#taking to shootin w his left hand and he's just as good
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when ur arm don't work so good anymore but it's still good enough to ✨hold ur mando gently✨
#my art#dincobb#din x cobb#the mandalorian#tbobf#cobb vanth#din djarin#digital art#csp#clip studio paint#i just think they're very soft for each other#pls enjoy the lil details i added if u wish#the splint hisses a bit and it blinks a lot when it gets low on energy#but it helps him move his arm when he can't on his own#taking to shootin w his left hand and he's just as good#but sometimes he still reaches for his blaster w his right and a whole twinge goes up his arm#sometimes he does it on instinct#just to rest his hand on the holster#and sometimes din takes that opportunity to tuck his hand into cobb's#curl their fingers together real gentle
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Two faces of the same coin
Pairing: Tenma x ghost-looking! reader Part 1.
Hey! I had this awesome ask from sadly ages ago which I appreciated a lot bc honestly, just the fact that someone sent such a detailed thing?? My heart.
Request: (...) Tenma finds someone who looks like they got out straight from a horror movie- They could literally pass as a ghost anytime of the day! But once he talks to them they are just an extremely chill introvert, and actually really thoughtful and considerate? (...) So yeah, imagine Tenma who once was shitting his pants whenever that person was around slowly starting to enjoy their presence and even better: fall for them.
Enjoy! 💕
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Classic horror icons and other disturbing creatures share common characteristics, pale skin, dark, sunken eyes, hunched posture, sharp teeth, and the like. These images inspire fear and revulsion in many with good reason. And while Tenma would insist he was okay with them- he really was and Yuki should really just shut up- he wouldn’t go out of his way to watch or read about that specific genre. And he was okay with that.
“A ghost in the school?”
He tried to not sound as worried as he internally felt, his brain still processing what Taichi was talking about while waiting for their drinks to drop. The redhead nodded unaware, eyes fixed on the vending machine “Yeah! You haven’t heard about it before?”
“W-why should I? It’s stupid to think paranormal stuff like ghosts exists anyway.”
With a clank, both drinks finally fell. Taichi crouched down to retrieve them humming happily, handing one of them to the summer troupe leader and keeping one for himself.
“I don’t know man, it’s kind of cool!” he crossed his arms behind his head, resuming their walk and looked behind. “What about you, Juza-san? You seen anything?”
The purple-haired boy considered it lazily, but ultimately shook his head. He didn’t seem too interested in the conversation anyway, and Tenma was pretty sure the main thoughts running through his head were today’s melon bread from the cafeteria.
It had been a while since their Ouka-high group had been able to have lunch together.
“Did you see? That Sumeragi Tenma is back!”
“Gosh, he looks so handsome!”
“Wait- don’t push me!”
“I heard he’s going to be a possible cast in that famous saga-”
“Are you serious?”
Whispers and tiny squeals kept circling them as soon as they entered the boundaries of the canteen. And while Tenma barely notices it at first, he can definitely see Juza’s stance going more rigid and Taichi’s eyes glowing at the attention received.
“I’ll go get our lunch” the golden-eyed teen announces heading towards the queue, hands buried in his pockets. He motioned Tenma with his chin. “You wanted set B right, no carrots.”
“Uh? Well yeah, but I can-”
“S’okay, you two go find some seats” he shrugged, looking around. There weren’t many spaces to start with and he’d honestly prefer focus on the food rather than the stares. “It’d be difficult to keep ‘em free with just one person anyway.”
“Roger! Come on Ten-chan, let’s go!”
.
.
.
“Aw, man. Everyone has their eyes on you as usual!” Taichi looked around, still indulging himself with all the people that were staring at them, some more blatantly than others.
How he didn’t get bored of mentioning it every time Tenma didn’t know, though he was low-key grateful. Not many people enjoyed being part of those types of reactions from a crowd- Juza for example-. When they finally managed to find some empty seats, Taichi placed his own bento on the table visibly excited. Tenma frowned.
“Since when did you start preparing lunch by yourself?”
“Ah, this?” the redhead laughed proudly at his confused look “See, I’ve been practicing my cooking skills! Tsuzuru has been super cool teaching me how to prepare some dishes for my siblings- plus, I’m sure I’ll get the attention of girls if they see my new talent!”
“Right…”
Tenma couldn’t decide whether he should make a comment as he took a long, thoughtful sip from his own juice can. Taichi’s lunch was a side of string cheese, a broken omelet, and some semi-burnt rice and it just didn’t seem very tempting.
He ultimately chose to leave it aside. Omi would surely know soon enough.
“So, uh, Taichi.”
“Yeah?”
He coughed, leaving aside the can and resting his back on the chair nonchalantly. “N-not that I care about that rumor, but- where is that ghost supposed to be?”
“Ah, the one we talked about? Mmm…” the autumn member caressed his chin, closing his eyes in deep thought. “No one really knows. It’s been spotted in pretty much all parts of the school” Tenma’s stomach sank at that. “But I’ve heard it likes room 1001 for some reason, you know, from the old side of the school? No one really uses it anymore- guess it makes sense!”
The redhead took again the chopsticks and started digging on the rice carefree.
“R-right.”
Tenma shook his head. Cool. Great. Now he knew which side of the school he would never even try to approach at least.
“Tenma-kun!” a female voice, not familiar, made him jolt from his seat. When he looked up a girl followed by two others were are already making themselves comfortable on the chairs next to them- one of them even deciding to sit on the table. “Hi there!”
Third years.
"Hi” he repeated.
“We saw your appearance in that new series, it was unbelievable!”
“Are you going to be a recurring character there? I’d love if you could ask one of the leads to sign a shirt of mine!”
He simply showered them a practiced smile. He could already tell what type of fans they were. It wasn’t something out of the ordinary- people approaching him about his shows or to ask for favors- and honestly, it was better not entering in that dangerous territory. “Thanks. Nothing’s been said yet, that’d depend on the company. I’ll be counting on your future support.”
They instantly beamed at his reaction. “Of course!”
One of them clapped her hand together “That reminds me, when is your next performance in that theatre company you play? I so want to go see it again!”
“Ah, that will take a while. We just finished a month ago so next up is the autumn troupe” he motioned Taichi with his head, a proud, real smile featuring his face this time “These guys have been going all out, you won’t be disappointed.”
“O-of course!” the shortest Ouka high student practically jumped into the conversation. “If you all want, we could ask for a few tickets from our-!“
“But Tenma-kun is not in that troupe, right?” the girls looked at each other confused. As if it wouldn’t be something it’d cross their minds to do, had the child actor not participated before.
“W-well, no but…”
“Plus, the summer troupe is hilarious! I kinda prefer those types of performances, you know?”
“I totally get you!”
From his peripheral vision, Tenma could register Taichi’s face growing red- a strained smile before sitting back on his seat, not trying to add anything to the conversation anymore.
Smile. Remember to smile.
“…We all give our all on those performances, I don’t think it’s fair if you have just watched the summer troupe. You’ll definitely enjoy it if you give them the chance.”
“Really?”
“I mean… If Tenma-kun says so maybe we could go take a look.” one of them gave a chuckle, playing with their hair. “You think we could ask you to get us some tickets for-?”
“If you are not eatin’ you should leave.”
“Uh? Can’t you see we’re-” the sentence died in their lips as soon as they turned and encountered Juza. Not that he himself was proud of his reputation, but during these situations at the very least it paid to see they knew who he was.
“Move.”
The resulting glare was terrifying in its intensity, and the retreat took no longer than a few seconds. No one mentioned anything afterward- Juza’s calm and blank expression coming back as he sat down, handing the summer leader his lunch and squinting down at Taichi’s.
“What the hell are you eatin’.”
“Hehe it caught your attention too, right? You see…”
Tenma observed them. They were acting as if nothing had happened. Not so long ago people tended to stay away from him for those same reasons, so it still took him a few seconds to find the words again- For feeling this relieved at their reactions.
He left the chopsticks aside. “Sorry this... keeps happening."
They momentarily stopped the conversation, sharing a silent look before turning to the teen actor facing the table in awkwardness.
“I-It’s okay, Ten-chan! They would obviously be more interested in watching you than an unknown performance” Taichi laughs and scratches the back of his hair. He seemed to be fine- a bit uncomfortable, but fine. “Besides, that just means we have to work even harder to be recognized, right, Juza-san!”
“Yeah, don’t get stuck thinkin’ ‘bout it. We ain’t losin’ any time soon.”
“Anyway Juza-san, are you sure you’re okay with only melon bread and pudding for lunch? I can give you some of mine!”
Juza didn’t verbally answer Taichi’s offer, merely staring at the burnt rice being held in front of him with skepticism “…nah. I’m okay.”
Taichi frowned at his own food, tilting his head confused. A few seconds later, he gave it an ultimate shrug before going for one more bite, Juza doing the same with his own lunch. Tenma scoffed at the view, trying not to smile amusedly. The autumn troupe really was made out of beasts.
“If Sakyo-san saw what you two are eating he’d skin you alive, you know.”
“Why.”
“What do you mean why, Juza-san you can’t expect-“
"Ah, that reminds me!” Taichi suddenly rambled, mouth full of rice “We should totally go to the arcade before we head up to the dorm. I heard they have these new games that are supposed to be super exclusive!”
Tenma winced “Can’t. I have a meeting with my homeroom teacher after classes.”
The other two replied with a similar expression.
“I almost forgot you came from a big shootin’ and all. We’ve been seein' you in the dorm pretty much everyday.”
“Yeah! Geez I always say I envy you, but dealing with that after working must suck!”
“You tell me…”
Taichi shook his head, giving him both thumbs up “It’s okay, we can go another time. Good luck though!”
.
.
.
“You can sit here. I’ll go bring your work in a second and then we’ll talk.”
With a lazy look on his face, Tenma caught a glimpse of his own reflection from a trophy case- one of the few resting at the entrance of the teacher’s lounge. He had never paid attention to them before; Second prize in a football tournament, first prize in some races and a few diplomas regarding different competitions, nothing too special. Ouka high had never had the best score regarding academics, which is exactly why he was able to enter.
Igawa liked to insist it wasn’t entirely Tenma’s fault he had so many troubles keeping up with schoolwork though- well, not more than the usual of not being good at studying. No one actually knew how hard celebrity kids had to push themselves- at least that’s what his parent had said. On the other hand, they hadn’t really cared much more, so long the school allowed him to be flexible with his schedules.
School time was usually done while moving sets and camera changes. He and other kids and teens were at different levels of schooling most of the time, so the teacher was forced to divide their time. Honestly, one would be lucky to get 30 minutes of full tutoring.
Anyway, it was rotten work and even Tenma knew it. He also knew what his homeroom teacher thought about it, which is exactly why he couldn’t help himself raising his eyebrows concerned as he saw the pile of papers being drop over the desk.
“Is this a joke?”
“I know you’re busy, but there’s a minimum to do keep up with your classes and… general results.” the old man frowned scratching his grey four-days old beard. He clicked here and there at the computer, probably revising the latest results of the tests they had done.
He then leaned back on his chair, trying to find a comfortable position before his wrinkly eyes turned to him again. “I wish I could think of another way, but you are getting quite behind everyone, Sumeragi-kun. We’re worried.”
Well, it was not his fault he couldn’t remember all the information they gave him like a script. Was it really the solution giving him the same amount of work as his classmates with half the time?
Before he could open his mouth to complain, the man placed his hand on Tenma’s shoulder. It felt heavy. “I already talked with your manager. It seems you’ll be having a break for a month and a half just before finals and I’d like to help you. We can’t have one of the biggest faces of the school repeating a year, can we?”
Tenma’s jaw clenched. Of course, everything was always for Sumeragi Tenma the actor. Student Tenma could go drown himself.
“Here you’ll find some reinforcement materials I think will be good for you to do in school. Less time wasted while moving and I’ll be here in case you have any questions.”
His face twitched. That would mean he wouldn’t be able to ask for Tsumugi’s help or any of the adults back in Mankai. “I actually-”
“Suguro-sensei, Someone’s calling for you about tomorrow’s meeting!”
“Is it that time already... I’ll be right there in a second! In any case, I would suggest you go work on the library Sumeragi-kun.” the man got up, finishing that way their conversation. “It should be quiet enough, but if you see any students being too loud, give them a call.”
Tenma side-glanced again at his workload, groaning internally.
Just about his luck.
.
.
.
Twenty minutes walking.
How could such a big school not have a single sign to indicate where things were?
Squinting his eyes, Tenma looked both ways across the hall annoyed, his already short temper from before increasing. He was sure the library was two turns to the right, then left, and then up the stairs from the teachers’ lounge.
...or maybe it was a floor down now that he thought about it. Damn it. It wasn’t as if he had ever stepped inside that place, shouldn’t they make it more accessible for everyone?
“This sucks…”
It had been a while since he had seen other students or even teachers around, which also made him feel uneasy. He glanced down at the paperwork in his arms, gripping it tighter. He hoped no one would see him walking around like this.
Just where was the stupid library?
It wasn’t until Tenma decided to try entering inside any room that would allow him to work, that he found many were strangely closed. He was about to gave up when he finally saw the dusty word ‘library’ at the end of the corridor. Finally. With effort he managed to open the heavy door, immediately pinching his nose.
“Ugh, stinks.”
The person in charge of cleaning the school really did a worse job than Matsukawa- at least the man cleaned from time to time and organized stuff. The place was an absolute mess; boxes over the floor, piles of books on chairs and shelves full of documents and other various things he didn’t quite distinguish.
Leaving everything on the closest table Tenma sighed when he felt his arms relaxing without the weight. Frowning, he walked around the place, smelling a mix of dirt and old- even some shelves were full of dust. Really, how did a school like this had such a gross place to study? No wonder students didn’t try to come here.
He should have asked for permission to take his work back to Mankai. Less danger of someone noticing he was behind his studies and it becoming a gossip- or worse, finding he had been walking without an absolute clue for the last half hour.
Yeah, he had more options to pass the year with Tsumugi’s help rather than on his own. Just looking at the amount of work he had he was sure it’d-
The faint sound of walking steps brought him back from his thoughts freezing him on the spot- all his breath trapped. He hadn’t heard anyone since he entered, but it shouldn't be surprising to find others studying.
I’ve heard it likes room 1001 for some reason, you know, from the old side of the school? No one really uses it anymore- guess it makes sense!
Or it was probably the wind. The wind tends to make noises, Tenma reminded himself while swallowing with difficulty.
Was the air suddenly thick?
Crack!
He strained to hear, his heart pounding loudly. “I-Is anyone there?” the nerves made his voice come out higher than he had hoped.
More cracks and sounds of steps. He couldn't see anything yet.
His stomach turned as his breath became louder. This wasn't happening. Yup! It was his imagination. What was happening could not be real, because ghosts didn’t exist. “I-I’m not afraid, you know?!” he shouted, positioning himself on a fighting stance while carefully moving backward.
That’s right- Tenma wasn’t scared. He had just rested enough, with or without a ghost in the room, and it was about time to leave. Ignoring his sweaty palms and nodding once more to nothing in particular, he turned around at the same time a pair of eyes made contact with his.
The figure opened its mouth.
And Tenma proceeded to absolutely destroy his throat.
_________________________________________________
This took so long though I’m not even sure If they are around. If you are love, I apologize! I found a few walls writing-wise. So not entirely to say I made it longer to make up for it but on the other hand... maybe. Thank you so much for sending such a nice idea so I was able to make this, really hope you like it. 💕
I promise this is a reader insert lol thank you for reading!
Part 2 soon!
#tenma sumeragi#a3 game#a3 tenma#a3! tenma#reader x a3#a3! x reader#tenma x reader#a3 actor training game#reader insert#a3! taichi#a3! juza
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Un-alone, Chapter 7
Here it is!
“Hello…? Yeah, Dad, we’re here. Yeah, everything’s fine. No, no, we’re at Uncle Phil’s… Mum? Yeah, she’s alright. She’s talking to him right now so I thought I might just call and tell you we’re here, for you not to worry too much… Yeah, I can put her on the phone, hold on… Mum? Dad wants you on the phone!”
“Tell him I’m coming!” Caroline looked at her brother. “Hold on Phil, Mike’s going to worry otherwise.”
“Go ahead, Carrie.”
The sixty-odd year old woman rose from the sofa and went to the telephone, leaving her brother on his sofa.
"Thanks, Micky, go with your Uncle, I'll be a minute." She gently tapped her son's arm and the tall man nodded.
He went to his uncle and sat on the armchair next to the sofa. The Aussie put his hat and his aviators on the coffee table.
"So, Micky, how're you? How was the flight and all? Oh by the way, here… Your mum's poured you a cup of tea while you were on the phone…”
“Oh, thanks…” Mundy took the cup that his uncle was handing him and nodded in thanks. Micky was the nickname that his family used with him. “Flight’s been bloody long. America’s so far from home and New Mexico’s not on the East coast either so, eh... I slept for most of it but Mum was a bit restless.”
“Ah, I’m not surprised. I know your Mum, she’s always been active and energetic like that.” Phil chuckled. “But all went well on your way here?”
“Yeah, not too bad.” Mundy took a sip of his tea. “Had to drive to the airport for a few hours first. Dropped the van to be delivered here soon hopefully, and then we took the plane with Mum.”
“I see. And what're you doin' now? Still hunting?" Philip drank his tea and offered some biscuits to his nephew.
"Ah, thanks. And uh, yeah, same old." Mundy smiled. "I still hunt."
"Dad still angry about it?"
"Not really angry. He's more than used to it by now. But he'd rather I just helped in the farm, for sure."
"Ah, can't blame him. Guns are dangerous, eh."
They nodded and both took a sip of their tea.
"You make tea exactly like Mum." Mundy chuckled.
"Bah, y'know your mum, she didn't let me do it! She made that herself… Gosh, Caroline! I told her, you took the car for hours and then the plane for hours, you must be dead tired. But y'know how you can't reason with your mum, eh?"
"Yeah, I do…" Mundy smiled.
"So what's new back home?"
"Bah, not much… Mum and Dad are still lookin' after the chickens and geese. I help in between contracts. But you, Uncle Phil? You got injured? Mum told me it was at work…?"
Philip nodded.
"Yeah, y'know, bein' a policeman here ain't always easy."
"What happened?"
"Got beaten up by a group of thugs."
"Mum said something about gunshots."
"Yeah, it was two gangs goin' at each other. Young folks, really. Such a shame to see kids like this these days. But yeah, there were a few gunshots and one caught my leg."
"Oh wow…" Mundy nodded. "When did that happen?"
"About a few weeks ago now…? Yeah, a couple of weeks ago."
"And you still walk with a cane and a limp, eh?" Mundy asked, nodding at the cane resting against the side of the couch.
"Yeah…" Philip frowned and scratched his bushy moustache. "Goin' through therapy, but y'know, I ain't young anymore so it'll take a long time before it'll go back to normal."
"That what the doctors said?"
"Yeah." Philip nodded. "They said I might even retire before it's complete history."
"Oh, bugger… Can you work again at least or…?"
"Well, I'll only do desk stuff but no field work." Philip seemed saddened by it.
"Ah, I'm sorry, Uncle Phil…" Mundy scratched his short, brown hair.
"Bah, I was due to retire in a few months, so it doesn't change much. Just means I can take it easy a few months in advance."
"But you really liked your job, right?" Mundy asked.
"Oh yeah, as much as you yours."
They smiled and nodded at each other. Caroline came back and sat next to her brother on the sofa.
"Alright, Mike's alright. I told him about the van." She said, looking at her son, Mundy.
"What's wrong with it?" Philip asked.
"They said it's gonna arrive in a week or so." Caroline answered. "They’re having delays for some reason."
"You're welcome to use my car whenever you need, eh." Philip offered. “You didn’t need to get Mike’s van over the ocean.”
"Oh, thanks, Phil'. It'll come in handy, I'm sure. And it’s Micky’s van now." She chuckled and was interrupted by Philip's dog coming to lay on Mundy's lap.
"Marty, get off of Micky's lap, you big boy…!"
Marty was a German shepherd. He was Philip's life companion for the past decade now.
"He's fine, Uncle Phil, let him do… Yeah, good boy…!" Mundy was spoiling the dog with pets and scratches. The canine went to fetch a toy and brought it to the Aussie.
"You can take him to the backyard and play there with him if you want, Micky."
"Oh, for sure, c'mon, let's go, big boy…!" Mundy collected his hat and aviators from the coffee table before he exited the living-room through the French window, closely followed by the dog.
That left Caroline and Philip chatting together.
"Micky's told me Mike still doesn't like his huntin', eh?" Philip asked and his sister nodded.
“To be honest, we never agreed to it or liked the idea. It’s dangerous. I mean, you’re livin’ proof that carryin’ a gun can get you at the wrong end of another one.”
“Yeah, but he’s not huntin’ people, is he? They're just beasts.”
“Beasts that could rip your leg off better than that bullet you took, Phil’.” Caroline sipped on her tea. “Nah, we’ve tried to get him interested in anything else. We got him to play in a pub.”
“Play?” Phil repeated.
“The sax. He’s quite decent.” Caroline explained and pushed her pink glasses back up her nose.
“But?” Phil anticipated.
“But he likes to do it on the side… He really likes huntin’ and he’s the best at it. He’s now got a reputation. Sometimes, he says he has work, takes the van and drives off for days. We don’t know where he goes, what he does, but he comes back with heaps of money…!”
“You don’t think he’s doin’ anything dodgy, is he?” Phil asked, his policeman instincts kicking in.
“I don’t know. We’ve asked him countless times and he always says that it’s the price for capturing rare game but…” Caroline shook her head. “I can’t help but think there’s more to it. Once, the police came along with some men who didn’t look like regular police. They took him away to have a chat. In the end, he told us he landed a contract that paid generously, and oh boy it did! We redid part of the house with that money…! But what the job was exactly, he couldn’t tell us. He said the police asked him to be quiet about it.”
“Well if it’s the police askin’ and he’s free, that means he helped them, he wasn’t against them, so I wouldn’t worry.”
“I can’t help it…” Caroline raised her eyes and saw Mundy play with the dog through the French window.
"Hey, Carrie, the boy's a grown up man now. And if the police comes for him to work, that means he's real good… How old is he now?"
"Almost forty."
"And still livin' with you and Mike?"
"Nah, yeah…"
"He doesn't wanna go?" Phil asked.
"I don't know. We never really discussed it."
“D’you think he does the huntin' work only for the money? If he earns a lot of it, he might just continue it for the cash.” Phil asked.
“Yeah, nah.” Caroline shook her head. “It's not for the money. He takes a lot of work for free…"
"For free? Hell…" Phil chuckled. "And what about, y'know, findin' a good woman and all?"
"Oh God, if only I knew what was goin' on with him…" Caroline shook her head. "He never brings anyone home and he never talks about these things. Even with his dad. He's never, y'know, just checked a sheila out or let his eyes linger. It's like he doesn't feel a thing for them."
"I can ask. Maybe he can't talk to y'all about it but is happy to open up to someone else?"
"Maybe."
There was a pause.
"He doesn't seem too unhappy about it all, eh?" Phil nodded to Mundy who was playing fetch with Marty.
"Nah, he doesn't but… We'd love to see him bring someone home, y'know. I wonder if he does have someone but just hides it."
"Why would he do that?"
"I don't know. Last time he talked about a pretty sheila, he was back in primary school. Since then, it's been different."
"Hm." Phil finished his tea. "And what about Mike? How's he? You left him alone to come and see me?"
