standing before him (and indeed, in the middle of the sidewalk) seemed younger than him by at least six years. In any case, Gael had been there, done that - especially, embarrassingly, nowadays when he woke up in the forest buck-naked, sporting bruises and covered in blood that wasn’t his. Animal blood. That’s all it was. That’s all he could tell himself it was. Why was he thinking about that? Gael inhaled softly through his nose and gave the tall stranger a brief shake of his head. “Nah, we’ve never met. At least… I don’t think we have.” The professor said before holding his hand out. “So no apologies are necessary! I’m Gael.” He gave the stranger a gentle smile that easily reached his eyes. This was good, just focus on the other man. Don’t think about how he couldn’t hear the heartbeat in the chest of the taller man.

Caleb's eyes traveled down to the man's outstretched hand and he almost panicked again. It was something he hated doing these days, his skin was always so cold without the circulation of his blood, and he always feared whether or not it would give him away. He'd come up with a few excuses over the years but that didn't mean someone more aware of the...creatures of Wicked's Rest wouldn't catch on one day. He was already suspicious of this guy. ”I'm sorry, I would shake your hand but I've been a little sick lately and I wouldn't want to pass on my germs or anything.“ Lame excuse but it could also try to explain why the zombie was so pale and maybe why he had been staring. Damn, he'd just stumbled onto what he thought was a great explanation. ”I'm Caleb. It's nice to meet you, Gael.”

Was it though? The guy seemed friendly enough but he was a little too willing to stop and talk to a random weirdo staring people down for Caleb's liking, even if he was that weirdo. There had to be a catch here. “Uh, not that I'm not appreciative of you...you know, breaking me out of my stupor there but is there a reason? Am I in your way or something?” He probably should move to the bench anyway. Someone was bound to run into him full on if he continued to stand there.

It wasn't like Caleb to be rude to anyone, much less someone who had every reason to question him and his motives, but his mind was stuck on cop for some reason. He wasn't used to strangers going out of their way to talk unless they needed something, mostly information. It only made him more cautious than usual. “Did you need to ask me something?”

For a moment, thoughts raced through Gael’s mind about what was so offensive about his hand that would make someone not want to shake it. Those thoughts were gone as soon as they appeared, however, as they tended to do in the professor’s mind. There were many reasons why someone would’ve denied a handshake, up to and including the reason that the stranger had said. Gael was prompted into nodding understandably, deciding to keep the little tidbit of knowledge that he apparently had a godlike immune system to himself; he didn’t want to stress the poor man out, especially if he was recovering from an illness. “I totally get that. Nice to meet you, Caleb.” He smiled before shaking his head this time, inhaling through his mouth in an exaggerated enough way that moved his entire chest. He placed a hand on his hip, the other one wrapping around the strap on his messenger bag as he glanced around at their surroundings. Then he looked back to the newly-dubbed Caleb and gave him a look of assurance. “Hmm? No, I was just being nosey.” He said lightly, honestly. “You just looked… pensive. Like there was something on your mind.” Gael then leaned slightly. “And I know you didn’t ask but I know a couple of good spots to people-watch that are a little less… in the middle of the walkway.” He suggested, regarding Caleb earnestly.

Caleb gave the other man a small smile, grateful that he seemed to accept the excuse that the zombie gave and didn't want to question him. People around here weren't always so willing to let things drop without giving a third degree, something he'd noticed quite often throughout his life. This had made things particularly difficult for him when growing up as well, others always questioning his home situation when he didn't want to talk about it. Then again, it was how he ended up with Erin's family so he couldn't fully condemn the concern others were willing to show.

“Oh, uh, not used to people admitting to that.” Hmm, at least Gael was willing to be forthcoming with certain information. A cop wouldn't have said as much, right? With the man's word, Caleb nodded, hesitating before he almost gave in to the need to talk about something. It had been lonely since he'd turned, not willing to tell anyone what he was or how he was coping with his undead status and the idea of telling someone exactly what was on his mind was tempting even if he knew he couldn't possibly give that information to someone he didn't know or trust. “I might have some things on my mind ,yea.” Like killing a random man walking down the street. “But it's nothing I can't handle.” More lies.

