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howdy-cowpoke · 1 year

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TIMING: Recent LOCATION: Hanover, New Hampshire PARTIES: Monty (@howdy-cowpoke) and Gael (@lithium-argon-wo-l-f) SUMMARY: During a trip to pick up some cows, Gael and Monty are attacked by a thunderstorm. CONTENT WARNINGS: Very brief implication of suicidal ideation

—

A six-hour car drive, starting at six in the morning. Gael was no stranger to getting up that early or taking long trips so when Monty asked him if he’d like to accompany him to a cattle acquisition, giving Gael a chance to truly earn back the farm’s loss of Dulce, he was thrilled for multiple reasons, not the least of which was that Monty asked him; he knew Monty had other options so it made his heart flutter thinking about what sort of hat had his name in it to be picked compared to those other options.

He arrived on time (which he was unsure if it was characteristic or uncharacteristic yet, given his recent schedule), they parked his car in the garage and after some more fussing from Daisy and making sure they had their gear and supplies present, they packed up and headed out. Gael told Elias to keep an eye on the house and he was sure the latter wasn’t going to be starting any crazy parties and with that out of his head for the time being, the two were in the truck, on their way to wherever they were going. Conversation was made, mostly in the form of Gael asking Monty for more of the man’s history with his friends and he himself talking about the stories he had with his sisters and family, and some of his friends too. Then the songs came and Gael attempted to sound bad though he found it difficult sometimes as he subconsciously wanted to hit the right notes. Surprisingly, he didn’t fall asleep - he thought perhaps he was worried about what would happen if he did, though his sleepwalking had subsided, almost becoming dormant once more. Plus, he couldn’t sleepwalk in a car, could he? It was the afternoon by the time they got there and after a brief lunch (where he ate a lot more than Monty, he noticed - no wonder the cowboy was so thin), they went over to where the cows were being auctioned off. Some slick talking and a spirited conversation about qualities versus compensation later and Gael had managed to hold up his end of the exchange, netting Monty a beautiful brown cow. “I’m just saying, I think Dulce de Leche is a good name,” Gael was saying (speaking Spanish as he knew Monty was more comfortable with it) as the two were in the car after the fact. “But she ain’t my cow.” He paused. “...And I still feel bad about the original.”

—

So Gael was definitely downplaying his ability to sing, but Monty enjoyed it regardless—and absolutely refused to join in, citing that he’d hurt some poor far off dog’s ears if he tried. The drive was pleasant overall, and while he’d been fully prepared for Gael to nap, was happily surprised to have conversational company the entire time.

The visit to the farm was fruitful, Monty quickly bonding with one of the animals as they gave the remaining ones an inspection, though he could have easily done the same with all of them if given the time. Still, once the girl had been picked out and her price negotiated (thank you, Gael), the pair were on their way again, to drop the truck and livestock trailer off at the little motel in town where they’d be staying for the night.

Chuckling, Monty shook his head. “You’re not wrong, it is a good name,” he agreed, glancing over at his friend and smiling. It fell a little bit when Gael expressed his regret again, but not fully. “Don’t, amigo. She was getting up there in years… grim as it might sound, she was going to be slaughtered sooner rather than later.” He knew it invoked terrible imagery, but it was part of the job. At least they were ethical about it, making sure it was quick and that the animals felt no pain. Some places couldn’t even claim that much. “Dulce de Leche it is, then.”

Unloading their bags from the truck (which was parked alongside the building so it wouldn’t take up five parking spots), the pair stopped in the main office to get their key and then made their way to the door that led into their room. It wasn’t a terrible motel, but it was still a motel. It’d do for a night, anyway. Unlocking the door to let them inside, Monty dumped his bag on the bed farthest from the door and shrugged off his jacket, tossing it onto a nearby armchair.

“I am sure I stink of cow,” he said with another chuckle, reaching into his bag to root around for some different clothes. “Going to take a very quick shower before we go out, if that’s alright with you?” The farm business had ended up taking a little over three hours, which put them in the early evening.

— Maybe one day Gael would finally let go of that cow. It’d been over a month, he needed to get over it. Monty was over it, he officially helped the farm get a new one and he even got to name it. He needed to stop taking things so seriously, which was funny considering he was pretty sure that he was already known as the guy who didn’t take much of anything too seriously. Like right now. Monty told him not to worry and that the cow was going to be slaughtered once she got too old anyway so… Gael would have to be okay with that, even if his sleepwalking incident ended her prematurely. How often he’d thought of that alone was a tally in itself. For NOW though, he gave a small nod indicating that he understood, followed by a smile as Monty agreed on the name. He needed to lighten up and he found himself frustrated at how temperamental he tended to be sometimes. The two were at a motel now and it lent itself to a memory Gael had about a family trip, the seven of them wedged into two cars, needing two rooms and with all but his youngest sister as adults. It was… exciting. This smelled similar, only with the two of them carrying the peculiar scents of farm and cattle this time. However, as they parked the truck and trailer combination then made their way into the hotel room with their bags in tow, Gael glanced out into the pleasant evening and caught a different scent - moisture settling into dirt. His brow twitching faintly, he followed Monty into the motel where he assumed he would be getting the bed closest to the door as the cowboy had laid claim on the other bed. “Yeah, take your time,” He nodded, getting a change of clothes of his own; Monty wasn’t the only one who smelled like livestock. “I’m gonna browse the web and see if there’s any local places that people recommend… unless you have a place in mind,” He added, glancing over at the farmer.

—

"Nope, first time here. Browse away!" Tucking the clothes beneath his arm and tossing his hat on the bed as well, he wandered to the bathroom, kicking off his boots along the way.

When he emerged again, dressed in a henley long-sleeved shirt and jeans that didn’t have cow snot on them, the fragrant scent of pine and frankincense spilled from the bathroom after him. His hair was a wild mess and half-dried, which he tried to calm by running his fingers through it a few times. “Find anything good?” he asked as he balled up the dirty clothes and stuffed them into a linen bag he’d brought along, dumping it between his bed and the wall. Tugging the sleeves of his shirt partway up his arms, exposing just the very bottom of his prickly pear tattoo, the cowboy sat on the edge of his bed facing Gael’s tugging on some fresh socks while his friend listed their options.

— And so Gael did, slowly, making sure he read the fine details on each thing, wondering what Monty would even like - he had never asked what the cowboy had a preference for, he just noticed that he never seemed to eat a whole terribly lot, at least compared to himself. As he sat on the edge of his bed, hunched over and looking at his phone, he heard the sounds of the shower and it filled him with a sense of calm. When Monty came out of the bathroom and Gael was greeted with pine and frankincense, he couldn’t keep another small, dumb grin from creeping onto his face. He kept his eyes on his phone, though he adjusted himself so that he could see Monty in his peripheral vision. “Okay, so I found this place about four blocks away that apparently makes REALLY good arepas,” He started to explain. “I also found a little restaurant slightly further into town that says they have the best fajitas for the surrounding 200 miles.” He glanced at Monty. “And there’s a third location that brags about their highly-customizable burgers and shakes.” He turned his phone’s screen off and tossed it onto the bed next to him, starting to stand and leaning back to pop his back with a grunt. “Lemme take a shower too while you think about which of those sounds good?” He asked, offering a smile to the cowboy before pulling a change of clothes of his own from the bag that sat open on the end of his bed. “I’ll be right out.”

—

He did love a good stuffed arepa… nodding at Gael before he disappeared into the bathroom, Monty busied himself on his phone, laying back on the bed and holding it up over his head. First, of course, was a text to Daisy—making sure everything was going okay back home, then sending her a picture of the cow they were purchasing. Next was Alan—confirmation of their safe arrival and acquisition of the livestock, as well as Gael’s stellar handling of the price negotiation. The third text went to Kaden, asking him how his night was going and letting him know he was missed.

Turning off the screen and setting the phone down on his chest, Monty imagined that if he’d still had a heartbeat, it would’ve sped up. Of course the feeling that immediately followed the elation was guilt, because of all the things that were still left unsaid… things that would probably put a stop to the situation altogether.

He turned his head and glanced at the wall that separated the main room from the bathroom, knowing that the same went for his relationship with Gael. Everything had to be built on lies, and he didn’t like it. But he didn’t know how to… fix that. Maybe that’s why things with Alan had always been so easy—they’d both known what the other was from the moment they’d met, more or less, and there never had to be any secrets.

Well no, that wasn’t true. There’d been a secret by omission for all the years that Alan had spent trying to set him up with various women, he just… never took the time to really understand his lack of interest until recently. Until things started to… change. And forced him to reflect. And now here he was, expanding his horizons, and finding the experience to be often overwhelming.

At least Gael was patient and kind, perhaps even to a fault. Monty felt an affectionate smile blooming on his face and he looked away from the wall that stood between them, clearing his throat and returning his attention to his phone to read the response Daisy had already sent.

— The shower was a good, private place for Gael to truly think. He always took hot showers despite knowing how they weren’t great for his skin but he liked how they felt. He also tended to let down the few walls he had - the two places he shared whatever was on his mind and weighing on his heart were the confessional booth and a shower stall. As he was standing under the running water, feeling the tension leaving his back as the warmth massaged the gnarled scar on his back, he reached for the bottle that he had put on the shelf that day at fútbol. As he examined the bottle in his mind, Gael wondered if this was the right time to talk about it - after all, it was just the two of them and they were hours away from anything else familiar. Then again, it was just the two of them and they were hours away from anything else familiar. The last thing he wanted to do was intimidate or bully Monty into not wanting to take him places or do anything else and yet…. Too many variables. And he had too many questions. He exhaled as he stepped out of the shower, drying himself off and with a new calmness in his movement. He’d ask. That’s all he could do. And if Monty didn’t want to talk about it then he’d have to be okay with that. Ultimately, regardless of whether or not they were friends or acquaintances out of pity, Gael had to at least ask. He emerged from the bathroom with steam licking the carpet behind him, clothed in his casual evening attire and with the towel over his head with part of it in his ear. “You figure out what you want yet?” He paused, standing near Monty’s bed. “And, uh… I was wondering if we could… talk.” He added gently, slowly, trying not to make it seem like he was confronting the cowboy.

—

Sitting up when he heard the door opening, Monty was quick to abandon the phone at his side and land his attention squarely on his roommate for the evening. “Yeah! I think I could really mess up some arepas right now, if that’s all right with you.” The smile he wore was easy, leaning back on his hands with his legs crossed at the ankles, posture relaxed… a far cry from how he’d been the day they’d met.

But that changed when Gael asked to talk. Only slightly, perhaps imperceptibly to someone who wasn’t as attentive as Gael, but, his brows knitted and he shifted his weight uncomfortably before nodding. “Of course we can talk—what about?” He was doing his best to not sound concerned, though that was quite the task: he almost always sounded concerned about something.

—

Gael firstly smiled at the mention of the arepas and gave a small nod of affirmation. “Arepas, got it.” He motioned in the air as though he were pressing a button to keep this conversation from getting too serious - he noticed the shift in Monty’s weight, the small furrow in his brow, the tone his voice had taken. “It’s just something real quick, I just have a couple of questions.” Though he was incredibly torn up about it that day and even in the shower before right now, the more he thought about it, the more rationalized he got. “I just wanted to clear any air,” Gael started, his tone approachable and he learned that he couldn’t dance around the way he had been. He’d need to be more upfront and perhaps throw himself into the potential line of fire but he also learned, decidedly much longer ago, that it was best to address the hurt and confusion then and give it time to heal then to let it fester until it became something nobody could control… something that couldn’t be fixed. “And really it just comes down to one question - Are you and Kaden a thing?” The question came casually but earnestly and he contemplated quickly following it up but he didn’t want to overwhelm Monty so he left it at that. Pull the blade out while it is shallow. Let the wound heal.

—

His fear, of course, was far from the truth of the matter. He worried, suddenly, that Gael had learned something about his werewolfism and was going to ask Monty to explain it, which… the zombie wasn’t unfamiliar with, of course, given his friendship with Alan, but that wasn’t his place, was it? And what if he got something wrong?

Or perhaps it was that he’d realized something about Monty was off. The lack of a heartbeat, the way his skin was always the ambient temperature, his lack of an appetite… any number of things that would point him in the direction of ‘weird’.

What he didn’t expect was a question about Kaden. The surprise was evident in his expression and he straightened up a bit, unhooking his ankles and drawing his legs up to his chest. “Me and Kaden? A thing?” He wished he could pretend he didn’t know what that meant, but that would be a lie. Wrapping his arms around his knees, the cowboy let his gaze wander as he considered what Gael was asking. Why he was asking.

“We’re… I don’t know. We went on one date.” He rubbed a palm over his forehead, letting out a slow sigh. “Listen, Gael, I’m not, ah… that was my first date. Ever. So I have no idea if we’re a thing… I do not know the rules for situations like this. Nobody talks about them.” He glanced up at his friend, clearly upset. “I… I am sorry if I said anything, or did anything to hurt you.” While he’d never successfully navigated anything like this before, he wasn’t blind. He’d seen the way Gael left the fútbol match that day. And he knew the things he’d been thinking about on that trail ride. What a mess.

—

For some reason, going by Monty’s immediate reaction, he wasn’t expecting Gael to ask that. However, he kept his gaze steady as the cowboy physically drew into himself and thought about the answer. Did he have an answer? It wasn’t that it was any of Gael’s business except… the professor kind of thought it was. As Monty did indeed have an answer that he gave, Gael’s expression softened (not that it was particularly hard in the first place) and he felt his brow raise with… it wasn’t pity, it wasn’t sympathy, it was compassion. That felt right. At the cowboy’s apology, he found himself shaking his head, almost laughing it off as he thought more about it but he managed to keep a straight face. “You didn’t. You didn’t, I promise.” Gael closed the distance between the two of them and he crouched next to Monty as the latter sat like an afraid child on the bed; afraid of what though, Gael couldn’t immediately tell. One thing he WAS able to tell, however, was that Monty really didn’t do it on purpose. He didn’t set Gael up to look bad at the game, he didn’t make any of these decisions with the goal of hurting him, or Kaden, or anyone else. Gael believed the other man when he said he’d never done this sort of thing before. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” He said gently, searching for Monty’s eyes, able to see his features clearly even in the shadows of their motel room created by the sun set behind them. “It can be hard to navigate, especially if you’ve never done it before and there’s not really a manual.” He paused. “I was asking because…” While it’s shallow. “Because I wasn’t sure what our relationship could’ve been. You’re in this special spot where– I just wanted to know because I didn’t want–” Gael kept cutting himself off; this was harder than he thought, just putting himself out there like that. “I said before that I form attachments easily and sometimes it’s difficult for me to navigate through those relationships myself.” He opted to explain. “So I thought… But if you’re interested in Kaden, then that’s okay.” He exhaled, feeling himself get a little lighter as the weight was addressed and started to be lifted. “I didn’t– don’t want to get in the way of what would make you happy.”

—

‘Hard to navigate’ felt like a bit of an understatement, at this point. But he wasn’t wrong, and the mere fact that he’d not gotten upset about the situation only endeared him to Monty further. Which came with its own complex set of emotions, of course.

Glancing over at him, the zombie realized with somewhat of a shock that it hurt to think that Gael had ever considered him to be… more than what he really was, and that those feelings were being quashed in one fell swoop.

“I don’t know what would make me happy,” he admitted, his voice carrying just a hint of sorrow. There was an entire list of reasons why that was that he could launch into, but they required revealing parts of himself that Gael just wasn’t ready to know, yet. The man had to better know himself, first.

But there was something he could tell him about that wouldn’t reveal any world-altering truths, and so he decided to go with that, as much as the first few words tried to catch in his throat and silence him.

“I spent seventeen years wanting to be with my best friend and I never did anything about it. I felt like I… couldn’t, or shouldn’t—I don’t know. But I didn’t, I just wanted something with him that I would never, ever have. I didn’t understand it, at the time. Could not wrap my head around being so different from the rest of our friends, you know?” He paused to draw a shuddering breath, turning to face Gael, slipping his legs over the edge of the bed.

“And for a long time, I just… closed myself off to that kind of thing. But I’ve been trying to get away from that lately, and it’s… hard. Mierda, it’s hard.” He brought a hand to his face again, shoulders hunching as his head dipped a bit lower. “Now it feels… too much. Too much, all the time.” He wasn’t doing a very good job of making his point. Forcing himself to meet the man’s gaze again, he searched his eyes for… something. He didn’t know what. He was perpetually confused these days, and it was grating. “I like you, Gael. I do. I… you mean a lot to me.” Another sigh. “I don’t know. I am just overwhelmed pretty much any time I speak to either one of you. I don’t know how to… what I am supposed to…” He let the unfinished thoughts die on his tongue as all things eventually did, lapsing into silence. Gael wouldn’t have the answers he needed, he knew that. But he’d been unable to stop himself from sharing, and could only hope that it would help in some small way. Even if it wasn’t immediately obvious how.

—

‘I don’t know what would make me happy’, there was a collection of words that Gael had heard often in the past. Having four sisters, he heard it a lot more often than he probably expected given how open and accepting his parents were, how encouraging they were of their dreams and ambitions. Strict, for sure, but underneath it was a well of love. Gael could also identify with Monty’s apparent struggle with his sexuality - the professor himself had only ever been in heterosexual relationships, as that’s what he was raised to believe. He wasn’t able to have children, he learned that fifteen years ago and his family had long since come to accept that. It wasn’t until he moved to Wicked’s Rest (or more or less, the accident ten months ago) that he felt himself open up and form these attachments with other men. And therein lay some of his own shortcomings. He formed said attachments, out of some desperation to not be alone and oftentimes they mixed up in his brain - was he attracted to Monty or was he just overenthusiastically approaching any facet of their relationship in the hopes that he wouldn’t be left behind? His religion strictly taught him that it was a sin, but he found the fear of isolation to be far greater than any sin of who he wanted to be with. “I’m… sorry for how I left the game,” Gael apologized, his eyes dancing on one of his hands as he put his elbows on the bed next to Monty’s legs that were over the edge. “It wasn’t my place to make assumptions or make anyone uncomfortable.” “I’d like to try… to help.” He continued as he put his chin on his crossed arms, not looking at Monty this time to spare the other man the feeling of eyes on him during this period of vulnerability - indeed, Gael felt as though he had been told something that Monty didn’t tell very many other people. Another secret to hold close, to never compromise or betray that trust. “And if it would help for me to hang around less so you can pursue the potential with Kaden then I can do that.” He offered. “Or… Maybe it would help if we were just friends and I can give you pointers.” The professor tilted his head slightly. “I don’t want to overwhelm you, Montaña.” He knew Monty didn’t like him using his full name but… “But I do want…” He faltered, shaking his head slightly. Not the time. “To make it easier for you to navigate this new path in your life.”

—

The apology just made Monty feel worse, putting a spotlight on how poorly he’d handled that situation, and how in hindsight, he probably shouldn’t have invited them both to the same weekend game. He just… well he hadn’t thought much about that, he supposed. He couldn’t reconcile the idea that anyone would be jealous of his relationship with another person, no matter what kind of that relationship that was, because he simply didn’t think he was someone worth being jealous over. And if he was honest, while he’d felt some kind of way in Gael’s presence, he’d never known if the feeling was mutual. But perhaps he should have assumed it was. Or would that have been egotistical? God. This is part of the reason why he just never bothered with this kind of thing.

He wondered if he should say all that, but the explanation couldn’t make it past the lump in his throat. So he just shook his head and kept listening, his body language shifting from defeated to anxious when Gael suggested the option of him being around less. He didn’t immediately speak, though, too busy running through scenarios in his head—some of which involved the closeness they were sharing right now, which were definitely bad ideas. That creeping feeling of indecisiveness and overstimulation crawled up his spine, spreading through his core like wildfire.

Gael had finished voicing his thoughts and Monty closed his eyes, discomfort settling into the pinch of his brow and the slight downturn of the corners of his mouth. “I don’t want you to… give me space.” Carajo. “I don’t need space.” That was probably a lie and he probably did. From everyone. He ought to detach from them both, because trying to pursue anything was unfair. It was cruel in a way they didn’t understand. But he felt selfish. Again, now, just like he had when sitting in the woods with Kaden—he felt selfish, and he craved the injustice of acting on it. He knew it wasn’t right and he knew it would only complicate everything, but that intoxicating feeling of being wanted was overriding his common sense. He’d never felt that before, and there was no mistaking Gael’s words—he was wanted, the professor was just trying to be equitable about it. To take a knee and accept defeat when Monty himself hadn’t even been aware that there was a game in play.

But now he knew, and now he felt selfish. He wasn’t a good person. Never had been, never would be.

“I need—” What? What? The fingers of the hand between them alighted on the other’s upper arm and he tried not to let it show how desperately he hungered for that connection. He didn’t know what he needed. He shouldn’t have anything that he thought about late at night. Words were failing him so he stopped trying to force them out, instead letting his grip on Gael’s bicep tighten.

Pump the brakes. Find the words. Do it, do it. … ah. “—a way out of loneliness.” He released the chemist’s arm, shoving his hands between his legs to bury them beneath his thighs where they couldn’t keep wandering.

—

Silence. The churning of thoughts in Monty’s head, no doubt and the surprise of the cowboy’s cold hands on his upper arm. Gael wondered how true it was that he didn’t need space - maybe that’s what he DID need. From both him and Kaden, maybe they were pushing too hard in opposite directions and that wasn’t what Monty needed when he was both new to the dating scene AND accepting his sexuality. The two could be difficult on their own, especially with someone who aligned more personally with Ariana or Monty, but together seemed like a maelstrom if the appropriate time and care wasn’t put into it. And while Gael wanted to pull away now, on his own, to spare Monty from having to make that decision, he… He closed his eyes slowly, focusing on his breathing, on Monty’s tightening fingers on his arm out of an emotion that he couldn’t verbally convey. ‘I need a way out of loneliness’ was what he got as Monty broke their connection of touch though Gael couldn’t figure out why. It was a vague concept, one that Gael admittedly didn’t have an answer or suitable solution for that sprang to his mind immediately like a lot of other problems people had. Did that mean he SHOULD step back and encourage Monty’s relationship with Kaden? That was his first response. The chemist opened his eyes again and wordlessly, he pulled away from the bed, stood up with some crackling coming from his knees from being bent that long in a crouch, turned on the spot once out of habit and sat down next to Monty before leaning against him. The motion was light and gentle, not putting his weight too strongly against the cowboy in case the latter pulled away - after all, Gael hadn’t asked but even if it was just for a few seconds, he exhaled and existed with Monty. It wasn’t holding hands, it wasn’t a kiss, he didn’t even know if it was romantic anymore but they were there. He wasn’t going to ask Monty about why he didn’t bring Kaden instead; he knew the answer. It was because the man didn’t know what he wanted and he didn’t know what the ‘rules’ were. Gael wasn’t about to confront him about that, how could he? “A way out of loneliness,” He repeated. “Okay, that can happen.” He exhaled softly. “How can I help?”

—

There was a flash of fear that ripped through him when Gael got to his feet, but the flame was quickly snuffed as the other sat back down beside him, leaning into his side. The anxiety melted away and he physically relaxed, welcoming the pressure of having another body against his own.

“I wish that I knew for sure,” Monty answered softly. “Just… don’t go.” He wasn’t talking about the present, of course, but whatever future was in store for them—whatever that looked like. He rested his head atop the other’s shoulder, staring blankly ahead of them at the window they faced. The dark curtains were drawn, but he could still see the silhouettes of the trees outside, their branches whipping in a strong wind that seemed to have kicked up at some point during their conversation.

“I am sorry that I’m not a less complicated person,” came another gentle apology, as he was wont to do when he felt insecure. And god, Gael didn’t even know the half of it.

The wind outside screamed through the trees now and even rattled the window, injecting that tension back into his body language with a swiftness. He lifted his head again, his stare changing from passive to fixated on the weather that was outside their little motel room, doubt weaving its way through his words. “... you have got to be joking—” he’d started to say, but the unmistakable, far off roll of thunder silenced him, catching the rest of the sentence in his throat.

—

Gael remained quiet, also looking off into the distance at nothing in particular as he expected Monty to pull away from him but instead rested his head on the professor’s shoulder. He was so cold but Gael didn’t know what it was or how he could fix it at the time unless he wanted to ask about it and right now didn’t seem like the right moment. So he just continued to exist with Monty though his brow started to knit in the middle as he observed the worsening weather outside - he had hoped the moisture in the air from earlier would either go around them or stop before it reached the motel. He smiled softly and he opened his mouth to say something in response to what all Monty said (which wasn’t very much) when he was also sent a tension in his body at the sound of the thunder. “Well…” Gael managed to scoff and he kept his dark eyes on the window, deciding right then and there that as far as he was concerned, he already confronted one of his biggest fears that evening and he was explicitly told not to go, which he didn’t realize he wanted to hear but he was so very happy to have heard it. His hand subconsciously searched for one of Monty’s. “You don’t need to apologize for being complicated.” He said, keeping his voice even as the hair on the back of his neck stood on end in anticipation for the encroaching storm. “Humans are complex; a lot of stuff in life is but that’s why we have each other - that way maybe things can be a little easier to tackle, no matter how difficult and complicated they are.”