Caroline shook her head.
"Yeah, nah, he’s got his brother over and it’s rugby season. I just have to call them to stay away from havin’ barbies everyday.” She chuckled.
“Oh I’m sure he’ll be reasonable.” Phil joined her chuckles.
“Yeah, as long as I call him enough…!”
“I’m happy you could visit, Carrie.”
Brother and sister exchanged smiles.
“It’s been a while since we last saw each other. Micky was much younger. He’s a man and a half now. And not bad-lookin’ at all!” Phil added.
“Yeah, he’s a fine bloke. And you need someone to help with that leg of yours… You should have called and told me right when it happened! Why wait a few weeks?”
“Yeah, like I’d stop middle of the shootin’ to go to the nearest phone, call in Oz’ and tell you about it…!” Phil joked and chuckled.
“You know that’s not what I meant, Phil..!”
“I know, I know, just jokin’. But I just didn’t want to scare y’all. You’re far from me and if I’d called you and said ‘oh hey, Carrie, I just got shot but everythin’s fine’, you'd have jumped in the first plane with your old age and your even older Mike to come and see me…!”
“Oi, you’re older than me and Mike’s your age!” She answered with a laugh. “Besides, here I am anyway with Micky.”
“Yeah, thanks for visitin’, really. I’m sure you’ll help a lot.”
“Of course I will…!”
“But yeah, you convinced Micky to come and Mike to stay?” Phil asked, his tone coming back to being a bit more serious.
“To be honest…” Caroline cast a glance over to Mundy. He was busy and far in the backyard, beyond the French window. In a word, he was out of earshot. “We had to kind of push him.”
“Push him to do what?”
“To come with me.” Caroline explained.
“He wanted to stay with his Dad?”
“Yeah, nah, he just… He didn’t wanna stay with his Dad per se, but he likes to stick to the van. He practically lives there, you know, when he disappears off.”
“Ah, I see.” Phil nodded. “But don’t worry, Carrie. I’d be proud if I were you.”
“What? Why?” She raised a curious eyebrow.
“If the police come to him for help, he’s really good.” The old man poured more tea for his sister and himself. “We don’t get other folks to do our job, and if we ever do, we’re either forced to, or they’re so good that it hurts for us to admit it. Micky might be both.”
Caroline nodded but bobbed her head left and right.
“I suppose you’re right.”
“Why force him to come?”
“I’m old, Phil, and I don’t like travellin’ that much.”
“Neither does he, from what you’re tellin’ me.”
“Yeah but... “
“Carrie?”
Caroline raised her eyes to her elder brother.
“I know you’re hidin’ somethin’. Tell me.”
She bit her lip and looked through the window again. Mundy was still absorbed in whatever he was doing with the dog.
“I’m a bit worried. I think he… He might be happy at work but…”
“But what?”
“That’s the thing, I don’t even know…!”
-- A few days later --
“Here, let me help…”
“Nah, it’s alright, Micky.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah! Look, I just need to put the cane first, then this leg and - oof!- this one…! Ah, thanks, son.”
Mundy helped his uncle get in the car anyway.
“Alright, you’ll have to guide me, Uncle Phil.” The younger man hopped in the car.
“Yeah, it’s not too far. Let’s get to the café that I like and you’ll tell me what you think of their coffee, yeah?”
“Mum’s not comin’?” Mundy asked.
“Nah, she wants some quiet time without boys ruinin’ her cleanin’ the house. I got told off this mornin’ cause the house wasn’t clean enough for her standards!”
“Sounds like Mum alright.” Both chuckled and Mundy adjusted the mirrors and the driver’s seat, fastening his seatbelt.
“Alright, let’s go, son.”
The drive was quiet. Phil told his nephew about the neighbourhood and how it had changed over the years, on the few occasions that they stopped at a red light.
“Where can we park?”
“Behind the thing, take it left here… And there.”
Mundy parked and went around to help his uncle out.
“The place looks nice and cosy, eh?” The young man said.
“Yeah, that’s why I like it.” Philip answered and they made their way in. “Here, that’s my table.”
The gentle smell of coffee wrapped them up as Mundy discovered the decor. Cosy was the right word for it. It practically looked like a living-room with the sofas and fireplace, the coffee table and magazines. The rest of the room had the classic restaurant/café layout with tables and chairs but that living-room corner looked very comfortable indeed. The walls were wooden and the beams of dark wood in the ceiling were clearly quite old. It reinforced the overall rustic yet familiar atmosphere.
“Oh hey, Phil!” The café owner greeted him.
“Hey Bob, how are ya?”
“Alright. Who’s this friend with you?” Bob asked as he made his way to Philip and his younger nephew. He was a big man in his late fifties for sure. Salt and pepper hair with more salt than pepper already and big square glasses on a nose that went with the proportions of the large man. Bob wore an apron with the colors and logo of the café and threw the tea towel he was holding on his shoulder.
“That here's my nephew, Micky. He’s come with his Mum to help out, while my bad leg heals up.”
“Oh, brilliant! Where are you guys from?” Bob looked at Mundy who took a seat opposite his uncle. He removed his hat but kept the aviators on.
“From Australia.”
“That’s quite the trip, eh?”
“Yeah.” Mundy smiled.
“Alrighty then, I’ll let you make up your mind. Coffee’s on me, Phil. No, no, don’t even try to argue!”
The three men exchanged a chuckle.
“Alright, Bobby, can you give us your classic. Make it two, I want the kid here to try it. Careful, he knows his way around coffees, eh?” Philip answered.
“Sure thing! Two of Phil’s usual, on their way…!” Bob left Phil and his nephew in peace.
“So, how d’you find America so far, Micky?”
“Not so different from home. You just drive on the right, which confused me a bit but now I think I’m getting used to it.”
“Here, two classics. Enjoy, folks!” Bob put the two cups on the table and added a packet of chocolate for each before leaving them.
Mundy and Phil were sitting in a corner of the café, next to the window.
“Go ahead, son, and tell me.”
Mundy took a careful sip and let it invade his mouth, cover his palate and hug his tongue warmly. It was the beginning of October now and the weather was colder than in his native Australia, so the hot coffee was very welcome.
“Mh… I like it.”
“Yeah?” Phil insisted.
“Yeah, I think so. It’s not too strong or bitter. It’s well balanced without being fruity or too sweet.”
“Gosh, listen to you talk,...!” Phil laughed. “You sound like one of those so called experts they bring on TV or somethin’, heh.”
“I’m just used to drinkin’ loads of coffee.” Mundy explained.
“Drink it when you work?”
“Yeah, all the time.” Mundy nodded and smiled. “I really like it.”
“Even when you’re in the desert, scorchin’ sun and all?” Phil asked.
“Oh yeah, absolutely.” Mundy answered. “It’s really good to drink something hot when it's hot. Helps you sweat and regulate your body temperature. They do that in the Sahara, only with tea and not coffee.”
“Right, right, I didn’t know that, but now that you say it, it kinda makes sense. So talkin’ about your work, tell me what it’s like.”
“What?” Mundy chuckled.
“You a hunter, right?”
“Yeah.”
“So tell me how and what you hunt, son!”
“Oh, uh, you sure?” Mundy asked, raising a surprised eyebrow.
“O’course! Why d’you sound shocked?”
“Cause Mum and Dad don’t really like what I’m doin’ so I don’t really uh… I’m not used to talkin’ about it, is all.” Mundy lowered his head, as if ashamed.
“Yeah and I understand your folks but I’m not them. Besides, I’m a policeman. I’m sure your Mum doesn’t like my job either for the same reason she’s not fond of yours.”
“Fair, yeah.” Mundy nodded, raising his head back for his eyes to meet with his uncle’s.
“So, go ahead! Tell me everythin’!”
Seeing his uncle’s enthusiasm made him blush for an instant. Mundy felt put on the spot. He looked around them and the other customers in the café didn’t pay the last bit of attention to them. He smiled and took a bit of air before starting.
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Vengeance is an Idiot’s Game - Chapter 21 - Death by Proclamation
Eliza was relieved to see the rest of the group had made it back unscathed, just ahead of them and thankfully with the wagon and all their supplies. Their reunion was interrupted by Miss Grimshaw marching in, accusing Sadie of being reckless and putting her girls in unnecessary danger. Their argument looked a lot like a mother bear fighting a cougar and Eliza slunk away with the three girls, not particularly eager to get into another battle today. The way the two women shouted at each other, she thought she preferred bullets whizzing around her.
After a quick recount of the events from when they got split up with Mary-Beth, Karen and Tilly, Dutch showed up with Hosea close behind him.
“Trouble in town? I hope everyone is safe and sound?”
The four looked up, nodding.
“Some darned bounty hunter recognised Miss Adler, thankfully we already had all we needed and was hidin’ in the store! Eliza weren’t so lucky, got dragged into the fight, we thought they was gonna gun down the whole town”, Tilly explained. “Well, we headed back after them when the coast was clear, I’m just glad no one knew they was with us.”
Karen and Mary-Beth nodded. Dutch turned to Eliza, concern in his eyes as he was considering her carefully.
“Are you feeling alright, Miss Eliza? This must have been quite the shock for you.”
His voice was so soothing she almost got completely lulled in by it, forgetting all the troubles of the day. Heavens, Molly didn’t seem quite so stupid to her in that moment, listening to him cooing like this after the adrenaline of a deadly shootout had pumped through her body would make any woman’s stomach flutter. She forced herself to return to reality, blinking up at him.
“I’m fine, Sadie got me out of there. Just a bit shaken, that’s all.”
The black haired man nodded and Hosea smiled at her, relieved. Now this was a man whose emotions she could take for what they appeared as.
“Indeed, shaken will be right. I’m glad, I was you might have changed your mind about staying with us after this terrible ordeal. You are a welcome addition to our little family, and I’m sure we all would be sad to see you go.”
Dutch squeezed her shoulder for a short moment, then turned to head back to his tent where Molly stood at the entrance, squinting at them suspiciously. The pretty redhead was a problem for another time Eliza decided, it wasn’t even midday yet and she already wanted to go back to bed.
Hosea went off and grabbed some tins from the kitchen wagon, placing them onto the table nearby. He beckoned her and the girls to have a seat and eat something after the stressful events of the morning. Her stomach growled at this and she was reminded that she hadn’t had any food yet. Maybe that was for the better, considering the chase had led her to throw up violently.
She sat down beside the old kindly man, wordlessly picking away at some strawberries and wasn’t sure if she could stomach them and the turmoil of this morning.
Sadie plopped herself down at the table a short while later, sighing exhaustedly.
“If I had the choice between gettin’ shot at by a bunch of ugly bastards and bein’ yelled at by that woman, I think I’d take the shootin’ any day.”
Eliza laughed, having thought something similar not too long ago. Hosea chuckled.
“She’s a frightful woman, but that’s one of her best qualities. No one is gonna come between her and her girls!”
“Her slaves, more like”, added Karen, grumbling. She really didn’t take kindly being woken up that early. Tilly slapped her arm, laughing.
“What would you know ‘bout slavery! Your parent’s ain’t been owned by some rich white folk! Really, sometimes I wonder if you ain’t never looked at me.”
The whole table shared a hearty laugh, shaking off the agitation of the morning. When everyone turned their attention to the food again Sadie waved her hand in an expecting gesture at Eliza.
“You ever gonna read that paper we almost died for then?”
For a moment the girl didn’t know what she was talking about, then remembered why she had gone back past the gunsmith in the first place. With a small cry she pulled a heavily crinkled newspaper out of her dress, smoothing it out on the table. She scanned the front page, headlining a train robbery, something about some nonsense the President spouted, a murderer on the loose and about her father, expanding his reach to the Caribbean. She skimmed over the article, there was nothing new, only the same ruthless businessman he had always been. She moved on to the train robbery piece, headlining ‘who are the Scarlett Meadows Bandits?’, when Mary-Beth joined her, curiously following the same article. She broke out in a loud laugh.
“Well, ain’t that a coincidence! I can tell ya a secret, them name’s are Arthur, John and Charles!”
Eliza turned to her, in disbelief. “They robbed a train?! B-but it says here there were casualties…” She stopped talking, everyone’s eyes were planted on her. She had spoken without thinking, of course there would be casualties. Sadie didn’t just get chased out of town by half a dozen men for mere robbery. She wondered how high the price on each of their heads was and dropped her gaze back to the paper. “Sorry”, she mumbled, her voice
meek.
“Well”, Hosea stretched out, getting ready to leave, “You’ll get used to the thought of being surrounded by murderers and thieves, we all did. At least we’re not like the O’Driscolls, we try not to take innocent folk’s lives.”
Eliza just nodded, humming her agreement. The thought of lawmen not being deemed as innocent people was strange to her, but in the end surely most of them had blood on their hands too? She had shot at men today, hitting at least two or three of them, and even if she didn’t take their lives she definitely wasn’t innocent herself anymore. The thought of this made her uneasy.
Her eyes were fixed blankly on the paper, not taking in the lines they were following when Mary-Beth pulled it out of her hands.
“Karen!” She hissed sharply, staring on something on the page with growing excitement. Karen looked up, her expression slightly irritated.
“Karen, look!”, she handed the paper to the blonde girl, pointing at the article about the murderer. “It’s Sean! He’s alive, and he’s free! They got him out!”
Karen’s face changed in a split second. She grabbed the paper and almost tore it out of Mary-Beth’s hand, searching eagerly for the story in question.
“Sean MacGuire, a member of the notorious Dutch van der Linde’s gang, has escaped from custody. MacGuire was captured and in the process of being transported from Blackwater to a federal prison in the west. The Van der Linde’s gang was responsible for the Blackwater boat robbery in 1899 that left many dead.”, she cited the article aloud. “…shootout was fierce… Upper Montana river… the escape is yet another example of the incompetence of police… They’ve done it, they got him!”
She jumped up with a wide smile on her face and ran to tell everyone that would want to hear the news, dropping half the paper on the ground. Sadie leaned back in her chair fishing for it and threw it back on the table.
“Well someone’s sure changed her tone”, she said, her eyes following the blonde. “Ain’t sweet on him, sure.” She smirked.
Tilly leaned in, keeping her voice low. “Why d’y’all think it’s taking them so long to get back here?”
Sadie studied her, her forehead wrinkled with thought. “I ain’t sure… Probably ran into some trouble or other and had to lie low for a while. Blackwater’s still crawling with Pinkertons, we ain’t wanna lead them back to camp.”
Eliza listened to their speculations and flipped through the rest of the pages. There wasn’t much of interest, until her eyes got caught by a little article, tucked away between advertisements past the middle of the paper. Her mouth dropped open in silent disbelief as she read, hot anger rising in her chest. Tears started to gather in her eyes, and she slammed the paper on the table, ignoring the sharp pain on the edges of her hands. The three women jerked up.
“Eliza, what’s wrong?” Mary-Beth asked, confused.
She stammered for a moment, before she could get the words out.
“H-he… My… My bloody father, that’s what’s wrong!” she exclaimed, her voice shaking with indignation, pointing at the article that laid open on the table. Sadie took the paper and read aloud for the others to hear.
“Tragic loss of oil baron’s daughter. Eliza Cornwall, 26, daughter of famous oil and businessman Leviticus Cornwall, has been killed at the hands of the van der Linde’s gang. Cornwall announced her kidnapping in early March, along with a letter of blackmail by the wanted criminal Dutch van der Linde. The widely known gang, also referred to as Dutch’s Boys, demanded five thousand dollars for her return. Despite the police’s best efforts, her whereabouts remained unknown. At the site of the exchange a gunfight broke out, killing her in the process. The Pinkerton Detective Agency is looking for the murderers, it is believed they are currently residing in southern Ambarino.”
Sadie let a whistle through her teeth, putting the paper down. Her eyes were resting on Eliza. “So, he killed you then.”
She was shaking from head to toe, hot tears of anger rolling down her cheeks.
“How… How could he. How dare he.” She clenched her hands into
fists, staring at the cursed piece of paper. Mary-Beth was at her side, pulling her into a hug. She struggled at first, too worked up to care. She wanted to break something, hurt someone. The girl didn’t let go, and slowly Eliza succumbed to her embrace, leaning her forehead against her shoulder.
“I… I knew he didn’t care for me much, but this is just… I hate him. I’ll kill him.”
Mary-Beth gave her a pat on her shoulder, untangling herself and looking at her. “You don’t mean that.”
“You better believe I do. He’s a disgusting human being, always only out for his own good. Lying and cheating, he doesn’t give a damn about anyone but himself! He destroyed my mum’s life and many others, and now he cut ties with me, telling everyone he tried to get me back?!” Her voice echoed across the campsite, drawing everyone’s attention. “I’m gonna kill him, and if it’s the last bloody thing I do. FUCK.” The last word was yelled into the sky, it felt good to curse. Her father had abandoned her, finally discarded her after ten years. She laughed bitterly.
“Come on now Miss Eliza, let’s sit you down.” Hosea had reappeared, holding her at the arms and guiding her towards her canopy. “Mr. Pearson, would you mind getting us some nice hot tea?” He gently pushed the desperately upset woman down into a seat on her bedroll, taking the lantern off the stool before he sat down on it himself, his hand still resting on her shoulder.
“Hosea, I… I hate him.” She looked at him, pleading for understanding.
“He’s an awful man”, he sighed, nodding. “I thought so before and now, well, now we know how he treats his own kin.” His eyes rested on her, filled with hurt. “We may be criminals, robbin’ and killin’ folk out there, but at least we do it with our own hands. Men like him, they…”
“They pay others to do it for them”, she murmured, pulling her knees to her chest. “Yeah, I know he’s done that before. Keeps his hands and conscience clean, if he even has one.”
Pearson hurried back with a cup of hot tea, holding it out to her. Sadie walked up behind him, sitting down on the cot beside her. Mary-Beth and Tilly were speaking to Karen and Miss Grimshaw, and they were headed in her direction too. Suddenly Eliza felt overwhelmed by all the support and consolation she was given here, causing the tears to flow again.
“Now, now, Miss Cornwall, no need to cry. Your father is an atrocious man, and we’re all right here behind you. At least you ain’t ever gonna have to go back to him now.”
Miss Grimshaw looked at her, with deep sympathy written across her face. She noticed the cup in the girl’s hands and produced a flask out of her apron's pocket, adding what could only be assumed was whiskey to the tea. “Now, drink up and get some rest. You girls are all excused from the chores today, I think the day has had plenty of excitement otherwise.”
___
A short nap, aided by the generous amount of alcohol added to her tea by Miss Grimshaw, proved to do wonders for Eliza’s mental state. Waking up in the late afternoon she felt settled and much less erratic. Her mood was still grim, full of dark thoughts about her father, but now her anger had a calculated energy to it. She would pay him back, she just didn’t know yet how.
Dutch came by as she was stood at the edge of camp, staring out into the valley and deep in thought of how she could make her father’s life hell.
“I hope you don’t mind me joining you Miss, I couldn’t help but hear of your father’s appalling newspaper report. May I just say, we are more than happy to have you here in our midst and we do not ever abandon our own.” He stopped next to her, hooking one hand under his belt, in the other one of his cigars. As much as she didn’t trust him, to hear these words coming from the leader of this gang was comforting.
“Thank you Dutch”, she replied, throwing him a quick glance. The low standing sun gave his features a golden glow. She let out a deep sigh. “It was just a bit much. He’s never been kind to me, but this… I guess it hit a nerve.” Shrugging, her eyes followed the slow flow of the river, as they had so often before.
“It is more than understandable, Miss. What he did was… cruel.” Shaking his head, he took a draft of his cigar. “No man should ever betray his child like this.”
He turned to her and placed one hand firmly on her shoulder, an earnest expression written on his face. “I promise you Eliza, I won’t let him hurt you any more. One day, we will make him pay.”
The girl couldn’t help but stare at him, lost for words. She hadn’t expected him to support her in this way, and her mind flicked back to Molly and what she’d think if she saw her man in such close proximity to another woman. Slightly uncomfortable, she eased herself out of his grip. He let go, but not without a nod that was clearly meant to underline his sincerity.
“Thank you Mr. – I mean Dutch, I really appreciate it. I… I should get back to camp, I wanted to see if I could help Mr. Pearson with dinner”, she lied and hurried off.
He really was a strange man, so unreadable. Spending time alone in his company made her nervous, and that was the last thing she needed today.
To not prove her falsehood, she headed towards the kitchen wagon where Pearson was kneeling, stirring the pot on the fire.
“Can I help you Mr. Pearson? I wanted to thank you for the tea earlier.”
The man looked up at her, a wide smile beneath his giant moustache. “Don’t worry dear, it’s pretty much ready. And ‘t was no bother, no bother at all.”
He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture.
Not quite knowing what to do with herself until dinner she steered towards the campfire. Uncle laid passed out under one of the tents opposite, Lenny and Tilly both shared a quiet conversation when she approached, smiling at her as she sat onto the log.
“You alright? Been quite a day for ya”, Lenny asked. Eliza’s lips curled into a half smile, having someone that much younger enquire about her wellbeing in such an elderly-sibling manner amused her.
“I’m okay, thank you Lenny.” She took a deep breath, stretching her back and closing her eyes for a moment, tilting her neck back. “How are you guys doing?”
“Better than you I reckon. Karen’s all happy and ain’t touched a bottle yet, even Miss Grimshaw seems t’ be happy about the news of Sean. Lenny and I was just wonderin’ when they’ll be back.”
“Don’t we all”, Eliza mumbled. The absence of some of the gang’s most capable members had grown heavy, and she started to truly miss Charles and Arthur. Until now she hadn’t wanted to admit it to herself, but their company had always filled her with a sense of calmness and security.
The three of them sat there for a little while, Lenny shared a story of of him and Morgan getting mighty drunk in the Valentine saloon some while ago to pass the time until dinner. The laughter was soothing, gently washing over the hurt inside her.
“And then – listen – then he’s runnin’ off into the alley next to the
saloon an’ tryin’ to jump a fence, all while yellin’ ‘I’m an American’! And what happens next? He’s landin’ face first in a steamin’ pile of shit!” All three of them were wiping tears out of their eyes, Lenny was wheezing hard, struggling to continue. “I got away, but Sheriff’s got him, tanked up as he was. Only saw him again the next day, came draggin’ back to camp like some rusty gut.”
“He really wasn’t in a good mood, I remember! Barking at everyone to quiet down ‘cause he had a stinkin’ headache”, Tilly confirmed.
Eliza’s stomach muscles were hurting and she was struggling for air, it was hard trying to imagine Arthur Morgan in such a state, near impossible. He always seemed in control of himself, a bit awkward at times maybe or ferocious in his anger, but loose? Never. Slowly the cramps in her abdomen eased off and she was able to sit up straight again, just in time for Pearson’s “Dinner’s ready folks” call from the cooking fire.
Sadie waved from her wagon as the three of them were strolling over to the stew pot, still chuckling. Eliza grabbed her portion and followed Sadie’s invitation, seating herself next to her on the back of her wagon.
“You alright? Sounds like yer day ain’t as bad now as it was”, she asked, not bothering to swallow her food before she spoke.
“Yeah, thank you. I’m much better than earlier. That reminds me, I didn’t even thank you for getting me out of town safe… Well, I-err… Thanks Sadie.”
Her cackling laugh was loud and drew a few confused glances. “Ya wouldn’t have been in danger if it wasn’t for me in the first place! But sure, you’re welcome. Sorry it gave you such a fright.”