He closed his eyes at the mention of better places for his activities, embarrassed for some reason. He'd been thinking it himself, he knew that he was in the way, but to be called out on it was worse than pointing it out to yourself. “You're right, I'm sorry, I am clogging up a space that's already overtaken with tourists.” Caleb looked over at Gael, looking sheepish. “Maybe I have more brain fog than I thought. I can move to the bench.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Gael said, glancing up at Caleb earnestly though his face adjusted slightly to better reflect a familiar tone, a friendly tone; as the taller man mentioned, he obviously had something on his mind and though Gael didn’t really believe him when he said it wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle, he also knew better than to pry information out of other people. “You aren’t clogging up space.” He made a small movement between a step and a tilt, not looking unlike a penguin for a moment. “I just figured maybe you’d feel better about sitting down. Standing isn’t great for brain fog and you might end up like one of those guys at a wedding who locks their legs and passes out.” He laughed, gesturing for Caleb to follow him, at least so that they were standing out of the middle of the sidewalk and road. He sat down himself, stretching his arms in front of him like a cat basking in the sun and to the point where his elbows popped audibly. “You picked a good day to zone out, I gotta say.” He looked up with dark eyes. “It’s not too hot, not too cold. Got a gentle breeze.” Gael paused for a moment. “And I know… it’s none of my business but if there was something on your mind that you were like “y’know, maybe I should tell someone else”, then I’m your guy.” He offered, still keeping his tone approachable; as he spoke, he thought of Ren and her little bug body, he thought of Van with her literal meltdowns, of Alex and Alan and he wondered if his not being able to hear Caleb’s heartbeat was indicative of one of those… ‘issues’.

“Right...” He cleared his throat, the embarrassment only rising within himself when he'd realized he'd made an assumption, one that indicated the other man was judging him. 'Other people aren't Gary, Caleb. Calm down.' A mantra that had started a few months ago, the zombie had to remind himself that his foster dad was his own person and his opinions didn't reflect everyone else's. It was hard to keep those thoughts away without it. Luckily there was something else to focus on. ”That's a real thing? You just lock your legs and go down like a falling tree?“ Could that even happen to him?

Watching Gael walk towards the bench, Caleb once again hesitated. He still wasn't sure about this man but it was probably best to stop drawing attention to himself when he was trying to figure out if he could get away with killing someone. Hands still balled into his jacket pockets, he followed Gael and took a seat next to him, only glancing at him for a second before he trained his eyes back onto the crowd.

Caleb was completely torn as he listened. On one hand, why was Gael so interested in the inner workings of his mind? Why did he want to know what was bothering a complete stranger? It felt so foreign to wonder if the man actually cared and wasn't digging for some sort of information to hold against him but he wanted so desperately to believe that. He couldn't though. He wasn't naïve enough to think he could. ”As appreciated as that is, it's really nothing major. Like I said, brain fog from a recent illness is just mixing with a challenge that I'm facing. Just trying to figure out how to fix it but it's...personal.“

Gael kept his eyes with the dark circles on the younger man keenly, but not harshly as the latter hesitated before answering. When he did, and with the lingering feeling that once again it didn’t reflect what the man was thinking, the professor gave a small nod. “I getcha. Sorry to be nosey.” He looked back out ahead, out at the brightly-lit street as people passed by absently, engaged in their conversations, listening to music. One man hurried by as he seemed late to his destination. A woman was speaking in quick, enthusiastic French to her friend. He heard his own heart beating. He heard the absence in Caleb’s chest, which was at odds with the latter’s evident anxiety regarding the situation, subtle though it was. He smelled four different things at once, heard ten different things at once. A while ago, he found it uncharacteristically overwhelming at the worst of times - Gael was used to busy environments but nothing like what he experienced after the animal attack. The words kept tugging at his mind, the things that Alex and Alan had said. What Emilio said. And still, none of it felt right. “I feel ya.” He replied, leaning forward and propping himself on his knees with his elbows, his hands lacing their fingers together. “I’ve got some shit of my own that I’m trying to fix, too.” He admitted. “And asking for help is… really hard.” So hard, in fact, that he hadn’t asked anyone. “But I guess I’m one of those people where helping other people is a lot easier than trying to solve my own problems.” He scoffed, shaking his head lightly. “You know?”

He'd been watching a lone teenager walking down the street with a shopping bag swinging by her side but he wasn't paying her much attention. His focus was, instead, on Gael's words. The similarities between the two men were becoming painfully obvious and now Caleb wanted to believe that this was genuine concern that much more. It was like he was saying exactly what Caleb was thinking and able to put those thoughts into words that he'd never been able to grasp. Blue eyes slowly went from the teenager to linger on Gael, his heart suddenly aching for him. God, he knew that feeling well.