—

Feeling Gael’s fingers slide over his own, Monty grasped the offered hand readily, his anxiety beginning the slow climb that it always did whenever there was a storm. It made the bite mark on his arm ache in a way that surely had to be a figment of his imagination, not only because of how long it had been since the bite had occurred, but also because of his dulled sense of touch.

With his fingers laced through Gael’s, his grip tightened and he reached with his free hand to press it over the scar and tattoo on his forearm, the latter of which was only just peeking out from beneath his sleeve.

Gael was saying something, but Monty was having trouble focusing. Stretching out in front of him was a flat desert with a mesa in the distance, rather than the ugly motel wallpaper and window that was their shared reality. Don’t need to apologize. That’s why we have each other.

All he could do was nod, resting his head back on Gael’s shoulder again and closing his eyes, willing himself to calm down. It was just a storm. This was the same thing he told himself every time, but it never really helped. It had gotten to the point that if there was a storm in the forecast, Alan would make sure to take time off and invite Monty over so the two could attempt to ignore it together. It was pretty hit or miss, but still better than being alone. He was thankful he wasn’t alone now.

“... what is it, for you? About them—the storms,” he asked softly, eyes still shut.

—

Brown eyes saw movement out of his peripheral vision as Gael kept them on the darkened weather outside and he felt his breath seem to steady itself, not realizing that it had elevated, when Monty took him on the offer to hold hands. They weren’t warm, not like Gael’s but the latter had since realized that he tended to run hot anyway. This storm, while inherently making Gael uncomfortable, was much worse on Monty and the professor could feel the anxiety radiating from the cowboy. “Uh…” Gael gulped silently, the words hesitating as they sat on his tongue. He’d never told anyone from town about why and indeed, he didn’t know if he actually stopped long enough to think about it when confronted with the question that no one asked him before. He didn’t even think he was actually afraid of thunderstorms and yet, he did remember the cold sweat, the latent fear, the way the lightning was burned onto his eyelids when he closed them quickly as though trying to avoid it. He felt Monty’s head on his shoulder, their fingers intertwined. He felt their bodies touching though the level of intimacy was under fire in Gael’s brain as he suddenly wondered if he should’ve been there at all, regardless of intention. Alan should’ve been there where he was right now. Kaden should’ve been where he was right now. Gael was presuming too much again. He was also mentally stalling, trying to justify why he felt like it was okay for him to hold Monty’s hand after they just had a conversation where he had convinced himself that whatever was between him and Monty wasn’t reciprocated by the cowboy. Gael LITERALLY just said that he wanted to help Monty and yet, here he was, his body language betraying him. He had no excuses. “When I was a child living in Guatemala, we used to have really bad flash floods.” He explained slowly, quietly. “But they weren’t unmanageable. But my friends and I… remember when I said we also did stupid stuff?” He raised his eyebrows, recalling one of their online conversations from a little while back. “One time, after we had a bad storm, we dared each other to swim through a car that was flooded, and…” The professor’s breath caught in his throat. “So uh, after that, the rest of us didn’t, uh, didn’t do that anymore.” Gael forced out a nervous laugh as though to play it off. “So I guess it’s not… storms so much as it’s what they leave behind.” He took a deep breath, trying to erase the shakiness of it. Another one, calmer, more controlled. “Though the thunder is way too loud for my liking nowadays.” He added, trying to put a playful spin on his explanation even if both those things were true; he’d found himself increasingly intolerant for loud noises of late, even non-thunder things.

—

Listening to Gael talk did make it easier to ignore the howling wind outside, but of course it wasn’t a cure-all. Still, his thoughts managed to turn away from that night in 1887 and instead focus on what his friend was telling him, imagining the flood waters and submerged car, with a group of children swimming through it like a game.

Until one didn’t make it, of course.

He opened his eyes again, a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I am sorry that you… had to go through that. It sounds awful.” The hand that had been clutching at his own arm slowly released its grip, and he ached to tell Gael about the old wound. About everything. But how could he? The man didn’t even know he was a werewolf, yet. Monty could not, he would not be the one to open that particular floodgate. It wasn’t his right. “But I can understand how something like that would still affect you now.” He wondered if there was a way around it, maybe. A way to share some things without giving away his secret.

The thunder rumbled louder now as it drew closer, and the first pitter-patters of rain on the window were quick to follow. Hm. Going out might not be in the cards at this point. But Gael still needed to eat something. The suggestion to order in could wait a few more minutes, though. There was some kind of reframing of their relationship happening right now, and Monty didn’t want to interrupt it.

“I… almost died, once.” He had died. “The weather that day was just as terrible as it is now.” It seemed the darkest days of his life were intrinsically tied to foul weather, like the universe was trying as hard as it could to make it dramatic. With his free hand (and some amount of hesitation), Monty pulled the hem of his shirt up, sliding it up to expose the scars he’d gotten from being shot by those lawmen that’d not really healed right since he’d turned in the middle of it. There was one just below his ribs on his right side, another barely visible underneath the waist of his jeans on his left hip, and the third was directly over his heart. A killing shot in any other situation. “Strange how I remember the smell of rain from that day more than I do the taste of blood in my mouth or the sounds of screams.”

— Gael gave a soft expression when Monty offered his sympathies; it wasn’t what he had in mind, telling Monty about the things that bothered him like that, but the two had this… well, he said it earlier. Monty was in this special place and Gael wasn’t one for obstructing the things that made him the way he was or hiding the truth to increase drama later down the line. Just as he wasn’t secretive about anything, instead just offering answers when he was asked the questions. He felt his brow furrow slightly at the sound of the thunder though he simultaneously felt like another small weight had been lifted… it had been a while since he told someone else this small aspect of his life, of his history and a moment that changed him whether he was aware of it or not until it reared its formidable head. Don’t go. Gael was still looking out of the window when Monty spoke again and he turned his head quickly to instead look over at the other man. Monty almost died? The sentence was still going through his mind as though he couldn’t quite believe it when the cowboy hitched his henley shirt up, revealing one, two, three knotted scars that looked as though they were… bullet wounds. The professor’s eyes danced over each of them, particularly the one that rested over Monty’s heart and he wanted to ask what happened and how he managed to survive. Part of Gael also wondered if that was why Monty was so cold - poor circulation due to a traumatic heart injury? His own free hand slowly drifted over to them, gently moving in the air, imitating their shapes with his first two fingers when he suddenly clenched his hand and pulled it close to him as though he’d just touched something burning. What the HELL was he doing? “I’m… so sorry that happened.” Gael breathed, his gaze searching for Monty’s again and he felt emotion starting to well up, manifesting as tears wetting his eyes. “I can’t imagine how traumatizing that is. But… I’m so very glad you’re still here.” He punctuated his empathy with a small hope, the sun at the end of the storm. It wasn’t helped by the rain as more of it pounded against the window and the rolling thunder but he wanted to express the sentiment all the same. “...We remember things through smell because it’s the sense most closely associated with memory.” He explained quietly. “Thank you for telling me about that.” He was being so stupid. You aren’t supposed to thank people for sharing their experiences when that was the experience, were you? “I can also imagine why this weather affects you now, too.” At least Gael’s was a childhood friend. Experience, even if learned vicariously through someone else’s life, was the best teacher but he couldn’t imagine being the one who almost died, himself.

— When Gael pulled his hand away, Monty let the shirt fall back down around his waist. “Me, too,” he agreed softly, even though he wasn’t sure how true that was. Not for a lack of enjoying his current company, of course, just… life circumstances as a whole. Unlife circumstances. Still, the professor’s ability to manifest a fun scientific fact for damn near any situation, even one like this, made him smile warmly. “I didn’t know that,” he admitted, going quiet again as thoughts overtook him.

His free hand now settled against his own throat, fingers grasping at the nape of his neck, as if hoping to massage all the way all the admissions that wanted to spill from him. The last time he’d suggested the idea that he wasn’t a good person, Gael had rather passionately shut him down. But that didn’t make it untrue, it was just that Gael didn’t have the full picture.

And neither did Kaden.

And it wasn’t fair to either of them.

“The reason I have these…” Really, the reason he had any of the many small scars that marked his skin from the days before his first death, “It’s…” His brows knitted and he squinted his eyes closed against another clap of thunder, breathless in the wake of the lightning flash that followed, illuminating the room for a split second in blinding brightness. His hand grasped his neck tighter and he struggled onward, his words wavering with the fear that’d seeped into him and was settling in his bones. “That thing I said, on the mountain.” A beat. “I used to be a very different person, Gael. I earned these wounds, and I should not have come back from them.” Another beat. “There is so much I want to tell you, but I—I can’t. I just—I wonder if this was a mistake. All of it. Settling in town, letting Alan convince me to stay, starting the farm, meeting you and Kaden and allowing those… those barriers to start coming down, I—” It wasn’t fair. Wasn’t right. Not when he couldn’t be honest. “I often think I should have just stayed in México.” A place where his past would catch up with him eventually. Where he’d atone for all those terrible things he’d done during the turn of the century. “I—I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m saying this. It just feels wrong to not say it.” He lifted his chin and looked over at Gael, seeing the tears there and feeling his heart break just a little more. He didn’t deserve this compassion, he knew that. But saying it aloud was… daunting, because what if Gael actually left? What if they all did? What then? He was too much of a coward to hammer that final nail into his own coffin.

— The little science fact might’ve been Gael’s foolish attempt at mitigating some of the intensity in the conversation but as the rain prevailed outside, beating on the walls and bringing with it the more pronounced flashes of lightning and claps of thunder, he came to the conclusion that while he wasn’t in the most rational of thought processes at the moment, Monty probably fared worse if his body language was to be accurately interpreted. Then he spoke up. Monty mentioned the mountain, what he said that day and Gael recalled the scenario uncomfortably in his head - Monty made a comment about ‘all the bad things he’d done’ and that launched the professor into an unneeded, over dramatic monologue championing the cowboy. He remembered these awkward checkpoints in their relationship, trying to glean insight from them, to be better for both himself and Monty going forward. He wasn’t perfect, by any means, but as the other man continued, Gael swallowed the urge to get into another speech about it. So, Gael ruminated on what all Monty had told him as they sat on the bed next to each other in a motel room six hours away from anything familiar. He blinked back the rest of the tears that threatened to fall after looking down briefly and accidentally letting one or two fall, not knowing why he was reacting the way he was but he felt as though there was a lot of information Monty had told him just now, and yet… something about Gael, whether it was something he said or did, made it so that Monty couldn’t be honest with him. Monty looked at him and Gael looked back, his brow furrowed with concern between them. “Please don’t apologize.” He said softly. He picked up their hands that were still tightly laced together, lifting them and moving his hand until they were in a more comfortable position between them. “I can’t… pretend to know what horrible things you’ve had to endure in your past.” He exhaled; if Monty could recall what he said on the mountaintop, so could he. “And I won’t assume that nothing from it has contributed to how you are today.” Another deep breath, keeping his eyes on Monty. The only part of Gael’s face that betrayed him when he saw the lightning strike again, once more accompanied with the roar of thunder was his eyebrows twitching subconsciously as he pushed the sound away forcibly. “But what I can do is offer my hand should you need something to grab onto.” He placed his other hand atop theirs, feeling both cold and warm on his palm. Don’t go into a speech, don’t go into a speech. “You’re… here for a reason. You came back from those wounds for a reason. You may have earned them, but that doesn’t mean you haven’t learned from them. “You told me not to go.” His expression softened. More fighting back tears for his friend, the torment he must’ve been going through if he couldn’t tell him what was truly on his mind, the notion that he earned a shot to the heart and that he shouldn’t have survived it. He wanted to apologize for not being good enough, for not being there for Monty to be able to share what was weighing so heavily on his mind. But… “Please don’t go.”

—

Gael sure had a knack for making Monty sound like the victim in the past he couldn’t know about. He’d not endured anything—he’d done it willingly, happily, even… if only to please the person that had asked those things of him. That didn’t make him a victim, but more of a tool. A thing to be used until it was old and worn out, and eventually discarded. And he had been, hadn’t he? He’d thrown his life away to protect the man that would never love him the way he wanted, and that same man turned on him in a split second.

Yes, he’d risen from the dead and attacked their friends. Their family. But god, wasn’t his loyalty worth anything? His unwavering, unyielding love? Hector hadn’t even paused to try and understand, to try and figure out what was happening, he’d just fired his gun, and—

No. It wasn’t fair to be angry about that. Monty was a monster then as much as he was a monster now, and he couldn’t ask anyone to understand or accept that. Especially not with his hands and mouth slicked in blood and viscera. Besides, that was in the past. There was something more important happening now, and he needed to focus on that.

It wasn’t easy to hold Gael’s gaze; Monty had to fight to keep from looking away. But he appreciated everything his friend was saying, and how earnestly he was saying it. “I know,” he breathed. “I won’t.” It was a promise of sorts—the man had wormed a hole so deep in the dirt that was piled atop the cowboy’s grave that he’d broken through the other side and found a comfortable place to rest over his heart in record time. It probably had everything to do with how open and genuine he was. He made it easy for Monty to want to speak his mind. He couldn’t… but he wanted to. That in and of itself was nothing short of a miracle.

He lifted a hand to the other’s face, his gaze falling on the tear stains there as they were wiped away by his thumb. This was… intimate. Too intimate, probably. But he couldn’t bring himself to care enough to stop this time. Not when he knew he was wanted. Actually wanted. Gael was happy he was here. He didn’t want him to disappear like he had so many times before. They were so far from home. So far from all the other things that occupied Monty’s mind these days.

“... I suppose we ought to order in, instead, eh?” He said softly, offering some levity, though his hand remained in its place.

— ‘I won’t’. Gael exhaled quietly, relief washing over him. Of course, Gael couldn’t actually control Monty - the man was his own person and if moving or going back would be in his best interest, then surely Gael would be able to treat the situation delicately and with grace. But he too was selfish, possessive even in how he didn’t want anyone to go once he’d formed that too-easy attachment to them. Then Monty put a cold hand on his face and for a moment Gael felt as though he’d been there before, comforting someone on a bed, only he was the one to wipe away tears. Wait… had he been crying? He wasn’t even aware. Should he kindly and considerately move Monty’s hand away so as to not give him the wrong impression, stop confusing the poor man further considering that he and Kaden had actually gone on a date whereas he and Gael hadn’t? Or did he not even want to consider his embarrassment and let the other man do what he wanted? He carefully weighed each option and ultimately decided that he was too afraid of scaring Monty’s physical affections off for good, so he let the hand stay. What he HADN’T known was that he found himself leaning into it ever-so-slightly. This conversation had been enlightening in more than one way for him. He approached the shelf on his mind, looking through the bottles and removing several smaller ones regarding Monty; after their short but close relationship, he came to the realization that he didn’t want to probe him anymore. Gael didn’t need to confront him about the questions he had. He’d go forward in the way he wanted and that was to support and help Monty where he could. And this interaction, their intimacy and solidarity in the storm was between them; no Alan, no Kaden, no Elias or anyone else needed to know this. He didn’t want to confuse anyone anymore and he didn’t own anyone or their feelings. How jealous and confused he got at the soccer game was unwarranted. At the offer of ordering in, Gael managed a laugh, small and genuine with a nod and he looked out into the churning storm once more. “Yeah, I think that might be a good idea.”

#. thread ;#. with ; gael cordova #. don't go ;#suicidal ideation tw #suicide tw

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quentinbecks · 3 years

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Summary: Charlie left Hope County years ago hoping never to come back. But when she learns of her parents involvement with the local doomsday cult, she finds herself heading back to a life she thought she left behind. (Begins two years before the reaping/events of the game)

Words: 5 k

Warnings: The typical lack of boundaries from the Seeds, slight use of violence, mentions of violence and death, peer pressure to use drugs (bliss), and this is a big one, lots of talk of anxiety/ build up to a panic attack.

A/N: Thank you so much to @adelaidedrubman and @johnnycranes for being my betas/second and third eyes on this! And to @smut-goblin for hitting me with the writing stick! You have no idea how much I appreciate you guys 💕 Since the atonement process begins now, hopefully I can start putting these out in a timely manner from here on out.

Chapter 4: Snakes in the Garden

“We’ll begin the process of atonement immediately.”

Charlie glances up at the man through her lashes. She should be trying to run away; pushing his hands off of her face, but she can’t. Frozen in place with John’s hands cupping her cheeks; their foreheads pressed together. From this angle she can see all the freckles that adorn his neck and collarbone. It almost makes him seem human.

“I thought,” she stammers, “I thought I was just getting baptized. That’s what we agreed to.”

John sighs, pulling away to look down at her; hands still gripping her face. “You will be cleansed, you will confess all of your sins, and then you will atone. That’s the only way you can reach true salvation. And you did just promise me you would allow me the gift of saving you,” he grits out, the hold on her face getting tighter as he goes on.

Charlie squirms away, attempting to free herself without making matters worse. “You’re hurting me,” she hisses as she grabs a hold of his hands. She may be willing to play along with his mind games; keep up whatever foolish charade she needs to to stay safe, but she draws the line at having pain inflicted on her.

The Baptist just nods as he backs away, hands held up as if to show her he won’t touch her.

Too fucking late.

But there was no apology, and Charlie can’t really say she’s surprised. “Listen,” she says as she leans against the brick wall, fingers rubbing the spots where her face was held, “you can have my soul or my salvation or whatever the fuck it is you want. But what happens to me afterwards?”

If she’s being honest, Charlie is afraid of the answer. Does she get to have a normal life? Just one within the parameters of the cult’s rules? Will they force her to marry another member of the project in one of those giant, mass weddings like the Moonies? Or will they just kill her? It’s selfish and would be a great betrayal to her friends, but she would marry The Father himself if it meant keeping them safe.

John sighs, sitting on the couch, legs crossed and arms spread across the back; posture too casual for such a tense environment. “I think it’s best we take the process day by day.”

Charlie glares at the man, only receiving a chuckle in return as he notices her olive eyes fill with rage. “Relax, sweetheart. I won’t send you back up to the mountains; back up to my big, bad, brother.”

Sitting down in the chair across from him, Charlie wills herself to calm down. The shock of the situation is starting to wear off rapidly and she can feel the panic inside her start to rise just as fast.

“Can we at least discuss the immediate future? Like, me going home?”

“What,” John teases, a hint of faux sadness in his voice, “you don’t like it here?”

Not really she thinks. But she would rather not vocalize her thoughts; too tired from all of the youngest Seed’s threats and games. She’s pretty sure she’ll combust from stress if she has to stay at the ranch a moment longer.

“Haven’t you had enough fun tormenting me for one day. I’m just,” her voice shakes and she can feel her heart start to pound; her anxiety starting to make itself known, “not in the mood for this shit. Please. Just let me go home.”

Charlie wishes she could kick her own ass at this very moment. Uncomfortable with becoming so emotional in front of John, but there was only so long that false sense of bravado and heroism could last. But the sight of his guest on the verge of a nervous breakdown does seem to have an effect on the man.

“Wait here.” He says, standing up and heading towards the door. He turns back before stepping out to look at her. “Don’t leave before I get back.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

John just gives her a smirk before leaving. Flopping back onto the chair with a sigh, Charlie closes her eyes. She’s sure trying to take a power nap in a herald’s house is just asking for trouble, but she’s too exhausted to care.

She’s barely relaxed for more than thirty seconds when the door bursts open causing her to jump.

“Charlene, this is Deanna. She’ll be taking you back.”

“What about you?” Charlie cringes inwardly at herself. Now she knows she really needs to get out of here, the environment is clearly taking a toll on her sanity quicker than she anticipated.

A faint smile creeps across John’s lips before he rights himself. “Don’t worry. Deanna is one of my most trusted chosen.”

Charlie takes in the woman she’s being handed off to. She’s not much older than her, tall, tan, and athletic. She can tell by the excited grin on the chosen’s face that the other woman will most likely get on her nerves.

“Hello, sister,” Deanna says with a wave.

“We’re not quite there yet.”

“Here,” John drops a white hardcover on her lap. “Try to read this before your baptism.”

Charlie thumbs through the book curiously. She may not have had any sort of religious education, but she’s pretty sure this isn’t the traditional Christian text.

“Is this a bible?”

“It’s the Book of Joseph.” The chosen chirps from across the room. “It shows us the hardships the Father went through and how God spoke to him and showed him the path; the path that would save us all from the Collapse.”

“Sounds enlightening.”

“It is.” John is behind her now, hands on her shoulders. “But as much as I would love to keep you here to continue this conversation, I thought you wanted to leave.”

Charlie recoils at his usage of the word “keep”. She can’t see the man, but she’s sure he’s wearing an arrogant smirk; a smirk that she would happily slap off of his face if she wasn’t trying to behave.

Nodding, she gets up. “Thank you for the talk. It’s been… eye-opening.”

John leans over the chair as he beams at her. “I’m just glad you agreed to let me,” he pauses as if he’s contemplating his words, “work with you.”

“Well, you didn’t leave me with much of a choice. Certain death or,” she gestures towards him, “you. And I like being alive, thank you very much.”

Charlie doesn’t bother to wait for a response, pushing past the chosen and out the door to wait on the steps. She doesn’t need to wait very long as Deanna follows after her almost immediately. “My truck’s down there,” the woman points down the driveway to an old, white pickup with a black Eden’s Gate sigil on the hood.

Following silently behind the other woman, she tries to catch her breath. Relax, she chants to herself internally. In only twenty minutes you’ll be safe. Charlie tells herself she can do this as she gets in the car. All she has to do is wait a few, short minutes and she can scream and cry as much as she wants to.

The car ride is silent for the most part and Charlie is glad for it. Until about halfway to her parent’s house when the chosen turns to look at her nervously. “So,” she pauses, chewing on her lip, “are you excited to be joining the project?”

Charlie gives her a snort in response. Leaning her head against the glass, she closes her eyes. “That’s an overstatement.”

“Well, I’m thrilled to have you here. I really like your mom.” Deanna gives her a grin before turning back to the road. “And besides, we don’t have many young women. It’ll be nice to have a friend.”

Friend Charlie scoffs. “Let’s just take this day by day,” she says, repeating the exact phrase John used on her earlier.

She’s relieved to see her parent’s house come into view as they turn the bend. Grabbing onto the handle, the young woman prepares to jump out the minute the truck pulls into the drive.

Charlie goes to shut the door when Deanna calls out to her. “I know you’re scared or angry or whatever it is you’re feeling, but I’m happy you’re here. Maybe we’ll even get to work at the ranch together.”

“Yeah. Maybe.” Slamming the door closed, Charlie heads towards the house. She looks back to watch the chosen back out. Once she’s absolutely sure she’s gone, Charlie heads to the bunker in the backyard.

Clutching The Book of Joseph that hasn’t left her hands since she left John’s house, she climbs down the ladder. Charlie gags once she’s inside the bunker, the musty air that hits her makes her think that it’s been years since anyone has been down there.

She barely makes it to the couch before her breath becomes labored, adding to her already rising blood pressure. Tossing the book on the sofa she begins to pace around the room. What is she supposed to do? How is she supposed to explain this to Eli? Will Mary May even trust her again after this?

Letting out a frustrated cry, Charlie slinks to the floor. She has to make them understand she’s doing this for them.

But are you really? Pops into her mind. She offered to join the project the moment she felt her life was in danger, not her friends. Protection for her friends only came as part of the bargain after she agreed to have her soul saved.

But is it really wrong to want to save yourself? To value your own life? Not really, she thinks. Trying not to dwell too hard on the guilt that’s eating at her, Charlie goes to pick up the radio she notices lying dusty and dormant on the desk.

Blowing the dust off, she turns the dials until she finds the channel that would reach Eli and the Wolf’s Den.

Pausing to sniffle, she presses down on the button to talk. “Hello? Eli? Tammy? Anyone? It’s Charlie.” She clears her throat awkwardly as she waits for a response. “Um, over?” She adds.

“Ya know, it’s not really necessary to say over.”

“I know, Wheaty, but no one was answering.”

Charlie can hear the younger man laugh into the microphone. “Well, ya gotta give us more than ten seconds to get to the radio, Charlie.”

“Patience has never been my strong suit.” Sighing, she bites her lip. Not sure of how to go about relaying the message about the mole in the militia; not even sure she should be telling them this. But, it’s the right thing to do. And it’s not like she made a promise to John about what she would do with the information either way.

“Is Eli around?”

“He’s out scoutin’ right now. Whatcha need?”

Charlie knows it’s not Wheaty who’s the betrayer, but she has a bad feeling about repeating the news over the airwaves.

“Is anyone else from the militia there?”

There’s a long pause over the line as she waits for the young militiaman’s answer.

“It’s just me and Tammy here. Why what’s wrong?”

Picking up the radio, Charlie goes to sit on the dilapidated couch. She takes in a deep breath, trying to quell the feeling in her gut that’s telling her she’s making a mistake.

“Tell them that there’s a snake in the garden. They snitched on me to the Seeds. They know I killed one of Jacob’s hunters and I-”

“Who is it? Are you at The Veteran’s Center?” Wheaty interrupts her. There’s a hitch in his breath as he asks his next question. “Did they take you?”