She smiled shily. Sadie was right of course, but she was thankful all the same. After all those articles about her, she should have known better than to presume that a trip into town with Sadie Adler would be a completely mundane, safe endeavour. Trouble followed her like a pack of wolves on the trail of a wounded animal, and it rarely ended in a drunken Can-Can for her.
“Saw you runnin’ away from Dutch earlier, he botherin’ you?”
The abrupt change of topic caused Eliza to almost choke on a piece of mushy carrot, she didn’t think anyone would have seen the short exchange she had had with him. Sadie slapped her back as she coughed and the girl could feel the colour raise to her cheeks.
“I – I wasn’t running away from him, I just… Well, he wouldn’t be my first choice of company when I just want a bit of peace and quiet.”
She had been fleeing his presence of course, but that surely wouldn’t sit well with the rest of the gang. She chose to be in this family herself and didn’t want to give away the impression that she didn’t at least respect him as the head of it all. Sadie nodded, her expression utterly indifferent.
“He sure likes to hear himself talk. I prefer my own company most days.”
“So why are you putting up with me then?” Eliza tilted her head, curiously. Did the woman just feel obliged, after she did her the favour of upscaling her living quarters? Sadie hummed, seeming to be searching for the right words whilst scooping the last bite into her mouth.
“Well, you’re prettier than Dutch for one”, she jested, “but I s’pose I put up with you like I put up with Morgan. You’re good company, and also got your head screwed on right.” Putting her empty bowl down, she caught her glance. “I bet not one of them girls would’ve shot at them fellers in town this mornin’ if they’d’ve been in your shoes. Well, Miss Jones maybe, but only because her head ain’t screwed on right.”
Eliza bristled at her judgemental tone when she spoke and felt the need to defend the blonde girl. “Karen is not that bad you know. She’s loud and a bit brash sometimes, but she’s a good person really.”
“Oh I ain’t sayin’ she’s not, darlin’. She’s a damn good actress, seen it myself once or twice. She just ain’t exactly the type that can sit with ya in silence sometimes. Same with Dutch, right?”
She gave an amused bark, pulling a bottle of whiskey out of thin air and offering it to her young friend after she took a sip herself. Eliza decided against it, becoming a drunkard wasn’t on her plan even if she would grow into a fully fletched outlaw.
“Is that why you’re close with Arthur? Because he doesn’t talk much?”
“Well, partly. He’s a decent feller, got a bright head on his shoulders when he decides to think for himself. He also ain’t never looked down on me ‘cause I’m a woman, can’t say that about most people. Even here.”
She took another hearty swallow and Eliza pondered on her words. She had grown to like the man well enough herself, enough even to be worried about him being absent for so long, same as Charles. Only, Charles was easy to understand, straight forward and his personality was transparent as anything. Arthur? Well… He was a mystery to her. She didn’t know why he was humouring her presence in those early mornings at the cliff, or why he’d check up on her whenever their path crossed in camp. Did he feel like she needed protection after Micah’s attack? The
thought of someone assuming a guardian role for her because they didn’t believe in her own ability to protect herself was humiliating, no matter how much she had yet to learn. It reminded her of the fact that she was in way over her head and made her feel like a child thrown into the ocean to learn how to swim.
“Where the hell’s your filly run off to? You still with me girl?”
Sadie’s voice brought her back to the present, and she quickly loosened the frown her face had pulled itself into.
“Sorry, my thoughts went wandering there. Did you say something?”
The blonde woman cocked an eyebrow at her, showing a half smile with an expression Eliza could not read. “Your head off with the horses there, hm? I just said Arthur reminds me of my Jakey, in some ways. He’s the best man I know.”
Her gaze trailed off, staring at a point somewhere in the distance.
“Do you miss him?”
“Yeah… every day. But he wouldn’t approve of who I’m now I suppose.” She shrugged and let out a deep sigh. “He’d understand though. Life ain’t fair or just, but we gotta make the best out of the worst situations. We’re all just a bunch of stranded folk, tryin’ to survive.”
After a moment’s hesitation Eliza put her hand on her arm, hoping to infuse the little gesture with as much empathy as she could. “I’m sorry about your husband”, she said quietly. Seeing Sadie so vulnerable was strange, she had been her hero for a long time and she wanted to comfort her. But she just shook her head and smiled at her.
“Nothin’ to be sorry for, girl. You ain’t had it easy either, even before you got dragged into all this“ – she gestured towards the camp – “mess; and now your own daddy pronounced you dead.”
Getting up, she stretched tall and gave a yawn. “Knowin’ there’s good people like Morgan surroundin’ you makes it a bit easier, hm?”
Eliza followed her example and hopped off the wagon, picking up the empty bowls, a quiet laugh escaping her lips. “Seeing the good in people takes a while when they kidnapped you in the first place. But I suppose you’re right, Arthur doesn’t seem like a bad man.”
“I sure hope they come back soon”, Sadie nodded as Eliza dropped the plates into the water barrel by the kitchen wagon. “Else I’ll have to ride out myself an’ make sure they’re alright. Been a while now even for them.”
She tipped her imaginary hat at Hosea, that was walking past, getting ready to settle for the night. He gave them his warm smile and wished a goodnight. Sadie decided she needed some sleep too, giving her friend a gentle squeeze on the shoulder when she declared she’d stay awake a while longer. The gang was slowly tucking themselves away into their bedrolls and it got quiet. Without Javier’s guitar the campfire seemed only half as enjoyable in the night and most people preferred the quiet conversations with their tent partners, safe and warm.
Having had a lengthy nap during the day, tiredness was some way away for Eliza still, so she strolled towards the cliff that had somewhat become her favourite spot to spend her spare time at. The night air was fresh, and the soft breeze made her shiver a little as she sat down behind a big rock, obscured from curious eyes. Her gaze once again followed the river, moonlight reflecting on its rippling surface. The little cluster of trees and bushes where she and the girls had washed down in that distressing night drew her attention, and her eyes lingered there.
Sadie was right, he was a good man. And if the woman had reason to be worried about the boys being away for longer than anticipated, well… Eliza certainly didn’t need to feel guilty admitting she was worried about him too.
#rdr2#rdr2 fanfic#red dead redemption 2#red dead redemption 2 fanfic#mywriting#eliza cornwall#arthur morgan#vengeance is an idiot's game#arthur morgan x original female character
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Ruggie x Sky - How Pretty
Because I’m a sucker for festival dates, after all T_T
Sky let out a dejected sigh as she walked through the festival stalls. Everywhere she looked were couples, friend groups, or families, all having fun: yet here she was, ruminating as she hung her head low. Night Raven College was celebrating one of its anniversaries, and truly, she couldn’t even remember what that celebration was for. But what she knew is that she messed up, big, big time.
--
“Oi, Sky- you sure about this? That box’s kinda heavy, isn’t it?” Ace looked dubious as he saw Sky pick up a box full of paint tins.
“Ace, what do you take me for? Carrying such a small box will be a piece of cake for me.”
She regretted those words as soon as they left her mouth. What was even in that box? Sky was told it was only 'a few’ paint tins meant to help the art club design posters, but the box was a lot heavier than she had thought. Nevertheless, her pride wouldn’t let her admit that she couldn’t carry it- so off she went, legs wobbling. But seriously- why was that box so big? She couldn’t even see the ground, and-
“Wah- Sky, careful!”
“Huh?”
As soon as she heard Ace’s voice, Sky looked up- only to feel herself lose balance on the slippery ground. Her brain couldn’t process what had happened- but in the span of a few seconds, she landed on the ground, the box’s content shattered on the floor, and saw... someone drenched in paint?
“Sky, you oka-” Ace rushed over before stopping. “Who- WAH? Dorm Leader Riddle???”
“R-Rosehearts-senpai?” Sky’s eyes widened as she heard Ace pronounce his name. But her classmate was right- right in front of her was Riddle, completely drenched in green paint.
“.....”
Riddle stood there for a second, seemingly processing what just happened. Ace and Sky, frozen in fear, waited for him to explode- but to their surprise, Riddle just sighed and wiped some paint off his face. His eyes seemed to say, not surprised.... as he spoke to Sky:
“Sky, I think it’s better if you don’t handle the manual work- as a matter of fact, I think it’s better if you walk around the festival for now.”
--
Sky felt tears prickle her eyes as she recalled the events. Ah, seriously, how could she embarrass herself that badly? Ace tried to cheer her up, “Do you not realise how lucky you are?? It would have been off with your head for me!!”, but even her friend’s attempts at recomforting her felt futile as she remembered the expression on Riddle’s face.
It’s not like I was expecting anything from you, anyway. It was the exact expression everyone always looked at her with. Especially him. It felt that as time passed, the distance between them was growing further and further- she was trying her best, but no matter what she did, things always ended up going south. Would she always remain the little black duck of the family? Lost in her thoughts, Sky did not notice the silhouette behind her, until she felt a hand on her shoulder-
“Kyaaah!! what-” Sky jumped, startled, until she recognised the owner of the hand. “Ruggie?? You scared me!”
“I could say the same thing, y’know! What’s up with ya? I tried callin’ you, but you just wouldn’t pick up. What are ya doin’ all alone?”
“Ruggie....”
“Huh? Why are you crying? Wait, wait, explain-”
--
“... So that’s what happened, huh.”
“Ugh... Seriously, so embarrassing... I wanna hide in a hole....” Sky sighed, sitting on a bench, a little further from the festival.
“But aren’t ya happy? That he didn’t get mad, I mean?”
“Of course not!! If he doesn’t get upset, that means he was totally expecting it!!” Sky eyes teared up again. “I tried so hard to build a reputation, but now it feels like everyone knows how useless I am, that they don’t even have expectations for me anymore....”
Ruggie looked at the young girl next to him. Slowly, he reached his hand to pat her head, looking away as she started sobbing. The laughter and lights from the festival in the distance seemed almost cruel as Sky struggled to catch her breath. Why do things never go as planned?
“... Ain’t that better, though?”
“Huh?” Surprised, her tears stopped as she peered over at Ruggie.
“The fact that people know how you truly are, y’know. Doesn’t it feel better, to not have to keep up a front and whatnot?”
“But-”
“No one’s perfect, y’know. Not Jamil, not me- not even Vil-san, or Malleus-san. Everyone goes through hardships ‘n’stuff. Ain’t that normal?” At the mention of Jamil’s name, Sky’s face fell. “We all go through trials, and that’s what life’s all about, doesn’t it? Doesn’t come with a guide book or anythin’.” His eyes met Sky’s. “What just happened, wasn’t that because ya didn’t ask for help? It’s rich comin’ from me, but y’know, asking for help isn’t a bad thing. No one’s gonna judge you for that, m’kay?”
Sky let out a small hum as she diverted her attention back to the stall. The lights seemed even stronger reflected in her teary eyes, and Ruggie was almost enchanted by the sight. Shaking his head, he snapped out of it, and stood up. Startled, Sky looked at him with a surprised expression as Ruggie extended his hand to her.
“Now, what d’ya say about us visiting the festival? Might as well, right? Shishishi ~”
--
“Waaah, Ruggie, you’re amazing!!!”
Sky marvelled over Ruggie’s goldfish scooping skills, as the young hyena managed to catch another 3 goldfishes at once. The Octavinelle student responsible for the stand seemed to grow more and more uneasy as his goldfish stock began to shrivel. Seriously, how is that guy so good at this...?
“Heh, that’s nothin’ for me, y’know ~” Ruggie’s ears wiggled, obviously delighted by the praise. “In my hometown, we often go fishin’, and stuff.”
“Fishing? But... not for goldfishes, right?” Sky looked caught off-guard. Eating goldfishes...? Seeing her expression, Ruggie could not resist teasing her.
“Shishishi, of course we did. Goldfishes are delicious, y’know? Want me to cook them for you later?”
“H-huh? No!!!! You shouldn’t eat goldfishes!! Look how adorable they are!!!” Instinctively, Sky protectively held her goldfish to her chest. Ruggie couldn’t help but laugh at her innocence.
“Shishishi, you believe me way too easily ~” but Sky’s expression remained full of suspicion. “... Oi, what d’ya take me for... Why would I eat goldfishes, there’s barely any nutrients in them, y’know.”
“.. Pff... Hahaha... Ruggie, you’re seriously so weird.” It was Ruggie’s turn to get caught off-guard. Sky finally looked like she was back to normal, and he couldn’t help but slightly blush at her smiling face.
“.. Ah, that’s right. Wanna go to another stand?” He tried changing the subject, looking away to hide his rosy cheeks.
“Ah- I completely forgot about it!” Sky jerked up, startling Ruggie in the process. “Ignihyde are doing a carabine stand- I heard Mayu sewed cute plushies as prizes, I wanna go!!”
--
“Aaah ~ that was fun....” Sky sighed as she sat on a bench near to another stall.
“Sure was. Didn’t know those Ignihyde guys designed a whole zombie-style shootin’ game... Kinda felt off with the whole festival theme, but it was fun ~” Ruggie leaned back on the bench, stretching as he drank a can of fresh coke.
“Ah... We walked for so long, I’m super thirsty now...”
“Mh? Wanna drink mine?”
“Huh?” Sky blushed as her eyes widened. “N-No way! That’s basically an indirect kiss!!!”
“An indirect ki-” Ruggie looked caught off guard, before switching to a grin, scooting closer to Sky. “Shishishi, if that’s the first thing ya thought about, must’ve been on yer mind, hasn’t it? ~”
“W-??? No, of course not!!!” Sky got up, as red as a tomato. “I-I’ll go get my own, you stay here!!!”
“Want me to-”
“No!!!! I don’t need you to come!!! You stay here!!!”
The young girl stormed off, ears flaming as Ruggie let out a small laughter. Man, was he glad to finally see her acting like her usual self again. Jamil’s Overblot really affected her, after all: for a few weeks, she barely smiled, sighing and looking dejected whenever she was alone. Ruggie had been seriously worried about her- she really took her vice dorm head’s ob personally, and had avoided all social interactions for a while. But a month after, it finally seemed like she was regaining hope. Aah ~ how troublesome... But I’m glad. He thought, watching over Sky as she pondered over which drink to buy.
“- Hey, isn’t that Gray-senpai lil’ sis?”
“Ah, Sky Cymatilis, right? Yeah, heard about her.”
“She’s kinda cute, isn’t she? Man, they’re really do look alike.”
“Nah, leave it, wouldn’t bother. They’re like night and day.”
Ruggie snapped out of his thoughts as he overheard two RSA students walk past. Were they talking about Sky? Little sister? Sky never really talked about her family, but Ruggie remembered overhearing Sky and Ace complain about older siblings. What that ‘Gray-senpai’ her older brother? And what was that last comment about?
“Alright, I’m back!!!”
“Ah, Sky, welcome back. What did ya get?”
“This cool drink from the Mostro Lounge stall, they had so many flavours!”
“I see, I see ~” Ruggie sipped on his drink absentmindedly, before turning to the girl next to him. “... Hey, Sky. Got any siblings?”
“H-huh? S-siblings?” Sky expression looked like she had just swallowed salt. “A-ah.. Well... I do... K-kinda... An older brother...”
Ruggie hummed a small ah, I see, as he finished his drink. Sky’s reaction told him what he wanted- that it was a sensitive subject all right, so he chose not to pry about it further. She’d tell him about it in due time, probably. On the other hand, Sky seemed preoccupied as she twirled the drink in her hand. Siblings, huh.... After a few minutes of silence, Ruggie plopped a hand on her head.
“Wanna go see fireworks? They should be startin’ soon. I know a perfect spot for that ~”
--
“Waaah, this place is so nice!”
“Heh, of course ~ Savanclaw’s the best place for firework viewin’.”
“Seems like a lot ofstudents thought the same, huh. It’s fuller than I expected.” Sky leaned back on the rock Ruggie chose, considerably higher than the rest. “But it’s a lot comfier than I thought, and we’re going to get such a great view of the fireworks!!”
“Shishishi ~ Got that right.” Ruggie smiled, turning his head as soon as he heard a loud BANG! “Oh, they’re startin’.”
The two young students remained in silence for a while, in awe of the fireworks. Crowley made sure that NRC’s festival would be more impressive than RSA’s, all the way down to the colours of the fireworks- the green and blue-ish colours filled the night sky, reminiscent of auroras.
“Wow.... The colours are amazing... It really feels like I’m in another country right now....”
“Yeah, they really went all-out with that one, huh.”
The show went on for a few minutes, occasionally accompanied by a bunch of “Ooh”s and “Aah”s as the fireworks depicted the face of the great seven, as well as Crowley’s own mask- which brought a few laughter from the crowd. As a rain of spark came on during the finale, everyone cheered, raising their hands to the sky, entranced by the sight.
“Wow, that is so pretty...” Sky marvelled.
“Yeah, you’re right about that.” But Ruggie hadn’t been watching the fireworks. How could he? All his attention was devoted to watching Sky’s dewy eyes, illuminated by the large-flowered fireworks.
“.... How pretty.”
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Chapter one “Transform and roll out!”
It was dark and quiet in Shortstorm’s hab suite. Very little room was taken up inside and in the far left corner was a recharge slab and a table next to it with an alarm clock that never had been set. It was serene, with just the nightlight providing a dim light. That is, until a loud banging came on the door to the hab suite, scaring Shortstorm badly enough for her to jolt off the slab. “*Shortstorm? Are you in zhere?*” Blitzwing called through the door.
“WHAT DO YOU THINK, DUMBAFT?!” Shortstorm snapped, rubbing her head as she sat up, back against the recharge slab. Shortstorm could barely hear a sound she dreaded: a whirring sound.
“*I ZHINK ZHAT ZHAT IS A YES, JA~?*” Blitzwing laughed. “Besides, I don’t hafta get up for another few hours…!” Shortstorm groaned
“*ARE YOU CERTAIN~? YOU MIGHT VANT TO CHECK YOUR CLOCK AGAIN, SVEETSPARK~!*” Blitzwing cackled. Shortstorm checked the clock. 12:30.
“Oh, okay...12:30…..WAIT, 12:30 PM?!?” Shortstorm yelped.
Shortstorm hurried out to the bridge of the ship, gasping for breath. “What’s gotten you up so quickly?” Starscream asked, confused.
“I-I *WHEEZE* recharged late again…!” Shortstorm wheezed. Starscream raised an eyebrow.
“Late? This is early for you.” Starscream quipped.
“Wait, what?” Shortstorm peeped.
“It’s 8:30.” Starscream avowed. Shortstorm’s jaw dropped. Did. Did someone mess with her clock while she was in recharge?! As Shortstorm processed everything, Blitzwing walked in, a smug smirk on his faceplates.
“Did you mess with my clock?!” Shortstorm blamed.
“Me? Mess vith somezhing of yours? Please. I Vouldn’t touch somezhing zhat you’ve touched.” Blitzwing stated.
“But….I….” Shortstorm stuttered.
“Maybe you need to vatch how much you recharge, ja?” Blitzwing winked as if he knew something.
“Oh, you sneaky spawn of a gli-” Shortstorm started.
“Watch it, three-face. People might think you and her are conjunx endurae~!” Blackarachnia said smugly. Blitzwing frowned before switching to his Hotheaded persona.
“ZHE NAME IS BLITZWING, INSECT!! REMEMBER IT!! CAUSE IT’S ZHE LAST ZHING YOU’RE GOING TO HEAR BEFORE I-” Blitzwing started.
“EXPRESS MY FEELINGS IN SONG~!” Blitzwing grinned, switching to his Random persona and beginning to sing an off-key variant of itsy bitsy spider. Shortstorm covered her audials with her hands. Oh well, at least it couldn’t get louder, right?
“NO ONE MOCKS THE WORD OF MEGATRON!!!” Lugnut bellowed. Shortstorm winced, pressing her hands against her audials harder, almost denting them. A few seconds after Lugnut finished, Megatron walked through the door and everyone in the room fell into line, Shortstorm following suit, slumping a bit. Blitzwing slightly leaned over, now on his Icy persona.
“(Stand up straight, newbie. Lord Megatron does not take kindly to slackers.)” Icy whispered. “(I’m trying, Blitzwing sir…!)” Shortstorm replied quietly.
“(Zhen try harder. Don’t vant to get offlined first day, ja?)” Blitzwing whispered.
“(N-No sir..!)” Shortstorm replied.
“(Zhen stand up straight.)” Blitzwing hissed harshly. Shortstorm almost fell over before Blitzwing quickly held her up by the lower are of her back with one arm. Shortstorm was about to thank him before he glared at her.
“(STAND UP STRAIGHT, NO FUNNY BUSINESS, BEFORE I DROP YOU.)” Shortstorm nodded, pushing herself onto her stabilizing servos and standing up straight. Blitzwing returned to his original position as though it never happened.
“Starscream. Report.” Megatron droned. Shortstorm slowly spaced out, vision focusing on a spot where there was a puddle of some sort of fluid. As she zoned out on the spot, she slowly lost the ability to hear the others and was lost in her thoughts.
(Iacon, Cybertron, cycle 1930000, as the war began.)
“So Stormy, what side are ya pickin’?” Ygravit asked. Shortstorm winced. She knew the question would come up at some point. She didn’t want to have to pick a side, but, sadly, she had to.
“I…….Autobot..” Shortstorm sighed.
“Really?” Ygravit grinned. Shortstorm sighed, shaking her head as a smile made its way onto her faceplates.
“Yeah...I wouldn’t make it out there on the ‘Con’s team. Too…Cutthroat.” Shortstorm rubbed at her arm. A nervous tic she’d picked up from her dad.
“Well, I’m sure you’ll do great! What position ya shootin’ for?” Ygravit asked. Shortstorm sighed, head hanging low as an embarrassed blush appeared on her faceplates.
“W-Well…” Shortstorm rubbed her arm again.
“Come on, Stormy! I won’t judge!” Ygravit smiled. Shortstorm smiled softly. Of course you wouldn’t, Shortstorm thought.
“Okay...I’m shootin’ for Elite Guard.” Shortstorm said, embarrassment leaking into her voice. Suddenly, Shortstorm was enveloped into a bone crushing hug.
“Stormy, I’m so happy for you!!” Ygravit squealed. Shortstorm chuckled, weakly hugging back.
“What can I say…? If I’m gonna shoot, better shoot high, right..?” Shortstorm asked, straining her voice.
“-hortstorm? Shortstorm?” A voice called.
“SHORTSTORM, ANSWER VHEN SPOKEN TO!!!!!” Blitzwing snapped, snapping his fingers in front of Shortstorm’s face. Shortstorm yelped in surprise and fell backwards, landing in a chair. Blitzwing whirled to his Icy persona, a frown of disappointment on his faceplates. “Please tell me zhat you vere listening.” Blitzwing sighed. Shortstorm shook her head no in shame. Blitzwing sighed in frustration.
“Sorry sir….” Shortstorm said in a tone that could be described as a child getting in trouble for something that they shouldn’t have been doing. Blitzwing took a deep breath before preparing to talk to her.
“Okay, okay...Okay okay okay okay okay…! So you spaced out again...It’s...Vhatever, you know? Not like zhat vas vhat ve needed you to listen to, I mean it’s not like it vas IMPORTANT or anyzhing, ja?!?” Blitzwing sighed heavily.
Shortstorm shuffled her stabilizing servos shyly. “I didn’t mean to…” Shortstorm mumbled. Blitzwing sighed, rolling his optics before mumbling something under his breath.
Shortstorm took a deep breath, calling all her courage up. “B-Blitzwing sir…?” Shortstorm asked.
“Vhat? Vhat do you vant?” Blitzwing asked, tone as flat as paper.