“Yea...yea, I know.” His words had become soft, almost as if he didn't want Gael to hear them. “I've known that feeling all of my life.” He kept his eyes on the other man, wondering if he was crying out for something Caleb was trying to push away. Maybe the reason he was so into asking Caleb to open up was because he wanted to open up himself. “Um...are you okay? Because you know, the offer you were giving me, I'd like to extend that to you as well. I can try to help if you need it. Kind of makes me a hypocrite, but if you want to talk...“

The relatability was forming, the attempt at connection seeming to be reached as whether Caleb wanted Gael to hear it or not, he had. Then when, in a surprising twist, the younger man had asked him if he was okay, the professor fell silent for a moment. When he had brought up his own feelings, he hadn’t intended for them to fish attention, pity or concern. It was times like this that he realized that sometimes he said things in attempts to find similarities with other people without thinking about how they might’ve impacted someone else. However, he recovered easily enough and a smile that creased the corners of his eyes found its way onto his face. “You’re very kind for asking,” he began. “But I’m good! I’m great, actually; it’s a nice afternoon, I’m sitting on a bench, shooting the breeze with a stranger who asked me if I’m okay?” Gael leaned back now, placing one of his hands on his lower back as he stretched it. More pops crackled from his spine with a quiet grunt; leaning forward really wasn’t great form nowadays, was it. “I’d argue that I’m doing even better than before we started talking!” The man glanced over at Caleb again, two pairs of exhausted eyes exchanging glances. “I don’t know what you’re going through. All I can do is say ‘I know how you feel’, even if our respective battles aren’t exactly the same.”

—

He should have expected that Gael would do the same thing he had prior, especially since the man had said exactly how Caleb had felt. Two people in situations that called for help but neither willing to accept it, it was almost poetic...almost. It certainly had the tragedy part down. But at least Gael could hide whatever he was going through with a smile and bright words even if Caleb had the feeling they weren't quite the truth. ”You know, when I was a teenager I had someone like you approach me like this and I was too tired to lie anymore.“ His mind went to Jack, the night in the cemetery when he'd basically saved Caleb's life by taking him under his wing. His life would have been much different had he not given in to the need to talk to someone that night. ”I almost wish I'd been too tired today.“

But it was time to plaster on his own smile, one that didn't reach his eyes. He didn't have it in him to be as positive as Gael but he appreciated the other man doing so and it helped him lower his guard a little bit. He still had to be cautious, yes, as he knew nothing about this man other than his ability to relate well to sad people staring at others on the street but he wanted to trust him, even if just a little bit.

”You sure you're okay?“ His eyes went to Gael's hand resting on his back before meeting the other's again, lips quirked even more to show his amusement. Maybe if they got off the depressing subject it would be easier. It didn't appear that either of them were willing to discuss what was going on and Caleb was more than ready to give up on his 'people watching' for the day.

It wasn’t an answer, not directly, but there was a semblance of something there as Caleb opened up just enough of himself for Gael to be able to peek through. And he understood what he saw. He understood how there were certain prerequisites required for opening up, whether or not it was voluntary. Gael never needed help, not really. It was appreciated sometimes, in small, inconsequential ways such as holding the door open when his hands were full but on a grand scale, it wasn’t in the professor’s nature to think or assume that he was someone who needed help. Everyone did, of course but he’d spent so many years being exempt from the rule that he’d long since figured that it didn’t apply to him. And it wasn’t that he was too proud to ask, nor was it a sense of self-loathing that kept him from opening up. If he had to guess, it was that he didn’t know what he’d do if he wasn’t okay. Speaking of, he heard Caleb’s question and he gave a small nod. “Yeah! I’m great.” He huffed out an exhale. “I’m just old, you know how it goes. The ol’ back isn’t what it used to be.” That was how he dealt with it. Just pave over it with something less serious. Caleb didn’t want to talk about whatever was pressing on his mind, and Gael wasn’t about to push. Wallowing in self-pity was something else the older man didn’t know how to do properly, so he just opted out altogether. “It’s pretty noisy right now, though. Must be the change in the weather.” And just like that, the attempt to shift the conversation was made. Caleb didn’t want to talk about serious things, which was completely fair, so Gael had a wealth of other conversational topics they could discuss instead.

That was just it, he didn’t know how it went. That was what he wanted to say. Dying at the age of thirty-seven meant he kind of understood in a sense but Caleb could barely remember the aches and pains that came with getting older after working in a job that required a lot of physical labor. He remembered long days and some nights ending in the need for TLC but that was about all he could remember. This was where the similarities between the two ended. Caleb nodded though as if he knew exactly what Gael was saying though, wanting to give off the impression.

“Fall brings out the autumn tourists in droves, that’s for sure.” As the words left his lips, Caleb caught sight of something over Gael’s shoulder. A man he hadn’t seen in years, someone that caused such a visceral reaction in him that he shrunk into himself to try and somehow become invisible. Gary always preferred invisible. Looking down at the sidewalk, the zombie tried to think fast. Maybe it was a blessing in disguise, a solution to Caleb’s main problem. He had been looking for a murder victim, hadn’t he? Someone who wouldn’t be missed, someone who was a burden to society. Gary was the biggest burden he knew.