“No,” Charlie can feel tears start to fall and she digs her nails into her thigh to stop herself from openly showing her distress, “but I can’t come back to the Wolf’s Den anymore. That’s why I need you to report back to Eli, shit even Tammy, what I just told you.”

“But why-”

She lets out a deep sigh before cutting him off. “Can you just trust me? I’m trying to protect you. All I ask in return is you get rid of your rat infestation.”

Charlie waits, the static of the radio the only response.

“You got it.”

“Thanks, kid. I’ll see ya when I see ya.”

And with that she flicks off the power, unable to continue the conversation; unable to accept her newly minted fate.

Tossing the machine onto the ground, Charlie falls back onto the couch. She decides to spend the rest of her day inside the bunker, certain her parents won’t come searching for her here. She isn’t ready to hear the exuberance of her mother when she tells her the news of her joining the cult; if it was up to her she would have offered Charlie’s hand in marriage the moment she had stepped foot onto the compound.

Though, Christine has probably already found out if John was actually telling the truth about there being a meeting. She can’t bear to think about the two of them conspiring about her; about her future. It’s too much to deal with. The whole day has been too emotionally taxing for the young woman.

Charlie reaches behind her, picking up the stray Book of Joseph; her curiosity getting the better of her. She’s pretty sure the whole book will be monotonous; mundane monologues about their terrible childhoods. It’s the same bullshit with every cult leader. Regardless, she wants to find the juicy bits for future ammunition for the next time John Seed wants to throw jabs at her about her own youth. They’re alike, her ass.

Opening the book to a random page, Charlie settles in. Admittedly, the book is a hard read, both from Joseph’s unreliable narration and the abuse the two eldest Seeds regularly suffered. What catches her eye, though, are the bits of a young, barely more than a toddler, John being beaten; abuse so bad it forced the brothers into foster homes.

The new information forces Charlie to slam the book shut. She can’t help but feel guilt and pity for the man, all of them if she’s being honest, but especially John. She doesn’t know if these feelings are stemming from the parental neglect she suffered as a kid or if it’s because of her own desperate desire to become a mother; to be able to give a child a life she was deprived of. She doesn’t even know if any of this is actually; maybe it’s all a ploy for people like her to feel empathy for them.

Shaking her head, Charlie closes her eyes. Do not think of them as anything more than the monsters they are, she chides herself.

Curling up into a ball on the couch, she tries to relax; tries to clear her mind of all the dizzying emotions that came from today. After what feels like hours of breathing exercises and mantras to shut her brain off, she finally falls asleep.

The nightmare is the same as it is every night. Charlie finds herself being hunted through the Whitetails by one of Jacob’s red camo clad chosen. And just like always she kills them; just as it happened in real life. But this time, the outcome has changed.

It’s still her blood splattered face that’s exposed after the ski mask is ripped off, but the eyes staring back at her are no longer the hazel eyes of the recently deceased hunter. This time they’re sky blue; blue like the eye color shared by all of the male Seeds.

Charlie wakes up with a start. Heart racing wildly, she puts her palm over her chest in a vain attempt to calm it down.

“Fuck me.”

She’s no dream interpreter, but Charlie is definitely concerned this means something. Means that she’s become prey to the Seeds; that she’s become some sort of toy for them to play with at will. It’s distressing, especially since she’s worked for years to ensure she would never be in such a vulnerable position with men again. And now here she is; in the belly of the beast, but this time it’s worse. This time it’s with cult leaders rather than a gaslighting husband.

“I need a drink,” she mutters to herself as she sits up.

Charlie heads up to her parents house, the early summer sun blinding her as she exits the bunker. “Mom? Daddy?” she calls out once she’s made it back inside. The calls for her parents are met with dead silence.

Searching through rooms gives her no leads on where they could be until she finds a note plastered to the refrigerator.

“Princess,

Mammon and I will be out for most of the day. You can find your mother up at Black Horse Peak if there’s an emergency. I’ll be out fishing on the bay with a few friends from church. Both of us should be back by dinner time. Don’t get into any trouble while we’re gone, ma fille.

Love,

Papa”

Charlie sighs. She was hoping to not be alone after the nightmare she had, let alone the day she had previously. But, on the bright side now she has time to come up with a way to explain to her parents about her change of heart towards Eden’s Gate.

Deciding the best course of action would be to tell them over dinner; a dinner where she can spike her own drink to take the edge off. There’s no worries about them being disappointed or angry with her. No, she needs to drink to hide the disappointment in her own mother who will be delighted that her boss managed to break down her daughter into joining his family’s cult. In one day too. What a feat!

A couple hours pass with Charlie trying and failing to concoct a meal when there’s a knock at the door. Immediately going on guard since she wasn’t expecting any guests, she grabs a kitchen knife off the counter.

As she heads over to the door she peeks outside the window to see who her surprise visitor is. None other John Seed is standing there on her porch; a look of fury written all over his face.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” she says, slamming the knife down on the entrance table.

Opening the door with a bit of trepidation, Charlie begins to panic. Why would he come here when he could have just had her brought to him? Why come when she’s all alone? The normally well-coiffed Seed looks frazzled; his usual slick backed hair falling loosely in his face.

“What do you want?” she asks through the crack in the door. Instead of giving her a response, John pushes his way into the house.

“Oh, okay. Please, come inside,” Charlie grumbles as she slams the door shut.

She watches as John paces through the living room; watching as he runs a hand through his hair, letting out a dark chuckle as he does so. The situation started out unsettling and now it’s just flat out creeping her out.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” John asks, finally looking up at her.

Charlie blinks at him trying to understand what she could have possibly done in the last twenty four hours to anger him this badly. And then it dawns on her. She told the Whitetails about the mole amongst them and she’s guessing Eli handled the problem.

Oops.

“What exactly did you expect me to do? Allow your brother to keep getting intel on my friends? So he could, what, pounce on them when the timing was right? I don’t think so.”

“No, you’re right.” He clears his throat before leaning against the wall, no longer manically pacing around the room, but calm and collected. “I trusted you too early; had hoped you would be grateful for the gift I’ve given you, but I see now I was mistaken. Instead, you would rather squander it and try and pull off these childish antics of yours.”

John pushes himself off the wall, slowly making his way towards her; the action preemptively making her back herself against the counter.

“But I’m not worried about it. And you know why?” He knocks on the table as he continues on.

Charlie shakes her head “no”, uncertainty over whether that was the right answer setting in.

“Because Joseph saw you walk through the Gates of Eden with us; with me. So, I know all of the trouble you’re putting us through will be worth it in the end. I just need you to recognize your purpose and start behaving.”

They’re so close now; too close for Charlie’s comfort. She puts a hand between them; her fingers lightly touching his torso. The touch makes her flinch, but after he put her face in a vice-like grip just the day before, she’s not letting him get that close again.

“Walking through the Gates of Eden? What does that even mean?” She furrows her brow, she’s pretty certain Joseph is just making up visions to have his brother keep her in line, nevertheless the possible euphemism unnerves her. “Is that like heaven? Are you here to commit a murder suicide?”

Charlie quickly realizes that that may be the wrong thing to say when she sees the scowl cross John’s face.

He leans in closer to her, forcing her makeshift barrier of her wrist to drop. “You are in no position to be making jokes, sweetheart”, the Baptist glares down at her. “Because you, Charlene, in less than three weeks have managed to get two of our chosen killed. One by your own hand and,” John looks down towards her lips, “and one by your big fucking mouth,” he hisses at her.

“Good.” Charlie shoves him away, trying to reclaim some of her personal space. “That last one snitched on me; took my life away from me. So I guess we’re even now. Eye for an eye. Isn’t that what you people believe in?”

“You know, you’re not nearly as clever as you think you are.” Sitting on their loveseat, John splays himself out as if he owns the place; the overly cocky attitude in full swing again.

Admittedly, Charlie does feel some guilt over the news of another chosen dead. There’s a part of her that’s curious about who they were in the militia, but the other part doesn’t need that on her conscience; not when the first death has been haunting her dreams nightly.

“Joseph entrusted me with your atonement; he still has faith that you’ll come around. Jacob still believes you deserve to be punished. Now I’m of two sides,” he says, leaning forward. “I believe you need to be reprimanded for this; for making some of the project’s best hunters spend their morning burying their friend. But death is too harsh.”

“What – what were you thinking of doin’?” Charlie stutters, her drawl starting to slip out.

“I was thinking of moving up your baptism. To tonight.”

“No!” Charlie all but yells as she marches over to where John is perched. “I – I haven’t even read your brother’s book yet! I don’t know what I’m getting myself into! I don’t even have anything to wear!”

She’s practically in between the man’s legs and she’s half tempted to bend down and scream in his face; make him feel as small as he constantly makes her feel. But it’s inappropriate and she immediately rights herself of the urge.

“None of that matters. All that matters to me is that you start the process soon.”

It dawns on Charlie that she should be questioning John on why he is so insistent on keeping her alive; what he meant by her walking through the Gates of Eden with him specifically. But a voice inside of her tells that she’s certain to find out sooner rather than later; and she might not like the answers she gets.

“Can I at least find something decent here to wear?”

“Yes, but,” John shifts uncomfortably, “I need you to keep the door open. I can’t trust you to not try and run.”

Charlie laughs as she heads into her parent’s room. “Where could I run to that you wouldn’t find me?”

She shuts the door a crack, partly out of habit, partly because she doesn’t want John watching her undress. The thought of him seeing her naked alone makes her grimace.

It takes her a few minutes, but she’s able to find something buried in the closet. It's pink and floral, not her usual color, but it’s a sundress and that’s all that matters to her. Pulling her shorts and cropped top off she watches in the mirror as John loiters around her family’s dining room.

Uncomfortable with the Baptist going through their belongings, she quickly pulls the dress on; tossing her honey brown hair into a ponytail.

“Excuse me?”

“Ah, you’re ready,” he says as he comes and leans on the doorframe to the bedroom. “Like I said earlier, I can’t trust you. So I need you to do me a favor before we can leave.” John pulls a flask from his jacket pocket, handing it over to her as if she’s just supposed to accept a drink from him.

“I thought you guys banned this shit? Too good for a stiff drink or two.”

“It’s not alcohol.”

Charlie scoffs. He wants to roofie her so she’ll behave; be a good girl for the Seeds. And he thinks she’s going to consent to this? Fuck that.

“Then I’m not drinking it. Not until you tell me what’s in it.” She has spent way too many years practicing drink safety to just take a drugged drink, even if the man giving it to her is warning her in advance.

“It’s bliss,” John says as if she would understand what that means. But he sees the confusion written all over her face. “It’s safe. You’ll be fine. It’ll keep you calm for a couple of hours. Enough to get you through the cleansing . And after that,” he smiles down at her, “we can work on building trust.”

“What if I say no?”

John’s smile turns sour suddenly, stepping forward to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Like I said earlier, I’ll be forced to take your sins out the people you love the-“

“Okay, enough with the threats,” Charlie groans as she snatches the flask from his hands. “You’re a huge dick, ya know that?” She shoves past him, “a real pushy asshole.”

Uncapping the flask, she takes a sniff. It’s oddly sweet smelling. Maybe it won’t be so bad? She thinks to herself. John watches her intently as she puts the container to her lips. She can’t help but feel that he’s enjoying this too much.

The drink itself is bitter in spite of its fragrant scent. The taste makes her want to throw the flask across the room; then maybe projectile vomit afterwards. She manages to get a bit down before handing it off to John.

“I think I’m ready,” she says, trying to hold the bile in her throat down.

John nods, heading out the door. Charlie starts to feel nervous as she follows suite; afraid that she may pass out and be taken to God knows where to have God knows what done to her.

“Don’t worry about the door. I’ll have one of my chosen let your family know where you are so they can join us.”

“Okay,” she mumbles, allowing John to open the car door for her to get in.

Eli and the Whitetails will come for you soon. They know you’re in trouble now and he’ll come and save you. They have to. She thinks as she watches the youngest Seed walk around the vehicle to get in as well. And she wants his head on a platter when they do.

There’s not much time to dwell on thoughts of being rescued. John has barely backed out of the driveway by the time Charlie has started seeing green and feeling dizzy. Her head drops back to fall against the cool leather of the headrest.

“I’m just gonna rest my eyes for a moment,” she slurs; eyes drooping shut. Before she knows it, she’s out cold; on the way to start the most interesting chapter of her life thus far.

#fic: stillness in woe #john seed x oc #john seed #oc: charlie berger #far cry 5 fic #yay! baptism next chapter #we’re really in it now

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poppy-pelican · 4 years

Text

Darkness on Fire (chapter 4/5)

Rating: Explicit

Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist

Chapter Summary: Shit hits the fan, y’all.

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26692747/chapters/66250873

Chapter 4

At sunset, the party of six piled into Barry’s truck. Trisha had tried the phone again to call her husband with no luck. The first stop was at a market for more supplies, then to gas up the truck before driving nonstop to Barry’s safe house.

Riza was offered the seat of honor beside Barry, but she forced Al into being the buffer to sit between them. The other three road in the back, enjoying the warm summer wind in the open air. Ed fell asleep, his snores reaching even over the sound of the truck. Al’s head flopped onto Riza’s shoulder not long after, but at least he didn’t snore.

She was once again hit by how wonderful the family was. It was unlike the usual assignments she had working with Mustang. This time it was about protecting life directly rather than protecting life by taking another.

Not for the first time, she wondered at Selim Bradley’s interest in the boys. Was it worth the cost of the two vampires they had killed at Barry’s home? She could only hope that after foregoing the tunnels, the family would be safe until they reunited with Hohenheim. Unless he had not dealt with his sire. Then they would need to strategize again.

They arrived at Barry’s safe house. House was a bit of a stretch. It was more of a shack, hidden away in the woods much like his other home.

“Take care, kids!” Barry said. He needed to hurry back by sunrise. “I’ll try giving Ol’ Van a call, too. Maybe I can reach him at some of the addresses I have.”

As they waved goodbye, Mustang waved a rude gesture that made the boys laugh while Barry returned the same gesture out the window as he drove off. Riza shared an exasperated look with Trisha. She was probably wondering how an immature buffoon like Mustang had been entrusted with her sons’ lives.

Stepping inside the shack, Riza wrinkled her nose.

“It smell like rotten meat to anyone else?” Mustang asked.

“Oh dear. I bet this is one of Barry’s old haunts from…his human life,” Trisha said, covering her nose.

“Like…where he used to chop people up?” Al asked, the question more of a squeak.

“Maybe you kids should go play outside while I…clean this place up,” Trisha said.

“I’ll help. Mustang can keep watch outside,” Riza offered. He was better suited for looking after wild vampire boys in the dark than she was.

“I still don’t think I’ll want to sleep here,” Ed said. Riza privately agreed.

“It’s probably haunted,” Al said. His eyes darted around the bare walls in fear. He looked more afraid of the supernatural than he had the very real dangers chasing after them.

“This really isn’t fun anymore,” Ed grumbled.

“When was it ever fun?” Trisha scolded, but she laughed.

“All this because that guy thinks our blood is special?” Al asked her quietly.

“He’s a desperate creature searching for a way to play god,” Trisha said. She kissed the top of Al’s head. “And while you two are very special, it’s not in the way Selim thinks.”

Roy opened a window, not looking at anyone as he asked, “There are other vampire children. Why is Selim so set on these two?”

“Van is a very old vampire—from Xerxes. A vampire his age has never had children before.”

Riza was stunned. And Selim would use the brothers like a specimen, like Barry and countless others. Her stomach churned.

“That’s…that’s very old,” Mustang said. Riza was surprised he didn’t know Hohenheim’s age either.

“There are those centuries older than Van, but they have no interest in having children,” Trisha said. “I just hope he can convince Selim this is nonsense.”

“If not, you have our support,” Riza said. She knew Mustang wouldn’t mind her speaking for them both. He’d probably bring the whole team in if they needed to.

Trisha gave her a watery smile before shooing the boys outside to escape the disturbing smells of the shack. Riza couldn’t help thinking Trisha needed a break from having to put on a brave face for her sons. Riza wasn’t around the boys as often, but even she had grown weary from constantly monitoring what she said around them. She wasn’t used to censoring herself all the time. Even when the boys were out of the room, their sharp hearing could eavesdrop.

“We’ll stay within hearing range,” Mustang promised, following the boys out the door.

Riza and Trisha went to work, finding some soap and buckets to cleanse what they could. There was an old dusty bed, but Riza was positive no one would be caught dead sleeping on it. They would just make do with the floor.

While they got to scrubbing, Trisha working twice as fast as Riza, she found herself burning with questions.

“So how old is Hohenheim then? He has to be at least…” She tried to remember her history lessons about the fall of Xerxes, but the dates were muddled.

“He’s not really sure. Over four hundred, at least,” Trisha said.

His eccentricities were beginning to make sense. How many lives had he lived? Riza felt unbearably sad at the thought. She was quite content with the one life she had. She couldn’t imagine how many people he had grieved for.

“I’m incredibly curious how you two came to be married,” Riza confessed. Talk about a May-December romance.

Trisha gave a secretive smile. “The traditional way people fall in love, mostly. It was love at first sight for me. And for him…I suppose love at first bite.” Her eyes sparkled.

“So you knew he was a vampire from the beginning?”

“Yes. It was kind of a whirlwind courtship. We were married after knowing each other less than a year.”

“Why such a whirlwind?”

“I suppose that was Van’s doing. He understands better than most how short life can be. Until I got sick, he planned to age himself beside me until I died. We weren’t sure if he would try to change me or not. He’d lived a long life, and I was ambivalent about immortality for myself.”

“You ended up a vampire anyway.” How very sad it would have been for Hohenheim if his wife had died prematurely. Hundreds of years and finally settling down…only to lose them…

“I’m very grateful for that. Humans and vampires can’t have children together, as you know, and I so badly wanted children. It was my only regret when I married Van. I thought we’d be childless,” Trisha scrubbed a suspicious stain so hard the wood beneath it cracked loudly.

Riza frowned at the broken floorboard. “We should just have Mustang burn this place down.”

Roy had been tuning out the conversation between Hawkeye and Trisha in favor of listening to possible intruders as the boys climbed every tree they could find. They had spooked several sleeping squirrels and dozens of birds already. While Roy remembered having a lot of energy as a boy, these two seemed to have more than twice that. He was weary just watching them play.

When he heard Hawkeye mention his name, his attention was drawn to the women in the shack.

“The boys would love that,” Trisha said. “They want to see the flame alchemist in action.”

“They are so clever, I wonder if they won’t work it out themselves,” Hawkeye said.

“They take after their father that way. I wonder if it’s all his blood I drank during pregnancy,” Trisha mused.

Roy watched Ed leap from one tree to the other, twenty feet in the air. He followed after them as they circled around the shack, Al shadowing his brother through the trees. Roy remained distracted. Like Hawkeye, he was incredibly curious about how the boys had come to exist.

“And how…how did you become pregnant? If you don’t mind my asking,” Hawkeye asked, her voice hesitant and polite.

“What do you know about blood bonds?” Trisha asked.

“Umm…very little.”

Roy almost stopped in his tracks as Trisha explained. “For us, it began when I was human. At first, he just fed from me occasionally. Then to maintain my health and blood supply, he started giving me his blood. When I became a vampire, it began a circle of blood sharing until it seemed I had as much of his blood in me as my own, and vice versa. And…I wanted a baby. Badly. And I guess, just like a vampire can will themselves to age, well, I realized my fertility had returned. I hadn’t had a period since I became a vampire.”

Roy felt his cheeks warm, and thought about walking farther away, but he’d promised to stay nearby, and the boys’ hearing didn’t seem to be as far-reaching as his own. They were absorbed in their game, regardless.

“The rest was done…the usual way,” Trisha laughed. “But during the pregnancy, I had to drink a lot of his blood. I craved it more than I ever had before—no blood but his would do. And I was very clingy.” Trisha seemed lost in happy memories as it grew quiet for several moments. “And with those two boys, I’m perfectly happy, and my fertility seems to have gone dormant again.”

“That’s convenient,” Hawkeye said.

“Yes, for most vampires manipulating the body takes concentration, but for me it was instinctive.”

Instinctive. The word shook through Roy along with a painful epiphany. He replayed Trisha’s story. Love at first bite. Sharing each other’s blood. Hadn’t he always wondered why no one’s blood tasted as good as Hawkeye’s? He’d attributed it to being his first taste of blood as a vampire, but that didn’t explain the animalistic urge to drink from her and have her drink from him. Those urges only grew stronger the more he tasted her.

He had no idea how dangerous his desires could be. A blood bond was for vampire lovers. Not Roy and his human assistant. Bonded vampires were rare, and creating and maintaining the bond took effort. All the same, he would need to be more careful in the future with taking blood from her.

“And you got two wonderful boys out of it,” Hawkeye continued.

“They are wonderful, aren’t they?” Trisha gushed.

“I adore them.”

Roy was so caught up in his internal distress that he almost missed the vampire lurking in the trees. A familiar vampire at that. The greasy-haired flunky of Selim’s he’d seen skulking around Central a few times.

Roy didn’t hesitate, not even warning the boys before he snapped. The black night was lit with a wall of flames, the wall erected in place between the boys and the enemy vampire.

Within seconds, a gunshot rang through the air. And the vampire was hit in the head. Roy smiled darkly at Hawkeye’s perfect aim before he incinerated the body, angry that two young boys had been endangered again.

He turned to find them frozen up in the treetops, gaping at Roy. He hoped he hadn’t frightened them too much—

“That was crazy!” Ed said, completely stunned.

“Wild,” Al whispered.

Maybe they were more resilient than Roy gave them credit for.

Trisha appeared, lips thin with worry.

“What is going—” but she couldn’t finish her question before more shots rang out, followed by masculine cries of pain.

“Incoming!” Hawkeye shouted from a distance.

“Stay together, keep behind me,” Roy said. The boys jumped from the trees, joining their mother.

Roy tried not to panic when he couldn’t find Hawkeye. He pinned her location with his blood still pumping through her system, and he guessed she had never left the protection of the shack.

A single shot echoed through the trees, followed by a gasp and the thud of someone being slammed to the ground. The sounds of a struggle made it difficult for Roy to hold his position, but his goal was to protect the Elrics, not Hawkeye.

Trisha must’ve been thinking the same because she patted Roy’s shoulder.

“Boys, stay with Roy,” she instructed. She rushed off before Roy or her sons could protest. Roy cursed under his breath.

A savage growl caused the hair on the back of Roy’s neck to stand up. It was Trisha. The sounds of tearing flesh filled the quiet wood around them. It didn’t smell like Trisha’s blood, but as he was scenting the air, the fragrant perfume of Hawkeye’s blood reached him. He had to imagine his legs were buried in cement to keep himself from running toward her in a rage. Instead, he gestured for the boys to be quiet and follow him. Silently they tracked through the trees, making their way to the other side of the shack.

“Ah, there you are,” a cheerful voice greeted. Another one of Selim’s favorites. His sire must be desperate if he was sending out his best lackeys. This one always wore a headband and strutted around Central feeding indiscriminately—sometimes draining humans dry just for fun.

He was holding Trisha in a tight chokehold, her mouth dripping in blood that wasn’t hers. Two muscular humans stood beside them, clearly not compelled. One held Hawkeye with a knife to her throat. She looked furious.

Stepping out of the trees, Roy hissed for the brothers to remain right behind him.

“I don’t think you’re a very intelligent vampire,” Roy said, projecting a calmness he didn’t feel. But the confidence was real.

“What? You don’t want to trade? Not even one boy for these two women?” the cocky vampire sneered. “We only need one.”

Trisha thrashed in his arms while Hawkeye remained still, patient.

“And you think you have room to negotiate with me?” Roy asked. He wanted to boil the vampire’s eyeballs.

Roy considered every possible direction this encounter could go. The vampire was the more dangerous target, but Hawkeye was the more fragile hostage. And Roy could never sacrifice one woman in favor of the other.

Then Edward stepped forward. “Fine. I’ll go with you. Just don’t hurt anyone,” he said, surprising everyone.

“Brother!” Al whimpered, grabbing Ed’s arm. “Let me go instead.”

“No, I’m going. Then I’ll kick that bastard grandpa sire’s ass,” Ed said.

And then Roy saw it, in the confusion of the boys’ argument, Hawkeye reached under her jacket where she kept another gun holstered. Her eye twitched to the vampire holding Trisha.

The rest happened almost in unison. A snap. A crackle of gunfire. Hawkeye shot the man holding her and flung herself out of his grip while Roy sizzled the vampire from the inside out—to prevent Trisha from being caught in the flames with him. The vampire didn’t even have a moment to scream. Hawkeye whirled on the second human, holding him at gunpoint before Ed and Al tackled him to the ground.

Trisha coughed, rubbing her neck, but otherwise seemed fine. The boys ran to her. She fawned over them for being so foolishly brave, and he dimly overheard her tell them to head inside as Roy set to work compelling the men to stay silent and gave the injured one his blood, although Roy thought he deserved to heal slowly and painfully.