“Was….” Shortstorm faltered. “Was I…” Shortstorm faltered again.
“Hurry it up, I haven’t got all day.” Blitzwing ordered. Shortstorm shook her head.
“Was I always a...A-A Decepticon, sir…?” Shortstorm asked. Blitzwing froze like a deer in the headlights, dropping whatever he was working on with a loud clatter. “O-Oh goodness!!” Shortstorm yelped.
Before Shortstorm could react, Blitzwing stepped closer to her, practically within grabbing distance. “Vhat made you vonder zhis?” Blitzwing asked, hostility barely hidden in his tone.
Shortstorm fidgeted with her hands roughly, lightly denting them. “W-Well, I-I was just...I’ve been having weird dreams lately, but they don’t...They don’t fee….Th-They don’t feel like dreams…? D-D-D-D-D-Does that make sense…?” Shortstorm asked timidly.
Blitzwing muttered something under his breath. Shortstorm didn’t know what it meant, but the way he said it told her that it wasn’t exactly a friendly phrase. “S-Sir..?” Shortstorm said meekly.
“Oh, ja, ja, zhe...Zhe dreams...Just...ignore zhem, okay? It’s just your processor playing tricks on you, seeing how loyal you truly are.” Blitzwing said.
Shortstorm quirked an eyebrow at this. “Sir, you know I’m fully loyal, so wouldn’t my processor know that t-” Shortstorm started.
“Are you questioning your superior? Maybe zhose tests your processor is giving you ARE required after all.” Blitzwing chuffed.
Shortstorm hopped in surprise. Her?! Disloyal?! Preposterous! Although...She has been feeling guilt occasionally whenever she does as Megatron commanded her. “...S-Sir…?” Shortstorm asked shakily.
Blitzwing sighed, head and arms dropping down as he did so. “Durch den Allspark-VHAT?!?” Blitzwing asked, irritation slipping into his tone.
Shortstorm pulled back a bit at the sudden volume shift. “I-I was just wondering if maybe I’m just confused…? I-I mean sometimes, the-the-the guilt comes back and-and I wonder if we’re truly doing the right thing…?” Shortstorm asked, voice small as a mouse.
Blitzwing frowned. Oh. She’s one of THOSE Decepticons. “Okay, vell, zhere’s a simple fix for zhat.” Blitzwing said matter-of-factly.
Shortstorm perked up. “Really?! How?!” Shortstorm asked, bubbling with excitement. Blitzwing looked at her from his peripheral vision.
“How villing are you to go into zhe medibay?” Blitzwing asked coldly. Shortstorm’s optics shrank and she started shaking. Blitzwing rolled his optics and sighed heavily. “Relax. You von’t have to vorry about zhat anymore.” Blitzwing sighed.
“Wh-Why’s that, sir..?” Shortstorm asked sheepishly. Blitzwing scrolled through the datapad he was reading and chuckled slightly.
“Because you-” Blitzwing said shutting off the datapad and stepping in front of Shortstorm, looming over her. “-Vill not be in zhe front lines, let alone out in zhe battlefield.” Blitzwing said.
“Wh-What?!” Shortstorm peeped. Blitzwing teasingly roughly patted Shortstorm on the helm.
“Hallo~? Anyvone home~?” Blitzwing grinned maliciously. “It’s because every mission zhat you have been allowed on zhe battlefield has resulted in a failure~!” Blitzwing mocked. Shortstorm whined as his fist made contact.
“P-Please stop...!” Shortstorm whined. Blitzwing chuckled, sending shivers down Shortstorm’s spinal strut.
“Vhat~? Am I being too rough, Spielzeug~?” Blitzwing hummed. Shortstorm shifted uncomfortably, discomfort becoming painfully obvious at the nickname with her face heating up. Blitzwing forced her to make eye contact.
“Nobody loved you, Spielzeug~! How could zhey~?” Blitzwing mocked. Shortstorm shifted uncomfortably again.
“You know zhat you’re only somezhing for bots to eizher release stress, pass time, or ‘get off’ on, right~?” Blitzwing mocked. Shortstorm hugged herself tightly.
“Besides, Spielzeug~! You’re a FREAK. Who could love a FREAK, let alone YOU~?” Blitzwing mocked. Shortstorm’s optics misted up at the harsh remarks. Not that they were wrong, just...Hurt a lot…
Blitzwing’s faceplates whirled around to his hot headed persona, but he was grinning widely. As she noticed this, Shortstorm’s posture slumped and she backed away slowly. “YOU KNOW, YOU CAN’T REALLY AMOUNT TO ANYZHING VIZHOUT SOMEVONE TO HOLD YOUR SERVO~!!! IF YOU VERE EVER LEFT ALONE, YOU’D PROBABLY DIE FROM SOMEZHING STUPID~!!!” Blitzwing mocked.
Shortstorm winced a bit at the harsh words, despite the truth behind them. He was right, no matter what she wanted to believe...She tried to hold it in so he had no more ammo against her, but a small sniffle slipped out.
“VAS ZHAT A SNIFFLE I HEARD~?” Blitzwing grinned. Shortstorm’s face heated up in embarrassment and she broke optic contact.
”AWWW, DID I HURT YOUR LITTLE FEELINGS~?” Blitzwing mocked. Shortstorm drew herself back and Blitzwing laughed.
“IF IT’S ANY CONSOLATION” Blitzwing started, turning to leave the room, then turning to face Shortstorm, Icy persona in control.
“Your efforts vould not have mattered anyvay~!” Blitzwing smirked.
“*Blitzwing, report to your station. We have found the Allspark, or something just as powerful.*” Megatron announced over comms.
“Acknowledged, I vill be in in ein moment.” Blitzwing said, Icy persona taking control.
“*Oh, and Blitzwing?*” Megatron continued.
“Yes my Liege?” Blitzwing asked.
“*Bring Shortstorm with you. She’s foolish if she thinks we haven’t noticed she’s not at her station.*” Megatron ordered. Blitzwing’s mouth dropped into a frown and his optics glazed over.
“Of course, my liege.” Blitzwing said, faking promise.
“*Excellent. Hurry up. We’re losing time.*” Megatron said before hanging up. Blitzwing muttered something under his breath before motioning for Shortstorm to follow. Shortstorm followed him shakily when he suddenly froze as he got an idea.
“U-Um, s-sir..?” Shortstorm waived. Blitzwing shook his head, resuming walking, then stopping again at a supply closet, waiting for Shortstorm to catch up. Shortstorm hurried up, bumping into Blitzwing and falling over.
“Vatch where you’re going.” Blitzwing said coldly.
“S-Sorry sir…!” Shortstorm stuttered. Blitzwing rolled his optic, punching in the closet’s door code. Shortstorm tilted her head in confusion, stepping closer.
“Why’re we here, sir?” Shortstorm asked, confused. Blitzwing switched to his Hothead persona and smirked, taking a few steps back behind Shortstorm.
Shortstorm was confused by not getting a response and was about to say something, but was cut off by being shoved into the closet. Shortstorm yelped as she was shoved in and the door was locked as soon as she was inside. Shortstorm shook the dizziness off and after a few moments sat up and started banging on the door. “HEY!! WHAT’S GOING ON HERE?!” Shortstorm demanded, banging on the door in an attempt to get someone’s attention. Blitzwing chuckled to himself before returning to the bridge, Icy persona front and center.
“There you are, Blitzwing. Where were you?” Megatron asked.
“Apologies for zhe delay, my liege, but I got caught up vizh somezhing on zhe vay.” Blitzwing explained. Megatron looked around for something before raising an optic ridge.
“And where’s Shortstorm?” Megatron inquired. Blitzwing panicked for a moment before an excuse popped up in his mind.
“I apologize for Mein Kamerad’s absence, she vas not feeling zhe best, so I escorted her to her room.” Blitzwing lamented. Megatron made a hum of disbelief.
“I’m sure you did just that when escorting her back, Blitzbrain~!” Starscream winked. Blitzwing scowled, Hotheaded persona taking control.
“OH, HALT DIE KLAPPE, STARSCREAM!!! I VOULD NEVER DO ZHAT VIZH ANYVONE, LET ALONE HER!!” Blitzwing snapped. Starscream chuckled. “VHAT?!? VHAT IS SO FUNNY?!” Blitzwing barked.
“You knew what I was implying~!” Starscream sneered.
“Blitzwing, I leave you in command of the bridge, as I do not trust Starscream enough. I trust you will be able to handle it until I return?” Megatron droned. Blitzwing’s Icy persona took over.
“As you vish, my liege.” Blitzwing affirmed, bowing respectfully.
“Good.” Megatron said, walking out of the bridge.
(With Shortstorm)
Shortstorm eventually gave up trying to break down the door and instead slid down it, hugging her knees to her chest. She eventually spaced out again, audials filled with a ringing noise.
Zapstorm onlined her optics as she heard a loud explosion go off close-by, but not close enough to do much damage other than set off her balance. Had she listened closely, she could have sworn she had heard puK shouting something in the distance, but her hearing hadn’t returned yet, the explosion having forced her hearing to reset. She shakily pushed herself up, grabbing her plasma pistol and running out to assist anyone who needed it. Zapstorm rolled behind a piece of debris, regaining her bearings.
“Where were ya?!? We thought ya up ‘n’ offlined on us!!” puK barked.
“Wish I did!! My helm aches like the pits!!” Zapstorm laughed.
“Better to feel like the pits than to be there!” regnirpS joked.
“Arright, stop clownin’ and get poundin’!!” puK ordered.
“Yes sir!” Zapstorm said, rolling out from behind the debris and firing as many blasts as she could before needing to reload. As she reloaded, she heard puK shout to look out and before she could react, she was hit by four Decepticon bombs, putting her in critical condition.
Megatron punched in the four digit combination for the supply closet, being greeted by the door sliding up and Shortstorm falling out backwards. Shortstorm shook her head before saluting Megatron swiftly.
“......What are you doing in here?” Megatron sighed.
“Being locked somewhere that I don’t wanna be, sir. You?” Shortstorm asked casually.
“Taking you to your workplace.” Megatron sighed, grabbing Shortstorm’s shoulder and dragging her to her pedes.
“Right! Sorry sir!” Shortstorm apologized, stumbling to follow him.
(On the bridge.)
As everyone was at their stations, Megatron walked in, Shortstorm following close behind.
“OUR GLORIOUS LEADER RETURNS!!” Bellowed Lugnut.
“With our simpering little friend in tow.” Megatron scowled.
“VHAT?!? HOW DID YOU-” Blitzwing started before stopping himself and switching to his Icy persona.
“How did you get better so quickly? I’m shocked at your speedy recovery!” Blitzwing corrected. Megatron started walking towards Blitzwing’s station menacingly.
“Recover from what?” Megatron asked.
“From feeling under zhe veazher, my lie-” Blitzwing started before Megatron picked him up by the collar of his chest armor.
“Truly? Because I didn’t find her in her room, Blitzwing, but rather, in the supply closet.” Megatron boomed. Blitzwing switched to his Random persona, fear overtaking his systems.
“You...wouldn’t happen to know how she got there, would you, my most loyal lieutenant~?” Megatron asked, malice and venom lacing his voice.
“No, no, no~!!! I vouldn’t, my liege~!!” Blitzwing sputtered. Megatron held him up for a moment before dropping him, Blitzwing scrambling away, trying to hide all traces of fear.
“Good~! I’d hate to imagine what would happen to you if it were true~!” Megatron threatened.
“Of course, my liege~!” Blitzwing sputtered.
“Don’t forget the Allspark, my liege~!” Starscream chimed in.
“Ah, yes, of course~!” Megatron hummed. Megatron made his way to the airlock, Starscream following behind him with a smirk on his faceplates. Shortstorm found this curious and followed stealthily.
“What is it, Starscream?” Megatron asked, looking out the airlock.
Starscream patted Megatron’s back, putting what Shortstorm recognized as a bomb on his back, but she didn’t say anything. “I only came to wish you luck, my liege~!” Starscream smirked.
“I don’t believe in luck.” Megatron narrowed his optics, taking off.
“Neither do I~!” Starscream sneered. Shortstorm hurried back to her spot as he started turning back, jumping into her chair, optics shrunken to pinprick size.
Shortstorm froze as she looked at her hands, noticing that she was shaking uncontrollably. “That’s n-n-n-n-not good….” Shortstorm sputtered. Blitzwing noticed Shortstorm spaced out and rolled his optic, shooting a gentle shot from his hyperfrost emitter at her, getting her back to reality, but scaring her enough for her to fall out of her seat. Blitzwing’s head fell into his hands as he sighed in disappointment.
“Who is your leader?” Blitzwing inquired, Icy persona in control.
Zapstorm failed to focus on the task at hand, attempting to escape where she was strapped in. Blitzwing sighed, slamming a fist down on the table in front of him to get her attention, successfully obtaining it.
“Please, make it easy for bozh of us and just give up. Zhe Autobots aren’t coming to rescue you.” Blitzwing suggested. Zapstorm shook her head no. Typical.
“So long as I remain sane and functioning, I’m an Autobot; through and through!” Zapstorm said proudly.
“Hm. Hubris. Fascinating.” Blitzwing narrowed his optics. Zapstorm shrunk in her seat, knowing what the look meant.
“Look,” Blitzwing said putting the datapad down. “I understand zhat zhis is stressful, but guess vhat? Vonce you renounce Autobotism, it’ll all be over. No more pain, no more torture, no more mental anguish, no more isolation, it vill all be over so long as you choose zhe right side.” Blitzwing explained.
“I’d rather die.” Zapstorm narrowed her optics. Blitzwing’s optic twitched, as did his cannons, itching to be put to use. Blitzwing took a deep breath before explaining again.
“Zapstorm, you vere caught attempting to put our defences down. Doesn’t zhat sound unfair to you?” Blitzwing mused. Zapstorm tilted her head in confusion. Blitzwing sighed again.
“You tried cheating so zhat your side could vin. Doesn’t zhat seem a little...Cheaty, to you?” Blitzwing asked, simplifying.
“Well...Maybe a little…” Zapstorm mumbled.
“Hmm…” Blitzwing hummed. Genius. AbsoLUTE genius.
Blitzwing smirked, putting his servos in front of him on the desk, plan formulating in his mind. “Zapstorm, are you avare of zhe atrocities zhat your supposed ‘friends’ have committed~?” Blitzwing asked.
“What do you mean?!” Zapstorm demanded.
Blitzwing chuckled. “Demanding little Autobot, are you~?” Blitzwing smirked, calculating his next move.
“Little Autobot,” Blitzwing smirked, reaching for his datapad and pulling something up on it. “Are you avare zhat your friends have wrongfully kept us from our home~?” Blitzwing asked. Zapstorm’s tanks dropped.
“Th-That’s not true…!!! Y-You’re the bad guys!!!” Zapstorm retaliated. As predicted.
“Are you sure~?” Blitzwing hummed, searching for something on the datapad.
“N-Not fully, but I’m certain that it’s true!!” Zapstorm retaliated weakly.
Blitzwing chuckled, eventually finding what he needed and selecting it. “If zhat vere true, little Autobot,” Blitzwing started, pushing the datapad towards Zapstorm and getting up and standing behind her as a video began playing. “Zhen vould zhey be killing ozhers who are just doing vhat zhey believe vould make zhe world a better place for all~?” Blitzwing smiled, drinking in Zapstorm’s horrified expression at the video’s contents.
Zapstorm’s optics filled with tears threatening to spill over at any second. “Th-They….” Zapstorm whimpered. Blitzwing chuckled, taking the datapad back and closing the video out, sitting back down, servos in front of him on the desk again.
“Who’s zhe ‘Bad Guys’ now, hmm~?” Blitzwing hummed, smirk growing on his faceplates. Zapstorm sniffled as reality hit. As calculated. Blitzwing smirked, reaching a servo across the table to gently hold her faceplates in a false form of comfort. “I know, I know, shh…..It’s okay, shh, shh, shh….” Blitzwing hushed. Zapstorm nuzzled into his servo, enjoying the touch. Keeping her all alone in a room with no form of positive touching must be catching up. Just as planned.
“I can’t believe it…” Zapstorm hiccupped. Blitzwing gently stroked her cheek, faking sympathy.
“I know how tough zhis is, but if zhey’re doing zhis, vould you truly vish to be associated vizh zhem?” Blitzwing asked in a hushed tone. Zapstorm hesitated. “You don’t vant to hurt anyvone, but you don’t vant to leave zhe Autobots, ja?” Blitzwing asked, faking gentleness.
“I’m…so...tired, Blitzwing…” Zapstorm whimpered. Blitzwing hushed her again.
“I know, but if you just leave zhem, you don’t have to be tired anymore. You can finally rest until you’re fully recovered.” Blitzwing assured.
“But that’d be betrayal...And they’ve all done so much for me…” Zapstorm whimpered.
“Ja, but zhey’ve also murdered ozhers who vere just doing vhat zhey vere told vas right. Is zhat fair to you?” Blitzwing asked. Zapstorm’s sitting position sagged, showing she was close. She was on the edge. So close to breaking.
“No…” Zapstorm whimpered. Blitzwing smirked.
“So does it now make sense vhy you shouldn’t associate vizh zhem?” Blitzwing asked calmly. Zapstorm held in a sob, but he could hear it forming in her throat. His smirk grew wider.
“Y-Yes…” Zapstorm whimpered, voice on the brink of breaking.
“Und doesn’t it, zhen, also make sense zhat zhey’re zhe bad guys?” Blitzwing theorized. Zapstorm started shaking. Almost there.
“Y-Yeah…” Zapstorm sniffled. Blitzwing started grinning. He had almost done it.
“So zhen, doesn’t it also make sense zhat ve’re zhe good guys? Zhat ve’re just trying to get home? Zhat ve just vant to rest, like you?” Blitzwing asked.
Zapstorm reset her vocalizer before speaking. “Y-Yeah…”
“So~?” Blitzwing hummed.
“So what…? If I leave now, I’ll be charged with treason...It can’t be worth that, right…?” Zapstorm asked.
“Ja, but also, if you help us vin,” Blitzwing replied, getting up and walking over to the side of Zapstorm. “Ve can remove zhose charges of treason und you can be back to a squeaky clean record, ja~?” Blitzwing falsely promised.
“R-Really…?” Zapstorm asked. Blitzwing nodded.
“Of course~! You just have to leave zhem~!” Blitzwing grinned. Zapstorm thought it over.
“I would love to.” Zapstorm said. Blitzwing was about to cheer in victory. “But I can’t do that. Everybot makes mistakes, they’re no different.” Zapstorm defended. Blitzwing scowled.
“Even zhough zhey murdered innocent bots?” Blitzwing asked shakily.
Zapstorm nodded. “Again, we all make mistakes. They’re only cybertronian.” Zapstorm defended again. Blitzwing scowled coldly at Zapstorm.
“I see.” Blitzwing said coldly. Blitzwing got up from kneeling next to her and picked up the datapad, going to the door.
“Wait-where are you going?!” Zapstorm asked. Blitzwing turned and looked at Zapstorm, giving her a freezing cold glare.
“To leave you here for a few orbital cycles. See if you change zhat vone-track processor of yours.” Blitzwing jabbed sharply. Zapstorm’s optics shrank.
“No!! Don’t leave me here alone…!!” Zapstorm begged.
“Does zhat mean you’ve had a change of spark?” Blitzwing asked sarcastically.
“No! I’m an Autobot, not a Decepticreep!!!” Zapstorm snapped.
Blitzwing tsked and walked out. “Such a shame. Enjoy being all alone in zhe dark until you change zhat tiny vone-track processor of yours~!” Blitzwing taunted before closing the door and shutting off all the lights. Zapstorm whined as the lights went out.
It’s Here! @bccfggffbgv, @new-account-sam-christy-456, @anaanswersstuff, Hope Ya Don’t Mind The Tags And Ya Enjoy! Reblogs Greatly Appreciated!!
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Nightmare
ANGST!!!!!! DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU DON’T WANT TO GET SAD
Brian sighed. He hated talking to John when he was like this. To see the hurt, the despair, the anger flash in his eyes all at once made his heart ache. He could feel John's emotions as if they were his very own. But he needed John to apologize to the public. He needed John to say he was sorry before something drastic happened. "Lennon please. I need you to go up there for us. I-"
"Brian how many times to I need to bloody tell you? I can't! I can't go up there in front of an entire crowd of people who are just going to fuckin' twist me words around every time I fuckin say something! I'm tired of seein' our records being burnt, I'm tired of the questions, the accusations, the everything!" He shouted, causing Brian to jump back a little in his chair.
John was biting back tears at this point. He couldn't let Brian watch him go into hysterics. But at the same time all he wanted was a hug. He just wanted a hug from anyone. It didn't matter. It could be from Brian, Paul, some random hobo on the street, he didn't care. He just wanted someone to hold him. He folded his arms and started to rub the callouses on his elbows to try and calm down but it was no use. Big, wet, salty tears started to roll down his cheeks.
Brian looked over at the poor man with sadness clouding in his eyes. He walked over and sat on John Lennon's bed alongside him, putting a hand on his back. "John, I understand how you feel. it isn't easy to be hated by a bunch of people. But there's a lot at stake here. America isn't like Britain. The people over there have a lot of guns. If you don't apologize, people might start to take things into their own hands, if you get what I mean."
John felt more tears leave his face, but there was still some fight in him. "Well then let them. It's me their shooting at right?"
Brian's breath hitched. He couldn't believe what John was saying. He didn't want to think of the four people closest to him being shot at and possibly killed. "Lennon, there is also a possibility they could miss. They could also be after more than just, you." Brian said, his voice trembling.
John felt his blood run cold at that very statement. He felt his entire body tense, like he was watching a gruesome horror movie. Horrible, violent images shot through his head that he wished he would forget. He did his best to not breakdown right in front of his manager.
"John why don't you get some rest. Sleep on it, think it through. I'm sure by tomorrow morning you'll be able to come to a decision. I understand that you didn't mean to offend anyone, and I'm not mad at you. Just, please think about the people closest to you." Brian said as he gathered his things, and walked out the door.
As soon as Brian left John broke down into tears. The pain in his chest from the heartache he felt was agonizing. It was like someone was clawing at his chest, leaving obvious, painful claw marks on his soft, sensitive chest. He collapsed onto the bed sheet and gripped onto the sheets for dear life as he screamed in agonizing emotional pain. He was surprised that no one heard him.
Once John began to calm down, he felt his eyelids grow heavier with each passing minute. Although his breathing was still panicked and very uneasy, he was tired. Perhaps Brian was right. Maybe he should sleep it off. John fell out of bed, put on some pajamas, and climbed into his bed, seeking comfort in his snow white sheets.
*****
John was onstage, singing along the lyrics to a song he couldn't name. His brow was sweaty and his face was hot. Why was he here? Didn't they cancel the tour after the incident? He looked over at his surroundings to see his three band mates, singing, bouncing, and overall having a good time.
George and Paul were sharing a microphone, singing lyrics to some song that he couldn't understand. It was like they were singing complete gibberish. George was strumming his guitar, tapping his foot and singing along calmly, while Paul was going wild on that microphone. He was bouncing all around the stage, humping his bass, and slapping it as he played, having a grand ol' time. His rosy cheeks were more red than usual, and swear dripped down his forehead. He looked over at John and winked at him, causing shivers to run down the older man's spine.