His eyes lifted to fall on his foster father. Gary had stopped in front of one of the stores but he wasn't window shopping, he was currently yelling at some poor soul that had walked into his path bringing him back to the nights he couldn’t escape his home. Nights when he’d turn up the music on his walkman so loud that he could be transported to a different world if he tried hard enough, nights that made him flinch at the sound of Gary’s voice, even to this day. It only solidified the decision that Caleb had been coming to.

“Um, Gael, it was really nice to meet you but I need to get going. I didn’t realize what time it was.” Never mind the fact that he didn’t even look at his phone or a watch for that matter. When he looked away from Gary towards the man sitting next to him, Caleb finally removed a hand from his jacket to grab a business card for the funeral home, flipping it over to write his number down. “Call me if you ever want to talk, okay? You never know…you might want to one day.” He held the card out and stood once it was taken, nodding to Gael before he started to walk in Gary’s direction to follow someone who had no guarantees of still being able to breathe later on that night. Well, the wealth of conversations wouldn’t need to be drawn from that day, evidently, as Caleb turned and hastily started to move as though he had missed his bus. Gael glanced over at the younger man as the latter apologized, looking over his shoulder, then mentioned something about how didn’t realize what time it was - well, of course he didn’t, he hadn’t looked at a watch or anything. However, Gael wasn’t naïve; Caleb had to disengage for whatever reason. It made sense, after all, especially given how Gael had just descended upon the poor guy and started making awkward small talk. So instead of getting tense to match the energy of the other man, he simply kept his dark eyes on Caleb, almost as if watching to see if he’d drop something or need help standing up. Obviously, he didn’t and instead, the other man pulled out a business card, jotting down a number before offering it to the professor. At the offer for him to talk, Gael smiled. “For sure. I appreciate it. And hey, once I send you a message, you know that offer’s good for you too, right?” He asked. Caleb gave him a nod before hurrying off, leaving the professor sitting on the bench, turning the card back over idly. A funeral home? No wonder Caleb looked so haunted.

#Threads #Thread: Gael #Would I Lie to You?

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blazingphantom · 2 years

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Wendell and Wild writing prompts part 4 We got your back!

Kat was never an easy nut to crack. Especially when it came to no good kids who thought they were being so cool insulting another. These three kids 2 girls 1 boy. Always waited outside the shop she went into. Rustbank had been repaired and was full of life once more. But with that? Came newer kids. Kids from all over the world, mostly. But these guys? They came from the big city. Kat didn't know exactly why, but frankly, didn't care. Weekly, mostly to scavenge up sweets and drawing pads for her newfound friend Raul. And yet, there were always there. Making rude remarks about her fashion- even going so far to insult her skin color. But Kat never reacted angrily, always biting her tongue, and snarking back at them. Relishing in the fact they looked shocked and taken aback. She wasn't some damsel in distress and could easily handle herself. Too her, they weren't even the best at bullying. Always making the same bitchy insults. Both of them making ugly like noises that Kat thought had to be laughing. Well, it was all good. Till one day Kat was walking down the street, donning a ripped black shirt, and long baggy shorts that stopped at her knees. With a silver chain that dangled down from a belt, and it gleamed in the sun's rays. Wearing her famous monster heel boots, but instead of a scowl. A contented expression replaced it. She was still hurting but the aid of her new friends helped her deal with the loss EarPods nestled in her ears comfortably, blasting a song from Bad Brains from her phone. Hands in the shorts pockets, strolling down the pavement. But there they were. Waiting for her, as always. It was no surprise. Mentally Kat scoffed, showing no fear only annoyance and closed the gap between them. Taking out her earpods, and switching off her music. Meeting them head on. It all went good. Until. They said something awful. "No wonder your parents died." That hurt Kat. More than she imagined. She was usually so stoic faced. But this broke her down, breath hitching, tears pricking the corner of her eyes. Clearly content with their accomplishment, they began to torment her some more. This was all too familiar. They reminded her of the kids at the orphanage. Kat pushed them back and fled the scene, almost tripping on the curb as she ran across the road, heading toward the demon's bro's house that was situated in a quiet neighborhood. (They made enough money from the Dream Fair and finally bought their own home) Luckily, she had an extra key and could let herself in.