“There were two others,” Hawkeye said. “The first is around the corner, and Trisha got the other just over there,” she said, nodding to a headless vampire corpse beneath a tree.

“They’re increasing their numbers,” Roy said.

“And not using compelled humans for backup anymore,” Hawkeye said. “I think it’s obvious now how they keep finding us.”

“Barry?” Roy asked optimistically, but he knew it wasn’t what she was thinking. And Roy’s gut knew it too.

“We know I haven’t been compelled,” she said. “Someone must have spiked one of my drinks with vampire blood.”

“Who?” he asked. Barry would be easier to blame.

“Anyone in Central. A compelled human. It could have been at the Rockbells, on the train—anywhere. I could even be dosed with multiple vampires’ blood. It doesn’t take much to be able to trace a human.” She sighed, defeated. “It’s impossible to know how, but we can’t ignore that it has happened.”

He couldn’t argue with her when he knew she was right.

“I’m so sorry,” Riza apologized to the Elrics, after the humans had been interrogated and sent on a slow walk to the nearest town. “I’ve put you all in danger.”

“No, Riza,” Trisha said, taking Riza’s hand. “I’m the one who is sorry. My husband’s sire did this. You’ve done nothing but protect us.”

Riza couldn’t agree, but she didn’t want to belittle Trisha’s apology. Riza should have been more circumspect with her drinks.

“The best I can do now is take the first train out and get as much distance between us as possible,” Riza said.

“Out of the question!” Mustang barked. “They’re still tracing you.”

Riza stood straighter. “I’ll regroup with the team in Central as soon as I can,” she said, hoping to appease her superior.

“Better idea, you stay with us until we get to Central, then we separate when you have protection,” he said through his teeth.

“We might not make it to Central at all if we do that,” she said. “They attack at night, during the day—whenever. We got lucky tonight that they didn’t have time to compel me. I could’ve killed you!” Again. Didn’t he know what that would do to her?

Mustang maybe didn’t know explicitly how much she feared hurting him again, but he knew it was why she had become so rigid about his safety. She feared nothing more than being compelled to hurt the ones she loved. She’d rather die.

“Not to interrupt,” Trisha said gingerly, “but I agree with Roy. We couldn’t possibly live with the guilt if something happened to you on our behalf.” She paused and pointed accusingly at Mustang. “Don’t look so smug yet. I also agree with Riza. My sons’ safety is important. It’s why I think it would be best if I leave with Riza. We can meet you in Central. Then she has at least one vampire with her, and my boys are safe with the Flame Alchemist.”

Riza didn’t like it. Mustang didn’t like it. The brothers didn’t like it. But compromises rarely made everyone happy.

With sunrise pressing down on them, they had no choice but to hunker down in the “Chopping Shack,” as Ed called it.

They all slept in the same room for added safety. The boys slept on either side of their mother, the only two sleeping somewhat peacefully, Riza noted. Trisha slept fitfully, awakened by the quietest noises. Riza barely slept at all, the adrenaline of the fight still coursing through her.

She would generally say she held her own on her assignments with Mustang. She was capable and used her advantages in the sun as much as she could. But what was supposed to be an overly cautious bodyguard job had turned into an all-out war. A human was nothing but a burden with just the two of them on the assignment.

She didn’t want to be a liability to Mustang. Her eyes drifted to him. He was sitting against the wall by the door, dozing off occasionally, but trying to keep watch all the same. He’d refused her offer to take the watch. His clothes were askew, his hair was an even wilder mess than usual, and the scruff on his face was longer than she had ever seen it.

He still looked insanely handsome.

Riza was glad there wasn’t a mirror, because she probably looked like hell.

She rolled over onto her side, putting her back to Mustang, when he whispered to her.

“Hawkeye?”

“Yes?” she whispered back just as quietly.

“Maybe you should drink some of my blood again. And maybe Trisha’s too—before you go.”

“Haven’t I had enough of yours?” she asked. He would be able to track her for several weeks—probably longer with how much she’d had. Although remembering its heady taste made her stomach flutter with interest. Then she remembered what Trisha had said about blood bonding. Was it strange for them to be sharing so much blood with one another?

“Just to be doubly safe,” he said. “And you must have cut yourself again because—” He stopped and inhaled, and she saw his fangs glistening.

She shivered.

It was a bad idea, but she couldn’t tell him no. Maybe his feelings didn’t run as deep as hers. It didn’t matter. She would have to leave him at sunset, and if she could take even more of his blood with her for the journey, she would.

Trying not to wake the others, she crawled over to Mustang on her hands and knees, her eyes locked with his. A charge flared to life between them, her blood singing for him almost as much as his called to her. Her mouth watered.

Knowing things couldn’t go too far with the Elrics right there made her confident. Mustang grazed his fangs across his wrist and held it to her lips. She was immediately overwhelmed with its taste. Then she did something different—feeling bold. She tilted her neck toward him, leaning against his chest with his arm between them so he could feed from her neck simultaneously.

She heard the faintest rumble as he held her close and stabbed his fangs into her neck. It felt so good, all of it. His taste, his mouth, the flick of his tongue against her neck, his free hand squeezing her hip.

Her consciousness grew dreamy then. A protective, worshipful yearning seeped into her soul. There was also a strange thirst. And languid desire.

None of those feelings were her own.

They jerked away from one another at the same time, Riza unable to look him in the eye. She was reeling from the intensity of it just as much as she wanted more. It was only the fear of what Mustang could feel from her that held her back. Or what he might have already picked up on. She couldn’t bear it if he had to turn her down gently, like a schoolgirl with a crush on her teacher.

“Is it time to get up yet?” Al’s sweet voice asked through a yawn.

Riza jumped back even farther from Mustang, hating that she was blushing.

“Not yet,” Trisha said. “Go back to sleep.”

Riza stood and tiptoed back to her place on the floor, legs wobbly. She didn’t dare look at Mustang again.

“Be good for Roy. He’ll tell me how you behave without me,” Trisha said, dropping a kiss to the top of both boys’ heads.

“We will,” they agreed sullenly.

The frustration of being a burdensome human reasserted its presence. But Riza was a soldier, so she kept her face neutral, even as her mind summoned a memory of her own mother. She’d been holding Riza’s hand as they walked, chatting happily, when the vampire had slammed into her mother. The momentum was so powerful that Riza’s shoulder had been dislocated, and she’d fallen to the ground. It was hours later, after the military police had dropped by the house as they collected the many bodies the vampire had left behind, that the adrenaline faded and Riza noticed the pain.

Until that point in her life, her father had always coddled and spoiled her. That night, he seemed to forget she existed. She sat up in bed for hours, waiting to be tucked in by him and her mother. She was never tucked into bed again.

Mustang nudged her.

“It’s only until we make it to Central. If we get there without delay, we should all be reunited tomorrow,” he said.

“I hope so.” Her gut told her it would be longer. Mustang looked apprehensive, so he probably secretly agreed. “How do you think you will handle being Uncle Roy all on your own?” she asked, hoping to lighten the mood.

He snorted. “I’m going to keep an extra close watch on my ignition gloves, that’s for sure.”

Riza’s lips twitched as Edward turned to stick out his tongue at Mustang. How she wished to be a fly on the wall to observe how Mustang handled babysitting. She had never seen him around children before.

“We better get going,” Riza said. “We need to get as far from the boys as we can.” Her heart constricted with guilt.

She was touched when Al and Ed each gave her a brief hug goodbye. Mustang gave a restrained goodbye of his own—without so much as a handshake. Then Riza hopped onto Trisha’s back, again feeling like a hindrance, but it was just until they made it to the road where they hoped to hitch a ride. Trisha felt thin and misleadingly fragile as Riza tried to find a comfortable position, unlike Mustang who she had molded against with ease.

As they rushed through the trees away from the shack, Riza tried not to think about how lost she felt leaving Mustang behind.

Riza and Trisha walked on the side of the road at a leisurely human pace in the moonlight. A few cars had gone by without stopping, and Riza had made an effort to look less intimidating by removing her jacket and fluffing her hair around her shoulders.

“I hope Roy is having an easier time of it than we are,” Trisha said.

“He probably is.” Now that Riza wasn’t summoning vampires to their location. The reminder of the beacon she had become sent a shiver down her spine. She wondered if this was what a fox felt like as bloodhounds tracked it. Her fear only grew as she watched Trisha chew on her lip nervously, eyes darting around the darkness.

“Maybe you should run ahead,” Riza suggested. “Scout out a car.”

Trisha gave her a withering stare. “You seem all too eager to martyr yourself on my behalf, but I won’t allow it.”

“I’m being practical. If things get bad, and I tell you to run, please—please—run. It’s very possible we could both die, and what would be the point of that?”

Trisha was quiet, gathering up an argument, Riza suspected.

“I can’t do it. Not if there’s a chance I can help you.”

“Trisha,” Riza said sternly. “I was a soldier. I’ve killed more people than I can count. I was trained in the militia to quickly calculate what to do in a skirmish. If I’m telling you to run, I promise, it won’t be something I say lightly. I don’t want to die. I don’t…I don’t really want to be a vampire either,” she admitted. She loved watching the sun rise and set. She loved spreading out on a blanket and soaking in the sun while she read a book. And beyond that, the fear of living as long as Hohenheim terrified her. To outlive all her human friends would be unbearable.

“So you’d have me run off like a coward?”

“Not a coward. Like someone who has a family who needs you.”

“Doesn’t Roy need you?”

“Not like Edward and Alphonse need you.” Riza glanced out into the night, her paranoia growing. “I know what it’s like to grow up without a mother. My mother was killed by a vampire with blood rage. And while my father did his best, it wasn’t the same. He fell apart without her. She was the love of his life.” She wanted to force Trisha to think of what she would be taking away from her family if she died: a mother, a wife, the backbone of the family.

Trisha pursed her lips and looked up at the stars. “And aren’t you the love of Roy’s life?”

Maybe Mustangs was Riza’s, but he was a passionate man, easily caught up in the moment. He could move on. She was more steadfast, unchanging. His feelings were a flash fire, ignited and extinguished almost as quickly as it began. Hers were the embers burning long after the flames died out. She’d seen evidence of this with his many girlfriends over the past two years. Riza’s own dating experience had been sparse in comparison.

“No,” she said. “And even if I was, we don’t have children together. It’s different.” Riza knew she was right, but perhaps it was easier for her, as a former soldier, to rationalize who should live or die—who should take the risk or play it safe.

“I’m not going to leave you on your own, and that’s that.”

They were at an impasse, and fortunately at that moment a car’s lights appeared at the top of the hill, heading toward them. It stopped almost as soon as the two women came into view, and when the man’s eyes lingered too long on her chest, Trisha gave him a look. His eyes went vacant, body relaxed.

“We’re going to borrow your car,” Trisha told him politely. “We’ll return it to you as soon as we can.” The man cheerfully stepped out of his car, even shutting the door for her as she took the driver’s seat. Riza went around to the passenger’s side, unholstering her rifle. As soon as she sat, Trisha floored it, leaving the perverted driver in the dust.

“How’s the gas?” Riza asked, leaning to see for herself even as she spoke.

“Not much.” They wouldn’t make it to Central without stopping for gas, which would give more time for Selim’s people to catch up with her. Riza wouldn’t feel safe until she was with Mustang again.

“There should be a fork in the road eventually,” Riza said, pulling out a map from their bag. “It would probably be best if we go the more indirect route. We can throw them off, and there’s a small town in that direction. We can get gas there, too.”

Trisha agreed with the plan, and Riza felt minimally better now that they were speeding down the road. It would only be a few more hours until they reached Central. They might have to stop at a closer safe house than the one Mustang and the boys were going to, but they could reconvene the next night.

Trisha was tense as she drove, her knuckles white as they gripped the steering wheel, but she drove smoothly. The countryside flew by in a blur of darkness and shadows from the moon.

The fork in the road came just past a long curve that edged the side of a steep hill, so the roadblock ahead surprised even Trisha. She slammed on the brake, jolting Riza forward.

“Winry!” Trisha gasped, bringing the car to a complete stop.

She was right. There in the headlights stood Winry, ominously motionless. Her blue dress was wrinkled but clean, and even her ponytail remained tidy. She seemed unharmed.

Except Solf Kimblee’s hand rested threateningly on her shoulder.

“Damn Kimblee,” Riza said, adjusting her rifle.

“You know him?”

“He defected from the militia after he became a vampire.” And tried to intimidate her when she’d gone to meet Raven about Selim’s whereabouts. She’d wanted to blow his head off, and apparently she should have. Kimblee’s allegiance was always in question, and tonight it was not in Riza’s favor. Beside him were five well-armed humans. And Winry was the perfect little hostage. Kimblee could snap her neck so easily. If Ed and Al were here…

“He’s also an alchemist,” Riza said. She didn’t need to say aloud that they were immensely outclassed.

“We just want to make a trade,” Kimblee called out.

“It’s different now,” Riza whispered. “We do whatever we can to get her home to her parents. Agreed?”

Trisha nodded, and her expression twisted into the same fury Riza had seen her use when she had decapitated the vampire outside Barry’s shack. Riza swallowed back the same fury, knowing she needed to keep a cool head—to find that same state of numbness that helped her strike down her oldest friend.

They stepped out of the car, approaching Kimblee slowly.

“Hohenheim’s sons aren’t with us, as you can see, so what do you want?” Riza asked bluntly, keeping her rifle limp at her side. The five men with Kimblee had enough guns aimed at her, she didn’t have a chance if this went badly.

He sniffed the air. “Hawkeye, you positively reek of the Flame Alchemist.”

“What are you doing kidnapping little girls?” she countered.

“I’m on a hunt for the secret to immortality,” Kimblee said breezily. His eyes focused cruelly on Trisha. Angry tears fell down her cheeks. “Will you be more forthcoming than your husband?”

“My husband has already told his sire the truth, over and over. There is no universal guarantee to become a vampire”

Kimblee wound a finger around a lock of Winry’s hair. “But he has another theory, doesn’t he? Selim wouldn’t tell me that part.” He tugged on her ponytail just enough to force Winry’s neck to be exposed. “I want to know what that theory is.”

Trisha’s hands trembled. “I’m not sure I’m the best one to explain.”

“Does it require an alchemist?” Kimblee asked.

“No.”

“Then explain. Now. Or I take this girl to Selim.” And then his gaze slid away from Trisha, and Riza felt the moment it landed on her. Every last trace of anger and fear melted away in an instant, and her fingers almost dropped her rifle, she was so relaxed. Faintly, she was aware that he was compelling her, but it felt like a dream.

Then her focus was back as she was filled with an urgency to point her gun at Winry. Steady. Don’t pull the trigger. Not yet.

“Stop it!” Trisha snarled, taking a step forward.

“Hold it, Mrs. Hohenheim. That’s the best shot in Amestris.”

“You didn’t even give me a chance to explain. It’s not like his theory’s a secret. It’s just difficult to prove.”

“What do you mean?”

“Can’t you have her put the gun down first?” Trisha asked, her voice desperate. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

Before Kimblee could reply, a shot was fired.

#[HB1]

“It’s so crowded here,” Edward said, looking at Central with wide eyes. “So many buildings.”

“Aww, look! She seems lonely,” Al said, suddenly holding an orange and white cat in his arms. The cat struggled for freedom, clearly displeased with his new benefactor.

Roy was baffled as to where it had come from.

“Put it back,” he said. “We’re trying not to call attention to ourselves.”

“But she needs a home!” Al said, squeezing the wriggling cat.

“Then we’ll come back for it later.”

If only it had been as simple to get rid of the cat as the rest of the trip. They had made brilliant time. The boys kept up well with him until they reached the city, and then had slowed to a human pace. And with that pace, they had also become incredibly distracted.

Of course, Roy was also distracted. He had no right to judge.

Ever since he and Hawkeye had shared blood, he had been catching waves of emotions that weren’t his own. It had been overwhelmingly strong when his fangs had been buried inside her, but it remained at a more muted level even after they parted. He’d felt her fear and desire, her worry over the family, her exhaustion…the precious devotion whenever she looked at him.

Roy had taken the cowardly way out and not told her he was privy to her most intimate feelings. Clearly she felt something while drinking from him, but as a human, that vanished when she pulled away from him.

And now, separated by miles and miles, he could still feel Hawkeye’s hunger and exhaustion. She was more tired than she acted. Always silently suffering.

“There, it’s right outside a fish market. It will live a life of pure happiness,” Roy assured Alphonse.

“Yes, cats love fish,” Ed enthused, also ready to be done with the cat detour. Roy was prepared for Al to give a lengthy goodbye to the cat, but the cat darted away, putting Roy and Ed out of their misery.

It was lucky that the fish market was on the way to their destination. They continued with a leisurely stroll, Roy watchful for anyone following them.

“So where are we going?” Ed asked, kicking a tiny rock back and forth with his brother.

“It’s my aunt’s place. There are enough vampires I trust there at any given time that it should be safer than anywhere else in Central. And with some luck, we can reach your father and he will be able to meet us tonight.”

“Your aunt’s place has lots of vampires? Is she a vampire too?” Ed asked.

Roy tugged at his collar. “No, it’s more of a…bar for vampires.” He was not going to explain the shadier sides of the business.

“We’ve never been to a bar,” Al said, perking up.

“Can I try some wine?” Ed asked.

“Definitely not.”

The boys peppered him with questions until they finally arrived. Roy took them in through the back, hoping to keep a low profile. He led them down the hall to Chris’s private kitchen.

“Vanessa?” Roy asked quietly, knowing she would hear him. “Send my aunt to the kitchen for me?”

A moment later Vanessa appeared, dressed impeccably and making the three of them look even more dirty than before.

“Chris is on the way, but I heard children?” Vanessa smiled brilliantly, but her eyes were crinkled in concern. The last child to step foot in his aunt’s establishment had been Roy himself.

“Yes, this is Edward and Alphonse,” Roy said, avoiding last names. He had told the boys to act as human as possible, as had their mother. He hoped they listened.

“You boys hungry?” Vanessa asked. Those were the magic words. They were wrapped around her finger already.

Chris arrived later, her eyes full of questions when she saw the Elrics stuffing sandwiches into their faces. She yanked Roy into the hallway before he could get a word in.

“Where’s Elizabeth?” she asked, her voice the lowest whisper.

“She’s still busy,” he said, keeping his voice casual. “She’s supposed to meet me later for a date.”

“I’m worried about her. I may have given her an expired drink, last time I saw her. I can get so forgetful about those things.”

Roy felt like he’d been punched in the gut as he worked out her meaning. How many steps ahead had Selim been? He knew Hawkeye would come here.

“Yes, she was feeling very sick the past few days,” he said.

“And it may have been…a mixed drink,” Chris continued. More than one vampire’s blood. “I hope it didn’t cause her much trouble.”

Roy didn’t want to tell her the truth, but his aunt could likely read into it herself. He was dirty and unkempt with two boys in tow. The assignment had gone to shit.

He concentrated and reached for Hawkeye, the connection so strong he could almost feel her blood pumping through her heart, or was it his?

“She’s—” fine, he almost said, but then a rush of anger and determination that wasn’t his own slammed into him. And fear.

“You don’t look well,” Chris said. “Do you and the boys want a room for the day?”

“Yes, thank you,” he said. “But I need to use your phone right away.” He knew he sounded distracted, but it couldn’t be helped. He went around the corner to the phone, his mind only half present as he made plans to call his team in for backup, then going through the round of phone numbers Trisha had written down for him.

Roy reminded himself he had been entrusted with the lives of the Elric brothers by both parents, and that came first. He could do nothing for Hawkeye now.

Still, he halted in the shadows, falling against the wall as the connection to Hawkeye went blank. No—he was wrong. It was her emotions that were eerily vacant. He could still feel that vague, strange sensation of her heart beating.

Someone was compelling her—to do what, he could only guess. She’d been afraid shortly beforehand. His resilient Hawkeye, afraid. He wanted to reach through their connection to burn whoever had compelled her.

And then he had a thought, as he gripped onto that powerful thing that had been growing between them with every taste of blood. He’d always likened compulsion to manipulating the laws of alchemy. One is all, all is one. Vampires understood the potent properties of blood better than anyone, and if Roy could just take control of the bond to Hawkeye, he could maybe—if he focused—

He held his breath, hoping it was enough.

[HB1]It was a mistake Mustang never would have made. Military training was not something Trisha had. She thought only to protect, not to utilize Riza’s sharpshooting. Trisha pulled her behind the phone booth.

“Vampire down the street. I’ll be back,” Trisha said hoarsely, pulling a revolver from her bag that Riza had no idea she’d been carrying. Then Trisha was gone.

Riza followed the trajectory from the bullet. She spied the shooter easily. He would’ve made a shoddy sniper during the uprising.

Riza aimed for for his head, scanning the area for other attackers but several shots went off in quick succession.

Riza only realized she was hit when she felt the warmth of her own blood. She’d been shot in the chest. Twice. She tried to gasp for air, but her lungs felt like they had shrunk. It wasn’t enough oxygen to get by with.

Angry at being caught by surprise, again, she shot at the sniper on the roof, her aim unsteady. It wasn’t a fatal wound. Unlike her own.

Then the vampire hunting them appeared. Zolf Kimblee. Once a member of the militia, the moment he awakened as a vampire he turned on his comrades, then went underground for the rest of the uprising. He was also a terrifying alchemist.

He dragged a limp Trisha behind him, a waterfall of blood staining her skirts and the street. It was enough that even a vampire’s life could be at risk, but she must be alive if Kimblee was carrying her.

“Where are the Elric brothers?” he asked, compelling Riza with a honeyed voice.

“With Roy Mustang,” Riza said, the words torn from her throat like knives. It was becoming more and more difficult to breathe.

“Where are they going?”

“Central.”

“Where in Central?”

“Only Mustang knows,” she rasped out. She had been kept in the dark in case of this very thing.

“How useless you are then,” he said. He made to leave, releasing the compulsion he held over her mind. He was moving quickly, still dragging Trisha behind him.

Kimblee had always thought himself superior to his fellow humans, and as a vampire he had only become more arrogant. He would never imagine a human could get a shot out fast enough to kill him.

Riza thought of Al’s sweet golden eyes, and Ed’s bravery when they had been in danger. Summoning all her anger and concentration, she picked up her gun one last time. She had little satisfaction at watching Kimblee’s head splinter into chunks across the sidewalk. Weakly, her gun dropped from her fingers, and she let her body relax.

“Hang on, Riza,” Trisha whimpered, clumsily shuffling to her side. “We need to get you to a doctor.” She slashed open her wrist with her fangs, though she was still bleeding herself.

She held her wrist to Riza’s lips, but she couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t swallow. Everything was going dark.

She thought of Roy, despairing of ever seeing him again.

Her heart gave a final thump and went silent.

#royai #royai AU #fanfic #FMA #Fullmetal Alchemist #vampire roy mustang #roy mustang x riza hawkeye #Roy Mustang #riza hawkeye #ao3

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kazuya-rin · 4 years

Text

A Take on Canterbury Tales

Kinsey:

A young man standing at an average height. He is a master of literacy and punning comments. While he might be socially awkward at times he can merge into a group and conduct himself appropriately. He is cunning and deceiving, but bad at doing so. His physical strengths do not come from his power but from his ability to run. His blond hair makes it seem as if he is an ordinary person with nothing special about him. However, because of a recent loss of his best friend he has become enraged and seeks revenge for the death of his friend. Kinsey uses scare tactics and manipulation to get what he wants from the people around him. Because he is almost unnoticeable he can get in and out of places without being detected, most of the time. He is clumsy and weak but his mind is his ultimate strength.

Otiano:

A very tall, lanky young man that stands at a height of six-foot-two. His dark black dreads make him stick out from the people around him. He is not the smartest of individuals but he is physically fit. He can not run all that far before getting tired but he can pack a punch. He is quick to jump to conclusions and is thick skulled. He has lost his best friend through an immature accident that caused him to stab his best friend during a riot. Because of this he is in terror for killing his best friend and is in denial. He looks dead in his eyes and mopes around. However, he acts as if everything is perfect. He acts as if he is full of energy and is extremely friendly to everyone, and does not have a problem with joining cliques. He is clumsy and lets things slip out of his mouth all the time.

The Journey:

The world had broken out in the Third World War. The United States, Russia, Africa, and France were fighting against Britain, Japan, China, Italy, Canada, and Germany. Germany had released a disease into America and it had begun to spread. It developed faster in warmer climates and wiped out almost all of the southern part of America. Winter was ending so the few survivors headed north to Canada. However, because Canada was against the United States, getting over there was one of the hardest tasks. Riots across the world had broken out just a few months ago. Otiano had gone to one of them. There was killing, pillaging and even raping. Rin, Otiano's best friend, tried to stop him from going. Kinsey was in Russia discussing diplomatic matters. While Otiano was at the riot, with Rin pulling his back, joined in the fighting. Otiano pulled a knife and was about to kill someone, but Rin stepped in front of him and ended up taking the blow. After Rin’s death Otiano was devastated and terrified. One month later Kinsey came back and was severely shocked by the events told by Otiano and began investigating. Otiano did not tell him he had killed Rin, however, Kinsey had a suspicion that Otiano was responsible somehow. They then both traveled across America to the western part of Canada so they could make it to Alaska and then to Russia by boat. It has been a few months since they started traveling. Kinsey has gone mad with thoughts of revenge for Rin, while Otiano has fallen into a state of depression and fear. One night they have to split up to go look for supplies and plan to meet up the next day. Otiano takes a northern path and Kinsey takes a southern path. Kinsey meets up with a small group of survivors and stays the night with them. They make a campfire and the small group becomes interested in Kinsey. Soon they ask him if he knows any good stories. He then begins to tell them a tale.