He then looked over at Ringo, who was on his usual pedestal. He was banging on his drums excitedly, like a child playing with pots and pans. He had an expression of pure joy spread across his entire face. That was the thing with Ringo. When he was happy, everyone was happy. That was why he was always, "Their little Richie." Although he was older than the rest of them all, he was just so adorable. John could feel all of his worries just, drip off his shoulders like water off of a ducks back. Maybe, just maybe, everything was going to be alright.
Then there was a gunshot.
John watched in horror as Ringo fell off of that pedestal with a thud. His eyes widened in terror as he heard Ringo's small body land on the ground. He turned to face his members and saw Paul standing there frozen, and George running. Towards John. John was so shocked that he couldn't hear the terrifying, bloodcurdling screams of the people in the audience. It was like all sound turned to static. He could only hear the screams of his fellow band mates.
Then he saw George fall to the ground as well. He landed on the ground with a permanent, terrified expression on his face. John stared as he watched one of his best friends, one of his brothers bleed out onto the floor around him.
Everything flashed through John's mind. All of the wonderful memories he had with the younger lad replayed in his head like a movie. He remembered meeting the boy, he remembered celebrating their first hit album with him, he remembered everything. And here lay that very same man on the ground, in a pool of crimson red blood.
That was when John sprung into action. There were only two other Beatles left that hadn't gotten shot. Him, and Paul. He could not let Paul die. He would rather die a slow, agonizing death rather than watch the very man he loved with all of his heart go through it. He ran over to the frozen, crying, screaming Paul as fast as he could. But it was no use. He watched in slow motion as he watched Paul's body fall to the floor, with a horrifying, thud.
When John reached Paul he fell to his knees, crying his eyes out as he held his lover in his arms. He watched as Paul clutched his abdomen, shrieking in agonizing pain. He held him close and tried to whisper words of comfort to his lover, but they were drowned out by Paul's screams.
John held Paul's warm, shaking, damaged body against his, not caring if he was exposed like a deer in headlights. All he could think about was his brothers and his lover, lying on the ground, suffering a slow, painful, agonizing death, because he didn't apologize over a stupid quote. John felt his world shatter around him, and it was all his fault. He then heard Paul, in a small, weak voice, say, "John, it h-hurts."
John kissed Paul's sweaty forehead with tears streaming down his face. "I know darling. I know, it will all be over soon, I promise."
Paul hissed as he felt pain shoot through every inch of his body. He let out another scream of excruciating pain. John just shushed him, and stroked his raven black hair. "it's going to be alright darling. I promise you're going to be okay." John said as his voice trembled and shook.
John then felt his heart stop. He felt the man go limp in his arms. All of the life that was once in Paul's eyes seemed to have disappeared. They were now glassed over and barren of all life. "No....no Paulie come on. Paulie you're okay! You're okay!" John screamed, shaking the boy violently. "Come on stop this it isn't funny! Stop it!"
John just held Paul's lifeless body as he cried. He cried and he cried and he cried. He was sobbing against Paul, hoping that he would wake up, but deep down he knew that Paul was gone.
*********
John jolted awake screaming. Tears were falling from his eyes as he let out the most bloodcurdling screams anyone has every heard. He held onto his head, trying to understand what the fuck was happening. All he could remember was the screaming, the crying, the gunshots.......
And, Paul.....
Oh god not Paul......
He gripped his hair as he bit his lip so hard he drew blood. Tears were now pouring from his tightly shut eyes. He didn't even hear his hotel room door opening.
"John! Oh my god are you alright?!" Paul asked, quickly slamming the door shut as he ran over to the sobbing man.
John practically threw himself at Paul. He gripped at Paul's clothes as he absolutely lost it. It was like he was a scared child, holding onto his Mummy after a bad dream. Paul just held onto John, allowing him to cry as he stroked his head and whispered comforting words into his ear.
"It's all m-my fucking f-fault." John sobbed into Paul's shirt. "All of this is my b-bloody fault!"
Paul sighed and kissed John's forehead in an effort to calm him down. "John it isn't your fault. They were the ones who twisted your words around." He said calmly as he pet John's auburn hair.
John held onto Paul's night shirt even tighter. He was afraid he might tear it. "I'm s-so sorry Paulie...I'm sorry!" He wailed.
"I know you are John. I know." Paul cooed, his voice as calm and quiet as a mouse. He could feel John's tears soaking through his shirt as he held him but he didn't care. John was sitting here, sobbing and trembling, over those stupid Americans and he was going to help him out.
"Th-they were shootin' at us P-Paul."
That grabbed Paul's attention. "John what are you talking about? No one's ever shot at us."
John sniffled as more tears flowed down his cheeks. "in m-my dream someone was shootin at us and Richie got hit and Geo d-died and you were sc-screamin in pain as I h-held you and-and-and....." John couldn't even finish his sentence he was so shaken. But Paul could get a guess at what John's dream was about. He felt his heart shatter as he watched his lover, the incredible John Lennon, have a mental breakdown on top of him.
"Oh darling." Paul said, rubbing John's back in small circles. "I'm so sorry that happened."
"Pl-please tell me that never happened......please tell me Richie is ok-okay. Y-you're not dead right?" John looked up at Paul and what Paul saw was heartbreaking. John's beautiful brown eyes were red and puffy, with tears overflowing out from his eyes and down his cheeks. Snot was dripping from his nose which he was often insecure about, and an expression of pure terror was spread across his face.
Paul did his best not to cry, grabbed a tissue, and wiped the tears and snot away. "Of course not darling. I'm right here. Richie is fine. He's asleep in his room. So is George." He said as he embraced his husband. "I promise you none of that ever happened, and you don't need to worry about it."
John sniffled as he allowed Paul to cuddle him on the bed. He held onto Paul for dear life as he calmed down. Once he was calm, he finally decided he was going to apologize to the public.
"Paul."
"Yes Johnny?"
"I want to apologize."
Paul was a little surprised. He thought John was going to be more stubborn about this whole ordeal. "Really? Are you sure you can handle it?"
John nodded. "I'm not a child. I can do it."
smiled to himself as he allowed John to fall asleep next to him. "I'm proud of you Johnny."
After that, they both got a restful, undisturbed sleep.
#johnlennon#paulmccartney#george harrison#ringostarr#biggerthanjesuscontroversy#angst#sad#nightmare#fanfiction#maccawrites
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Some scars are visible, others aren't.
You carry a lot of scars. You also have a secret. If any of the O'Driscolls discover what it is, you're as good as dead. Living on a knife edge, everything changes when you're is captured in the Grizzlies by the Van Der Linde Gang. you expect the same treatment from Dutch Van Der Linde as you would get from Colm O'Driscoll once they discover who you are. But Dutch Van Der Linde isn't Colm O'Driscoll. It might just be possible that the Van Der Linde gang can help heal those scars.
Chapter one - Not an O’Driscoll
You hated this damn mountain. It was freezing. You hated being cold with a passion, but the cold up here was different, biting. It seemed to seep into the very marrow of your bone.
You sighed, and headed towards your horse.
"Hey...Boy!"
You snapped your head round, to see Colm O'Driscolls eyes, boring into you.
You walked over to where he was sitting on his horse. He always seemed to have it in for you. If anything went wrong it seemed to be your fault. You had the bruises to prove it.
Many a time you'd thought about leaving, but you knew it was pointless. Once you were in, you were in. You'd seen what had happened to others, who'd decided they wanted out. It hadn't been pretty. Seems the only way to get out was when you were six feet under. Either by Colm's hand or by the law, or one of his other enemies.
He glared at you, "Kieran, why are you still here?" He hissed.
"W...Well one of the boys asked..." You began.
Colm grabbed you by coat, "How old are you boy?" He growled.
"S...Seventeen," you stuttered.
"Well, If you wanna see eighteen, I suggest you do what the fuck I tell you!"
He hit you sharply across the face twice. The cold making it hurt twice as much.
Then he shoved you backwards. Thankfully you managed to keep your footing, and ran quickly to your horse.
"Now fuck off and check the fucking trail!" He hissed.
You quickly mounted, and headed off out of camp. You guessed that he wanted to be off this mountain, just as much as you did. The storm had made most of the tracks and trails impassable. Each day he would send someone out to check. Being the newest, and the lowest in the pecking order, you mostly got the shit jobs. Anything that no one else wanted to do. You should have told the other fella to check his own horse. Rather than keep Colm waiting. Sometimes it was easier to tell some one yes, than put up with the consequences of telling 'em no.
You were pretty certain that checking the trail was still a futile effort. You could see by the dark colour of the sky and the depth of the snow that the track was still gonna be pretty impassable.
You also knew, when you came back with that news, everyone was gonna be pissed. No one liked being stuck in the mountain, especially not Colm. The longer you lingered here, the more grumpy and short tempered everyone became. Not good for you, as you seemed to be everyone else's punching bag.
As you rode along, you heard hoof beats behind you. You glanced around, hoping it wasn't Colm.
You were relieved when it wasn't, but not so relieved, when it wasn't one of his boys. The fact that the rider seemed to be chasing you, scared you more than a little. You kicked your horse on, urging it to go faster. As you glanced behind you again, you realised that the rider was chasing you.
You yelled back at him, "Leave me alone, what the hells wrong with you."
The next thing, you heard the sound of a lasso. Then it pulled tight around your arms pulling you of the back of your horse.
"Shit!" you grunted, as you hit the snow.
You managed to pull the lasso off of you, as you tried to scramble away. There wasn't a great deal of point, as your horse had spooked and it had galloped off.
You felt a hand on your back as the man pushed you down harshly. Your face in the snow. You panicked as you felt your hands being yanked behind your back, and a rope being tied around your wrists. Then another piece of rope binding your ankles.
"Pl..please don't hurt me," you whimpered.
The man didn't seem to care about your pleas.
He chucked you over his shoulder, then chucked you on his horse.
"Pl...please don't..." you begged, nervously.
"We're gonna go for a little ride!" He smirked.
He climbed onto his horse, and kicked it on.
"What's your name boy?"
"K...Kieran," you mumbled.
The man hummed, "Kieran what?"
"Duffy," you responded, "Kieran Duffy."
He chuckled, "Well I ain't gonna lie, this is a real bad day for you."
You grunted. He wasn't wrong. First you got on Colm's bad side, now you were being kidnapped. You knew you were gonna have a bruise on your face, from Colm's hand. You just hoped this trip was over soon, or you were gonna have some severely bruised ribs.
It took about half an hour before you arrived at your destination. By the time you came to a stop, your ribs were aching, and you felt like puking.
Your captor chucked you over his shoulder, and headed towards a cabin. As he approached, the door opened, and he tossed you to the ground. Rolling you over, he cut the ropes around your ankles and stood you up.
"You found the little shit, did ya!"
You looked up at the man who had just walked out of the cabin. You recognised his face immediately. You realised within seconds, how much deep shit you were in. Dutch Van Der Linde. Colm's arch nemesis.
You figured, that the man who'd caught you, was probably Arthur Morgan, known to be Dutch's right hand man. The same man, now hauled you to your feet.
"You want me to make him talk," he hissed.
"Oh no, now all we'll get is lies!" Dutch scoffed.
You watched as two more men came out of the cabin. You closed your eyes, trying to stop yourself from trembling. If they noticed, you hoped it was just because they thought you were cold.
Dutch turned to look at the two men who had emerged from the cabin.
"Uncle, Mr Williamson, tie this maggot up some place safe. We get him hungry first!"
The two men roughly grabbed hold of you.
"I got a saying my friend," Dutch began.
From the look on his face, you were anything but his friend.
"We shoot fellers as need shootin', save fellers as need savin' and feed fellers as need feedin'" he hesitated, "we're gonna find out what you need!"
You watched as he turned away, he held your life in his hands.
"I can't believe it, an O'Driscoll in my camp!" Dutch laughed.
You turned your head around, "I ain't an O'Driscoll!" You yelled.
Dutch rolled his eyes, "Whatever you say son!"
The two men manhandled you into a barn of sorts. They shoved you to the ground, next to a wooden upright, and tied you to the post.
You closed your eyes and sighed, shivering slightly. Not with fear as much now but with cold. You knew your days were numbered. If you didn't freeze to death, or if you weren't starved to death they would certainly kill you at some point. You just prayed they didn't find out who you really were. Colm and his boys hadn't which was probably why you were still alive. You were pretty sure, the way they were man handling you, it wouldn't take long for them to realise, unless you died first.
You pulled at the ropes around your wrist, but they were tied tight. The only thing you managed to do was chafe your wrists slightly. You decided that you would try and get some sleep, which wouldn't be easy, not being so cold, and uncomfortable.
After two days, despite being cold, tired, hungry and thirsty, you were still alive and in one piece.
You knew full well, if you had been Colm's prisoner, you would have been tortured within an inch of your life by now. The Van Der Linde gang, pretty much left you a lone, tied to a post. If it hadn't been for the gradual thaw, you may well have expired due to lack of water. It was so cold in the barn, there were Icicles on the inside. When it started to thaw, you were able to catch the drops of water melting on you tongue. Not a lot, but enough to keep you alive. You were weak though. You had never been as strong as the men in Colm's gang, and a few days without food had left you as week as a kitten.
When the two men, who had dragged you into the barn, and tied you up came in, you were certain that this was it. Instead, they dragged you out of the barn, and tossed you in the back of a wagon. It was a lot warmer and brighter, than when you had been put in the barn. You didn't say anything, but you guessed from the idle chit chat, that you were finally gonna get off this god-forsaken mountain.
How long you'd last, you didn't know, but you were grateful that you wouldn't freeze to death.
Being grateful, didn't last long. When you arrived at your next destination, you were bundled out the back of the wagon and tied to a tree.
At least in the mountain, you had been inside. Despite it being warm, you were still open to the elements. Well for now anyway.
You were surprised by the number of women in the camp. Colm had no women, except for the ones he used for his and his men's pleasure. They were usually kidnapped, used then killed, when they got bored of 'em.
Everyone just seemed to glare at you as they walked past. With the exception of two people. Both of those were women. One of them glared, and a couple of times, when she walked past had actually spat at you, and called you a murdering bastard. The other, didn't glare. She smiled once or twice. On one occasion, when no one was looking, she gave you a drink of water. If it hadn't been for her, then you would have had no water at all.
It didn't really stop the pains in your stomach, due to lack of food. You wondered how much more painful it would get, if you starved to death.
The approach of Arthur Morgan, made you think perhaps you wouldn't starve to death. The look in his eye said he was more likely gonna beat you to death.
He'd hardly said anything, when you saw Dutch Van Der Linde, striding over, with another man. You recognised him as one of the men who had tied you up in the barn.
"Seems like the cat has got our friends tongue, I thought perhaps Mr Williamson could have a word."
You glanced between the three men, trying to swallow. The lack of saliva in your now dry mouth, making it hard."
"You ready to talk boy?" Williamson growled.
You didn't say anything, you just shook your head.
Dutch looked at you angrily, then looked at Mr Williamson.
"Hurt him!"
You watched as Mr Williamson balled his hand into a fist, you screwed your eyes closed, waiting for the hit. Colm had hit you before, you guessed this wouldn't be much worse.
"Wait!" Dutch yelled, "lets just have a little fun...geld him!"
You closed your eyes, this was it, you felt the bile rise in your throat.
You felt hands grab your trousers and yank them down around your ankles. You screwed your eyes tight, cringing.
All three men let out a gasp.
"What the fuck!" Dutch exclaimed
"What sort of freak is he!" Williamson yelled.
Arthur rolled his eyes, "Its not a he, Bill! Its a she!"
"And none of you noticed!" Dutch chuckled.
"Please," you whimpered, "just get on with it."
A tear trickled down your cheek, no point putting up a brave front now.
You'd seen the women in Colm's camp, you knew what was coming next.
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V peeked out of the bushes and scanned the camp at the end of the road. It wasn’t as big as she expected, so it only added to her suspicion of those guys being nothing but big-mouthed liars and cowards. V gritted her teeth the second she laid eyes on a few big packs of supplies. Supplies from her own haven that struggled to rebuild after the devastating attack that had almost wiped it out clean.
Those greasy, smug bastards thought they could just come, take everything from them and then have the audacity to blackmail the remaining people to pay them for what was rightfully theirs. Oh no, she wasn’t planning to let her home being robbed. She would come and show them the consequences of underestimating her and her clan mates.
V barely held herself back from just jumping out in the open and shooting them all in an impulsive desire for justice. It took her a few moments to suppress the shimmering anger and get a grip on her chaotic emotions. She had to search for the camp’s weak points and blind spots before even attempting to sneak anywhere closer. She wasn’t a Reaper to have the advance of stealth and almost soundless movements, so she opted to inspect the site through the scope.
For a moment she regretted doing so, as the picture she saw was far for pleasant: tons of alcohol, weed and corpses scattered all over the place. And those corpses weren’t of ADVENT, but of the camp’s inhabitants. It seemed like not only those pigs had no real numbers to ‘take them out’ as they had threatened, but they were at odds with each other. Which V somewhat expected from those, whose drive force was greed for money and riches.
V visually circled the camp a few times and counted only four people altogether, which was almost nothing compared to alien squads she was used to encountering. She pondered trying to shoot them, but at such a distance her aim could easily waver. There was a blind spot at the western entrance because of no one was actually guarding it. All four men were busy shouting and threatening each other with guns and that opened up a nice opportunity.
V threw the sniper rifle over the shoulder, took out the pistol and started sneaking towards the camp. She hoped that by the time she reached it, all of them would have simply shot each other off and she would merely carry all the supplies back. Having hid behind the last tree separating her from the camp, V took a quick glance at the hole in the ugly wooden fence. Still no guards. The shouting was so loud she could almost make out some words thrown around.
V squatted as much as she could and started crawling towards the opening, ignoring the pain in her limbs from all the dirt, stones and branches digging into her legs and the disgusting smell of sweat and whiskey. No one noticed her just like she expected.
Apparently, only two men were now alive instead of four, and those two were as much keen on getting all the robbed goods to themselves as when they were all four. How utterly pathetic. It took her merely a few seconds to take a decent aim and shoot them booth. V cringed and almost immediately gauged when actually stepped within the camp’s premises.
The stench was unbearable. Her eyes stared to water, as she attempted to fight off the desire to throw up right at the corpse of a freshly killed gangster. V squeezed her nose, stepped over the bodies and scurried towards the large stack of familiar boxes. Two of them were already empty, but the remaining five were still unpacked, which immensely relived her. Good. It was enough for the civilians in the haven to survive on until the next drop from the Resistance would come.
V holstered the pistol and started looking around for some sort of vehicle to carry the supplies back to the base. Her own strength would allow her to carry only two boxes and she couldn’t risk leaving them in the open like that. There! There was actually a very old and rusty cart sticking out of the bushes that was exactly what she needed. However, V basically froze on the spot when her ears had caught a familiar babbling. A very distinctive and bone-chilling babbling of those bound to the Elders. ADVENT.
V felt panic rising within as she hurriedly jumped into the tent and attempted to hide her presence. Maybe, just maybe they would merely pass by and not go inside the camp to investigate. She new for sure if they find the Resistance supplies it will eventually lead them to the haven. And it would end up with not only the loss of some food, water and medications, but the loss of people too.
Yet just like he feared the babbling only grew more audible the more she sat still. She had to take action and somehow get rid of those guys. V gulped, forcing herself to cast aside the fear of her own possible death. She had faced the Hunter and stayed alive. She should long be past the stage of panic and fret. She was strong, she was skilled. She could handle it.
V had no idea how many of ADVENT soldiers there were exactly, but by the footsteps it didn’t sound like a big squad. Possibly, four or three units. If she took them by surprise, she could shoot at last one for sure. V moved along the tent’s side and noticed a piece of an officer’s armor. No stunlancers or shieldbrearers, which was a relief. Gathering all the courage she had V took aim at the open peck of skin at the neck and shot. Orange blood splattered, as the officer squealed, staggered and fell on the ground.
V felt her heart hammering inside, as she jumped out of the tent and ran to cover herself behind the boxes at the wall. She was obviously noticed and fired at by the other two ADVENT units. V yelped and moaned when the magnetic beam hit her in the lag, burning the flesh and almost causing her to fall flat on the face. Shit, it was bad. With a wounded leg she couldn’t really count on running and quickly changing cover.
Another beam hit the left side of the boxes and V thanked whatever Gods existed for the fact ADVENT’s aim was still far from perfect. She dared to peek out and found the two soldiers running towards her with a full intent to kill. Her breath hitched, as she hurriedly scurried towards the corner and took out a grenade with shaky hands. V activated and tossed it, hoping it would get rid of at least one of them. The deafening blast and a loud, awful scream confirmed that she hit her target. Well, more or less. The last soldiers still stood, his rifle aimed and ready to fire at her.
And then he dropped dead in a split second. V blinked and froze at the spot, taken aback by a sudden help. She began turning her head to all directions, attempting to find the mysterious savior (or maybe not, maybe that someone was planning to kill her as well), yet there was no one in sight. V took her pistol and messily limped towards the dropped supplies, slick fear still enlacing her mind. There was still someone watching her, there was still a possibility she would get killed just as easily.
“Is…someone here?” she tried to scream, but it came out more like a shaky, scared squeak.
No answer came. V gulped and attempted to finally get it on with carrying supplies while she could. Yet when she leaned down to pick up the first box, she felt someone’s hot breath on her neck.
“Heya, little kitten~”
V screamed, jumped, dropped the box and fell on the ground, her leg hitting her with a sharp pain as she messily landed on the ground. She instinctively clutched the pistol and aimed it at whatever came after her. Her heart beat frantically, eyes went wide and V was already counting her last seconds. It was definitely her death, wasn’t it?
One would definitely agree to that statement. V finally dared to move her eyes away from the trembling hands and towards the actual person who was looming over her. Her heart skipped a bit the second she came face to face with the Hunter. He looked as carefree as she remembered him from their very last encounter: curved lips, nonchalant posture and eyes glowing as brightly as some jewels. He was amused.
“Oh my, I scared ya, didn’t I?” he laughed, baring the sharp fangs.
V felt relief surge through her for a split second, before a new wave of doubts, hidden fears and gruesome scenarios filled her vision yet again. Maybe he was just putting up a front to lower her guard and then he would kill her off. What was he even doing here? Was he after her haven? Was he after her?
“Tch tch, remove that lil toy, will ya? If I wanted, you’d already be dead, so don’t bother,” Hunter tutted and with a simple movement disarmed her.
V crawled back, feeling like a small mouse in front of a big cat. He had a point yes, but V also knew Hunter was a man of whims and loved to act upon fleeting desires. And she couldn’t foresee when his fascination with her would end and turn into indifference.
He should have had some ulterior motive; he wouldn’t have even bothered to come to such a deserted and inhospitable place just to make fun of her. And that inability to predict the Hunter’s actual plans sent her mind in a spiral of panic.
“D-don’t come any closer-”
“Ah, and there I thought I would at least get a ‘thank you’ for shootin’ dat fat buffon,” Hunter casually removed the box and started approaching her.
It was quite funny how she was even more scared of him now than when he took her captive back in the day. Unpredictable even for such a brilliant tactician like him.
Hunter haltered midway, and V could almost swear he heard or even saw something. Yet she wasn’t given enough time to even ponder, as he abruptly lifted her from the ground and in the very next moment she was thrown into same tent where she was hiding from ADVENT. V squealed, as the Hunter hadn’t bothered to be careful or gentle. Tears welled up in the eyes, as her wounded leg throbbed with sharp and pulsating pain.
“What the hell are you-?”