Once she vanished from sight, they all snickered cruelly. Little did they know two specific people were watching them from beside the building. "I'm gonna kill em-" Wild whisper-yelled irritably too Wendell who had a scowl on his visage, bunching up his hands in fists, about to walk over and beat some sense into the bullies. But was prevented by Wendell who was clutching his wrist. "No Wild- we need a better idea." Wendell reminded him, analyzing the 3 closely. "I got it." A smirk appeared on his angular face. Later that evening. Kat was watching something on TV- nothing too amazing. Just some cartoons. She still hadn't shaken off that remark. It cut her deep like a knife, leaving a mental scar. Looking at the boombox that sat idly on the coffee table. She lifted up her phone checking through messages. One piqued her interest; It was a new text from Siobhan. Heyy Kat! I'm having a party next week! Wanna join? Kat hummed, smiling briefly. Siobahn was really sweet. Parties weren't exactly her forte. But she'd swoop in for a while. Oh sure! Was all she texted, hitting send. When Wild and Wendell got in, they shifted back into their demonic forms. Greeting Kat happily, hugging her tightly. They weren't dumb, they easily caught on something wasn't right. They had seen it go down after all. During dinner that consisted of fish, peas and chips served on a plain china plate. Wendell was making sly conversation. He specialized in being inconspicuous. Asking the usual questions, 'how was your day' ect. Kat just glumly responded, using her fork to poke at the battered fish blankly. "What would you do if the bullies vanished?" Wild suddenly said, and in return Wendell harshly elbowed him. Kat paused and looked up, a frown on her face. "What do you mean?" Wendell cleared his throat awkwardly, giving Wild a glare. "He means- exactly what he said. Like, if they somehow vanished from existence." Wild nodded along, happily shoving the whole piece of fish into his mouth. Kat gave a roll of her eyes at their bumbling. Not in a mean-hearted way, but it always amused her.

"Well, I'd be happy." She told them, eating a few chips. Taking a swig of her water that sat on the mat.

Wendell gave Wild a knowing glance. "We can do something about it." He said, trying to fight back an intruding smirk. Kat huffed clearly not believing them. She would in time though. That night Wendell and Wild got to business. The next day Kat headed down to the town's supermarket, half expecting and half dreading to spot the 3 there leaning against the window. But they weren't. She exhaled quietly with relief. Mirthful that they weren't going to bug her. But something about it, nagged a part of her brain. Making her slightly suspicious. Well, Kat had the right to be suspicious. Because that night Wendell and Wild came clean.

"Okay, I appreciate you two getting rid of them- but where the hell are they?" Kat grunted, folding her arms, glaring at them with a firm glint in her eye. Wild made a face, awkwardly scratching at his arm. Not really wanting to Kat the truth. Wendell who was usually the more honest brother was quiet as well. "You killed them!?" Kat exclaimed, throwing her arms up in the air. She hated her bullies, but murdering them was too much. Even for her. "N-no we didn't do that!" Wendell squeaked, appalled at such an accusation. "We made them disappear!" Wild butted in a proud grin on his face. Kat paused, frowning to herself. Disappear? What did that mean- Oh. OH. "You- you did that for me?" She murmured out, looking at them with wide eyes. "Uh huh." Wendell and Wild nodded in unison, smiling softly. Kat gave a sudden laugh. "And they're-" "Gone and gone." Wendell informed her with an impish smirk. Making a surprised noise as Kat's arm snaked themselves around his waist, hugging him tightly. He lifted his hand and gently patted her back, consoling her. "No fair- I want a hug!" Wild complained and lumbered over hurriedly, standing behind Wendell and lifting the two in the air in a crushing bear hug. Kat emitted a delighted laugh, her expression bright. It was a lovely sound. And it made the brother's heart swell with merriness and joy. ------------------------------------ "So which one of you vile kids insulted my son's friend?" Buffalo Belzer frowned, an enraged grimace plastered on his facial features. The 3 children trembled with barely contained terror. As they stared up at the goliath overlord. "All of them." Sister Helley spoke up, perched on the giant's shoulder. Leaning against his bearded cheek, arms folded against her chest. "Let's make this a time they'll never forget." The two shared a waggish grin, side-glancing each other.

#wendell and wild #sister helly mom AU #roro this one is for you!#slice of life!#this was fun to write!#the bros being the best #kat's time in the orphanage was awful and has some trauma from it #siobhan is a sweetheart!#thinking if i should this a whole book #afropunk bands #sister helley and BB kick ass