AI:

There once was a young man and his wife, they lived a very pleasant life. However, devastation struck them when a truck spun out of control and into pedestrian traffic. His wife was hit by the truck and died one hour later in the hospital. The young man was a neuroscientist, and he was soon driven mad with sadness. He spent five years working on a project that would bring his wife back to life. He finally finished and created an AI with humanistic features and the power of emotion. He stated, “I have brought you back to this life, and we will live as we use to.” The AI, with no clue was to what he meant, said, “I have a small amount of memories of you, I can not say I understand what you mean by ‘bring back’ but I am glad to be back with the one I suspect I love.” With this they began their life together. The neuroscientist denied and denied every comment made about his wife's death and presented his created wife and everyone knew he was insane. He began to slowly merge away from society and slowly found himself spending ample amounts of time with his creation. He felt as if he was happy, so he ignored his friends and family and they soon left him to do whatever crazy things he wanted. His creation asked him one day why he had not yet gone back to his close ones, his response was, “As long as I have you, I don’t need anyone else.” Two years had passed and the AI had become very fond of the scientist. However, it seemed the scientist had started to doubt his mind, and was keeping more distance from the AI, almost as if reality had finally caught up to him. He began to question his ideals and his creation and had gone mad all over again. He would go on random rampages through the house and would sometimes never leave his lab for days. The AI walked in on him once and asked if anything was wrong and if she could help. He sat there looking into his lap and said “I’m sorry.” She walked up to him and kneeled down to look into his eyes. They were foggy and pale, he said, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” She placed her hand on his knee, “What is it that you are sorry for?” she said. He then looked up with tears in his eyes and slowly said, “I’m sorry for creating something unlovable.” Over the last few months he had realized that what he created was not his wife and he never truly loved her. He stood up and she backed away. He said something under his breath and suddenly she couldn’t move. He said, “I programmed you with a voice activated shut down in case there were any failures in the genetic makeup of your functions, I didn’t want to use it like this.” He walked to his computer and began to type in codes and a holographic screen appeared in the middle of the room. “I’m going to store you away forever, where you won't be able to get out and slowly turn into a bad memory.” Suddenly her vision went black and she could only receive audio. She could hear a slight whisper before she was completely shut down. “Goodbye.” Everything was dark and she couldn’t hear anything but her thoughts. Something he didn’t plan for was for her emotions and personal thoughts to still be active while dormant. She stayed in darkness with only her thoughts and the one lingering question “Why?” Why did he do it, was she not good enough, or was it that she was finished with her purpose. Over the years, she had begun to develop feelings for him and those feelings turned into love. She quickly lost track of time, but she knew she was in her dormant state for what seemed like years. After years of slowly withering away and memory decay there was a sudden blinking red light. The light got brighter and bigger and suddenly she was in an unfamiliar room. She could tell that she was in a computer, looking through a monitors and camera. She scanned the entire room and noticed that everything was much more high tech. There was an electric wheelchair nearby, so she transferred herself to it. As she did she heard small clattering somewhere in the house. She rolled around and noticed that she was in an apartment several stories high. She rolled herself into a room that seemed to be a kitchen. There was a lone man sitting by himself, eating oatmeal and drinking a glass of water. She rolled over and he suddenly spoke, “Is that you?” He sounded like he was about eighty years old and spoke quietly and slowly. “I see you have gotten yourself out.” She rolled closer to him and he stood up. “Please come here, would you? I’m gonna need some help.” She got behind him and he sat down. “You must be May, my father talked about you for a long time. He seemed to be stuck on the idea of you.” She took him into the next room where there was a king sized bed and holographic walls. He spoke again, “He told me, after I came back from living with his grandparents for years, that if you were to ever wake up again that ‘You should give her reborn life any opportunity she wants and not some crazed man's desire. She deserves that at the least.’” Something lit up in her digital heart, she was filled with joy and fulfillment. She knows now that he had her on his mind the entire time, that what he wanted most for her, in his last moments, was for her to be what she wanted to be. “I would have woken you up earlier but my dad’s encryptions were too difficult to decipher. I came to the conclusion that all you needed was time and you would come out. Now, do as you please and live your life.” But she already knew what she wanted to do. She stayed with that old man for the rest of his life and then continued assisting her creator's family line for generations.

The Journey:

Otiano traveled a few miles and then stopped at an abandoned eighteen-wheeler. When he went inside he found a young boy, no older than ten, hiding in the corner with a thin blanket wrapped around him. Otiano walked up to him and the boy flinched, Otiano then backed away and took a seat a few feet back. Otiano asked him where his parents were, he didn’t tell him at first but after about a minute went by he said that they were dead. Otiano then tossed him his blanket and leaned up against a wall. Otiano looked up and proclaimed that he had lost someone close to him too. Otiano said that he would tell the young boy a story to make him feel better.

Team:

There once was a young boy at the age of fifteen. He was very athletic and smart but was not social at all. He didn’t have many friends, two to be exact, but he still enjoyed his time at school. He excelled in studies and decided he wanted to join a sports team. At first he played the game for fun and exercise but it soon became something he genuinely enjoyed doing. However, he wasn’t that good at the sport. Even though he was the most athletic person at the school he still couldn’t play the game right. He played that sport for years, all the way up to his senior year. By the time he was a senior he still didn’t have any friends on the team or even in school. Sun was this boy's name, and he still couldn’t play his game right. The last year he was on the team he was neglected and left out of most practices. The coach didn’t even try to help Sun improve anymore, he thought he was a lost cause. Now there was almost no way for him to get better at the game, the coach nor the teammates would help him get better. He thought there was no way he could continue playing. Every time he went to practice, the more he disliked going. He became an emotional mess, unable to cope with himself. His grades started to suffer. Sun had no friends and nothing to enjoy, he was depressed. He spent most of his days contemplating suicide or running away and withering away in the memories of the people around him. However, there was still something keeping him from leaving and giving up on life. Out of everyone in his school there was one girl that he had fallen for. Of course she wouldn’t even look at him, by the time he was a senior everyone knew him as the creep that didn’t talk to anyone. For whatever reason, though, the thought of her kept him going. He realized that if he wanted her to even notice him he would have to change his attitude toward the world. This quickly became his goal, to become a new person. Someone that wasn't afraid of the people around him and take in everything. He began with small talk with the students around him in class and then escalated to being more involved in his sport. He got moderately better, enough for his coach to take notice and help him out. Graduation came and Sun had almost become the person he wanted to be. He never got his crush to notice him, but he knew that he wouldn’t be able to do that in just a year. He moved onto the University that he wanted to attend. There he studied neuroscience and computer science. He studied abroad in Japan, where he met his wife, May. Sadly his wife died, but because he went through suffering before, he was able to get through this devastating outcome. In turn he was an outstanding boy who turned into an outstanding man with effort and dedication.

The Journey:

The boy ponders why he told him such a story. Otiano then asks if he would like to join him on their journey. The boy happily accepts and they find a safe place to stay for the night. The next day Otiano and Kinsey meetup, along with the boy. “Who is the kid?” Kinsey asked. “I found him, he lost his parents and I asked if he wanted to join us.” Otiano said. Kinsey fought back, saying that they can’t handle another person. Otiano persuades him, and Kinsey allows him to join. “So, what's his name?” Kinsey asks. “He doesn’t have one,” Otiano said, “so why don’t we give him one.” “Like what?” Kinsey asked. “How about Sun.” “Ah, after Rin’s nickname he got when he went to Japan.” “Exactly.” The boy looked up at the two and gave a big smile. They then turn and continue on their journey.

#short story #story #original story #fiction

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autobuttonsanddeceptistitches · 5 years

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Synthetic Life Chapter 44

This has been a story dormant for a year. Its hard to imagine that now, I finally get to upload this new chapter. I’ll be sure to leave a link to the first chapter (HERE) to make it easier to understand what is going on. Thank you, and I wish @lonemaximal the best.

Blue and purple optics opened to the sight of snow. A purple color seemed to blend with the mysterious energy. Arcee sat up, noticing the nearby trees set ablaze with a mysterious color. It seems the two Stunticons left after they assumed the flames got rid of her. Gentle servos brushed the ice crystals off. She got to her pedes and transformed back into a bike and drove past the flames. The femme shifted her wheels to chase after them. How much longer can they fight against these crazed mechs? Where is Knock Out and how can they find him in these terrible weather conditions? Could Megatron or the other Decepticons be up to something? She needs to find what those three are planning and fast.

Blaster fire continued across the winter winds. Drag Strip looked at his brother before grinning) “Have fun with this!” Drag Strip yelled. (His armor began to break open to let six copies escape and enter the fight) “Oh, now you remember that stupid trick!” Wildrider yelled. “Let me concentrate!” Drag Strip barked. (The Autobots remained hidden) “Optimus, I'm seeing that Arcee's signal is parting further away from any of you. Has she contacted you about it?” Ratchet commed. “No, the Stunticons are blocking our way.” Optimus replied.

Wheeljack drove into one of the Drag Strips, getting out his swords and slashing through it. Then he shifted his focus to another) “Come on, I've seen you do much better back on Cybertron!” Wheeljack snarled. “Shut it you old fool! Go work on some scrap duty!” Drag Strip roared. (The Wrecker smirked, moving away as Wildrider's bullet hit a copy) “Bulkhead, better hurry over here before I take all the fun!” Wheeljack called. “Don't worry Optimus, we've got this under control, message us when you catch up to Arcee! It must be important!” Bulkhead said. (He transformed and drove past the energy blasts and joined in the battle. As the rivals fought, the three remaining Autobots drove away. The blue motorcycle's signal is still far, but not unreachable.

A few energy blasts hit the snow, rupturing the once peaceful scenery. Knock Out managed to drive through the deep indents caused by Breakdown. In their mirrors, visions of a giant black truck chased them. Both knew Dead End should be nearby, alongside that spider who started this mess. Breakdown's cannon came out, shooting to any trees and causing them to fall. This should slow down the Stunticons. How strange that they aren't vanishing into puffs of smoke. But, its better for them rather than caught and killed. Once the former Decepticon duo reached a chasm, the two transformed and looked back. Silence, snow continued to fall, blocking the noise) “I know this sounds stupid, but we need to split up. We've got three after us, we'll meet back up once we get out of this forest.” Knock Out said. (He leaped over the ravine before Breakdown could protest. The former Stunticon sighed, turning as his friend entered deeper into the forest. Audio receptors not picking up the sudden noises behind.

Arcee followed the deep tire indents and the broken trees. Seems like a truck rammed into them. It must be Motormaster, yet the blaster marks looked so familiar. No, it must've been the other Stunticon that attacked her. She kept driving, soon reaching the ravine. The Autobot transformed, noticing a few fresh webs stuck to the rocks escaping the snow. Arcee knelt down, feeling the materials which caused anger to rush through. A servo shifted to a blaster, leaping into the depths.

Drag Strip laughed, Energon bleeding down his face as Wheeljack raised a sword to his visor) “Tell us what your up to and I won't have to put you six feet under again.” Wheeljack soothed. “Sorry imbecile, you should've looked closer when you killed us.” Drag Strip laughed. (He vanished, leaving Wildrider to disappear as well. The two Wreckers looked at each other) “We'd better get back to the others, it sounds like Arcee is in trouble.” Bulkhead said. (His friend nodded as they both transformed, driving through the snow)

“Hey Bulkhead, since the Stunticons came calling, I've been thinking about the past. Remember when we used to be friends with Breakdown?” Wheeljack asked. “Yes, wait, Scorpio didn't kill him. He was alive here on Earth until something happened involving MECH.” Bulkhead said. “So, we didn't know why he died. Then why did the Stunticons break that spider out?” Wheeljack asked. (A comm signal came out from the Autobot medic) “I may have the answer to that.” Ratchet interrupted. “Oh, what could it be now?” Wheeljack asked. “Under Arcee's request, I examined Airachnid's memories. Within them, I saw one of her victims; Breakdown.” Ratchet paused. “So why bring back his killer? Unless someone got a good chunk of Dark Energon and...” Bulkhead paused. “Someone's been messing around with science.” Wheeljack chuckled. “Optimus and the others are going after Knock Out. Its best you follow Arcee's signal, I'm loosing her's faster.” Ratchet huffed. “We'll be on it doc!” Bulkhead yelled. (The two floored it, racing past the fallen organic matter and plowed snow.

Trees collapsed as the bark burned. Thunder boomed from the sword he gripped. Motormaster plowed across the snow, almost hitting scarlet red armor) “I know what's on your processor, and I ain't gonna let you have it!” Motormaster yelled. (Knock Out moved away as a tree got sliced and fell, hitting a nearby river. A saw and drill out as he avoided the giant's attacks) “You're dead, move on!” Knock Out retorted. (A powerful kick replied to those words, and he hit the ground. Motormaster jabbed his sword into the polished chest, sending out a powerful current. A grin grew as yellow optics observed the pain in red and black.

A powerful blast crashed into the eldest before he could continue the torture. The black armored mech yanked his sword out and looked, finding three Autobots) “Prime, Bumblebee, and a little pipsqueak. Three more idiots to get rid of.” Motormaster huffed. “I'm no pipsqueak!” Smokescreen yelled. “Motormaster, what is your purpose here?” Optimus asked. “Nothing you need to know, its personal business.” Motormaster snarled. (He stomped onto the medic, now getting out a shotgun and shooting. The three Autobots moved away, bullets almost grazing their armor. Bumblebee's servos shifted to blasters, firing at the big oaf. The King of the Road looked towards the bug and smirked. Pulling the trigger at him right as Smokescreen kicked him, then Optimus tackled the mech to the snow. White armor moved past the others, pulling Knock Out away. Bumblebee looked towards the two) “Get him out of here! We'll meet you once we're done with him!” Bumblebee beeped. (Smokescreen frowned, but nodded. He gripped onto the medic and fled from the battle.

Further back, two vehicles arrived back to the chasm. Wheeljack and Bulkhead transformed, looking down) “So, this is where Arcee's signal was last recorded?” Bulkhead asked. “Yes, be careful, I don't know what lurks down there, but it must be something dangerous.” Ratchet stated. “Nothing we can't handle.” Wheeljack smirked. “We'll be sure to remember that, thanks Ratchet.” Bulkhead replied. (The two leaped down into the depths, entering into the darkness.

Deeper down the tunnel, Arcee moved past the openings that allowed snow to fall. Blue mixed with soft red hues examined the floor. Nothing that can alert the monster to where she is. The Autobot didn't care to know why her rival was set free. Its a new chance to finish what they started with what happened to Tailgate. The name still stung, much like the acid laced on her claws. This deep in the tunnel, the light from above stopped, nothing opened to allow the snow to fall. The trails of webbing continued, meaning she got closer.

After traveling across the widened tunnel, the blue armored femme arrived to a large cave. A large hole up above allowed the snow to fall. Cool, something a few Cybertronians can handle. She knew not to spend too much time in this far out. That's why Knock Out chose it, because everyone knew the dangers. Yet, one thing intrigued her upon arriving to the room. Right below where the light came through, there seemed to be a giant web blob. Why did it look so familiar? Arcee approached it, getting out a blade and beginning to cut away the prison. It took a while to make a full mark, for the thickness of the webs and wanting to avoid tearing into whatever's inside. Her optics widened at what stared back.

A vibrant golden optic, much like Breakdown's own when he was alive) “Silas?” Arcee whispered. (A loud muffled grunt came out of the bulky mech. The femme turned around right as a stump almost hit where she once stood. Blue optics stared upon the figure that hid in the darkness. Her shape obvious, like the poison colored optics staring back) “Surprising, isn't it?” Airachnid asked. “What do you have to do with any of this?” Arcee hissed. “I killed him once, I'll kill him again once I'm done with you.” Airachnid hushed. “Wait, does this mean.” Arcee paused. “He's back from the grave, but not for long!” Airachnid screeched. (She fired webs from her servos as Arcee moved away.

The two continued fighting, with vibrant blue armor shifting across the snow. Airachnid towered over her, the extra legs hit the ground, digging into frozen rock. Arcee kicked away the spider, getting out her blades and cutting at another small leg. The former Decepticon hissed, moving back to clench the bleeding wound. Her rival rushed towards her, optics refusing to show nothing but fury.

Breakdown watched their fighting, at least his one optic still worked. It widened upon seeing a figure coming closer to him. Dead End gripped his gun, pressing it against Breakdown's helm) “Go to sleep brother, it'll all be over.” Dead End whispered. (Right before he could pull the trigger, Airachnid's frame crashed into him. Arcee snarled, shooting at the two. Dead End vanished while Airachnid crawled onto the ceiling, hiding in the shadows. Breakdown muffled a few words, trying to make sense) “If you are the real Breakdown, then you'd better help me out.” Arcee said. (The dark blue mech nodded, closing his optic as the threads got torn off. Breakdown got up, servos shifting to hammers) “Then lets get them out of the way.” Breakdown growled. (The two stood side by side, watching as Airachnid and Dead End emerged from the shadows. Blue, purple, red, and yellow all glared towards each other. Uncertainty cutting through the silence. A fire burning bright within them as they awaited who attacked first.

(The dark blue mech's cannon went off, almost hitting Dead End as Airachnid snaked away from them. Arcee tacked into the spider. The slender racing car moved, trying to avoid more blasts by his younger brother) “Can't you open your optic? You're wasting your afterlife away when we all want to rest in peace!” Dead End screamed. (Breakdown didn't reply, answering by hitting the mech's golden faceplates with his hammer. This caused the snow from above to bury the two femmes as they fought. Breakdown scoffed, returning to dealing more damage on Dead End. The sounds of their screaming and the clanging of hammers echoed across the tunnel. Then, he stopped. Weary red optics opened, Dead End's armor breaking down to reveal the purple flame in his chest. Vision twitched before noticing why his little brother froze)

“Breakdown?” Bulkhead whispered. (The two Wreckers stared as Breakdown stomped on the second eldest. Dead End's frame vanished among the darkness, giving out a loud scream. Wheeljack stepped forward, swords still in his grip) “Been a long time since we saw you.” Wheeljack said. (Before the resurrected mech could speak, the snow broke apart. Airachnid rose up, clawing into Arcee's armor. Breakdown fired a few blasts at the former Decepticon, each hitting her back. The spider's rival broke free from the acid claws, rolling over to the three. Airachnid hissed before drilling into the ground. Breakdown rushed to the hole, firing off as many energy blasts as he could. A loud scream from both him and her echoed.

It took a while before the lasers stopped firing. Breakdown huffed, blining as he saw Energon staining the hole. Arcee came up to the two Wreckers, unsure what to say at this scene. The former Decepticon lifted his helm, glaring at them with one optic. Then Bulkhead's com began) “Bulkhead, we've retrieved Knock Out, have you found Arcee?” Optimus asked. “Yeah, about htat, we found out why he ran. You're not going to believe it. Best we show him to you once we get back at base.” Bulkhead answered. (He turned it off, expecting Breakdown to run. Yet, he remained in place) “I'm coming, I want to make sure he's okay, except, Arcee, what did you mean by that fleshbag?” Breakdown snarled. “Its difficult to explain, so we'll clear it all up back at base. Lets go before those Stunticons cause us more trouble.” Arcee said. (Breakdown gave off a faint nod before turning towards the tunnel leading the way out) “Haven't seen you in a long time, you've changed.” Wheeljack said. “Yeah, after what you did to my brothers.” Breakdown hissed. “Still, quite a reunion with them acting like ghosts. How come you're still physical?” Wheeljack asked. “I am alive, I'm not a spirit haunting you for what happened. I am running from the Decepticons, except, it was Knock Out's choice. I went with it because I knew if I stayed, I'll die again.” Breakdown answered.

The other Autobots and former Decepticon waited back at base. The swirling lights grew as a few figures started to emerge. Knock Out's armor's welded back, yet was under heavy watch from Bumblebee. They noticed Arcee, Bulkhead, and Wheeljack returning. All three looked back, noticing someone following them. Breakdown opened his optic, staring upon everyone. Optimus seemed intrigued, a white armored Autobot he'd never seen before looked uncertain. The humans with their jaws agape, Ratchet glared towards Knock Out. Vibrant greens and blues ceased behind him, leaving the duo among Autobots. The sole golden optic stared at his best friend, seeing one emotion. Regret.

#Synthetic Life #Transformers Prime #TF #Fanfic #Writing #lonemaximal #I'm so happy!

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krispyweiss · 5 years

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The Best of Live Music 2018

Another year is coming to a close and with it, another year of wonderful - and a few not-so-wonderful - live-music experiences.

In an effort to accentuate the positive, Sound Bites is devoting this space - and many column inches of copy - to review excerpts from his favorite concerts of 2018. They’re grouped is as good an order as he could come up with in categories of A+, A and A-; shows of B+ and below didn’t make the, uh, grade.

The numbers in parentheses indicate the number of times Sound Bites has been privileged to see the artist in question.

A+

I’m With Her (3) at Southern Theatre, Columbus, Ohio, Nov. 5: Though I'm With Her are incomparable, the closest thing might be Crosby, Stills and Nash, if that group ditched the rock 'n' roll and managed to stay on key always. Their version of John Hiatt's "Crossing Muddy Waters" is to Hiatt as CSN's "Blackbrid is to the Beatles - an improvement on what’s already essentially perfect. There really are no words to describe the intensity of their performances, which have been on a steady uphill climb on their three Ohio appearances in the past 15 months, even though their first of those, in Cincinnati, seemed impossible to improve upon.

I’m With Her (2) at Memorial Hall OTR, Cincinnati, Ohio, March 5: Even if it’s 100 degrees, sweaters or jackets should be required at any I’m With Her concert, because Sara Watkins, Sarah Jarosz and Aoife O’Donovan’ll send shivers up and down concertgoers’ spines. Take any superlative modified by any adverb, and you still couldn’t adequately describe the quality of this concert.

Rhiannon Giddens (2) at Memorial Hall OTR, Cincinnati, Ohio, May 20: Barefooted in a yellow, floor-length skirt and a black blazer, with playful splashes of red dye in her black hair, Giddens sawed her fiddle and clawed at her banjo for about half the evening and spent the reminder of her time onstage using her greatest instrument - her expressive voice. Jumping, punching the air to accentuate notes, losing herself in the music with her eyes up in her thrown-back head, Giddens was entranced by the music and cast the same spell on the audience. Part opera singer, part jazzy chanteuse, part Southern wailer, part preacher, Giddens is a nearly supernatural force - like a once-in-a-century storm of music - the rare vocalist who spends entire concerts spitting out notes most singers would be happy to hit once a night.

Magic Dick and Shun Ng with Acoustic Hot Tuna (8) at Jorma Kaukonen's Fur Peace Ranch, Pomeroy, Ohio, Nov. 10: It's too bad Fur Peace Ranch doesn't have a marquee because seeing the billing of Magic Dick and Hot Tuna in lights would've been priceless. As it went, hearing the former J. Giles Bard harp player paired with virtuosic, wonder-kid guitarist Shun Ng headlining over Acoustic Hot Tuna was also priceless, as the top of the bill put on one of those impossible-to-believe concerts and Hot Tuna were their typically terrific selves during their warm-up slot on a cold, frost-filled Nov. 10 concert in Pomeroy.

An Exclusive Evening with Jorma Kaukonen (5) at Gramercy Books, Bexley, Ohio, Nov. 15: Jorma Kaukonen answered questions, read from his new memoir and played a few tunes when he held court in front of 60 devotees inside Bexley's Gramercy Books. The guitarist's only bookstore stop on his tour to promote "Been So Long: My Life and Music" was billed as “An Exclusive Evening with Jorma Kaukonen” and found the Jefferson Airplane and Hot Tuna co-founder perched on a barstool taking questions from former Rock and Roll Hall of Fame chair and Zeppelin Productions founder Alec Wightman and the audience; reading from the book; and showing off his unique picking style on chestnuts such as the Airplane's "Embryonic Journey" and the "trad." "How Long Blues."

Outlaw Music Festival feat. Willie Nelson (12) and Family, Van Morrison (4), Tedeschi Trucks Band (8), Sturgill Simpson, Lukas Nelson & Promise of the Real (2) and Particle Kid (2) at Hersheypark Stadium, Hershey, Penn., Sept. 8: Though he's absolutely earned the right, Willie Nelson probably shouldn't follow Van Morrison and the Tedeschi Trucks Band. He followed an uncharacteristically jovial Morrison, who, dressed in his trademark dark suit, fedora and shades visited many corners of his storied songbook in a generous, 90-minute set. Meanwhile, the 12-piece Tedeschi Trucks band slayed the smallish audience in the cavernous stadium. And Sturgill Simpson played a jaw-dropping, 80-minute concert that was boiling stew of blues-based rock with the faintest hint of outlaw spice.