“Shh,” the Hunter cut her off. “Stay still and don’t even think about steppin’ outside, ya got it?”
V froze, following the Hunter with her eyes only and not daring to make a sound out of pure fear of what could have caused him to do such a crazy thing as hide her. She was basically trapped amongst the smelly and dirty shits, tired, wounded and, on the top of that, she still hadn’t even begun taking the supplies back to the haven. V only hoped another sudden threat would quickly cease to exist, and she would finally be free to do what she intended to do.
“There you are, brother,” the snarl reached V’s ears. “The Elder’s patience grows thin, they will no longer allow you to ignore their call. Come with me or…I will make you.”
“I am not plannin’ to waste my time to hear the Elders ‘oh-so-important’ speeches about some great mission that, high purpose this, and I’d advise you to do the same, my dear little sister. Save me the trouble of killing you, and just leave.”
Ah. V faintly recalled the Hunter briefly mentioning some sister and brother of his during her days at the Stronghold. She had never seen any of them, but if they were any similar to him, it would partly explain his actions. If they saw him with a human, and on the top of that the Resistance member, it would not only result in her own death and the obvious danger to her haven, but in his own possible punishment.
She had to get out of here somehow. By the rather hostile tones of their voices V could tell they were seconds away from getting on each other throats and it would definitely blow up her shaky cover. Her leg hurt, so V took off the jacket, tore it apart as quietly as she could manage and tied it around her bleeding leg. The blood ceased slightly, but still streamed down her shin.
“You leave me no choice, but to force you to obey,” the Assassin scowled, drew her sword and lunged forward with a cat-like agility.
V only managed to make one step, before the whole ground shook with a massive force of the two Chosen colliding in battle. Damn, she had to be faster. The small camp got filled with the sounds of the metal clanking and loud shots in no time. V merely hoped the Hunter would taunt his sibling away from her tent and distract her long enough for her to escape unnoticed.
V covered the whole body with a piece of sheet that was dusting under her feet and sneaked out of the tent.
“Too slow,” she heard the Hunter laugh, as the magnetic beam landed somewhere in close proximity. “There is nowhere you can hide from me, Fon Mai.”
V took a deep breath and ran with all she could under the saving cover of the woods. Well, ran was more of exaggeration, as her leg allowed her to only awkwardly limp.
Her mission turned into a catastrophic failure. She was forced to flee and abandon the supplies she had almost died for. All the trouble had been in vain, and why? Because the Hunter for some reason decided to show up and play his games.
V leaned against the tree trunk and let her hectic heartbeat calm down a little. The sounds of the battle grew slightly fainter, yet she still could tell apart two tall figures jumping around. His sister looked a bit slimmer than the Hunter, though V could notice she was drastically faster and much more flexible than he. Didn’t look like they were merely playing around. V concluded from the small bits she managed to hear that they were pretty much at odds and that the Hunter wasn’t really keen on doing whatever the Elders planned. Which was good. It would mean the battle would give her some time to cover her tracks and hopefully escape not only that sister of his, but him as well.
V checked her slightly bleeding leg and tightened the sloppily done bandage. Heading to the haven would be far too dangerous and far too obvious. There was also an ADVENT station not so far away, so heading to the south would most likely end up in her being shot. The only really reliable way was to keep to the north and choose the least used tracks that would, hopefully, confuse anyone that would try to follow her.
Two hours felt like days of climbing up hills, wriggling through bushes and passing by numerous shallow puddles of muddy brown water. V was tired, bleeding, angry and on the top of that really, extremely hungry. Her legs were aching and shaking the more she walked, and V expected her body to collapse at any moment. She needed a break.
Not without a groan she dropped herself at the small patch of moss, took the rifle off and stayed still for ten minutes. If her stomach wasn’t groveling, V could have easily fallen asleep right where she sat. The only thing that wasn’t letting her mood get completely sour was the fact no one was at her tail. At least for now. The sun was slowly setting down and the air around was getting cooler rather quickly, so she had to get going, unless she wanted to get trapped in the woods for the whole night.
V untied her torn jacket to check whether the skin on her leg had gotten any better. It hadn’t, it was still as badly burnt and bloody as before. She wasn’t even sure it hadn’t already gotten infested with some sort of disease. Having pulled out a tiny vial with water, she poured some on the wound to at least clear away the dirt. A loud moan left her lips. V messily scrubbed away the patches of skin and bits of sole, tied everything back and forced herself to keep going.
After one more hour V was standing at the coast of a broad and rather deep river that separated her from the destination point. She was beginning to think the whole world was laughing at her. There was no way she would reach the other side without getting completely soaked and without damaging her rifle. She had no choice, but to take it off and leave where it was. Damn. It was one of her favorites.
The water was cold, almost icy. V felt the teeth clacking, as she awkwardly pushed herself through the torture. She could already feel cramps taking her muscles in a titan hold. This whole day was a complete and utter disaster. She would end up catching hypothermia and die at some stone, lost and forgotten by everyone. Sounded about right.
V’s bluish fingers could no longer rub enough warmth into the skin, so V opted to use them for swimming, as the bottom was no longer reachable even with her height. Almost, almost there.
She stepped out and immediately collapsed on the ground, shaking and trembling. Was she dying? Was it the end? She was alone and had nothing with her to even remotely keep herself warm. The sheet she had stolen from the camp was dropped off in the first hour and now V came to regret the decision. The haven…it was so close, yet so far at the same time. If only she could…replenish her energy somehow.
Something heavy and smelly dropped on her from above. It felt like some thin blanket, strangely similar to the one she was just remembering.
“Were you even trying to hide your tracks?”
V yelped and jumped into a more or
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Manipulation (part 11)
Note: Don’t forget to check out the amazing NSFW artwork that @ravenousscorpian created for this scene! It can be found by clicking the #manipulation tag in my blog!
NSFW -- 3600 words
(FYI: This story is a sequel/companion piece to Assimilation, which can be found in the Rick Fic Masterpost link in my blog’s description along with additional chapters of Manipulation. Or, you can click the #manipulation tag in this post, within my blog, to access all additional chapters.)
*****
I was suddenly jolted awake by the creepy-crawly sensation of someone watching me. In response, my entire body jerked so violently, I nearly fell from the stool. But, luckily I was able to balance myself just in time. Cracking one eye, I noticed that the garage was suddenly flooded with light so I turned from the workstation to locate the source. Shielding my eyes from the blinding beams coming in from the kitchen, I was filled with instant irritation as they seared my retinas as if they were coming directly from the goddamn sun.
“W-w-what the – turn off that fuckin’ light!” I demanded, assuming it was Morty or Summer coming to pester me after another long night of lulling my conscious mind into a comfortably numb oblivion.
“I’m sorry!” she apologized, quickly stepping back into the kitchen to flip the light off. At first, I thought my mind was playing tricks on me. That is, until my eyes finally adjusted to the semi-darkness and I could make out her silhouette in the doorway. Why was she here? Surely, she should still be pissed that I’d thrown her into an alternate reality where her husband was still alive without regard to how it would fuck her head sideways and inside out. Maybe she was here to extol her revenge. Had she even used the inter-dimensional goggles, yet? Had she witnessed her counterpart participating in adulterous acts with Rick D-79?
Well, if she hasn’t yet, she will soon, I thought as I stood from the stool and folded my arms across my chest. Either way, don’t count on her coming to you for comfort, pal. Good ol’ Rick Sanchez – smartest man in the fucking universe. Gives the object of his misguided affection all the ammunition she needs to shoot him down and keep on shootin’ until he’s a sniveling pile of emotional, raw hamburger meat. Brilliant!
Figuring, to be on the safe side, I was already in the dog house with her, I opted for the more comfortable route when addressing her – snappy indifference.
“Uh – so, what’s – what do you want? Can we talk about that Unity shit later?”
“No, that’s not it. I’m sorry I woke you. I’m just looking for something that I think may be in my boxes in here,” she explained, gesturing toward the other side of the metal shelving unit.
“At –” I glanced up at the clock hanging on the wall above my workstation, “– 4:15 am? What the – what is it?” At this point, I was wondering why she even continued to speak to me, but I became completely confused with her quick reply –
“My vibrator.” She looked me square in the eye, her face entirely unreadable, and it took me several seconds to process the words that had just left her mouth. But, as soon as I did, I knew I couldn’t allow this moment to slip away, no matter how fleeting.
“Baby, y-you don’t need that,” I said as I strode toward her. She didn’t move away as I closed the distance and captured her by the waist. Shuffling her back with me from the kitchen door, I closed it behind us and deftly flipped the lock. Pressing a kiss to the top of her head, I continued, “Just sit – hop up on the counter and l-let me eat your pussy.”
She pressed her face against my chest in an obvious attempt to hide the blush creeping up her cheeks and I smirked as she inhaled and exhaled deeply before countering with, “Or… you can use it on me.”
“Hmm,” I breathed, intentionally drawing out my response just to hear her breaths huff in and out of her lungs in adorable little pants of excitement. “I – uh – I could. But, I’m not patient – I-I-I can’t wait for you to dig through boxes, sweetheart.” While trailing one hand up and down her spine, the mother of all scandalous ideas suddenly lit up like a fucking light bulb above my head. Pressing another quick kiss to her crown by way of apology for leaving so abruptly, I released her, produced the portal gun, entered the coordinates of the Citadel of Ricks and pressed the trigger. “Stay here. I-I-I’ll be right back.”
----------
The moment the portal snapped out of existence behind me, I approached the nearest directional kiosk to locate my destination as quickly as possible. Thankfully, I had remembered the general neighborhood of the particular shop I’d come to visit and it was closer than I’d originally figured.
Hoofing the few blocks at a near run – so as not to be cited for excessive portal use – I arrived at the shady looking building sporting steel blast shutters at the edge of the red light district. Rolling my eyes at the false sense of security the shop owner was attempting to portray, I rang the doorbell under the bold, red letter sign that read, “Ring bell for admittance. Only one Rick at a time. No Mortys permitted.”
A tiny security monitor emerged from a small hidden compartment above the bell with an irritated Rick peering at me from the screen.
“Yeah, what do ya want?” the sour puss spat into the microphone, his voice emitting from the tiny speaker with a warped, static quality.
“What the hell do you think I want?” I spat back, rolling my eyes as I pulled my flask for a quick swig. Taking a glance at my wrist watch as I shoved it back into my breast pocket, I noticed this idiot had already wasted about 45 seconds with his bullshit greeting.
“You don’t have a Morty with you, do you?” he asked as I observed him reaching for the automatic door latch under the counter.
“No!” I yelled, throwing my hands up in frustration. “Fuck! Just let – l-let me in already! I-I-I’m in a hurry!”
“Yeah, yeah. You and every other horny Rick in the Citadel. Take a fuckin’ number, pal.”
I only stepped back from the monitor, dramatically twirling with my arms spread wide to showcase just how full of shit this asshole was. I was the only mother fucker within three blocks of this dump and he had the nerve to big time me? Fuck that.
“Okay, then, buddy. I guess I – I’ll take my business to Big Dick Rick’s since he won’t make me pull out my cock to get – for a urethra scan just to get inside,” I bluffed. The truth was, it was this shop or no dice because the particular item I had in mind was exclusive to Sleazy Rick’s Sex Emporium, unfortunately.
Abruptly, the tiny monitor retreated back into the hidden compartment and a second later, an obnoxious buzzer signified the disengagement of the magnetic door. And, once I stepped inside, I was instantly assaulted with the unmistakable odor of silicone and cheap cologne.
Knowing exactly what I was there for, however, I made a beeline toward the premium power tools, snatched the item from the shelf and headed back toward the high top counter at the front of the store.
“Huh...” Ricky – as his name badge proclaimed – began, pushing the glasses up his greasy nose; moving infuriatingly slow as he picked up the box and inspected the contents. I checked my watch again – four fucking minutes now. She’d already appeared exhausted when she sought me out in the garage and I knew I’d end up snapping this dip shit’s neck if she was asleep by the time I got back. “You do know this is a g-spot vibrator, right?” he asked with a raised brow, obviously implying that perhaps I’d made a mistake. Surprisingly, the scowl remained even as he tried his best to crack a mocking smirk.
“Of fuckin’ course, I know that!” I yelled, yanking my wallet from my back pocket to produce the cash required for the purchase. Tossing it on the counter, I told him to keep the fucking change and to hurry the hell up as he gingerly placed the nondescript white box in a black plastic bag. Snatching it from his hand, I flipped him off as I exited the slum, pulled the portal gun, pressed the trigger and hopped through.
----------
When I landed back in the garage, her head jerked up from the counter of my workstation in the same manner mine had when she’d woke me earlier and I was suddenly struck by the dark circles and puffiness under her eyes. She obviously hadn’t slept a wink and maybe even had continued to cry long after she’d left the garage. Perhaps she had used the goggles after all and perhaps what she saw got her significantly worked up enough to seek me out. Cataloging that thought for further future study, I moved to stand next to her. And, as she shot me a quizzical look, I only pulled the box from the bag and handed it to her without explanation. She opened it carefully, as if it could be armed with an explosive device, and barked out a strangled laugh once she spied its contents.
“You bought me a new vibrator?” she asked, covering her eyes while she giggled like an embarrassed school girl. “Where on earth did you get it? You were only gone for like five minutes!”
“Not on earth,” I replied as she uncovered her eyes. “There – there’s a Rick who owns a sex shop on the Citadel. I knew what – uh – what I was looking for.”
“Oh, you did?” she asked, her tone playful as she removed the toy from the white velvet casing within the box. The toy was black, made of a special material that resembled real skin and I felt my cock respond and swell to the visual of her testing the texture by rubbing the flat head against the sensitive skin of her inner wrist. Then, she took another glance inside the box, obviously looking for a charger or instructions.
“It – it doesn’t need to be charged. It has a battery that lasts – will outlive you. And, it’s voice activated. You – uh – you tell it what to do and it does it.”
“How do I turn it on?” she asked, flipping it this way and that to locate the power button.
“Just stick it – slide it in your cunt,” I explained. She laughed again, shaking her head in disbelief. “Now get – sit up here and take those pants off,” I instructed, grabbing her upper arm to tug her from the stool.
“Rick, I doubt you’ve sound proofed the garage, so maybe we shouldn’t.”
“You’ll just have to be quiet, sweetheart,” I assured her as I hooked my fingers in the waistband of both her pajama pants and underwear and yanked them down at once. She gasped and attempted to cover herself by pulling down the hem of her tank top while I practically reeled with unchecked lust upon spying the wet spot on the crotch of her panties. She was ready and rearing, alright, and my mouth began to literally water as I swatted her hands away from the hem of her shirt, hoisted her up onto the counter and lifted her legs to plant both feet on the edge.
“You locked the door, right?” she asked, her voice already wavering and breathy.
“Mmhmm,” I hummed, pulling the stool over to sit between her spread legs.
Her pussy was on full display, right in front of me, and I felt my heart skip a beat at the way it glistened in the low light of the small lamp close by. My aim had been, and still was, to destroy her in the best way with the custom vibrator, but I just couldn’t resist sliding my fingers through those slick folds; parting them slightly to peek at what was hidden within and – Jesus fuck – was it beautiful. Before I could stop myself, I scooted closer on the stool and indulged – probing her with my tongue, sliding up and back down the folds before dipping inside. From the corner of my eye, I saw one of her hands release the counter and fly up to cover her mouth to suppress a moan. I, however, didn’t bother to suppress mine as I slipped my tongue back up the length of her pussy and encased her engorged clit between my lips to gently suck. In response, her hips jerked forward and the hand she’d clamped over her mouth now took a new position on the back of my neck.
“Oh fuck,” she whispered. I continued to apply gentle suction while adding the sweeping motion of my tongue, back and forth, across the top of her clit. “Rick. Oh god,” she choked out and I pulled back, sensing that she was already teetering on the edge. Releasing the most adorable whine of disappointment, her spine sagged as she clutched the counter with both hands, panting hard.
“Shhh,” I chided as I stood and pulled her in for a kiss, pushing my tongue through her lips to sweep inside her mouth. “Taste that?” I asked when I’d pulled back. “Fucking delicious, baby.” I leaned in to kiss her again, a shiver working its way down my spine when she moaned into my mouth in response.
Finally ready to get down to business, as it were, I released her and plopped back down on the stool. Wanting to make sure I had the best view possible, I placed both hands on her knees to shove them further apart while she steadied her balance by widening her arms and clutching the edge of the counter with more determination. Then, I picked up the vibrator and positioned it at her pussy, sliding it up and down the slick slit before slowly pressing forward. Once the entirety of the business end of the toy was securely inside, I held it completely still, placed a kiss to each of her calves to calm her and then spoke the first command –
“Pressure.”
I could distinctly feel the toy spring to life as I held on to the base, the flat head no doubt expanding to apply constant pressure to her g-spot. In response, she quietly moaned, her head lolling back.
“Roll.”
The toy began to shimmy slightly in my fist as the tiny ball bearings pushed to the top of the flat head to roll this way and that and I wished I could observe it in action. Especially considering her reaction – her hips bucking forward as her teeth planted into her bottom lip.
“Heat.”
I could feel the base of the vibrator heat up along with the rest of it as the pressure remained consistent and the ball bearings continued to roll and roll and roll. Her face screwed up in pleasure and her breathing became erratic as the temperature increased.
“More pressure,” she breathed, attempting to bend the toy to her will. Smirking, I waited until she looked down on me with a confused expression when it did not do as she commanded.
“It – uh – it’s only programmed for my voice. Or any Rick’s voice, I guess. Factory default.”
When her face relaxed, I appeased her before she could utter a word, commanding, “More pressure.” And, now she was close, issuing small, breathy moans as her cunt clenched around the toy; the force so strong, it jostled my wrist at the base.
“Ohh, y-you – you like that don’t you, my sweet girl?” I crooned, kissing her calf once more. I knew one more command would completely do her in.
“Pulse.”
And, there it was. Her entire body tensed, her hands gripped the edge of the counter so hard, I thought it may crack. She dropped her chin to her chest, squeezed her eyes shut and screamed.
Feeling my stomach drop to my toes at the prospect that someone in this house would be awoken by their sister/aunt/best friend in the throes of a screaming orgasm had me propelling from the stool to ram the meaty part of my hand, below the thumb, into her mouth. Instinctively, she bit down, hard, but I was much too distracted with the expression of pure, unadulterated bliss on her face to even notice.
“Holy shit,” I croaked, leaning in to kiss her temple. She tensed again and another muffled sob escaped her as she bit down even harder. Christ, did she just cum again? I wondered as tears leaked from her eyes and she mumbled something around my hand that resembled, “take it out”.
So, I did. Gently, I pulled the toy from her cunt and commanded, “Off,” before placing it on the counter next to her.
She was a sweaty, trembling mess – gasping for breath around my hand as I threaded the fingers of my other hand into the hair at the back of her neck and pressed my forehead to hers. When I was sure that her involuntary screams of pleasure had subsided, I removed my hand from her mouth.
“Worth every fucking cent,” I said, awestruck. A few minutes later, she seemed composed enough for me to pull her forward and coax her to the nearby stool.
“Rick – my god,” she said, still catching her breath as I retrieved her pajama pants and panties from the floor and handed them over. With shaky hands, she slid them both up her thighs and slowly stood to pull them up the rest of the way.
“Don’t – uh – don’t get used to that,” I joked with a smirk.
“How can I when you’re the only one who can control it?” Touché.
I laughed and sat on the other stool, admiring her. I’d never seen someone practically glow the way she did after an orgasm and I wondered just how thoroughly my brain had been flooded with sense numbing endorphins for something so sappy and moronic to even cross my mind.
“Stand up and come here,” she commanded suddenly. My heart pumped tingling sparks of excitement through every vein and artery as my body stood of its own accord, already anticipating her intentions.
When I’d situated between her legs, she went to work unbuckling my belt and loosening my fly. Like she’d done the previous night, she slid her hand inside my briefs and wrapped her delicate fingers around my stiffening cock, slowly stroking from base to tip while looking directly into my eyes. Licking her lips, she uttered a phrase that nearly buckled my knees before roughly yanking my pants and briefs down to pool at my ankles.
“I want you to choke me.”
“Oh fuck,” I moaned as she flattened her tongue to lick up the underside of my cock. When she reached the tip, she pulled back and thoroughly licked the palm of her hand. Once she was satisfied that it was nice and soaked, she wrapped it around the base of my cock once more and began to blow me properly and with earnest.
“That – t-t-that’s it, baby. God damn, that’s perfect,” I groaned, threading the fingers of both hands through her hair. Automatically, I bobbed her head on my dick and glued my eyes to her face as it disappeared and reappeared from her mouth; her tongue painting hot stripes of pleasure that cooled just enough to shock me once again as she took my cock further and further down her throat and held it longer and longer with each pass.
“Oh – oh, sweetheart. Fuck yeah. Eyes up here, baby. That – thaaat’s right. Let me – I-I-I wanna see those eyes while you – while you swallow my dick.”
Obeying like the good girl I knew she was, she flicked them upward to lock with mine. A lightning bolt struck my cock in that moment as the blunt head hit the back of her throat and tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. Releasing a hand from her hair to swipe a thumb under them, I issued the praise she deserved.
“That’s my good girl,” I whispered. “You look so perfect like this. You’re gonna – gonna make me cum, sweet girl. You gonna take it, baby?”
She hummed around my cock in affirmation and I groaned, picking up my pace. This was it. I was going to cum down her fucking throat.
“Oh, fuck – oh, shit. Here – here it comes. Fuck!” I strained to keep quiet as I buried both hands back in her hair and bucked wildly into the wet cavern of her mouth. She hummed again, flattening her tongue to take my cock as far down her throat as possible, like a fucking champ.
“Ah, fuck!”
My movements stalling; my cock swelled, the pressure mounting before releasing and pulsing with each rope of cum that pumped forth and hit the back of her throat. And, she took it. And, continued to take it until I had nothing left before releasing my dick with a wet and playful pop.
“Christ,” I said, slouching over her and catching my breath while she untangled my hand from her hair. “You know how to suck a dick.” No doubt, the reverence was clear in my voice and, at that moment, I just couldn’t give a shit.
To be continued...
P.S. Special thanks to @maidservant-hecubus for so graciously allowing me to borrow her OC, Ricky, the sex shop worker. :)
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*//-prompt: "I swear it was like that when I found it.” (Ransom)
“Hi baby…. You know I hate to ask you this, especially since I’m sure you’re exhausted from work, but is there any way you could watch your brother and sister for a couple of hours tonight? Your father and I have a function to attend and there is no way I can bring them with me.” Victoria already tried to make other arrangements, but Rory wasn’t answering her phone and Clara had plans. Victoria knew her parents were always a possibility, but the kids had been asking about their brother a lot lately and she knew how excited they would be if Ransom came over to play with them. “Please don’t feel obligated to say yes… I’m sure I can always take them to your grandparents house.” Vic and Declan were going to a DRMC dinner. It wouldn’t be an all night event. A couple of hours at most. “Mommy, who are ya talkin’ to?” Savanna asked as she came down the stairs with coloring books and her new art kit in her hands. “Is that Rannie? I wanna talk ta him.” The seven year old dropped her belongings down on the coffee table and reached for Victoria’s cell phone. “Rannie… I miss you. When are ya gonna come over ta play?” Savvy didn’t know their mother was trying to recruit him for babysitting, and if Ransom was on the fence about saying no before… He knew he couldn’t say it now.