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bobbybones23 · 1 year

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In the early 80s, I briefly stayed with Judith Frankland @judithfrankland in London, a fantastic designer who made outfits for Steve Strange and appeared in David Bowie’s “Ashes To Ashes” video alongside Bowie himself with other “Blitz Kids” and fashion luminaries, Steve Strange, Darla Jane Gilroy and Elise Brazier. She told me tales of the Blitz Club and of her days of designing for Steve Strange and using him as her model. The Blitz Club was in Covent Garden, London from 1979 - 80 and was home to the “Blitz Kids” who were nightclubbers there on Tuesday nights. The club was located between two art colleges (St. Martins and Central School). As a result of its proximity to the art colleges, it attracted many students who were aspiring fashion designers there. The hosts were Steve Strange and Rusty Egan @rustyegan of Visage and the club was responsible for launching the New Romantic movement in London. Many notable fashionistas and dandies who later became big stars, were regulars there. A dress code of the “the weird and wonderful” was strictly enforced at the door, a policy that was put in place by Steve Strange. This was not an elitist system like Studio 54 in NYC, but rather for the protection of the nightclubbing guests against homophobic thugs. The hosts had previously done “Roxy Music and David Bowie nights” on Tuesdays at Billy’s club in Soho and later took over at the Blitz wine bar which gained much better success as an iconic club. David Bowie, gender-bending, cutting edge fashion and a desire to express it with rebellious fervor, were the common themes and passions of the Blitz Kids and the New Romantics. Some other noteworthy attendees aside from the aforementioned included Boy George, Marilyn, Siobhan Fahey, Sade, Spandau Ballet, Midge Ure, Philip Sallon, Stephen Linard, Stephen Jones, Princess Julia, Martin Degville, Scarlet Cannon, i-D magazine co-editor Perry Haines, and many others. Derek Ridgers @derekridgers, Andrew Holligan and Terry Smith were responsible for most of the photos… 📷 1/10: Sheila Rock @sheila_rock_photographer 👨🏻‍🎤⚡️🖤⚜️👩🏻‍🎤 🔲 🔳 🔲 #BlitzClub #BlitzKids #NewRomantic #NewRomantics #SteveStrange #RustyEgan #PostPunk (at Covent Garden) https://www.instagram.com/p/CoEZGFgukl5/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#blitzclub #blitzkids #newromantic #newromantics #stevestrange #rustyegan #postpunk

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lesombresdeschoses · 1 year

Text

LA TRAQUE

W. Agency. Victoria.

— Il s'adresse a toi, comme toujours ?

— Hm, répond vaguement Law, le regard dans le vide.

L'inspecteur insiste, calmement.

— Je te parle.

— J'ai dit, oui ! lui rétorque-t-elle sur un ton agacé. Il sait tout ce que je fais, même le dentifrice que j'utilise, la marque de café que je bois... j'ai l'impression de vivre avec lui... ça me dégoûte... il se paie ma tête... il...

Elle finit son whisky d'un trait.

L'inspecteur Tyler Mackenzie est un homme très bien bâti et très grand, au visage marqué par la vie, mais plutôt beau. Son caractère taciturne s'y reflète et, de son regard, émane une mélancolie profonde.

Maintenant c'est whisky, café, cigarettes... fini le thé, mais je n'ai pas envie de m'étendre sur le sujet, je pense qu'on a compris... Prise en sandwich entre BlackHole et Tyler, tout pour plaire !

— Ça fait deux semaines ! Deux semaines que les flics savent qu'elle a disparu... Pas de lettre...

— Qui a disparu ?

— Siobhan.

— Qui ?

— L'amie de Liam.

— L'amie de... Tu peux être plus claire s'il te plait ?

— On a eu un client il y a une semaine, son amie a disparu, sans laisser de traces ! C'est son MO , mais manque la lettre ! Et la poste ne peut pas avoir merdé, y'a jamais eu de timbre, donc quelqu’un la dépose, forcément ! Bon sang c'est dingue ! T'as collé des flics en planque pendant des semaines en face de mon agence. Personne ! Pas même un pigeon voyageur ! Il me les envoie par téléportation ?!

Law raisonne à voix haute, Mac se verse du whisky, puis le sirote en attendant qu'elle finisse son monologue.

— Et ce carnet qui n'a rien à foutre dans le cadre !

— Quel carnet ? demande l'inspecteur intrigué.

— Rien. Laisse tomber. Comment BlackHole pourrait-il faire disparaître quelqu'un qui n'existe pas ? Siobhan n'apparaît pas dans le registre des employés de la Bibliothèque, aucun d'entre eux ne connaît son signalement, ni de près, ni de loin !

L'inspecteur la coupe brusquement :

— Attends Law, t'es en train de me dire que tu caches délibérément une pièce à conviction liée à l'enquête ?

— Quelle pièce à conviction ? demande Law, l'air perdu.

— Le carnet.

— Quel carnet ?

— Celui dont tu as parlé, celui qui « n'a rien à foutre dans le cadre » !

— Ça c'est pas ton enquête, aucun rapport, répond Law sèchement sans le regarder replongeant aussitôt dans sa réflexion.

— Siobhan c'est la touriste qui s'incruste dans la scène en plein tournage ! Elle n'a rien à foutre dans le cadre non plus ! Ou alors j'ai loupé un épisode...

Law se tourne soudainement vers Mac, lui arrache son verre des mains pour finir le whisky d'un trait. Elle le pose nerveusement sur la table :

— Mac, j’ai besoin d’être seule.

Vincent Square. A Building.