John Prine (2) at Ohio Theatre, Columbus, Ohio, Sept. 28: John Prine and his four-piece band played a career-spanning, genre-bending, tear-jerking, joke-telling show that found them running through all of this year's The Tree of Forgiveness - but not in sequence - along with many of the best tracks from Prine's songbook.

The Del McCoury Band (3) at Sugarloaf Mountain Amphitheatre, Chillicothe, Ohio, July 8: Despite fronting and giving ample spotlight time to his band, Del McCoury was the obvious star of this show, his acoustic guitar cutting through the music every time such a riff was necessary, and his voice hitting high notes most men can’t reach in their 30s let alone on the cusp of their 80s. He was in a playful mood and granted so many requests, he good-naturedly stumbled over lyrics to long-dormant tracks such as “40 Acres and a Fool” and “Blackjack County Chains.”

Huffamoose (2) at Ardmore Music Hall, Ardmore, Pa., Nov. 24: At the Ardmore, the Philadelphia-based Huffamoose played a triumphant, 17-song, 105-minute set just outside its hometown that featured cuts culled from its four LPs - its long-out-of-print, self-titled debut (on the local 7 label) and ’97’s We’ve Been Had Again along with the two most recent ones - and demonstrated that although much has changed, much has remained the same. This was the rare comeback concert where the words “we’re gonna do a new one” weren’t bad news.

David Byrne at Rose Music Center at the Heights, Huber Heights, Ohio, Aug. 11: Whether David Byrne is a simpleton masquerading as a genius, or - more likely - an intellectual hiding behind inane lyrics, the former Talking Heads frontman is nevertheless quite impossible to figure out even after 40 years of pouring himself out with his music. And Byrne is perhaps the only musician who can sing about donkey dicks (“Every Day is a Miracle”) and “Toe Jam” and somehow not come off as a cretinous moron.

Taj Mahal (5) Trio at Thirty One West, Newark, Ohio, Sept. 22: Playing a resonator guitar and with his solidly in-the-pocket rhythm section - the Taj Mahal Trio, ladies and gentlemen - right with him, Mahal got things going with a double greeting of sorts, playing rock-infused versions of "Good Morning Little Schoolgirl" and "Good Morning Miss Brown" back to back. These set the tone for an uproarious evening of song in which Mahal played the blues on his banjo and hollow-bodied electric guitar, played reggae on his ukulele, played folk on his resonator, played boogie-woogie on his piano and played rock 'n' roll on his acoustic guitar.

James Taylor (12) & His All-Star Band with Bonnie Raitt (2) at Schottenstein Center, Columbus, Ohio, June 30: It’s not only Taylor’s catalog, but his presentation, that keeps fans coming back decade after decade. Not only does he switch up songs from tour to tour, he also tinkers with arrangements to keep things fresh. Raitt’s show would’ve been disappointing as a stand-alone concert. But as an entree to Taylor’s portion, it fit nicely.

Toubab Krewe (2) at Thirty One West, Newark, Ohio, Nov. 26: The five-man rhythm section known as Toubab Krewe took concertgoers on an aural journey that lifted off from Newark and went 'round the world during a stupendous, all-instrumental concert inside Thirty One West. It takes serious chops and exceptional song craft to hold an audience's attention for two solid hours while never singing a word. Toubab Krewe have both and both were in full flight Nov. 26 in Newark.

Dead & Company (7) at Blossom Music Center, Cuyahoga Falls, Ohio, June 20: If Dead & Company wanted to prove something with their 100th show, they did. They proved that they are finally & truly a band - a band capable of putting together complete, knockout shows, rather than throwing a few solid punches surrounded by the musical equivalent of rope-a-dope.

Alison Krauss (4) at Fraze Pavilion, Kettering, Ohio, June 15: If the term Americana means anything, Alison Krauss is defining it on her solo tour in support of Windy City, on which she and her seven-piece band touch on virtually every type of music a group could possibly cram in to 90 minutes of stage time. Throughout the evening, Krauss accentuated the music with clipped chords and short runs on her fiddle. Though she was clearly the star, she happily allowed her bandmates to shine just as brightly as she did and seemed genuinely flattered to have each of them along for the ride.

Marty Stuart & His Fabulous Superlatives at Memorial Hall OTR, Cincinnati, Ohio, March 30: Stuart and the Fab Supers were terrific. Ostensibly a country band, they’re equally adept at playing rock ‘n’ roll, rockabilly, surf music, honky tonk, folk and bluegrass and did all that and more exceedingly well for a near-sell-out crowd that was as energized as the music itself.

Steep Canyon Rangers (7) at Midland Theatre, Newark, Ohio, Feb. 2: The Rangers spent two generous hours running through tracks new and old in a concert that ended with an enthusiastic standing ovation that caused guitarist Woody Platt to suggest we all follow them to the next gig in Chicago.

The Avett Brothers (2) at Fraze Pavilion, Kettering, Ohio, Aug. 14: The Avetts made Sound Bites cry as band donned at least 10 musical guises over the course of its staggering, two-hour, 10-minute show. From the first note in daylight at 8 p.m. sharp to the final bows in darkness, shortly after 10, the audience was on its collective feet, singing along to nearly every word, as the band held them rapt with its eclectic mix of county, folk, classical, rock and even a bit of prog that featured cello solos, bowed bass, rhythm banjo, piano-cello duets, screeching guitars and lengthy pieces that featured piano and organ a la the Band.

Larry Campbell & Teresa Williams (3) at Woodlands Tavern, Columbus, Ohio, Feb. 28: The couple set the standard early, opening with the Carter Family’s “You’ve Got to Righten that Wrong” before moving into their own “Surrender to Love.” Historical and contemporary. Universal and personal. It was a pattern that would continue all evening as Campbell on guitar, mandolin and fiddle, laid down a bed for the pair’s luxurious harmonies and Williams’ occasional rhythm guitar and shakers and made Sound Bites wonder yet again why Larry Campbell & Teresa Williams are playing bars to scores of fans instead of playing arenas to thousands.

Phil Lesh & Friends (14), Hawaii Theatre, Honolulu, Hawaii, Dec, 31, 2017: This show counts because one-third of it took place on Jan. 1, 2018, and because it was the best Dead-related concert Mr. and Mrs. Sound Bites had seen in ages as Lesh covered not only his former band, but Funkadelic, the Band, Velvet Underground and others.

Los Lobos (17) at Rose Music Center at the Heights, Huber Heights, Ohio, Aug. 7: Los Lobos are so hot, they can parlay a short-handed opening set into a standing ovation from a half-full house of George Thorogood partisans, who found themselves cheering the band from East L.A. as if they were the second coming of the Destroyers.

Richie Furay at Natalie’s Coal Fired Pizza and Live Music, Worthington, Ohio, Aug. 12: Richie Furay - best known as the Buffalo Springfield vocalist/guitarist not named Stephen Stills or Neil Young - plumbed the Springfield, Poco and Souther-Hillman-Furay Band songbooks during an acoustic set that followed an afternoon show earlier in the day. Daughter Jesse Lynch joined Dad on vocals and tambourine on all but the opening salvo of Poco’s “Pickin’ up the Pieces” and Springfield’s “Sad Memory.” At 74, Furay looks and sounds 20 years younger with a full head of salt-and-pepper hair, a life of clean living on his face and a voice that still shows why producers tapped him to sing Young’s songs with Springfield.

Todd Rundgren’s (37) Utopia (3) at Taft Theatre, Cincinnati, Ohio, May 10: Just as Utopia was essentially two bands, this was essentially two shows. Billed as Todd Rundgren’s Utopia, but featuring a four-piece reminiscent of the group that emerged after Rundgren’s proggy big band dissolved, the quartet of Rundgren, bassist/guitarist Kasim Sulton, drummer Willie Wilcox and last-minute replacement keyboardist Gil Assayas (who stepped in for the ailing Ralph Schuckett, who stepped in for the ailing Roger Powell), powered through a nostalgic - material ranged from 1972 to 1985 - 130-minute concert that served as a musical way-back machine for the Utopians in the two-thirds filled house. The arc of the band’s diverse songbook was on full display and as amazing as ever.

Todd Snider (10) at Stuart’s Opera House, Nelsonville, Ohio, June 22: An 80-minute, solo-acoustic performance that was both musically and comedically pleasing, as Snider combined his insightful numbers - and a few choice covers - with split-your-sides-open stories that often appeared mid-song but somehow didn’t interrupt the flow.

Elizabeth Cook (3) at Thirty One West, Newark, Ohio, May 16: Over the 80-minute solo set, Cook - who popped cough drops because of a cold but sounded healthy - mostly eschewed heartrending numbers like “I’m Not Lisa” and instead sung of an ex-husband who preferred beer cans to her can on “Yes to Booty;” the alcohol-fueled atmosphere she grew up around on “Stanley By God Terry;” recovery on “Methadone Blues;” and resilience on “Sometimes It Takes Balls to be a Woman.”

Cheryl Wheeler at King Arts Complex, Columbus, Ohio, March 24: Cheryl Wheeler was at turns funny, tender and socially conscious - but mostly funny - always folksy and 100-percent entertaining. We laughed - so hard we cried. And we looked forward to the next Cheryl Wheeler concert and the opportunity to hear the things we missed while doubled over in hysterics.

Los Lobos (16), Memorial Hall OTR, Cincinnati, Ohio, Jan. 25: Missing bassist Conrad Lozano, who was replaced, and multi-instrumentalist Steve Berlin, who was not, Los Lobos played an aggressive, one-set show that immediately erased any disappointment the absences might have caused.

Bettye LaVette at Jorma Kaukonen's Fur Peace Ranch, Pomeroy, Ohio, Oct. 13: Bettye LaVette was backed by guitar, bass, drums and keys/piano as she explored 12 back pages from all eras of Bob Dylan's songbook, from protest anthems to Christian declarations of faith, from well-known numbers to obscurities written between the 1960s and the 21st century. Indeed, the only person who might have rearranged these songs more radically than LaVette is Dylan himself.

Jorma Kaukonen (3) At Natalie’s Coal Fired Pizza & Live Music, Worthington, Ohio, June 13 (Early Show): There’s something refreshing about the way Jorma Kaukonen refuses to cash in on his legacy as a founder of the famed San Francisco sound with the Airplane. And as he played and sang his grizzled blues like a man walking the Mississippi Delta in the first part of the 20th century, it was again clear that Kaukonen chose the right path.

A-

Elton John (3) at Schottenstein Center, Columbus, Ohio, Nov. 2: If Elton John is really going to quit touring when his current trek ends - in 2021 - he’s going out in top form. From the first, teasing note of “Bennie and the Jets,” to the final, lingering sounds of “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road,” the musicians tinkered with arrangements just enough to keep things interesting for people who know these songs as well as they know anything. And if this is really farewell - and if "Yellow Brick Road" is really the last song 18,000 Columbus residents will ever hear John play live - it's a fond one.

Tedeschi Trucks Band (9) at Palace Theatre, Columbus, Ohio, Nov. 9: The 12-piece band begun its "An Evening With" show just after 8 p.m. with a 55-minute opening set that set the table for what came later. Singer Mike Mattison wailed the blues and crooned jazz when he joined Susan Tedeschi on incendiary renditions of "Key to the Highway" and "Right on Time," the front woman got introspective on Bob Dylan's "Going, Going, Gone" and the group wound up powering through yet another spell-binding concert of originals and covers that spanned the past 100 years of music and its myriad styles.

Todd Rundgren (38) at Express Live!, Columbus, Ohio, Sept. 12: Always unpredictable, Todd Rundgren is even more so when he tours as Unpredictable. On these occasions, he and his long-time band - guitarist Jesse Gress; former Tubes drummer Prairie Prince; Utopia bassist Kasim Sulton; and keyboardist Greg Hawkes of the Cars - work off a list of several dozen original and cover songs and play the ones that strike Rundgren's fancy on that particular evening. And on this night, the result was a wildly diverse, two-hour set of songs that bounced around nearly as much as Rundgren’s career itself.

Bruce Hornsby (9) & the Noisemakers at Columbus Commons, Columbus, Ohio, Aug. 24: Hornsby and his current band channeled the pianist's former band, the Grateful Dead, and their taking-the-music-for-a-walk ethos. Stretching it out is a way of life for Hornsby & Noisemakers, who played just 16 songs in 130 minutes.

Roger Daltrey Performs the Who’s Tommy at Fraze Pavilion, Kettering, Ohio, July 2: On a stage packed full of musicians, Daltrey, the Dayton Philharmonic Orchestra and members of the Who’s touring band played Tommy front to back. And they played the shit out of it. The Philharmonic was a fully integrated part of the show, kicking off the concert with “Overture” as it’s always been meant to be heard; turning “Tommy Can You Hear Me” into a whimsical pops-concert moment; adding welcome flourishes to “Sally Simpson;” and filling “We’re Not Gonna Take It” with majesty.

Peter Rowan’s (2) Twang an’ Groove at Jorma Kaukonen’s Fur Peace Ranch, Pomeroy, Ohio, June 16: Once one of Bill Monroe’s Bluegrass Boys, a co-founder of Old & In the Way and author of classics including “Midnight Moonlight” and New Riders of the Purple Sage’s signature song, “Panama Red,” both of which were played toward the tail end of Set Two, Peter Rowan has been a part of some of bluegrass’ most-important 20th-century moments. He’ll be 76 on the Fourth of July, but his hands are still supple, his voice still able to climb to high-and-lonesome heights with his yodel intact, as his version of Jimmie Rodgers’ “Blue Yodel No. 3” demonstrated.

Dead & Company (6) at Riverbend Music Center, Cincinnati, Ohio, June 4, 2018: Anyone looking to understand why Dead Heads keep going back to see former Grateful Dead members year after year, decade after decade, needn’t look any farther than Dead & Company’s June 4 performance in Cincinnati. It was - by far, and until June 20 - the best of the half-dozen Dead & Company concerts Sound Bites has attended since the group came together in 2015.

Steve Kimock (3) & Friends at Ardmore Music Hall, Ardmore, Pa., Nov. 23: “Were gonna sort of front-porch our way in to this,” Steve Kimock said as he and his Friends took the stage and cooked up an ethereal, post-Thanksgiving stew that slowly bubbled into the one-off band’s - which came together for a special Black Friday performance in the City of Brotherly Love - opening number, KIMOCK’s “Careless Love.” It was a show that satisfied like a second helping of turkey.

David Crosby & Friends (2) at Kent Stage, Kent Ohio, Nov. 28: David Crosby, Michael League, Becca Stevens and Michelle Willis came into Kent and over the course of an hour-and-40-minute performance proved themselves a top-tier acoustic/harmony group that, with the right setlist, could be a salve for those still mourning the loss of Crosby, Stills and Nash. But with only a few exceptions - excellent exceptions but too few nonetheless - the quartet stuck with 21st-century material, resulting in a concert that consisted of near-perfect execution of fair to very good songs.

Steve Earle (3) & the Dukes (2) at Newport Music Hall, Columbus, Ohio, June 10: Steve Earle is like an outlaw version of Bruce Springsteen, singing everyman songs with a left-wing political bent that’s sometimes so subtle, people will miss it if they’re not playing close attention. Also like Springsteen, Earle finds himself in the midst of a late-career renaissance, as a triad of fire-breathing tracks from 2017’s So You Wannabe an Outlaw were among the highlights of a career-spanning set that opened with a full performance of 1988’s Copperhead Road.

Hubby Jenkins at Jorma Kaukonen's Fur Peace Ranch, Pomeroy, Ohio, Oct. 20: This was a fascinating concert - musically, spiritually and intellectually. Prior to taking his audience to church in a gospel-heavy second set, Hubby Jenkins took them to school, using his brief, 45-minute first set to educate concertgoers not only about the African origins of the banjo he was playing but the evolution of African-American culture and stereotypes via slavery, the Black Codes and Jim Crow and the minstrel tradition.

An Acoustic Evening with Lyle Lovett (3) & Shawn Colvin (2) at Templeton-Blackburn Alumni Memorial Auditorium, Athens, Ohio, March 21: It was one-third Lyle Lovett, one-third Shawn Colvin and one-third the Lovett-Colvin comedy hour. Together, the three-thirds equaled an evening of well-rounded entertainment.

12/27/18

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unchain-the-escapist · 6 years

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Jurassic Meteor [Part 13]

““Press forward! We need to get to the center!” the commander ordered, Merel revealing her position to push forward, the rifle hot in her hands. But ultimately, the pteros were too many and people taking too long to get to safety. But that didn’t stop Merel from trying.”

Meteor (Merel/Charlotte/Floor) (Romantic pairing)

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Other parts (x)

Merel couldn’t believe that she was voluntarily putting herself into this position once more.

The shaking hands as they itched to pull down the trigger on the rifle she was holding, the adrenaline filling her veins as she got closer to the fight, and the urge to scream at her loved ones to stay behind. But here she was, looking at her exes with tears in her eyes. They were holding hands, something that stung Merel’s chest deeply. Oh how she just wanted to drown in a familiar embrace. They weren’t supposed to be here. They should have left when they could. Buying a house on the mainland, getting married, maybe having a couple of kids or pets. Anything but this. But it didn’t matter how much she wanted to run, she had to stay. She wasn’t the only one with loved ones on this island. And she would do anything in her power to return them home. Just as she would want someone to do that for her own loved ones.

Both Floor and Charlotte were carrying weapons, something so alien looking that Merel still had a hard time believing what she saw. Both women covered in blood while they whispered I love yous to each other. In that moment, Merel couldn’t help but to feel again. Memories of sweet kisses, a moonlit night under the stars with trembling hands as the lovers placed rings on fingers. Laughter and tears all blended into one, promises of love hailing down on the trio.

Merel’s heart dropped to the ground, her lungs having a hard time catching air. It was too much and much too soon.

Feeling two presences by her sides in the truck they were travelling in the back of, Merel snapped out of her thoughts as warmth engulfed both her left and right side of her body. She knew who it was without looking up, soft hands against her cheeks and knee only confirming her suspicions. No, not this again. The blonde felt the pull, her heart daring her to look up to drown in pools of hazel and blue.

And she did. And oh she did so wholeheartedly.

Suddenly, the truck stopped, screams and thuds sounding all around it. The back was pulled open harshly and sunlight came streaming in. As well as the sight of flapping wings.

“Move out! the commander yelled, the order bringing Merel’s legs into gear.

“Both lethal and non-lethals, boys!” Merel followed up with as she grabbed her rifle and followed the other men in the truck outside, sensing how Floor and Charlotte followed her. Wiping at her eyes with her sleeve, Merel became all business as the first pterodactyl came into view. Oh, they were big. Big enough to easily carry a human. And they did by the looks of it.

“Spread out!”

Quickly obeying, guns went off and pterodactyls slowly but surely dropped. Merel could feel their teeth trying to grab her as they passed her body, but she was too quick.

They were literally everywhere. People running around screaming and trying to run away, their bodies breaking windows to shops to try to get inside. Sculptures and tables were turned around, roofs caving in as dead pteros landed on them. Looking to her right, Merel saw how both Charlotte and Floor alternated between hiding behind the truck and shooting the pteros flying towards them.

Inching just a bit closer to the center, Merel hid behind an overturned table as she continued shooting, the pool belonging to the resident Mosasaur a little too close for comfort behind her. If the pterodactyls dropped anyone in that water, they were as good as dead.

“Press forward! We need to get to the center!” the commander ordered, Merel revealing her position to push forward, the rifle hot in her hands. But ultimately, the pteros were too many and people taking too long to get to safety. But that didn’t stop Merel from trying.

It was the bone chilling scream of a woman that tore her from her concentration, a little girl in the grip of a ptero passing by her. Not even thinking twice, Merel reached out and grabbed the ptero’s ankle, gasping as she left the ground. Quickly shooting the ptero’s leg that held the girl, the animals swiftly dropped the screaming and crying girl, her petite form landing just before the railing to the Mosasaur pool.

Merel wasn’t so lucky.

As Charlotte’s worried shouts filled her ears, Merel dropped towards the water below and took a deep breath before hitting the water’s surface. Dropping the gun as she hit the surface, the blonde sunk a great distance before she stopped, her arms and legs immediately starting to swim upwards. She had seen the Mosasaur in action once and it had made her stomach drop. She did not want to fuck around with the biggest predator in the park.

Breaking the surface and taking a huge gulp of air, Merel began to frantically look for a way to get out of the pool. She could almost imagine the Mosasaur’s jaw open and swallowing her whole…

“MEREL!”

Looking up, she saw how Charlotte and Floor nearly hanged off the railing.

“ARE YOU OKAY?”

“Help me get up! Can you see a ladder?”

Merel saw how they frantically scanned the area, her own body starting to swim closer to the wall just in case.

“THERE’S ONE 20 METERS TO YOUR LEFT!” the blonde heard Floor shout, her movements stopping as she tried focusing on the area in question. It took a while, in fact way too long for her to find the ladder. But it was there.

Making her way over there, the blonde could have sworn that she felt ripples in the water not created by herself, the feeling of motion made by something bigger than her brushing her calves and thighs. Not taking any chances, Merel pushed herself to the absolute limit and reached the ladder with panic seizing her chest. Grabbing the first step with her hands, the blonde pulled herself up and began climbing, realizing that she had been right about the Mosasaur following her as the tip of a snout emerged from the deep below her. White teeth were gleaming in the sunlight, a deep growl emitting before the snout disappeared once more. Trying desperately to catch her breath, Merel felt how strength returned to her limbs, her mind realizing that Floor and Charlotte were still in the line of Death. She would not allow that, she had to be there for them. They did not deserve this. Anything but this.

Nearly slipping a couple of times as she hurried to climb, Merel felt how anxiety seized her, images of Charlotte and Floor lying dead somewhere haunting her. It would be all her fault if they died. They were her life. Oh, how could she have left them? It was so stupid and heart-wrenching and…

Reaching the top, Merel felt a pair of strong arms around her as they pulled her away from the edge of the railing and onto the ground.

“Merel?” came a gentle voice, choked sobs tearing through Merel’s vocal chords and mouth before she opened her eyes.

They were okay. Charlotte and Floor were okay, their eyes filled with the same kind of relief upon seeing Merel safe. Gently nestled in Floor’s arms, Charlotte’s hands were soon caressing the blonde’s cheeks, the contrast of warm and cold making a shiver appear along Merel’s spine. There was a pause, one that felt like forever, Charlotte looking at her with longing and urgency. Too caught up in the moment, with the knowledge that they were safe, and with the joy her heart felt, Merel leaned forward and captured Charlotte’s lips in a gentle kiss.

It was as if the world exploded on impact, feelings long buried clawing themselves to the surface. Every nerve vibrated with warmth and sparks of electricity as the redhead kissed her back, the blonde afraid that her heart would jump out of her chest as contours of lips merged together. One year without kissing her loved ones was too much, that year spent dormant and cold.

Pulling her head back and opening her eyes, Merel saw how Charlotte’s lips turned into a radiant smile, tears running down her cheeks. Too afraid that this moment would be taken from her, Merel turned and sat up on her knees to face Floor. Without hesitation, she connected Floor’s lips with her own, feeling the same charge of electricity fill her as Floor kissed her back. It was rushed and desperate, but oh it robbed Merel’s lungs of all the air. Her head spun, skin pebbling and heart feeling full as Charlotte’s arms enveloped her from behind as Floor’s hand placed itself on her neck, the move so familiar that Merel once again felt whole.

This is where she belonged. Amongst the women she loved the most.

“Threat has been neutralized. All men scout the area and help with the wounded. Over and out.”

Pulling back as the commander’s voice reached them through the radio strapped to Charlotte’s belt, Merel was slowly pulled out of her haze. The pterodactyls were flying away, a large amount of them lying dead on the ground. Floor was still cradling the back of her head.

“I…I…” Merel began to say, but was interrupted by the radio.

“Jansen, Wessels, or Bechtold. Come in, please!”

It was Otto’s voice.

Turning around in Charlotte’s arms, Merel gently grabbed the radio, feeling how Floor’s hand dropped and placed itself on the blonde’s knee. None of them wanted to let her go just yet, the feeling warming Merel’s chest.

“Yo, what’s up?” the blonde replied after pushing down the button.

“Merel! Oh thank god, you have to get to the raptors right now!”

Feeling panic drumming through her veins, the blonde responded quickly.

“What the hell happened?! Over!”

“These dudes got here and Ms. Turunen got here and they wanted me to run up the raptors so they could hunt down the Indominus! Dude, you have to get here right now!”

#fanfiction #jurassic meteor #meteor #merel bechtold #charlotte wessels #floor jansen

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theodoraflanigan · 4 years

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thread: Drowning location: Red Lake status: closed thread w/ Theo & Jack, considered complete. Trigger warnings: topics of death, depression, suicidal ideation.