----------
A couple hours later, the front door opened and Ransom stepped inside. Timothy and Savanna had been patiently waiting for him. “Rannie!!” They shouted in unison as they sandwiched him in a hug. “We are so, so happy yer here. We missed you!” Savanna told him with a smile on her face. The commotion alerted Victoria of her oldest son's arrival and she came down the stairs a couple minutes later dressed and ready to go.
“You have no idea how much I appreciate this.” Vic said as she gave her Ransom a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “We shouldn’t be any later than 9. I left money on the counter for dinner. Their homework is done. They know their bedtime routines. Please help yourself to anything in the house.” Victoria turned to look at her two youngest. “No scary movies...” She warned. Timothy tolerated them well, but Savvy always ended up having nightmares and would force her way into bed with Vic and DC in the middle of the night.
“You know I’m only a phone call away if you need me.” She directed her attention to Ransom again. She couldn’t help but notice how uncomfortable he looked when Declan finally came down the stairs. The two barely acknowledged each other, but they kept it civil for the sake of the little kids. Ransom didn’t have to like the man just because they were related. He just hoped, for his mother’s sake and the sake of his younger siblings, that DC was trying to set things right. He didn’t want Timmy and Savvy to know the Declan Deschaine he had been exposed to when he was their age.
“You can go now. We promise ta be good for Rannie.” Savanna said with a grin. Victoria knew they would be. They were always good for anyone who babysat. “I hope ya have’a fun night.” Timmy told them before Vic and DC head out the door. “What are we gonna do for dinner?” The little boy asked immediately after the front door closed. Food was constantly on his mind which was something you’d never be able to tell based on his slender frame. “Pizza?!” His eyes widened, but Savanna made a face. She hadn’t been able to stomach anything with tomato since the last time she had pizza and it made her sick. “I don’t want that.” She pouted. “Can we make pancakes for dinner, Rannie?” The tiny brunette looked up at him with her big blue eyes. “Please?”
Savanna wasn’t even sure if her brother knew how to cook, but she and Timmy could assist. They both knew how to read ingredients and had been helping Victoria and Clara in the kitchen for years. “We can tell ya what ta do. Pancakes are easy. Even Declan knows how ta make um.” The seven year old giggled. “We need yer help cause mommy doesn’t let us use the stove or the oven.” Ransom looking like he was giving it some thought as he glanced at his watch. If the pancakes didn’t turn out as expected, there was still time to have something delivered.
“I can get out everythin’ we need, kay?” Savvy announced. She didn’t give her brothers time to respond before she disappeared to the kitchen. Timmy took that moment as the perfect opportunity to show Ransom the new game he got for his PS4. “Do ya know how ta play Call of Duty? My dad got me this game. I don’t think mom knows. She doesn’t like when me an’ Savvy play shootin’ games.” Timothy hadn’t even take the game out of the wrapper yet because he wanted to ask Victoria if it was okay to play it first. Lately it seemed that David was going out of his way to buy the kids gifts he knew Victoria wouldn’t approve of, and Timmy was torn. He really wanted to play the game, but he didn’t want to upset his mom. “Do ya think she will be mad if we play for just a little?” The eight year old arched a brow.
Savanna came back into the living room a couple minutes later. The boys had just finished setting up the PS4 to play COD. Savvy was already intrigued. She was better at these types of games than Timothy was. She beat him all the time when Vic or DC took them to The Coin Slot. “Can I play too? After we make dinner?” She asked, but her big brothers were already focused on the game and didn’t hear her question. “I’m gonna start makin’ the pancake batter, kay? Don’t worry… I won’t use the stove.” Savvy felt like she was talking to herself at this point but she shrugged it off and went back to the kitchen to begin dinner preparations. What she wasn’t prepared for was the huge mess she was about to walk into.
“Gemma, that’s bad.” The seven year old gently scolded the family dog. In the short amount of time the ingredients were left unattended, the dog had jumped up on the counter and ripped open the pancake mix. It was e v e r y w h e r e. “Now what are we gonna use for dinner?” She furrowed her brow. Savvy didn’t even know where to begin when it came to cleaning up. It wasn’t like she could just absorb the mess with paper towels and the dustpan and brush she found only spread the mess around more.
“I think I need some help.” Savvy explained as she stood in front of Ransom with the flour-like substance all over her clothes. She even managed to get some in her hair. Ransom’s eyes widened. If his sister looked like this he could only imagine what the kitchen looked like. “I swear it was like that when I found it.” The seven year old told him as she held her hands up defensively. “Gemma did it. She jumped up on the counter and getted the bag’a pancake mix.” It was a good thing Victoria left money for take out. They were clearly going to need it. “I tried ta clean it up…” Savvy frowned. “Guess we’re not gonna have pancakes t’night.”
#♡ ransom deschaine | [connection]#♡ victoria deschaine | [connection]#♡ declan deschaine | [connection]#♡ timmy thorne | [connection]#♡ savanna thorne#prompt#savvy writing#i love my big brothers
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Oddworld: Conar's Ambition, Chapter 3, Draft 1
“The plan, right,” Conar nodded. “So, first things first… we should… no, I should go back to my place and get some of my stuff. Woulda only slowed your escape down, y’see.”
“Where d’ya wanna meet me, then?”
“Ah, right, you gotta do some hidn’ too…” Conar said, rubbing his chin. “So, I don’t think there’ll be an issue if you hang out in the cab. Don’t think anyone’ll be comin’ out of the apartment at this time of night.”
It was a bit awkward on the ride back to Conar’s home. The cab driver was very pointedly trying not to make eye contact with either passenger as he checked his mirrors. It wasn’t every day he saw a Slig and a Mudokon in the same cab. And he was taking him into the Slig part of town? Couldn’t be anything good, and it would only be worse if he said anything, he was sure.
Finally, after that long silence, they were nearing the apartment complex.
Conar spoke up: “Hey, keep the cab ‘ere. My ‘friend’ and I are gonna be goin’ for a ride after this…”
He added a sinister chuckle, for effect. The driver gulped, slowly nodding.
“Make sure he plays nice. If I hear he left or told ya why he’s with me, well…”
He let the driver’s imagination fill the rest in as he gently picked his blunderbuss up, keeping the muzzle pointed away from him – coincidentally pointed in the direction of either Mudokon.
Before long, he was in his apartment again. He’d still have to be quick; him signing Slim out was on record, and he was sure someone had nothing better to do than to look at those logs every hour on the hour. That guy was surely pathetic, but he was going to be a serious problem. As such, Conar was just going to get the essentials. That filthy old pillowcase would have to do for a bag to fill with ammo, snack foods, canned drinks, liquor, cigarettes, a lighter, and a blanket he had some extra Moolah crammed into.
He got some odd looks on his way out, but no one stopped him. He himself stopped at the exit, though, when he saw a couple of other Sligs knocking on the cab’s door. “Knocking” might have been to soft a word for their violent bashing on the vehicle.
“What’s the holdup?!” one demanded. “Drop the towel boy and get us to the bar already!”
The other, meanwhile, was moving to the other side, knocking right on the driver’s window.
“Your boss’ll hear about this!” he shouted to the ever-shrinking Mudokon.
“W-waitin’ for someone….” The driver managed.
“Oh, not about this,” the Slig said, holding up his T2 Fully Automatic. “Property damage. I know your boss won’t like that, even if you live…”
A gunshot rang out, and he fell backwards. The other Slig turned around to see Conar with a smoking Blunderbuss.
“Hands off,” Conar said, simply. “I got places to be.”
The other Slig saw many a glowing red lens look out from the windows of the building. There was the occasional laugh or cheer as they saw a standoff about to happen. He took their cue, and produced his own pistol, ready for a fight. Oh, this was going to be fun!
The two of them stared, daring the other to make a move. Their guns stayed pointed at the other as they themselves moved to cover.
The other Slig shot first, causing Conar to sprint to a nearby chunk of concrete.
Once covered, he didn’t hesitate to return fire. The cab was covered in bullet-shaped dents quickly. Both Mudokons had long since ducked out of sight of the windows, thankfully.
His foe moved to the front of the car, crouching just enough so he could still aim.
A lucky shot! A bullet landed right in one of the exposed joints of Conar’s Pants. He nearly tipped over from the impact; he had to frantically hop and drag that leg behind cover. Carefully leaning, he returned fire, creating plenty of holes in the front of the cab and shattering one of the windows.
He could hear the jeers above him, but chose to ignore them, instead unloading his gun into his pillowcase.
“Hey!” one of the spectators shouted. “Idiot’s just unloading! Why the hell’d he do that?!”
Conar could hear the whirring and thumping from mechanical legs on the other side of the rubble he was hiding behind. Bastard was taking his time, too. Good.
He was saving a scrab-caliber shattershot for a time just like this, and he was hoping he would have enough time to load it.
“You think you can mess with me? I’ll turn you into soup before you can get to Mama Skillya!”
Finally found it. Just to get it in…
“Y’all want to see some guts? Do ya? Yeah, ya do! Well, watch this!”
The footsteps quickened, and Conar moved to meet him. Damn his bad leg; he couldn’t do much more than pivot. He could only hop awkwardly, which of course everyone watching found hilarious.
“Gotcha!”
BANG!
The smoke wasn’t clearing from Conar’s blunderbuss anytime soon, so he set it aside to see… well, not much. The other Slig’s Pants were little more than scrap metal, and the less said about the parking lot’s new paintjob, the better.
The onlookers were silent for a moment. Then they burst into laughter, cheering at the surprise resolution to the battle.
Conar shook his head, taking a look at his damaged leg. He could just about pull the slug out of that joint, thankfully, but he’d probably need to reboot the thing. Not here, though; once they stopped applauding the performance, there was bound to be someone in the audience who’d call security or take matters into their own hands. In fact, a couple of Sligs were already heading back in, whether to reach a gun or a phone.
He limped over to the cab, opening the door just enough to clamber in. He was greeted by two shaking Mudokons that looked about ready to leap out as he got in.
“Not gonna be long before we get jumped again,” he said, knocking on the back of the driver’s seat, “so you’re gonna step on it, capisce?”
The green Mudokon whimpered, but sat back up, getting the cab back into gear. It sputtered to life, but he noticed a lot of steam coming out of the bullet holes in the front, and the various dials indicating fuel, heat, and power were going haywire.
He had no time to worry about this, though; between the agitated Slig in his backseat and the threat of more on the way, he floored it, nearly crashing into a street light as he did so. He didn’t bother asking where they were going next; he was just focused on getting the hell awayfrom this scene.
They could all hear bangs from behind, as a few Sligs had come out too late, toting pistols and blunderbusses. They fired down the street, and the back windshield was obliterated in seconds. Both passengers ducked reflexively, and Conar took his bag and started reloading his own gun.
Slim wasn’t sure what he could do other than stay out of the way, so he settled for huddling around the corner while Conar started returning fire. It was just as well; they could only be shot at for a few seconds before the driver swerved to the right, knocking another cab aside as he did so. Slig and Mud tumble to the side; Slim had to duck so the hunk of metal that was the Slig Pants didn’t crush his head.
He instinctively grabbed his hat, placing it haphazardly on his head before turning back and seeing nothing attached to the legs. Disturbingly, they seemed to be struggling to stand back up, but it was impossible with the still-twitchy leg.
He looked, and saw Conar’s tail move in well-practiced motions while he watched out the back window. He was using his large forearms to keep himself hanging over the seat, but muscle memory kept his tail moving as if it was trying to control his legs. His blunderbuss was resting uneasily on the rear tray, occasionally sliding one way or the other as the driver made the occasional hard turn.
Finally, the shouting and shooting they had turned away from faded into the more typical shouting and shooting of late night in a Slig-filled district. Conar relaxed, slumping back down to the seat.
“Man,” he sighed. “If they’d’a caught up to us, I wouldn’t’a been been able to keep shootin’, you know?”
“What’re you talkin’ about?” Slim asked. “You still got your arms, right?”
“Yeah, obviously,” Conar said, while shimmying his tail back into his Pants. “That don’t mean nothin’ though. It’s like they said at the Barracks: a Slig without Pants ain’t worth the powder in his gun…”
Slim didn’t understand, but he just shook his head. They’d had quite a night already; he wasn’t about to press a stressed Slig.
“So, where are we going?”
Conar thought about it.
“First off, we gotta find a place we can lay low. I hear it’s pretty easy to hang out at Clunk’s, so we’ll try there first.”
“Might be good to get some parts or a new cab,” the driver muttered. “Gonna take a licking either way…”
Suddenly, there was a loud bang! Not like a gunshot, but like a wild Scrab rammed into the front of the car with a sledgehammer in its mouth. White smoke billowed out of the front, and it wasn’t long before the windshield was completely obscured. Some of it even got into the vents, causing the driver to gag and Slim to cover his mouth.
“Wimps,” Conar said, rolling his eyes.
Still, this would definitely be a problem; if the driver thought he was having a hard time breathing, he was going to have an even harder time seeing where they were going. What was worse, he was starting to swerve a little. It was only a matter of time before they crashed into something unseen, and Conar doubted he could get more help even if they survived.
He wasn’t sure what to do. He was trained for Slog Hut security, not emergency cab repair. Unless the hood needed more bullet holes, he couldn’t think of anything to do. He settled on bashing the window with the butt of his gun. At the very least, he could try to air the place out for the Mudokons in his service. Problem was, it was going to take several hits for one reinforced window to crack enough for him to puncture; apparently they accounted for Slig property damage.
Slim, on the other hand, grabbed the driver, pulling him away from the wheel and the brunt of the smoke. While the driver gasped and filled his lungs with less-polluted air, Slim looked down at the controls. A wheel used for steering, obviously, but also several levers on the driver-side door. He clambered in, holding his breath while trying to find any kind of label or anything. He needed a way to brake, or at least open the doors. Maybe this ripcord would do it…
A loud blare confirmed that, no, it would not.
A loud crash behind him made him turn around; Conar was panting, the butt of his gun hanging outside what remained of the sealed window. As he caught his breath, he half-heartedly knocked the remaining shards out. Somewhat clean air was available, for most of the smog was going over the cab.
“Hey, get the driver out there!” Slim shouted.
He played with the levers some more, but he could still wince while Conar carelessly yanked the gasping and wheezing Mudonkon out of his seat. He could hear the sounds of him crashing around in the backseat before Conar shoved his poor head out of the window. At least the gasps were getting to be less ragged and more just a result of the normal stress of being under a Slig’s thumb.
The driver ordinarily wouldn’t dream of trying to resist when a Slig manhandled him, but it was either that or get decapitated by an incoming Mudokon Pops sign. He leaped back, knocking Conar back with him.
“What the hell was that?!” Conar cried, lifting himself back up, no easy task with a bad leg.
“S-sorry, sir, it was that or losin’ my head…” the driver winced, fully expecting Conar to lay into him. He looked up after a few seconds. Conar… wasn’t going to beat him senseless for that?
Instead, the Slig was looking over at Slim, who was desperately trying to steer right while trying to figure out how to stop. The screeches of the signs scraping against the cab lessened, but they were still going forward.
“All right, you got enough air?” Conar finally asked the driver. Barely waiting for a nod, he pointed towards the driver’s seat. “Then get this thing stopped somewhere!”
The driver saw Slim playing with the controls, desperately trying to find a way to shut it all down. Without a second thought, he dragged the inexperienced Mud back into the backseat, then hopped back into his own chair.
The driver was quick to push two of the levers forward, and then throttle the middle lever back and forth at least five times. The wheels screeched, and all of them could feel the cab skid, slowing down to a halt. They grunted as it violently rocked forward, before it finally settled into a complete stop.
They sat there silently for a moment, and then the driver carefully stepped out. His two passengers followed seconds later. After clearing the smoke from their faces, they found they were on some relatively quiet back street. They could still hear the sounds of Slig residence – those being gunfire, explosions, and heavy implements banging against metal – but it was much calmer here. A lone Slig chuckled at the scene before him, not moving from his recline against the wall as he took another drag from his cheap Lungbuster.
The driver took his cap off, scratching his head. If he couldn’t figure something out soon, he was screwed. He’d already be in hot water for the damages to the car, but failing to get a passenger to his destination? His back was getting bruises just thinking about the consequences in store for him.
There wasn’t much else he could do, so he took the key out of his pouch and popped the hood open. He ducked under the expected burst of smoke, then took a look inside, keeping his cap over his mouth as he did so.
Conar, meanwhile, limped over to the trunk, hoisting himself to sit there. He wriggled and shook, and an outsider would have thought he was having trouble staying inside his Pants while trying to sleep. In reality, though, he was maneuvering his tail to reach the off switch. While he was technically supposed to get out before doing that, he found it’s better to look lazy than to look vulnerable, so he let his legs slump in front of him.
While he waited for his legs to boot back up, Slim sat up next to him. He didn’t know a thing about cab repair, either. What could he do for the poor sap?
“…So, how we gonna get to that Clunk guy?” he asked, looking at Conar.
“Well, uh…”
Conar realized he had no idea how to navigate the world outside, instead relying on cab drivers and other forms of public transportation. Hell, he had no idea how to get to his Slog Hut again if he wanted to.
“We just gotta get our bearings, then we can get this piece o’ crap out of here!”
Slim noticed Conar’s leg twitching a little, and heard the exhaust pipe sputter.
“Wonder if that poor driver guy has a map or something.”
Conar nodded.
“Yeah, but I don’t think they’ll let you into the scrapyard without… good reason…”
He perked up, looking at the smoking pile of metal they were sitting on.
“Actually, that ain’t gonna be a problem, now, is it?”
He waited as his Pants sputtered to life, then hopped off and walked back around to the driver.
“You there!” he hollered, a little more loudly than needed. “You got a name?”
“Mmm… Mark, sir,” the driver sighed, already steeling himself for his “motivation”.
“Well, Mark, I got a new job for ya. Quit messing with that thing; we’re taking it to Clunk’s.”
“Huh?” Mark coughed, before he was dragged out of the smoke.
“Get pushing,” Conar elaborated, shoving Mark onto the back of the car. “Get Slim there to help you. Lemme know when I gotta turn the wheel or whatever.”
Like any Mudokon, Mark wasn’t raised to back talk any Slig, so he simply nodded and got into position. Slim gave Conar an odd look, but slid down and got next to Mark, ready to go forward.
Since the rear window was shot out, Conar had an unimpeded view of his propulsion.
Conar’s Blunderbuss faced them, purely for effect. It needed to be clear to anyone watching that he was in charge, and no one would question a Slig threatening a couple of Mudokons into doing his will.
“Get going! I want us there by morning!”
Both Mudokons grunted, pushing forward with all their might. They heaved, trying again, but nothing happened.
“What gives?!” Conar demanded, expression unreadable past his visor and tentacles. “I told ya to move the cab!”
Mark let go of the trunk, walking over to the driver’s side. He opened the door and casually adjusted the levers. This time, all three were pulled back, with no other adjustment. Conar could hear the hiss of some mechanism relax.
“Right,” he nodded. “Now get back there, get us moving, and tell me where to turn.”
He shut the door, getting back into his enforcing position, and the three of them began the slow trip to the scrapyard.
Being quite used to the laughter of onlooking Sligs, no one paid them any mind. Conar did wish he could come out and get them to shove it, but one altercation was enough for one night. Besides, he could tell the two Muds weren’t happy about having to shove the cab onwards; diverting attention from them, who knows what could happen?
He had to admit, though, his gun arm was getting tired. He obviously wouldn’t say it, but he was grateful when Mark told him to turn one way or the other – it meant he could put his firearm down for a few precious seconds to turn the wheel. The smoke was dissipating a small amount, but it was still hard to see, and the chumps he had in his charge right now were still coughing every so often, even though they were only getting small whiffs of it. He still didn’t understand that; sure, it stank a little bit, but it wasn’t anything awful.
By dawn, the car’s movement had started to slow down, the two Mudokons panting more, leaning against the vehicle more than pushing it forward. Conar’s arm was starting to shake.
By the time Conar’s shift would have started, the car was barely moving, the Mudokons slumped over the trunk, barely kicking it forward. Conar’s arm had long since given up, and was now dangling over the seat, barely holding onto his gun.
Slim barely had enough air in him to ask “How… much… further…?”
“I… don’tevenknow…” Mark replied, gasping for breath. “I... I think it’s…”
“Is that it right there?” Conar asked, trying to peer through the windshield. He saw something large, rusted, and cluttered on the left side, but the glass was still too fogged up to tell. The fact that he was still using his slightly out-of-date visor wasn’t doing him any favors, either.
“It is!” Slim said, perking up.
The old metal signage on top of the old metal wall read “C L N K ‘ Z”. It looked like it was partially eaten by rust, bullets, and desperate Fleeches, but it was still obvious this was the place.
As the two Mudokons pushed towards their destination with increased vigor, Conar opened the door and hopped out, stumbling a little as he did so but keeping a good grip on his Pants. He only had to take a few steps to slam the door shut, then it was just a matter of watching the cab be pushed in front of him, then getting into a well-practiced position behind his charges. It was a position that not only let him keep an eye on both effortlessly, but emphasized the fact that he was the one in power, if being the one with the gun wasn’t enough.
In just a few minutes’ time, they were at the gate. At the guard booth, they could see a Slig, snoozing at the control panel. A cap covered his eyes, and a magazine with some impressive war gear on the cover draped his torso.
The three of them watched this sorry sight for a moment, the Conar fired into the air.
“HEY! Let us in!”
The snoring guard started up slowly, pushing his cap onto his head properly while his magazine slipped down out of sight.
“Eh? Oh, uh, you got a pass or ticket?”
Conar didn’t skip a beat before slapping the car meaningfully.
“Yeah, no, smartass. If ya wanna scrap that thing, you’re gonna need a ticket from Clunk. If we can repair it, it ain’t goin’ in the yard, you got it?”
To make his point, the guard reached under his table, pulling out a hand cannon with a huge muzzle and a laser sight. He didn’t point it at them, but the point was quite clear; a simple Blunderbuss wouldn’t be enough.
“Right, I getcha,” Conar replied, after a moment of awe. “Where do we go for that?”
“Looks like you passed it,” the guard laughed, motioning to a direction behind them. The trio turned around to see a dirty grey garage, with “CLUNKZ” painted on each door in plain black lettering. Conar walked closer to inspect, trusting the other Slig to keep the Mudokons in line. They were going to be closed for a few hours, but there were some vacant parking spots.
He shouted out for the Muds to push the cab back over to a space. It only took ten minutes of keeping his Blunderbuss raised in the air with one hand and waving in the vague direction the cab should go in with the other, but he was able to get his lackeys to push it squarely into one and a half parking spots.
All they could do was wait until the crew arrived. Conar wanted to just sit back and have a smoke, but with a superior Slig looking their way, he wasn’t sure he could get away with such lackluster supervision. He heard all about what happened to nice Sligs.
“Stop that smoke!” he demanded, shoving Mark forward. “It’s already a wreck!”
Slim glared at him, but walked over, trying to help the driver in any way he could. This mostly meant batting his hat against the hood of the car.
As the two of them got to work, Conar spotted an Expresso machine. It was a long night; he needed a pick-me-up. One spent moolah later, and he felt ready to take the morning on.
He watched them work, occasionally barking an order or two, but they were making some good progress. Slim had graduated from haplessly batting at the smoke to handing Mark the appropriate tools, and helping hold engine parts in place. Conar had to admit he was impressed; he wasn’t even expecting Mark to know anything about this. After all, they just had to look busy to try and shake any suspicion.