Les toits de Londres sont faciles d'accès pour l'ex-inspectrice. Ils offrent une vue exceptionnelle sur la ville. Law va souvent s'y réfugier pour se vider l'esprit.

Courir après des chimères le long de la Tamise, en pleine nuit… c’est fini. Flemme.

Assise sur sa terrasse improvisée, l'air sombre, immobile telle une gargouille, mp3 dans les oreilles, une cigarette à la main, son whisky dans l'autre, elle s'évade dans son univers. Soudain son portable se met à vibrer dans sa poche. Elle décroche.

— Law, c'est Mac on l'a repéré sur Wellington.

— Il y a un théâtre et un hôtel par là. Je penche pour le théâtre. Il aime la mise en scène.

L'inspecteur tente de la convaincre de rejoindre son équipe pour « cueillir leur tueur ». Mais Law sait déjà qu'il s'en sortira encore, comme à son habitude. L'insistance de Mac commence à l'irriter.

— Mac, il serait peut-être judicieux de le mettre en mouvement, faut le faire sortir, apprenez à chasser les gars ! Faites comme lui ! Et ne le loupez pas cette fois-ci ! Y'en a marre de laisser cette ordure continuer à se prendre pour Dieu !

L’enquêtrice raccroche, agacée. Elle lève son bras pour jeter son portable, mais se raisonne et finit par le ranger dans sa poche.

Il est temps d’arrêter de glander. Faut retourner à l'agence…

Law s'assoit à son bureau, puis étend ses jambes sur la table. Ren arrive à ce moment dans la pièce. L’enquêtrice se redresse sur sa chaise, puis lui lance, énervée :

— T'étais ou ?

— Pardon ? J’étais avec Liam, pour le questionner d'avantage sur son amie !... qu'est ce qu'il y a ?

— L'inspecteur Mackenzie est en train de tout tenter pour le cueillir, on l'a repéré, annonce l’ex-flic sur un ton dénué de conviction.

— Tu devrais te réjouir...

— J'y crois pas, Ren.

Bien entendu Law avait raison, BlackHole, le tueur en série, qui empêche tout Scotland Yard de dormir, a filé. Encore.

W. Agency. Victoria.

Depuis que Lawrina Mortensen a ouvert son agence sur Londres, elle ne chôme pas : du bizarre, il y en a à la pelle. Parfois, par un étrange miracle, « les méchants » partent en vacances pendant deux à trois mois, mais quand ils reviennent, ils sont remontés à bloc. C'est après une période de ce type que BlackHole, « le tueur en série » s'est entiché de Law, comme pour la sortir de sa torpeur, comme pour lui dire « tu n'as pas le droit de te laisser aller, ma vieille ! ».

Enfin, sans cadavre, « tueur en série »... est-ce vraiment le bon qualificatif ? « Le connard narcissique qui me casse les burnes », lui conviendrait mieux...

Ce petit rituel agaçant dure depuis un moment, déjà. Chaque fois qu'une personne disparaît sans laisser de traces, la veille de la disparition, il lui dépose une lettre rouge avec un texte sans rapport apparent avec la victime. Lawrina s'est souvent posé maintes questions sur ces quelques lignes couchées sur le papier couleur de sang. Sans trouver de réponses. Si elle était encore flic, l'intérêt que BlackHole lui portait aurait un sens. Cependant dans son cas, elle ne voyait pas ce qui pouvait le motiver.

Le surnaturel peut-être ? mais, ce n'est pas une motivation suffisante…

Assise dans le canapé de la pièce à côté de son bureau, Law sirote son whisky, l'agenda rouge ouvert, posé sur la table basse.

« Aller au travail, fonder un foyer, être comme tout le monde, week-end chez papy-mamie en bons gamins bien éduqués... c’est ça la vie ? Autant mourir ! Ce n’est pas ce que j’ai choisi pour moi. Cependant, certaines personnes sont plus fragiles, ont l’esprit plus complexe. Ne peuvent pas faire semblant. Alors elles errent, tels des fantômes sur une terre inconnue, en espérant trouver l'introuvable. Finalement elles se défoncent, à la recherche d'un état différent, fuyant la routine. Elles ont peur de tout, d'avancer, de chercher, même d’essayer... Tant de fois tu as frôlé la mort, elle ne t’effraie pas. Mais la vie, tu sens qu’elle te terrifie. Aujourd’hui, tu ne sais plus où aller, tu ne veux plus sortir, tu veux t'enfermer dans ton monde et partir... Tu as la nausée de vivre ! »

— Bon sang j'ai déjà lu ça, ou bien... ?

Law commence à se questionner sur l'origine de l'agenda rouge.

Qui, « oh, coïncidence », est de la même couleur que ces foutues lettres !