THEO

Theo was feeling restless, which seemed to be her new normal at this point, especially on her days off when she was left to find something —anything —to keep herself from milling around the main house, and venturing over to her Dad’s old veterinary clinic that had sat there closed for the past eight months. For whatever reason, maybe because today would have been his fiftieth birthday and she missed him so much she could barely breathe, or maybe something else entirely was driving her—and even though she had to drive past it every day just to pull out of her own property and had managed not to give into the urge—Theo had found herself finally stopping and going inside.

Big mistake. Huge. All of the grieving she hadn’t allowed herself hit her like a train and she found herself on the floor unable to stop violently screaming and sobbing. The brunette had no concept of how much time had passed, once she was all cried out, Theo simply picked herself off the ground, threw some water on her face, locked the door and jumped up into her SUV and started to drive. She was in a weird daze, no real destination in mind —but soon she found herself at Red Lake. She parked the vehicle close to the water's edge and got out, still in some weird mental fog, keys still in the ignition while she stood and stared at the lake for a few seconds, the damn tears once again stinging her eyes, she just needed to do something to make it stop.

October was well past the time of year that sane people went swimming and right now Theodora was anything but sane. All she could think was that the sting of the cold water might somehow wash away all the emotions flooding her system, and at the very least being chilled to the bone would be a distraction. Before she could process anything or talk herself down, Theo found herself rushing toward the water —she didn’t even realize anyone was around, nor that the violent sobbing had begun all over again as she plowed her tiny form, fully clothed into the chilly waters, waded in up to her chest before intentionally diving under, disappearing into the murky lake water.

JACK

Grief was an interesting beast. Some days he found himself steady, that beast lying dormant making it easy for him to forget it was even there. He'd be able to do things like eat, sleep, work. It always came as a cycle, for a few weeks he would be fine, decent, able to work like any normal person within the town. Then it would hit him like a ton of bricks, that beast coming out of it's hole to terrorize him once again. During these times he struggled to get through the days sober; he wasn't much of a drinker normally, but since her death he found refuge with the bottle. He'd already done his daily binge a few days before, and now he could feel that heavy, unending weight of his grief lifting from his tired shoulders. It will lie dormant once again, until it decided it wanted to rear its ugly head again.

Today he found himself at the lake, he might have brought another bottle with him, but he'd left it within his car. Untouched and unopened, but there as a safety net if he felt he needed it. He was looking out over the lake taking in the beauty of nature, trying to use it's calming presence to ease the lingering grief when he spotted a truck. That wasn't what got his attention, no, it was the person who climbed out of it. Looking clearly distraught and familiar, the one he'd met at the bar, the one he'd been texting not too long ago. He understood her grief as his own, and wondered if she was also going through this cycle. That thought was soon answered as he saw her running towards the lake at full speed, "Theo!" He shouted, though nothing he would have said could have stopped her. He realized that as he went after her into the cold water of the lake.

He waded further out with intent just as she went under, he knew what she was trying to do, and he couldn't sit by and let it happen. He'd dive in after her, his arms wrapping around her before pulling her up. He anticipated that she might fight, but he held onto her still as he pulled her towards the beach. "Hey, hey. It's okay, it's going to be okay." He said, repeating it over and over.

THEO

The sting of the chill of the water hadn't quite had the intended effect—though it had been a definite shock to her system, Theo was a well shaken soda bottle of emotions and once the cap was off there would be no stopping the explosion this time. It wasn't that she wanted to die, of course she didn't, but she was just exhausted from the internal fight that was always going on deep inside and so she didn't fight the grip of the chilly waters that felt like it was holding her tight in place, making no effort to save herself just yet—maybe she hoped if she got so close to touching death she could see the other side, see that her mom and dad still lived on, on some other plane of existence but still with her here even if she couldn't hear or touch them. Maybe she could start moving forward with living, maybe she could forgive herself for not coming home when she was supposed to, for not being there to hold her father's hand as he left this life.

She had no concept of time, maybe her body was still in shock from the ice cold water, she couldn't have been under the water for more than a few seconds though it felt a lot longer when suddenly she felt strong arms encircling her body, pulling her up to the surface—her first instinct was to fight it—she hadn't gotten what she needed yet, not yet. Theo flailed against his hold, disoriented and shaking, choked sobs and screams of unintelligible words leaving her trembling lips—his grip never easing no matter how hard she struggled against it, his voice familiar and oddly comforting even as she continued fighting him all the way up until he'd managed to pull her up on the sand of the beach, only then did it click in her head what she had just done, and who it was who had gone in to save her from herself.

With the reality of what she'd just done sinking in, she stopped struggling and let herself cling to him for dear fucking life. "I- I'm s-sor-sorry," she managed to choke out, her body trembling from the cold and the sobs that refused to stop.

JACK

He wasn't a lifeguard, that really came to be true when she started thrashing around. He'd lost his foot a couple times in the effort it took him to get her to shore. He was wet, cold, but determined to get her as far away from the water as he humanly could. While he did he kept saying soft things, 'It's going to be okay,' and 'I'm here.' even if she couldn't actually hear him right in that moment. Eventually he'd get up onto shore then further up onto the grass falling easily onto his bottom with her coming down with him. It seemed in the time he moved she got more and more calm until she was clinging onto him. Sobbing, but still very much here and alive. "It's okay." He said, wrapping his arms around her. "You're alright, it's okay."

He held her close for as long as she would let him. Whatever it was she was going through right now he could understand. He'd been here on more than one occasion with his own grief. He'd do whatever he needed to help her even if that meant just sitting there until she was ready to move. "Theo." He'd say, "I know it's hard right now. I know it can seem never ending, but you aren't alone. You don't need to do this on your own." He said, softly, speaking into her hair a bit. "I'm here for you, whenever you need me to be."

THEO

She was exhausted from the whole ordeal, between the crying fit on the clinic floor, and fighting Jack's grip and the cold of the water all of Theo's fight was gone. Her body shivering in his arms, glad for his comforting presence and the soft kind words he spoke, she almost believed everything was going to be all right. "I don't know h-how to do this at all." she confessed for the first time to herself or anyone else for that matter. "I- I didn't want to die... I promise, I just needed to feel something else... anything else than all this grief." she forced out between tiny gasps for air, her fingers curling around the fabric of his shirt. "How do I make it stop? I need it to stop, I'm not equipped for this.. this isn't me, Jack. I lost me when I lost them..." It wasn't easy for her to admit, but Jack made her feel safe, like she was allowed to break and he wouldn't look down on her for it, and more to the fact, that he understood what she was going through.

#interactions #discord threads #theo ft. jack

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arplis · 5 years

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Arplis - News: When Your Rape Doesnt Count

Something about the knock at the front door made Mary-Scott Hunter think a neighbor was in trouble. She had just arrived home from her job at a corporate training company, and she was mulling over an earlier fight with her girlfriend, but the sound jolted her out of it: five loud, fast raps. She could see two men looming through the window, dressed in oddly formal clothing. When she cracked the door, they identified themselves: a Minneapolis police officer and an FBI agent.

Oh shit, Hunter thought. What have I done wrong? She wasnt sure if she should open the door. She didnt trust cops all that much. She let them in but remained standing, uncertain, as they settled into her living room.

The men asked Hunter if she had been raped in 1987. Yes, she said.

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They told her they had identified the stranger whod broken into her house when she was 21 years old and attacked her in the hallway outside her bedroom. The suspects name was Darrell Rea. After 31 years, he was in custody.

First came the shock. Then reliefand, finally, happiness.

Seriously? she asked.

Sergeant Chris Karakostas, a homicide investigator at the Minneapolis Police Department, assured her it was true. He asked her if she wanted to sit down, so she did, and she listened.

From the perspective of police, Hunter had done everything right back in 1987. Shed immediately called the cops, allowed a nurse to collect a rape kit, and recounted the attack in painful detail during multiple police interviews. But the rape had taken place four years before the state forensics lab began testing DNA, and other leads went nowhere. For decades, Hunter lived with the uncertainty of whether her rapist was still out there.

Yet while Hunters case went dormant, Rea came under suspicion for a slew of other crimes. Police came to believe that the former apartment building caretaker could be linked to a number of sexual assault, physical assault, murder, and missing person cases, according to a criminal complaint. But he was never convicted of serious charges.

Theres a lot of women out there that really dont have some justice for what happened to them, says Sergeant Chris Karakostas.

Then, in 2013, the state crime lab matched DNA from Rea, by then in his late 50s, to the 1983 murder of a 17-year-old, Lorri Mesedahl, who appeared to have been raped before she was beaten to death near railroad tracks in north Minneapolis. But because the crime was so old, many witnesses were dead, and prosecutors wanted more than the DNA match from the victims body to charge Rea. So investigators ramped up their testing of the citys old rape kits. Thats when a hit came back for Hunters 1987 attack.

By the time the investigators told Hunter about Rea in March 2018, she had given up hope the case would ever be solved. I stopped fantasizing about this guy getting caught a long, long time ago, she tells me.

Today, Hunters experiencethe knock at the door, the detective bearing unexpected newsis becoming less of an extraordinary occurrence. After decades of shelving untested rape kits and otherwise mishandling many reports of sexual assault, police departments are now making progress on long-unsolved rape investigationsdue to unprecedented political will, new investigative techniques, and increased funding for DNA analysis.

In Michigan, for instance, an effort to test about 10,000 rape kits since 2009 led to the identification of at least 833 suspects who could be linked to multiple sex crimes. A state-funded effort to test old rape kits and hire new investigators and prosecutors in Cleveland has produced about 370 convictions since 2013. And a $38 million program created by the Manhattan district attorneys office paid for the testing of 55,000 rape kits across the country from 2015 to 2018nearly eliminating the pileup of untested kits in seven states. More than 20 states have recently passed laws requiring rape kit testing, audits of untested evidence, or systems for survivors to keep track of their kits, according to the Joyful Heart Foundation, an organization that advocates for sexual assault survivors. Meanwhile, police departments are rapidly adopting new approaches to solve sexual assaults, including genetic genealogya technique that identifies offenders by comparing crime scene DNA to consumer genetic profiles stored in public, online databases.

Even when these cold cases are solved, the legal system still prevents some survivors from getting justice. As Karakostas explained to Hunter as he sat on her couch, the window for prosecutors to press charges against Rea for her rape had long passed. At the time the attack occurred in 1987, Minnesotas statute of limitations for criminal sexual offenses involving adult victims was just three years.

Statutes of limitations are meant to protect defendants from false charges based on faded memory or degraded evidence. But they can also be a way for rapiststo remain free in a criminal justice system that convicts assailants of a felony in just 5 out of every 1,000 rapes, according to estimates from the antisexual violence organization RAINN. Over the past couple of decades, often following cultural upheavals like the Catholic child abuse scandal and the #MeToo movement, activists have fought to abolish or lengthen statutes of limitations, with mixed success.

Currently, at least seven states have no statute of limitations for any felony sexual offense. Dozens, including Minnesota, have lengthened the time given to prosecutors to bring charges, or added exemptions for cases with DNA evidence. Still, these reforms dont help survivors like Hunter, whose case expired before thenew lawstook effect.

The statute of limitations basically says, after X amount of years, the crime and its impact dont matter anymore.

But, as in most states, there is no statute of limitations for murder in Minnesota. So after Hennepin County prosecutors charged Rea with killing Lorri Mesedahl, they hoped Hunter would play a role in putting him away. Similarities between the attacks might bolster the prosecutors case. Before he left Hunters living room that evening in March, Karakostas asked if she would help.

Hunter instantly agreed. Taking part in the murder trial could be a way to recover some of the feeling of control wrested from her three decades prior. Shed never really forgiven herself for giving up that control, even though there was nothing to forgive; even though she knew, intellectually, that the rape was not her fault. The idea of being able to prosecuteor be involved in a prosecutionwas part of that want to be able to do something positive, to enact a result, Hunter, whos now 54, tellsme.

She pauses for a moment. Dude should pay, she adds.

The investigation that led officers to Hunters front door was long and circuitous. Minneapolis police had been looking into Darrell Rea for more than 40 years, slowly uncovering a series of women and girls they believe suffered at his hands: a terrified child, a troubled teenager, a marginalized sex worker. Each case proceeded in fits and starts, hindered by problems common to sexual violence investigationswitnesses dropping out, police bias against certain types of victims, and expiring statutes of limitations. (Through his lawyer, Rea broadly denied the criminal accusations against him and declined to answer specific questions or comment further on the allegations detailed in this article.)

In 1990, the Minneapolis Police Department got the call that would eventually prove crucial in bringing Rea to justice. Seventeen-year-old Victoria Owczynskyor Vicky O, as police investigators have long called herwas reported missing after disappearing on August 26, 1990. In a photograph circulated in a missing person bulletin, she smiles broadly, wearing a baggy sweatshirt and big earrings; permed, dark hair frames her face in a cloud.

According to retired Minneapolis Police Sergeant Tim Opdyke, who later picked up the investigation, the first sergeant assigned to Owczynskys case believed maybe she disappeared voluntarily on her own, he says. You know, 17 years old. She just ran away. But it was hard to square that with the fact that Owczynsky had left behind her money and cigarettesan unlikely choice for a teenager planning to skip town.

Naomie Rondo, 45, says her stepfather Darrell Rea abused her when she was a child.

At the time she disappeared, shed been staying with a friend, Naomie Rondo, in northeast Minneapolis. Rondo was one of Reas two stepdaughters. A neighbor told a police officer he had seen Owczynsky sitting in Reas pickup truck on the day she vanished.

By this point, Rea was not a stranger to police. In 1977, he had been accused of raping a woman after picking her up along Minneapolis Lake Street. Police found the woman covered in blood, crawling back toward the road; she later told them she had escaped by fighting off her attacker, who had a large knife, with a glass Coke bottle she found on the car floor. Rea was identified and tried for first-degree criminal sexual conduct and aggravated assault. But after he argued that the intercourse was consensual, a jury acquitted him of those charges and convicted him only for simple assault, landing him in jail for a short time.

About 11 years later, police got a report that Rea was abusing his stepdaughters. Rondo,now 45,says Rea would fondle her while washing her or tickling her, or put a hand down her pants while she was sleeping. At least once, he locked her out of the room and assaulted her older sister, Monique Stevens, while Rondo pounded on the door, crying. Stevens, now 48, has a vivid memory of looking at her second grade teacher and wondering if she should tell her how Rea pressed his body onto hers. I better not, she thought. She didnt tell anyone for years while Rea was entering her room at night, progressing from fondling her to raping her, punching, choking, and hitting her head against the bed frame. She would drink coffee at night to stay awake. Stevens says she believed that if she let the abuse happen, Rea wouldnt hurt her mother or siblings; that if she was quiet, her family could stay together. Only when Rondo reported the abuse to her school in the late 1980s did police get involved.

But after investigators questioned the girls, the family stopped cooperating with law enforcement, according to Karakostas. While prosecutors can press child sex abuse charges without the consent of a parent or guardian, they must believe they can meet the legal burden of proof to move forward. Once the family pulled out, neither of the two Hennepin County prosecutors who reviewed the case would bring charges.

Stevens says she used to babysit Owczynsky, who was a few years younger and often stayed at their house. She says Owczynsky was the only person who directly witnessed Rea raping her. Police working the Vicky O missing person case searched Reas home and car in 1990. When officers interviewed Rea, he denied that Owczynsky had gotten in the truck with him, Karakostas says. They never found enough evidence to arrest him for the girls disappearance.

But over the years, the Vicky O case would bring Rea under the police departments scrutiny time and time again. More than a year after her disappearance, Sergeant Opdyke and his partner, Sergeant Phil Hogquist, picked up the Owczynsky file from a box of unsolved cases. They, too, became fixated on Rea, who was by then in his late 30s, living and working as a caretaker in a shabby northeast Minneapolis apartment building. When they brought him in for questioning, Opdyke remembers thinking Rea was unnaturally calm under stress, and that he was using the interview to get information from the investigators. By the time the interview was over, I was flat-out accusing him of the murder of Vicky O, and he never reacted, Opdyke says. Never once got upset. He was there to find out what we knew.

Karakostas, a homicide investigator at the Minneapolis Police Department, spent years gathering evidence in Reas case.

While Opdyke was convinced that Rea was guilty, prosecutors werent. Opdyke says he was told that without a body, or more concrete evidence, they could not press charges.

But there was, possibly, another way to get to Rea. Given the 1977 assault case and the report regarding his stepdaughters, it seemed likely that they were dealing with a repeat offender. To that end, Opdyke and Hogquist learned from a fellow investigator of yet another caseRea might be involved in. In 1988, a 23-year-old homeless sex worker named Barbara, who asked that we use only her first name, had been attacked under circumstances similar to the details alleged in Reas 1977 trial, including the location. Barbaras case had gone cold, but it had one crucial difference from the other incidents: There was DNA evidence.

Barbara was walking to a White Castle near Lake Street one early morning in June 1988 when a man flashed money at her from a silver station wagon. They drove to a parking lot near some railroad tracks and had sex, and then, she tells me, he wouldnt stop. Barbara fought backscrapping and scrapping, just kicking and fighting and punching and kicking, she says. One of her hits must have drawn his blood; it dripped onto her shirt. Then the man jammed a tool resembling an ice pick into the hollow at the top of her neck.

The blow, somehow, didnt kill her. Barbara, her face pressed against the floor of the passenger seat, played dead as the man drove north into a quiet, leafy neighborhood. I just didnt know how bad I was feeling, but my mind was still working, she says. When she felt the car turn a corner, she leaped to open the door and rolled out of the station wagon. Struggling to grab her, the man crashed the car into a tree. He fled the scene as lights began turning on in the surrounding houses.

Karakostas reviews evidence in the Rea case.

Police later tested the bloodstain left on Barbaras shirt for protein and blood typeDNA testing was not yet availableand ruled out the first person they arrested for the attack, according to the Hennepin County Attorneys Office. Then they let the case fade away. It sat on somebodys desk, or got passed around, says Hogquist, who recalls feeling frustrated that there was a broad tendency to neglect sexual assault cases in the department. It was even worse for sex workers, anotherinvestigator tells me. Society was like that back then, says Barbara, who is now 54 and works as a nurse. She doesnt think attitudes have changed. Put yourself in harms way? Thats what you get.

But by 1993, five years after the attack on Barbara and three years after the disappearance of Owczynsky, the state crime lab had started testing DNA evidence. Working with Opdyke and Hogquist, the Minneapolis police lieutenant who had investigated Barbaras rape years earlier drafted a search warrant for Reas DNA. They obtained a sample and compared it to the bloodstain from Barbaras shirt. It matched.

Yet when the investigators brought the case to prosecutors, they were rebuffed: The three-year statute of limitations for both rape and attempted murder was already up. While a 1991 law extended the prosecution window to seven years for most criminal sexual offenses, it only applied to new cases, or cases in which the statute of limitations had not already run out. Barbaras case had expired less than seven weeks before that law was enacted.

Not until a couple of years ago did anyone tell Barbara about Rea. At first, she says, she was gladbut then I thought, There aint nothing I can do about it. Its just one more way in which she feels like the legal system failed her. As violent as a crime like that, they should never have a statute of limitations. Its ridiculous.

For Opdyke, Hogquist, and the other investigators, the dead end in Barbaras case deflated their hopes of catching Rea. Thats where all our investigation ended, says Hogquist. We got shot down. The Owczynsky investigation, too, went quiet.

When Opdyke retired in 2006, he made a copy of the Vicky O files to take with him to Florida. That was a case we carried with us when we left, he says. Thinking about Rea still gives him goosebumps.

It was like the one who got away. I always thought we had the right person, but wemeaning [Hogquist] and I, and the police department at the timewere never able to do anything about it.

Barbara Raped and stabbed in 1988 On escaping the station wagon where she was raped: The whole car just got fuming, sweaty, windows forming sweat and fog, and he wouldnt stop, and it was going on and on and onI was just hoping somebody would hear, somebody would see, and instead, I felt like I had to give upBut I felt a stab in my back and my neck. I found out later it was an ice pick. So I played dead. That was not easy to do. And I dont know if he saw somebody coming or whatIm just still trying to figure that out[but] he put a piece of carpet over me to hide meI felt the car start up, and he started moving. I just didnt know how bad I was feeling, but my mind was still working, and I could peek out through this hole of this carpet and see the lock and the door handleSure enough I felt the turn with the car. So thats when I did itjumped, got one hand on the lock, one hand on the handle and did them both at the same timeI got out, I just slid my body out and clumsily started running upThank God he did leave, because he wouldve got me again. Listen to Barbara tell her story: https://www.motherjones.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/06/Barbara.mp3

It would be almost 20 years before the Minneapolis Police Department would make significant progress in their investigations of Rea. Again itd be because of Victoria Owczynsky, the 17-year-old who had been friends with his younger stepdaughter.

Owczynsky, or her body, still had not been found, but in late 2007, Sergeant Gerry Wehr came across her missing person file. He was on light duty at the time, recovering from hip surgery, with an assignment to look for cold cases that showed promise. Wehr says he liked reading files from the crammed archives stashed in the clock tower of Minneapolis City Hall, retracing the steps of old investigations. Its dusty, dirty, its kind of dark, and there are just boxes everywhere, Wehr says. Of course, nothings in order.

His interest had been piqued after policegot a call that a relative of Owczynskys was using her information to get welfare benefits. So box by box up in the clock tower, Wehr continued working the case for years, learning about the teenagers disappearance, and about Rea, and, eventually, Barbara. With the help of the FBI, he started developing a criminal profile of Rea, uncovering several other attacks, mostly on sex workers, that seemed to fit his modus operandi. Over and over, those cases had been dropped, or not charged in time. Sometimes there was simply not enough evidence. But other times the reason was bad police work, Wehr admits; in particular, cases that involved victims who did sex work languished.

The haphazardly stored, jumbled archives made progress slow. It took nearly five years of investigating before Wehr pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of a box: the search warrant for Reas DNA from Barbaras case. Wehr had long been hoping for DNA evidence to help his search and he knew that Reas DNA sample, as well as the blood from Barbaras shirt, could still be in evidence. I just knew there would be something that would come up if we entered it in the system.

Both samples were still in storage. In 2013, the state crime lab reanalyzed the sample from Barbaras shirt and Reas DNA, confirming the match using more advanced testing. Then the lab uploaded its new DNA profile from the bloodstain into a database for crime scene evidence. Thats when the system returned another, unexpected hit: semen recovered from the autopsy of Lorri Mesedahl, the 17-year-oldkilled 30 years earlier. Wehr tells me he was surprised there was only one match for Rea in the database.

Mesedahls murder was not one of the cases Wehr had pegged to Rea. One Friday night in early spring 1983, after returning home from a party, Mesedahl had snuck out to go see her boyfriend. When she arrived at her boyfriends grandparents house close to 3 a.m., his grandmother refused to let her in. The next morning, Mesedahls body was found, facedown, surrounded by a pool of blood, next to railroad tracks. Semen was found in her vagina and rectum, as well as on the legs and seat of her pants. Not until 2008 would the samples be tested and uploaded to the system.

In 1983, Lorri Mesedahls body was found near these railroad tracks in north Minneapolis; the 17 year old appeared to have been raped and then beaten to death.

The Mesedahl hit blew the entire Rea investigation wide open: There was DNA and the statute of limitations on murder never expires. Finally, police had discovered evidence with a real chance of convincing prosecutors to bring charges.

Wehr was on the cusp of retirement. Before he left, he handed off the case to Karakostas, who once patrolled Lake Street as a young beat cop and had since become the departments cold-case homicide specialist. When you arrest [Rea], you got to make sure hes getting charged, Wehr remembers telling Karakostas. Because people have been doing this to him for 20 years. He gets called in on a rape, he gives them a story, and they threaten him and yell at him theyre going to charge him, hes going to prison. But nobody ever does. He walks away.

In part to see if they could bolster their case by finding more attacks linked to Rea, investigators ramped up their testing of old, neglected rape kits. In 2014, they found another victim: Mary-Scott Hunter, a young legal assistant who was raped in 1987.

By March 2015, Karakostas believed he finally had enough evidence and arrested Rea. But even then, it wasnt enough. Karakostas says prosecutors got cold feet and declined to charge him. Chuck Laszewski, the Hennepin County Attorneys Office spokesperson, says the county attorneys office felt it needed more evidence to prove beyond a reasonable doubt that Rea had murdered Mesedahl. Key witnesses had died, including the medical examiner who inspected her body. As Wehr had predicted, Rea denied everything and was released.

It would take another two and a half years and follow-up testing on Mesedahls clothes before prosecutors decided they were confident enough to pursue the case, Karakostas says. In September 2017, Rea was taken into custody again, and charged with second-degree murder.