Speaking of which, was anyone watching them? He looked around; no one other than the guard seemed to be around at this time of day, and he was starting to nod off again.
“Right,” Conar finally said, “that should be enough. Tighten the screws and, erm, cross the wires and close ‘er up!”
Slim and Mark rolled their eyes (not to Conar’s face, obviously) and slammed the hood shut. There was still a fine mist coming out of the holes in the cab, but it was nowhere near as severe as it was. The two looked at Conar, who nodded and invited them over to the shade. They both slumped against the wall, eyes closed and half-asleep.
Conar left them to rest, and walked back to the car. His bag of things was still somehow in one piece, under the backseat. Some of the cans were dented, and most of the snacks were crushed, but that wasn’t an issue. Might be a good idea to get his bag out; if this was going to be all he had, he’d rather have it secure.
As he took inventory, stepping back out of the wreck, he considered the cab. Sure, it was pretty broken, but if two hapless Mudokons could ease the smoke, he doubted it was in a condition that would let them enter the scrapyard. He wondered if they might have someone else tow it in, as well, but it was so close and he did already have Scrubs helping him, so that was probably a moot point. They might see that as him just trying to feel any kind of power, but that was just a bonus.
With that in mind, he was going to get this cab ready for a ticket. He looked towards the guard, who was sleeping, but Conar suspected it was a light sleep. He tried to pop the hood open, but he soon realized he had no idea how. The operations of this vehicle were more complex than “pull lever” or “push button”. There was an array of controls, and no visible way to open the thing.
As such, he instead crawled under, looking at the workings there.
Slim could hear the sound of metal clattering onto concrete. He didn’t even stir; when he had to sleep at the workplace, there were far louder noises than that. Hell, even at the Slugbite Motel, there was enough commotion to wake the dead. This was nothing; in fact, he was relishing the extra leg room.
Not even the scraping Conar was doing was interfering with anyone’s rest; seems everyone here was used to the lovely sound of machinery being destroyed. He grunted, hoping to tear a few holes with the butt of his gun. He knew he should have gotten that bayonet when he had the chance, but alas, he was stuck hoping to apply enough force to puncture a couple of important-looking pipes. No such luck, though he was able to make some nasty dents.
Oh, well. He was still able to take a few parts out. Some kind of oil was dripping out now, which told him that might be good. He slid out and took a look at the controls. The wheel didn’t look like it’d be coming off, but maybe if he pulled hard enough, those levers would snap right off. After a few moments of grunting and straining, two of them did.
Now, how could he hide the parts he liberated? If he kept them around, they might just put them back in, or worse, realize his sabotage. He looked around for a moment, before a far louder clatter from behind the wall caught his attention. The guard, he could see, kept on snoring. Of course!
Slim crept over, carrying an armful of car parts, and stopped at the gate. He began hurling them over the wall, one by one. Each one made noise, but nothing that was unlike the sounds already coming from within. In fact, some of their landings were drowned out by something already in there, whether it was some kind of machinery at work or some kind of junk falling over.
Sure enough, the guard was none the wiser, though the red goggles made it look like he was watching Conar the whole time.
Satisfied with his handiwork, he walked back to watch the Mudokons again. He could use some rest too – Expresso could only do so much – but more immediately, he really needed a cigarette. He stood next to the Vendo, happy to get a half-decent smoke after all this.
He watched the two Mudokons rest, and almost envied them. He still had to keep an eye out for Clunk’s employees, and they’d probably be asking for credentials. He just hoped he could flaunt enough authority that he wasn’t questioned too much; if he was caught sleeping next to a couple of Scrubs, that’d be impossible. It’s not like anyone would question a couple of Mudokons sleeping out here. No, they’d just get screamed at and roughed up a little. There wasn’t any telling what would become of him; he still remembered when Arkin was caught sleeping while on watch, and how he didn’t show up to work after that day. Seeing how he wasn’t even at work, he’d have to do a lot of showboating or sniveling, depending on who showed up.
Ah, well. Maybe he could sleep once they got in. Odd knows he’d need it.
#oddworld fic#oddworld#oddworld conar's ambition#draft 1#chapter 3#oddworld conars ambition full chapter
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Sniper is a lone man, talks very little even asa kid. When we gets hurt he doesn't say anything, he doesnt whine, he doesn't want to be a bother. But his back hurts a lot. Sniper (tries to) ignores the pain as always, but Spy notices. And he tries to convince Sniper to let him give him a massage because the pain is affecting his job. So yeah, just a massage, a professional one. But Spy's hands touch just the right places, and the ambience is amazing, and maybe that massage has a happy ending❤️🐑
Funny you mention that! I have already written it in one of my fics ^^ But here is something completely different from what I already wrote in the past, I hope you’ll enjoy it! :D
The tall man grumbled.
He wished the windowsills were higher so that he didn't have to spend his day slouched that way. He sometimes would sit on a wooden crate but that would end up giving him a sore bottom. Everyday, for every battle, the choice was there: sore bottom or back pain?
That day, he had gone for back pain with a side of slight headache, the former causing the latter.
Sniper took his shots, his jaw clenching and his shoulder contracting more than was necessary to compensate for the pain in his back. He reloaded and shot again. The cycles of reloads and shots spiralling for the entire duration of the match, along with his pain growing and his posture degrading.
After the battles, he went back to spawn and put his rifle in his locker. It needed a good clean but he just wanted a hot shower and a nap, or maybe just lying down for a while. He put his hand on his shoulder and tried massaging himself but of course, it was to no avail. A massage only works if one is completely resting while someone else did the job.
Had he been back home, he would have asked his mother. But she was thousands of miles away and he knew that calling her wouldn't help.
Sniper walked back through the base.
Nah, it wouldn't help. She would worry from far away and he didn't want to be a bother for anyone and especially not his dear mother. What about his father then? Nah, he would get told off for sure.
"Told ya, gunman's no proper job, son. And you'll get hurt."
"Dad, it's only back pain…"
"Does it hurt or not? It does! And is it because of shootin'? Yeah it is! So the point stands."
He opened his van's door and shook his head as if to shake away his father's voice that echoed in the walls of his mind. This entire discussion had rolled in his head as if he had it for real.
Sniper threw his hat and sleeveless jacket away before sinking on his couch. Oh it was an old, worn out thing that couldn't possibly be less comfortable. He wouldn't usually mind but he twisted his back left and right, trying to find a position that would hurt him the least.
"Bugger…"
He unbuttoned his polo shirt and slid a hand behind his back. It hurt… The pain growing stronger and weaker under the waves of his hand.
Knock, knock.
He raised his eyes to the door. Sniper hadn't heard anyone come to the door, which immediately gave away the identity of his visitor. He rose from the couch and, his hand still behind his back, he opened the door.
"Hey, Spy, what d'you want?" He asked.
The Australian watched as his colleague's face went from his usual suave smile to something else, something between distress and rage.
"Bonjour first maybe? And I'm sorry to interrupt, I shall come back later." The French accent was strong, not too much, but thicker than usual.
"What do you think you're interruptin'?" Sniper asked, confused.
"Well, look at you! Your shirt is open, your hair is completely disorganised, you are not even wearing your hat or your glasses!"
The tone of the Frenchman's voice had grown louder and louder as he spoke. By the end of his sentence, he sounded irritated. Sniper's eyes snapped wide. Why was Spy being so pissed off?
"W-wait, what?!"
The Frenchman sighed and lowered his head.
"Nevermind, Sniper, nevermind. Forget it. Forget… me."
He turned on his heels and walked away, shoving his hands in his pockets angrily.
"Spy, wait!"
The Frenchman turned to face him.
"Non, Sniper. I'm going back to my room. See you, maybe."
"Ugh, bugger…"
As if his day wasn't bad enough, he had to give the wrong impression and piss off his only friend… Sniper grumbled and fell deep in thoughts.
Need to apologise and tell him…
The Australian went to the Frenchman's room and knocked.
There was a moment before Spy opened.
"And you have the nerve to come to my door?" Spy asked.
"Spook, there was no one with me, I was alone! Can I come in and explain now, please!?"
Spy lowered his head and opened his door wider, as if to invite Sniper in. He entered and the Frenchman shut the door after him.
"What the-?! You're the one expectin' someone!" Sniper exclaimed his arms extended towards the unusual object standing in the room.
Spy had all the lights off apart from the flames of the fireplace and… some candles? Sniper looked around him. The Frenchman had put candles here and there and there was a gentle smell in the air… It smelled like a forest, fresh trees and leaves. But the most bizarre thing was the physiotherapy table there in the middle of it all.
"Indeed I was expecting someone. And he arrived." Spy answered, very calmly, with a smile.
"Well, as someone said, if I'm botherin' ya in the middle of somethin', I might as well leave…"
"Non."
Spy stood between the Australian and the door.
"You imbécile, I was waiting for you."
"What?!" Sniper was utterly confused. "What the bloody hell's all this?!"
"It's to relieve you. I do believe your back is killing you."
"How did-mh!?" Spy had put his index finger on his colleague's lips.
"Had I gone to your van and just asked you to come, you would have said you were too tired and you would have refused. So I had to think of another way to make you come out of your den of a camper van." Spy explained with a smirk and Sniper's eyebrows shot up.
"Now, don't make me get angry for real this time and go to my bathroom. You'll find a pair of shorts that I might have borrowed from your van. Put them on and come back here, lie down on the table."
Spy released his finger on his friend's lips and nodded his head towards his bathroom. Sniper thought he was hallucinating or dreaming. What the bloody hell was all that?!
He did obey though, in a brain-dead way. He went to the Frenchman's bathroom and found his old pair of grey short on the edge of the sink. He closed the door and slipped them on. When he came back, the Frenchman was waiting. He had removed his jacket and vest, his tie had gone too and he had opened the first few buttons of his shirt as well as rolled up his sleeves.
Sniper looked at the physio bed and back at his colleague. Spy's eyes were riveted on the bed. He had noticed how prude his friend was and how he wrapped his arms around himself and hunched his back, as if it hid his bare chest and back.
"Where did you ever find this…?"
"I borrowed it from Medic."
"You nicked it from Medic?"
"I intend to give it back. So it's a loan that he might not be completely aware of. Now, please, lay down."
"Roight…"
Sniper had gone too far to refuse. He lied on his stomach.
"Bien, put your arms along your chest, that's it, very good. Now, my hands are a bit cold but they will warm up, bear with me for a while."
"Alroight…"
"Shush, you close your eyes and don't think about anything."
"Spy?"
"What did I just say, Bushman?"
"Can you lock yer door though…?"
Spy sighed with a smile.
"Fine." The Frenchman moved to the door and locked it. He came back and removed his socks.
"Why the hell…?"
"And to think that you are the least sociable of us. Now you never stop talking…" Spy said. "But to answer you, I cannot proceed if my feet are not in contact with the ground."
Sniper heard the noise of some liquid being squeezed between Spy's hands and then he felt them on his back.
"When you massage someone, you are not just running your hands on someone's body. You are in a way taking the tension from that person, onto you, in your palms and your fingers. But all this strain, you have to throw it somewhere. I do believe it circulates through my body and I'm giving it away to the ground through my feet and the wooden floor."
Spy's voice was soothing Sniper.
"Also, I do hope you like the smell. I didn't have kangaroo and desert scented candles, but I thought that fresh forest would do."
"Spy… Your hands…"
"They're getting warmer now with the friction."
"No… They're… bloody… good…"
Spy smiled.
"Let me know where it hurts."
"Top, go all the way up."
Spy slid his hands left and right from his friend's spine, his feet anchored in the floor and his eyes closed.
"Shoulder blades… please… and shoulders…"
"Fine."
Spy took more oil in his hands and went for it. The Australian grunted and moaned under the Frenchman's efficient hands. He felt like some dough being rolled and kneaded. He had no idea Spy could be that skilled with his hands. Sniper was waving and rolling in his mind, his eyes closed, the smell of the candles and of the oil gently washing him from the inside.
And it lasted a long time, in silence. Spy thought that after the racket of the battlefield, the solitary hunter that Sniper was would appreciate some peace and quiet.
"Spy…?"
"Hm?"
"Talk…"
"What do you want me to say?"
"Any… Thing… Just… Talk…"
Spy's smile widened. His friend sounded so different.
"Well, I can start by asking you if you don't mind turning on your back."
"Five… More… Minutes…"
Had Spy not been used to keeping his emotions for himself, he would have chuckled at least.
"Fine."
His hands traced circles and loops, his palms pressed, his fingers following closely.
"Oooh… Spy… How…?"
"Sshh… Just enjoy." He whispered.
He kneaded his back slowly, paying attention to not neglect a single muscle. All of them were massaged and accounted for. Spy bent to Sniper's ear:
"I want to see your face now, mon beau."
Sniper's eyes snapped open. He turned on his back and saw Spy upside down, bending above his head and smiling.
"What's that mean?" The Australian asked.
"What?" Spy put a bit of oil in the middle of his palm and rubbed his hands together. He put his hands on his friend's collarbones and massaged down.
"Mon beau?" Sniper repeated with a twisted accent.
As Spy pushed his hand down Sniper's chest, his back slowly bent down until his mouth ended up next to the Australian's ear. He whispered:
"Literally, my handsome one."
Sniper's eyes popped wide open and his heart accelerated. His friend's hands on his naked chest didn't help and the Australian turned red as a brick.
"Breathe slowly, I can feel your heart pounding."
Spy's hands were working wonders on Sniper's chest and stomach, such that his entire body had no choice but to indeed relax.
When the Frenchman finished with the torso, his fingers moved to the Australian's face. Sniper looked at him, still seeing him upside down, with questioning eyes.
"Close your eyes." Spy whispered.
"I-I can't."
Their faces were a few inches apart.
"Yes, you can, just trust me."
Sniper took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He felt Spy's fingers on his chin, his cheeks, below his eyes, his temples and his brow. He repeated the motion for entire minutes without tiring, sometimes spending more time on Sniper's cheeks, next to his both hideous and attractive sideburns…
Spy moved around the table and slowed the movements down. Sniper felt that something was going on. He opened his eyes. The Frenchman's face was above the Australian's. Their eyes locked.
Sniper saw Spy's eyes. They were half-closed and blinked very slowly, the long dark eyelashes brushing the air like the wings of a butterfly.
"Thank you." Sniper whispered. He didn't want to break the silence too hard.
"It is my pleasure…" Spy brushed his friend's cheek down and stopped next to his mouth.
"You're the weirdest bloke I've ever met. Stealin' this bed, puttin' on a show with the candles, the smell, and the comedy you played back at my van…"
"Qu'est-ce je ne ferais pas par amour?"
[What wouldn't I do out of love?]
"What's that mean?"
Spy ignored Sniper's question and his fingertips moved closer to his lips. The Australian smiled and lifted his hand to put it on top of the Frenchman's.
"I'm sorry I can't say it in French but uh…"
"If you can't say it, make me understand it… Show me…"
Sniper's fingers laced between his friend's and his heart beat fast. He put his other hand behind the Frenchman's neck and pulled him in closer.
The Frenchman rolled his eyes up when Sniper's lips touched his. All he had wanted was to help the poor man who was too shy to ask for anything. But now the Australian was saying thanks, and maybe something else…?
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JOEL: *Out in the wilds of Avalon again, Joel is fresh from his strife with Orphus. He's taking the long way back to Mithun's house, wondering whether he should go back at all. Kicking his way down a dirt road, he touches at the tender swelling on his jaw.* ...Fuck. *Mutters to himself, wiping at his face again.*
MAK: *mak just so happens to live around these parts. out in the thick of it is where he likes to be, and his occupation has garnered him enough income to own a fair amount of land to call his own. he's meandering around the shoddy wooden fence about his property that lines the dirt road when he serendipitously notices joel once again. twice in two days! shoot!*
MAK: *hops to sit on the fence, waving joel down.* g'day! fancy seein' you again so soon.
JOEL: *Either that's a good hop or it's a good fence, either way white tufted ears are angling in the direction of the voice. Joel squints.* ...Oh.
JOEL: Its you.
JOEL: Must be a fancy coincidence. *draws his tongue over the claw marks on his arm again. Wincing at the stings.*
MAK: *ears perk up in surprise when he notices the state joel's in.* damn, mate... you're lookin' rough. *flops over the side of the fence so he can approach him.*
JOEL: Its a street fight on Tuesday. What else is new. *stops to eyeball the approaching troll, frowning some more.* Im fine.
MAK: well you're walkin' and talkin' so i suppose ya could be worse!
MAK: but i got some bandages and some such on me if ya need it.
JOEL: Yeah. *What is he giving affirmation to? It's a mystery. He does break out another bottle of water to chug it.* Ill get it taken care of.
MAK: *scratches at his hair, confused but not put off.* alrighty.
MAK: say, mind if i walk with ya? *seems to be doing that anyway as he moves into step beside joel.*
JOEL: Do you mind? *grouches but his words don't have much of a real bite to them. He trudges through the dirt.* Yeah sure. Fine.
MAK: *chuckles a little and stuffs his hands into his pockets, shuffling along beside him. he has to shuffle because his legs are too deng long.* i bet the other guy looks way worse than you.
JOEL: *Deng those long legs though.* I dunno. He was pretty awful lookin before. I cant take credit for all that mess of a troll.
MAK: H A H A! *that tickles him*
MAK: in that case, he can only hope ya rearranged his face for the better, eh?
JOEL: Guess so. *side eyes Mak, wondering wtf he was thinking actually.* Rileys not my middle name for nothin.
JOEL: I dont suppose you relate.
MAK: huh? to which part? *lopsided grins at the side eyeing.*
JOEL: *Okay so he doesn't side eye him so much as gaze at him.* Doing people favors and rearrangin folks faces for the better.
MAK: *the grin REMAINS.* aw, hell. if the opportunity ever presented it i sure as shit would! *punches into his open palm*
JOEL: *Heck. That's kind of cute. Joel is reluctant to admit. He ambles his way up to some fallen log just off the path. Pops a squat and breaking out the bandages and disinfectant for his arm.* So much for expectin a scolding then.
MAK: *looks surprised* what's there to scold about? ya kicked a bloody fool's ass and walked away with only a few scratches! that's bad ass in my opinion.
MAK: i mean, i A S S U M E he had to comin'. i'll take your word for it. *snickers*
MAK: only thing worth scoldin' about is neglectin' to take care of yourself. but there ya go with it. *follows, rolling to sit in the grass beside him.*
JOEL: Im doing it now. Clearly Im not neglecting. *slathers the disinfectant, clenching his teeth for the stinging pain.* Also I didnt start it. I just finished it.
MAK: *chinhands with his elbows propped on his knees. he looks silly on account of the long legs again.* ah, that's how it's done then.
MAK: what'd he come after ya for, anyhow? if ya don't mind me askin'.
JOEL: *A ridiculous bandana leggy troll. Joel snorts.* He disappeared off the face of existance for like. What. A year? Probably more? He left my brother hanging as they were a quadrant thing.
JOEL: Anyway.
JOEL: He made his appearance on Avalon like its no big deal and of course I was obligated to rat the dumbass out.
JOEL: He had some fucking nerve lemme just say. Citrin didnt even know where the fuck he was.
JOEL: So he holds some hard feelings for the reprecussions following his involuntary flagging.
JOEL: Aint my problem if you ask me. *cleans the scratch marks* Im just taking the punches.
MAK: *low whistle* sounds like a real piece 'a work alright.
MAK: if ya can't take the heat, mister... don't be messin' with all the knobs and burners and shit!
JOEL: More or less my opinion about it. *starting to apply the gauze* Then he had the nerve to tell me not to bring Citrin into it.
MAK: what a W A N K E R.
MAK: he oughta be spendin' his time apologizin' to that brother of yours instead of pickin' fights! golly...
JOEL: *secures the gauze, admiring his handiwork a moment before dropping his arm to his side.*
JOEL: Its none of my business.
MAK: 'course not, mate... but if i was you, i'd be makin' it me business for sure! nobody messes with M Y B R O T H E R.
MAK: i mean, if i had one...
MAK: speakin' strictly hypothetical here.
JOEL: Thanks man. *sighs, poking at the swell of his face again.* Speaking of which. I cant imagine what Citrins gonna say about this.
JOEL: Truth be told. Hell be disappointed.
JOEL: And I wont blame him.
MAK: ah... *scratches at his face scruff* ya think so? he still interested in this bloke?
JOEL: Mh. I dont know. *looks off, his expression withdrawing a little bit.* Not that I can say anything about subjects of this nature.
MAK: matters of the heart, ya mean? cuz me neither... *rocks in place, looking up at the sky thoughtfully.*
JOEL: Its not fun. *brushes off his pants and resolves to stand. Also to change the subject.* You live around here?
MAK: *guess that means he's sproinging to his feet as well.* sure do! just a short ways that a way.
MAK: actually, most of this is my property... beyond the fence, that is.
JOEL: Surprisin I aint seen you much around before. *steps back as he sproings. Seems like the kind of force you don't want to be in the way of.* Ownin all this land. Working with the taskforce. Auryhn too.
MAK: guess our paths just weren't crossin' till now. life's funny that way.
JOEL: Maybe you just dont get out often enough. *crosses his arms over his chest*
MAK: the amount a' time i spend gettin' out suits me just fine, thanks. *snickers*
MAK: but if you're wantin' to see more of me, that should be easy enough to arrange.
JOEL: I dont know if its got to do with wanting to. *raises an eyebrow* It just so happens that I am all of a sudden. And Im takin note of it.
MAK: whatever you say, mate! *claps him on the shoulder.* i like hangin' out with ya too!
MAK: now that ya know where i'm residin', don't be a stranger.
JOEL: *Stares on with another squint. Why's he so... friendly. And handsy.* Oh I didnt realize. This what the kids call "hanging out".
MAK: *he grew up mostly alone, m8. he doesn't even KNOW what boundaries are.* what else would ya call it??
JOEL: Mmmmm. *seems to think about it* Hanging off my arm for whatever reason.
MAK: golly. there he goes with his suspicions again... ya don't keep the company of many folks, do ya cobber??
MAK: ain't nothin' peculliar about a couple of blokes shootin' the shit, is there?
JOEL: *Feels his insides die a little bit, judging by his face. He looks onward.* I guess there aint nothin peculiar about two dudes just.
JOEL: Shootin the shit I guess. As one does.
MAK: *HE SEES NOTHING WRONG WITH THIS.* yeah! you get it! *another shoulder pat for joel. congratulations.*
JOEL: *runs his hand down his face* Sounds familiar enough to run along with it I guess. How else do you make buds bro.
MAK: suppose i can think of other ways... me and auryhn like to tussle from time-to-time. that's a fun way to bond, eh? *looks thoughtful as he starts ambling back towards the road.*
JOEL: Yeah sure. Tusslin with your guy friends. Cant see me turning down a challenge. *He sure loves dying and being dead.*
MAK: *eyes emoji. he can tell joel is being sarcastic, but he figures he's just being a grump for no reason.* that's when we'll do next time, then!
JOEL: Alright. *deepest internal sigh about all of this* But dont go challengin me unannounced.
MAK: sure thing, mate! i wouldn't wanna get the drop on ya. i want a prepared opponent in tip top shape. *snickers, waving and crossing the road towards his fence.*
MAK: take it easy on your way back to... well, wherever you're headed.
JOEL: Thanks man. *kicks some dirt aside*
JOEL: ...
JOEL: Anyway. Bye. *and heads his way down the road.*
MAK: *what a goofy guy. watches joel go for a while just to make sure he's alright before he bounces back home himself.*
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