Soudain, une autre pensée interrompt sa réflexion. Elle n'a pas remis les pieds dans son appartement sur Paddington depuis des semaines. Elle n’a qu’à traverser Hyde Park pour rentrer. Mais le temps manque cruellement.

À peine revenue de New York, l'affaire BlackHole lui retombe dessus comme pour lui souhaiter un bon retour sur Londres. Ses bagages sont encore là, elle n'a pas eu un instant pour les ramener à la maison.

Surtout que Félicia doit s'inquiéter !

Soudain, la porte d'entrée s'ouvre, Ren se rue vers le salon :

— Je suis retournée à l’appart de la disparue ! Tu ne vas pas me croire !

Law la regarde avec insistance, l'air de dire « accouche ».

— Il est passé par là.

Le visage de Law s'assombrit, sans laisser Ren terminer, l’enquêtrice se lève :

— On y va.

Sur le trajet Law rumine ses pensées. Les deux affaires n'ont aucun lien, cependant BlackHole semble se servir de la disparition de Siobhan pour l'atteindre. Le serial cultive un attachement obsessionnel pour Law. D'aucun serrait flatté de recueillir l'attention d'une personnalité telle que BlackHole. Intelligent, retors, insaisissable. Cependant, Law estime que toute cette mascarade est une véritable « chienlit ». Selon l'ex-inspectrice de la criminelle de Londres, un tueur en série n'est pas plus intelligent que le quidam lambda. Le meurtre parfait est certes un mythe, mais tuer sans se faire prendre n'est pas si difficile. Se vanter de faire la nique à la police n'est que stupide vanité. Une bonne mémoire et le sens du détail suffisent, ce qui ne fait pas de vous une lumière.

Ces abrutis sont des branleurs chroniques, complexés, faibles d'esprit, qui devraient soigner leur névrose au lieu d'emmerder leur monde, pour attirer l'attention comme un gamin de maternelle. Ils croient que vivre leur nature de tueur c'est s'assumer et devenir libre ? Pauvres petites choses intellectuellement, victimes de leur connerie nombriliste. Trop facile d'avoir pitié de soi, genre j'ai eu un père tortionnaire, une mère absente... D'autres ont un vécu pire et ne sont pas devenus des assassins pour autant. Un tueur en série ce n'est qu'un enfant pourri-gâté qui casse tout autour de lui pour obtenir satisfaction. Une satisfaction instantanée. La facilité. Oh que c'est dur de prendre ses responsabilités face à ses choix ! Ça demande à se retirer les doigts du cul !

10 Gloucester Street.

Dans le noir, Law se dépeche de crocheter la porte de l’appartement. La jeune femme et son associée entrent enfin.

— Il a fermé les volets. Et regarde là... lance Ren, nerveuse, montrant un message au mur, couleur rouge sang.

L’enquêtrice lit : « LOIN DE MOI, TU N'ES RIEN ». Elle goûte l'inscription en passant le doigt dessus:

— Bordel, c'est bien du sang ! s’exclame-t-elle, inquiète et pensive.

— T'es dégueulasse ! lui assène Ren, dégoûtée par son geste.

Law sort de son mutisme pour continuer sa réflexion à haute voix :

— Il nous faudrait l'ADN de toutes les victimes, c'est peut-être à l'une d'elles, ce qui justifierait leur disparition... Il les collectionne... et … non, c'est trop tordu !

— Qu'est-ce qui est tordu ? lui demande Ren intriguée.

— Les lettres qu'il me poste par « hibou magique », il faut les envoyer au labo, faire analyser le pigment du papier. Je te parie mon Beretta que c'est de la bonne vielle hémoglobine mélangée à de l’encre de chine !

Ren ne sait plus quoi répondre. Law pâlit soudainement, elle réalise que seule sa mort pourra la débarrasser de ce pervers, mais elle veut vivre ! Son regard se fige alors sur un détail du meuble, sous l'inscription au mur. L’enquêtrice s'approche. C’est une petite boite de velours noir. Elle la saisit délicatement, l'ouvre et y trouve une bague de Claddagh, enfoncée dans un coussinet de satin blanc. Comme possédée, la jeune femme la passe à son doigt, puis lève la tête vers l'inscription. Law fait tourner l’anneau. Ses lèvres bougent lentement, sans qu'aucun son ne sorte de sa bouche. On peut y lire : « fiancée à la mort ». Elle chuchote :

— Pourquoi ça ne m'étonne pas... Et si... ?

L’ex-flic prend calmement son Beretta en main, le pose doucement contre sa tempe, puis réplique calmement.

— Sans moi tu n'es rien non plus...

Le coup de feu part dans un bruit fracassant. L’enquêtrice s'écroule sur le sol de l'appartement de l'inconnue. Ren se retourne, horrifiée.

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