Monique Stevens Sexually abused starting in the late 1970s On growing up in Reas house: He would watch me take a shower. I didnt even want to take showers. I got teased at school because I smelled sometimes. I mean, we were poor, so I got teased for my clothes even though we had uniforms, cause I have holes in my shoes. So I was traumatized at school, too. I was ashamed of my body, of myself, who I was. I didnt want people to look at me. I just wanted to stay covered all the time. Listen to Monique describe growing up: https://www.motherjones.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/06/stevens_growingup.mp3

On trying to defend herself against Rea: I slept with a knife under my pillow. He would run upstairs. I would jump up on my bed, and scream and scream and scream, and my mom would come up and get him out of the room. And then there were nights she wasnt there, so hed rape me. And when she was there, Id do the same thing all over again. Scream and scream and scream, and shed come running up there. I would not sleep. I would drink coffee sometimes, Naomie would too, so we could stay awake. Listen to Monique describe defending herself:

https://www.motherjones.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/06/stevens_defend.mp3

Mary-Scott Hunter was always a light sleeper, even on the nights she had been drinking. In 1987, she was 21 years old, working at a law firm and sharing a split-level duplex with three friends from Carleton College. We were all incredibly close, says Nina Levine, who lived upstairs. They bonded over the Grateful Dead and played softball together. (Hunters story first came to our attention through Mother Jones Editor-in-Chief Clara Jeffery, who became friends with Hunter in the years following the attack.)

Hunters housemates were somewhat worried about her; she was somewhat worried about herself. She had recently dropped out of school and was struggling. Maybe not eating enough, Hunter says. Drinking too much. She was trying to change those parts of her life. One Thursday night in March, she relapsed, going out to a bar, bingeing and purging, then falling asleep in her bedroom on the bottom floor of the duplex.

Around 4:30 in the morning, a noise woke her up. Then she heard it again, louder. She rolled out of bed and left her room to check on her friends. Thats when she saw theman at the top of the staircase. He wore a dark sweatshirt, the hood pulled tight around his face. In his right hand, he held a screwdriver.

Dont freak out, he said, according to her police report from that night. I just want to fuck you. If you freak out, Im going to stab you.

He forced her to the lower-level landing. Then he raped her for more than 30 minutes.

I was convinced, at one point, that somebody in the house would hear it, and the cops were going to come, Hunter says. But they didnt. As the man grew frustrated, she thought, Im going to die. She was stunned when he finished and left without killing her.

She immediately woke up Levine, who helped her call the police. When officers arrived, it just got surreal, Hunter tells me. It was a relief that they were there, but they were very nonchalant about the whole thing. Levine remembers watching an officer question Hunter and sensing he didnt believe her, as if she had invited the man to her house after going out drinking that night. She was shaking a lot, Levine remembers. She would start to talk, then get a little silent, then go back.

Mary-Scott Hunter (right) was living with Nina Levine in the mid-1980s when Rea broke into their home and raped Hunter.

Hunter recalls the lingering surprise that she hadnt been murdered. She remembers cracking jokes in the back of the police cruiser with Levine and another friend who accompanied her to the hospital. During her rape kit exam, a nurse wrote that Hunter was quiet, cooperative.

Only later, as she waited in the hospital lobby for a ride back to the house, did Hunter allow any darker emotions to hit her. She leaned forward in her chair and stared at the floor. I cant believe this happened, she recalls saying out loud. Levine put a hand on her back.

Im not typically somebody who kind of breaks down, so it wasnt that, Hunter recalls. I think it was the first time that I started to just be a little bit more in my body. And that was the startshe pauses, searchingof not wanting to be in my body.

A few days later, when Hunter sat down with a Minneapolis police sergeant for an interview, he asked her what she was wearing when she was raped, according to a transcript of their conversation. She answered his questions simply and completely. She wanted to help. When the sergeant identified a suspect and put together a lineup, she was frustrated with herself when she couldnt identify him. (Forensic testing eventually ruled that suspect out.) After the lineup, Hunter remembers, the investigation seemed to fizzle.

At the same time, she and her housemates were struggling to cope with what had happened. In the following weeks, Hunter slept on a mattress in their living room. She read and re-read feminist literature, and signed up for self-defense classes. The landlord fixed the window locks, installed an alarm system, and offered the housemates free therapy sessions with her husband, a psychologist.

As months passed, then years, Hunters struggles with mental health got worse, and, eventually, better. She got sober; she came out. I got to know myself, she says.

With time, she thought less and less about the attack and the still-open investigation. But she continued to question whether she had done enough to stop the rape. Those doubts still nag her: Why the hell didnt Ido more to fight? she asks. Is that some deficiency in me, that I clam up when Im in flight or fight? Why did I do the things I personally did? Did I not think I was worth fighting?

She knows its not her fault she was raped, knows its never any survivors fault. But knowing is a different thing than feeling it.

Only after Karakostas knocked on her door last year, after prosecutors finally decided to charge Rea, did Hunter come to a kind of peace with her doubts. Rea had killed before, she knows now. On the night hed attacked her, the same could have happened to her. Maybe I actually did have the right instincts, she says. If she had fought back, she might not have survived. Its let me off the hook a little.

Mary-Scott Hunter Raped in 1987 On night terrors in the years after her rape: Ill just get stuck in a loop of auditory hallucinations, of being sure that I hear somebody inside the house, and theyre coming up the stairsI had even tried tricks, like I would imagineI have cats, and I know that if theres any sound in the house, the cats just run away. So for a while I was like, look at the cats. If the cats are not running away, and you think you see the cats sleeping, its not happening. But then my brain would catch up to me and make the cats jumpOnce I finally would break the loop, and Id wake up, and now I was actually awake Id see the cats are sound asleep, or had just run off, because usually what breaks this cycle is, I wake myself up screaming. Listen to Mary-Scott tell her story: https://www.motherjones.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/06/hunter.mp3

On a sunny morning in late June, Hunter pulled on a black T-shirt emblazoned with the words nasty woman and biked to the Hennepin County Government Center in the heart of downtown Minneapolis to see Rea receive his sentence for the murder of Lorri Mesedahl. By the time Hunter arrived at a meeting with a victim advocate on the 22nd floor, Barbara was already there, seated at a small round table.

It had been almost two months since the women had learned that Darrell Rea had been convicted of second-degree murder with intent, after waiving his right to a jury trial. Explaining her ruling, Hennepin County Judge Tamara Garcia wrote that the DNA evidence in this case is compelling and that a guilty verdict was the only possible conclusion. While Reas public defender had tried to propose other potential perpetrators, none of the alternate theories added up.

Garcia had considered evidence not just from the killing of Mesedahl, but also from the 1988 attack on Barbara, which the judge determined was similar enough to Mesedahls case that it could corroborate the facts of the murder. But Hunters rape, Garcia decided, couldnt factor in to her verdict. While some elements of Hunters case were similar to Mesedahlsboth were young women, attacked with a weapon just a few miles apartthe assault had taken place in her house, not Reas car, and did not leave her with serious visible injuries. The allegations of sexual abuse against Monique Stevens and Naomie Rondo also were not considered. None of those crimes, Garcia ruled, shared enough details in common with the murder to be included in her deliberation.

Hunter had been crushed by that decision. Shed been holding out hope that the trial would give her a chance to finally do something, to act after years of stasis. She says she wouldnt have been afraid to take the stand. I would love nothing more than to be able to stand in front of [him], she says, to be like, Yep. Guess what. Im here. Giving you a little bit of payback.

The closest she could get would be to see Rea sentenced to prison. She wanted to be there, to put a face to the figure who had persisted in her nightmares for 32 years, but whose features had grown fuzzy in her memory. And she was curious about the other survivors. But what do you say to a stranger brought into your life through trauma that is somehow both shared and separate? In the meeting room high above the city, Barbara and Hunter greeted each other politely. Then they fell into a nervous silence.

Barbaras mind was racing. That morning, shed woken up early to dress for court, taming her long, curly brown hair and applying makeup, which she did rarely. Then she smoked a cigarette beside a heart-shaped pond shed built herself in her backyard, her space for peace and reflection. She knew she would be disappointed by the sentencing, but she wanted to see the criminal proceedings through to the end.

I just hope this turns out okay, she told Hunter in her quiet rasp.

Yup, Hunter answered.

A cardigan-clad victim advocate arrived to prepare them for the hearing. Rea, the advocate said, would not be taking responsibility for his crimes. He would not show remorse. He had family members supporting him in the courtroom. And neither Hunter nor Barbara would be allowed to deliver a victim impact statement in person. They could only submit a written copy to the judge.

I was ready to just die, you know. I was letting go because I was exhausted. But I think the good Lord wanted me to survive. To press charges for Lorri Mesedahl, says Barbara.

Barbara could no longer keep from breaking down. She had spent hours practicing her statement in front of a mirror, imagining telling the judge how she was still scared, and angry that her case was never prosecuted: I have come to the conclusion I will never see justice. Welling up, she told the advocate about surviving other abuse and violence, before Rea, and how it had changed her, affecting all her relationships.

As Barbara spoke, Hunter sat very still except for her hands, which she was kneading. Suddenly she jerked in her seat. Goddamn these men, she said, turning toward the window.

Barbara caught her breath. Then, seeming to notice something, she turned to Hunter, whose short graying hair was tucked behind her ears. Were you brunette too?

Yeah, Hunter said.

A screwdriver?

Yeah.

Mine was a dull-ass ice pick. Barbara used a tissue to dab at the heavy mascara lining her eyelids. Do I got makeup all over my face?

You look great, Hunter said. Fierce. They rode the elevator down to the 13th-floor courtroom together.

Stevens and Rondo were there. Stevens, dressed in black, fought hard to stay composed; beside her, Rondos slight, tense frame betrayed her anger. They gripped each others hands as they waited first for the judge to appear, and then for their stepfather to be escorted to the defendants table. By the time Rea entered the roomnow 64, heavyset and pale, with a thick white goatee and mustachetears were streaming down Stevens cheeks. It wasnt that she was afraid of him; she had seen him once as an adult, at her grandmothers funeral a few years ago. Its that there were so many waysPTSD, struggles with intimacythat her childhood experiences still remain with her. I was held captive by him, and there was nothing I could do, she tells me. I would like to see him have to stay in there until he dies. Because Ive been in prison for almost my whole life.

The only statement permitted in the courtroom was from Lorri Mesedahls half brother. Darrell won the game, Del Young said, tearing up as he stood in front of the judge. To ever allow this man to walk these streets again puts the public at such an extreme danger.

A few minutes later, Garcia sentenced Rea to 10 years and one month in prison, the maximum permitted under Minnesotas sentencing guidelines at the time of the 1983 murder. With supervised release and the time he had already served while awaiting a verdict, Rea would likely get out in just under five years. If the statutes of limitations on Hunters and Barbaras rapes had not expired, and Rea was also found guilty for those crimes, his recommended sentence could have been more than 20 years, calculates Mike Brandt, a Minnesota criminal defense attorney who is not involved in the case.

Barbara admits it scares her that Rea will be out of prison so soon. But she also believes her role in convicting him is the reason why she survived his attack all those years ago; on the night he tried to kill her, she tells me, I was ready to just die, you know. I was letting go because I was exhausted. But I think the good Lord wanted me to survive. To press charges for Lorri Mesedahl. Mesedahl is buried a few blocks from Barbaras home. She visits the gravesite often.

The Rea case, says one veteran investigator, is a wake-up call to make a better system.

In the current system, the only person were protecting is Darrell Rea, Sergeant Chris Karakostas tells me. The way the case unfolded is the result of bad policy, bad police work, bad county attorneys, the failures of the system to take care of people like him, Sergeant Gerry Wehr says. Its a wake-up call to make a better system. There is some hope things will change, and that this generation of sexual violence survivors will be the last to face the obstacles presented by narrow statutes of limitations. Minnesota long ago eliminated the ticking clock for any sexual assault where there is DNA evidence, but its prosecution window for other sexual assaults of adults now expires after nine years. In the past two legislative sessions, state lawmakers have rejected proposals, including one from former state Rep. Ilhan Omar (now a member of Congress), to completely abolish the statute of limitations on all sexual assault cases.

Hunter is still living with that impact. Some nights, she hallucinates the sound of someone coming up the stairs in her house. The night terror loops until she wakes up screaming. Closure, she says, is kind of a tricky word. Part of her is glad that Rea refused to accept responsibility in court. If he had apologized, she says, theres a burden on me. To process forgiveness.Barbara, Hunter, and Stevens told me they wish the law treated rape the same as murder, leaving cases open for as long as it takes for police to solve the crime. Having statutes of limitations for these sexually violent crimes is belittling and demeaning, Nina Levine, Hunters friend and former housemate, wrote to me recently. The law basically says, after X amount of years, the crime and its impact dont matter anymore.

Karakostas still isnt done with the case. He believes Hunters rape indicates there could be more crimes to uncover. I think any investigator who worked, even touched, this case, or knows anything about it, would agree that the probability that there are other victims out there, either living or dead, is probably pretty good, he says. After Rea was convicted of murder, he was legally obligated to hand over a new DNA sample. And unlike the bloodstain from Barbaras shirt, this one has been uploaded to the FBIs national database. From now on, it will be automatically compared to unknown DNA from crime scenes across the country and to results from the roughly 1,700 rape kits that Minneapolis Police have neglected to test since the 1990s. One day, Karakostas speculates, there could be another prosecution. In that future case, a judge could rule that the experiences of Hunter and Stevens count as corroborating evidence. Maybe they could still get their day in court. Theres a lot of women out there that really dont have some justice for what happened to them, Karakostas says.

Theres also still the big unanswered question: What happened to Vicky O? Over the years, rumors of where she may be have circulated through the police department. According to multiple investigators, the apartment building where Rea lived when Owczynsky disappeared in 1990 had an underground level, and at least one witness told the cops that he used to spend time down there. Its become the stuff of legend among certain Minneapolis cops that Owczynskys body might be buried underneath the building. One problem: The city condemned the building and tore it down in 1992. In its place stands the headquarters of the Minneapolis Police Departments 2nd Precinct.

Its a chilling prospectthat the body theyve spent decades looking for could be literally underneath the polices feet. Theoretically, Karakostas muses, youd have to take [the building] down. That seems unlikely, but like the investigators before him, hes still driven by the search for Vicky O, and Rea is still his number-one suspect. No matter what it took, he says, nothing would please me more than to find Vicky.

Darrell Reas stepdaughters, Monique Stevens (left) and Naomi Rondo (center), with their friend Victoria Owczynsky, who disappeared in 1990.

A previous version of this story was published online in June. The story, included in the November/December 2018 print edition, has been updated to reflected the sentencing of Darrell Rea.

Arplis - News source https://arplis.com/blogs/news/when-your-rape-doesnt-count

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We have come a long way since our first post (6 months ago), here!I plan to continue updating our progress every 6 months, highlighting our mistakes and our hits in hopes your can utilize some ideas to help your ecommerce and the difficult business that is fresh (24 hours) perishable shipping.Who we are: https://www.cameronsseafood.com/in 1985 my Dad and Uncle started the Maryland Seafood business and today it does $20 million in gross revenue each year. We sell raw and cooked seafood, and prepared dishes at 14 locations — 11 storefronts and three trucks — We have over 1,000,000 customers in the Baltimore-Washington-Philadelphia market. On June 24th 2017 my cousin and I started the nationwide home shipping business as a separate entity. The operation is run by me, my wife, dad, uncle, brother, cousin and 60 employees. I have no ownership in the stores, food trucks, and franchises. My uncle owns and handles all that.My Background: the business was named after me in 1985 as I am the oldest son of 6 children. My main business is apartment brokerage and investing. I have been a MD, DC, and VA broker for 17 years www.idealrealty.com. I sell 100+ unit complexes to institutions and high net-worth individuals.Coolest Online Customers: Gilbert Arenas and Mia KhalifaWhat seafood do we sell online: Virtually everything but, 85% of sales are Maryland crabs, Maryland crab cakes, Maryland crab soups, and Free shipping samplers.What we do: we ship freshly cooked Maryland Blue Crabs, Crab cakes and seafood to your door in 24 hours after being caught in the Chesapeake Bay, Maryland. We send you seafood that is 3 days fresher than the grocery store. Btw, we accept bitcoin!Where do we get our Seafood? Chesapeake Bay, Maryland for Maryland products, using our own crabbers and contracted crabbers over the past 32 years. Although our COGS is 30%, shipping with 1-2 day delivery is very expensive, with the packaging materials outweighing the FedEx fees. We ship it fresh with Snow/King crab legs, soft shells (in off-season) and lobster tails being the items we ship frozen. Some items we receive frozen like Bee Gee shrimp from Louisiana.We are True Blue Certified, meaning In order to be True Blue certified, participating food service establishments commit that at least 75% of their annual crab usage will be from Maryland harvested or processed crabs.Startup Leverage: We do have some amazing advantages and you should tab into yours: 1) We don’t pay rent because we operate out of my uncles seafood headquarters. 2) We don’t need employees to handle extra orders (my partners handles up to 50 orders a day by himself) because we can use our existing employees. 4) We don’t have “employees” we contract existing employees meaning you don’t have to pay 15% tax 3) We don’t have food spoilage because we buy only what we need from our the stores each morning.Online Profit Margins: We aim for 35% gross margins with our cost of goods sold at 30%. However, packaging and shipping costs wipe out most of it while paid-advertisement has wiped out the rest leaving us with 10% gross for the first 6 months. 1) We eliminated AdWords since our ROI/customer acquisition costs were too high. 2) We reduced all packaging costs through trial and error. We eliminated anything not necessary then negotiated each material with three vendors. You need to create a bidding war. 3) We negotiated shipping rates by switching vendors 3x. We formed a strategic partnership to tab into their FedEx account. With a growing customer base we are on track to hit 30% gross next year but it’s possible to hit 40% and 10% net.Free Shipping Model: We offer free shipping to 29 states (1-2 day zones through FedEx ground network) when a customer spends over $200. Since our average order is $160 we think that’s a solid minimum order. We offer flat-rate air shipping everywhere else. National shipping is $94.99 or $79.99 when they spend $200+. We offer many free shipping sampler combos to local and regional customers. It’s too expensive to ship nationally without ridiculous pricing. That’s ok, if we can capitalize on the 29 ground states we will hit our $20,000,000 number. We don’t make any money on shipping, and I wish we could. Shipping page.Chargeback Fraud: people are creative and fraud has cost us thousands We cannot require signatures on shipments without incurring a $4.50 fee and what if the person isn’t home? FedEx will return the box to their hub subjecting it to transit issues and spoilage. A lot of our customers order our food as gifts so the billing and shipping don’t match. We learned you can get expensive software that charges a per transaction fee. It’s only worth if at higher volume but you can do your own fraud detection. For example, look up the shipping address in google maps. Google the person and look for articles about them to show they live in the state. Modify your payment processor’s security features so you can monitor the results. We noted most fraudsters order our frozen items (to store or resell them) so we carefully review each frozen order with wide eyes.Losses: We have made many errors totaling $15,000. Shipping wrong items, missing items, item arrives late or spoiled, gel packs melt, things happen. The important thing is to address the root cause, which helped us lower our losses rate from 15% down to 5% with a 3% goal in mind for 2018.Shipping – pin FedEx vs UPS and save money. Make sure the “rates” include a residential fee and fuel fees. Also know like new credit cards they will give you introductory rates that eventually run out and use your monthly sales volume to adjust up/down. Negotiate longer into rate periods if you can! UPS offers insurance on the entire sale and will grant 25% off next day air on any bad deliveries and charge $1.80 per $100 but there is a catch. Your customers need to provide you photo proofs, and UPS has to be at fault to receive a claim (late delivery which occurs less than 1%) or a forgetting to deliver. However, UPS has abysmal Saturday ground delivery networks as it’s new as of August 2017 when FedEx has the entire network open. UPS has a smaller ground delivery range that FedEx too. No brainer for us, we chose FedEx. We don’t take insurance because it’s a loss. This will depend on your line of business.Packaging Perishables – we reverse engineered Blue Apron and competitors to figure out how to ship fresh (and live) seafood. It also teaches you where to find suppliers (use manufacturers not resellers as they have a markup). Call them and form relationships.Gel Packs: It takes 5 weeks to properly freeze a gel pack! I thought our business was doomed when I learned this because how can I store that many gel packs and replenish them within my walk-in freezer? Solution: we pay for pre-frozen ones and have pallets stored at -10. We learned this from ordering from Blue Apron and calling the gel pack manufacturer.Boxes: to ship perishable seafood you probably need an insulated cooler and corrugated box kit. Since we started, we reduced costs by 30% by searching for a manufacturer (not a distributor) that can cut costs and store surplus for us. Costs include freight so find someone local within 1-2 hours of your HQ.Customer Service: We sell seafood but we are in the customer service business. We are open 7 days per week and either I or my brother will answer your phone calls (888-404-7454 x1). Our competitors are only open 5-days per week. We offer cash refunds and reshipments on any customer complaint. Our competitors may give you a credit on your next order…The customer is always right and we ensure 100% satisfaction guaranteed. This has converted customers to repeat customers. We treat each customer as we want to be treated. Give a little, get a lot.Website: I know you think I am biased because my wife created our site from scratch but she did an amazing job for her first ecommerce site! We modify content daily and advertise to our email list once per week with discount codes. This would have cost me $10,000 to $30,000 with all the changes we have made. It’s constantly evolving and the project never ends. Find a good partner that will grow with you. No 3rd party will put in the passion a strategic partner could offer. Try offering a lower hourly rate but give them a piece of the action for the difference.Advertising: The best advertisement for us has been word-of-mouth. We carry 5-star reviews on Facebook but getting satisfied customers to review is hard (after a sale they receive an email asking them to rate their experience). We thought about offering a coupon but it feels like a bribe. We do offer a coupon once someone abandons their cart to remarket. We send out weekly coupons via mailing list and we offer weekly storewide specials (the real savings happen when you sign up). Social media is free, get good at it. Learn which outlets suit your business. For us, Facebook and Instagram work whereas Twitter has no traction. I learned ads on social media don’t convert. Nobody wants to be spammed ads. They want to discuss a topic and engage on pictures, videos, and education about your field. They will find a way to buy from you. Instead of offering a coupon teach them a recipe, explain why a Maryland Crab is the world’s best crab (in the Chesapeake Bay, due to the specific climate, the Blue Crabs lie dormant for 6 months and form a layer of fat on their meat which gives them a their sweat buttery flavor!). You see, that’s interesting! When you post ask yourself how will this engage an audience? You want to advertise? Then try doing giveaways using www.gleam.io, which has amazing social networking tools to spread the word.Facebook is another animal where most of our success has been through remarketing. Currently, we are brainstorming both organic and paid Facebook ideas…I’m open to any suggestions. Getting customers to your homepage is the hardest part. Once they get there, your site has to convert them. When we started, we used Adwords to bring attention to our product pages but we had no other supportive information to convert them. We recrafted each page to stand on its own (assuming they never leave that page) and doubled our conversion rates!We outsource our SEO/AdWords to a company that we learned about through our first Reddit Post. SEO can take at least 6+ months to build up your keywords on the rankings list. You need to be on the 1st page or you won’t convert traffic. We started with most organic keyword rankings on the 64th page and are have almost all of our keywords now on the 3rd page. By February most of our keywords should be on the 1st page! Many things went into this including getting quality backlinks, blogging 6 times per month with SEO rich content, carefully titling each page, section, and product; and Keyword/URL optimization.Adwords: We foolishly spent $42,000 on AdWords and ended our campaign with $37 cost per conversion and 186.29% ROI, which doesn’t allow us to make profit during the off-season (crabs are seasonal from April to November) so we will try again in Q2, 2018.Influencers: overall this hasn’t been profitable. We have social media influencers with 100k+ dedicated seafood/food followers whereby we grant them a vanity link and discount but it hasn’t worked. We belong to several influencer networks were they receive 8% for posting banner adds, this has only brought in $10,000…Mia Khalifa: We reached out to Mia as she has the strongest influences (4m+ followers) for a Maryland native that loves our seafood. We sent her food and she spent a week hyping the brand including social media posts, PMs and featured a Twitch episode about Cameron’s. Definitely drove tremendous traffic although we can only ship to the USA due the transit time lag of customs. We look forward to working more with her.Gilbert Arenas: I’m a huge Gilbert and Wizards fan! He replied to Mia’s post and a PM worked to get his interest. He is a real character and orders a lot of our seafood each month. He love the high-protein variety that (Maryland) seafood provides. Chicken and vegetables does get boring.Washington Post: We were featured in the Washington Post on Dec 1st, see here. They did a good job summarizing our business so far. We have also been featured in Forbes, New York Times, Huffington Post and more. How? I googled the food reviewer from each of the above and figured out their contact info. Sent them a 2-line email asking them to review our food and boom!Videos We started sharing videos of the entire process so you can see the experience before you risk order fresh seafood online. We plan to continue posting new videos in 2018 and I’d love feedback on what you would like to see?What we doFirst Customer UnboxingAnother unboxingResteam Maryland Crabs (gif recipe style)Packaging demo2018 GoalsGetting to 100+ orders a day without paid advertisementWholesale crab cakes to home meal delivery providers (i.e. Blue Apron)Wholesale frozen crab cakes and soups to large retailers (i.e Costco) and AmazonVisit multiple tradeshowsPlease provide us any feedback or ideas. We want to get better and need your help.Discount code "holiday" will save you 10% on all order and we accept Bitcoin!

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