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fromthewritingcorner · 5 years

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The Two Headed Dog part 2

fromthewritingcorner

part 1

Taking his place behind the bar, Michael took in the sight of everyone now seated in different spots throughout the establishment. Azathi was sitting in one of the half moon shaped booths with another body sitting in the shadows, but Michael knew exactly who was sitting with the tall demon. He never gave his name, and if he did tell you his name, it wasn't ever his real one. His appearance seemed to change over the years. When Michael first met him, he had the appearance of an older man with slicked back hair peppered with white hairs, while his eyes were a deep brown, eyes that always seemed to unsettle Michael more than any others. Now a days he was sporting blond curls on his head and far younger looking face, one still set with baby fat as if only just reaching his late teens. It was strange at first to Michael, how easily they could all just change their appearance, as if it was as easy as slipping on a new coat. But as the years went on, Michael learned to to tell each patron apart or who they were by feeling. Each of these demons and monsters gave off a sense of being, one Michael learned to read from watching his old mentor work the bar for years.

“Hello there handsome, you're looking swell tonight. As usual.” Micheal looked down the bar and found Maziel. Her tight black dress clung to every curve of her body and her long pin straight midnight black hair cascaded down her back. To any other man, or woman, she was every bit the look of seductress. To her ruby red lips that twisted up in an almost feral look, to her strangely colored magenta eyes, she was quite a sight to behold.

But under the yellow lights of the bar, something else could be seen that set Maziel apart from any other beautiful woman. The fact that gleaming on her pale milky skin sat a pattern of off colored golden scales that ran down her shoulders and to the back of her hands, stopping just before her long delicate fingers. If the scales didn't give away her inhumanness, then her slitted eyes would probably do it for just about anyone.

“Hey there Maz, haven't seen you around for sometime.” Michael pulled out one of the bars many martini glasses and got to work on fixing up the demon a drink. Because of the patrons who frequent the bar, the bottles of booze that lined the shelves behind the counter were always quality. As he finished putting together Maziels drink, he passed the demon their dry martini.

“Yes, well work has been busier than usual. Humans are so easy to entertain, but its once they get attached that I can have some real fun.” Masiel gave the human bartender a feral smirk with sharp teeth poking out between her lips. Michael never bothered to ask what it was any of his customers did for a living. He honestly didn't want to know.

Micheal was pulled away from the female looking demon as Azathi approached the bar. His gaze flicked to the young man still sitting in the corner booth. He had never really spoken with this particular demon very much. They had a few exchanges here and there, but nothing to cement anything between them beside bar owner and customer.

“Let's have the usual there bar keep.” Azathi leaned his far to tall of a body against the bar while Michael got to work on their drinks.

“A glass of gin on the rocks for you, Az, and a scotch straight for Mr. Luke.” Michael placed both drinks on the counter for Azathi to pick up. Mr. Luke was the only name Michael called the ever present and ever changing demon that sat in the same booth every night. Something his old predecessor had taught him when he first started working at the bar, never use a demons full name. It didn't matter if they gave you a fake one or not, never say say their full name. It's why Michael used nicknames or placed a Mr or Miss before their name if it sounded fake.

Rule number one of the Two Headed Dog, do not trust the customers. Michael did his best to live by this rule. These things were demons, they served only themselves, and he was only a human, one who served them the occasional drink and sometimes offered them a few words here and there. But he kept his distance. He knew he had a job to do, and they were the paying customer who only wanted a drink and a quiet place to be themselves.

So Michael did his job. From Sundown at 6pm, to the early hour of 2am, he served the patrons of the Two Headed Dog, and they paid for his quiet discretion and good booze.

By ten o’clock the bar was filled with the murmur of different conversations as demons took their usual seats and conversed with one another. Some gathered in the few booths that lined the back wall, while others sat together at the tables in the center of the bar. Then there were those who enjoyed the quiet solitude and sat alone at the bar itself, only making a noise when they wanted another drink.

It was like this every night. The same routine, but Michael wouldn't have it any other way. The Two Headed Dog allowed someone like him to have the money to give his daughter the life she deserves. He was able to afford to get her into the better schools on the other side of the city. He could put money away for her future, while still maintaining their household with food and other necessities. All he had to do, was host some inhuman beings right below where his daughter slept.

“Bar keep, another round for the table.” Michael nodded his head and started up on another round of drinks for one of the tables in the middle of the bar. The creature that had asked for them was another character only darkness could conjure up. Laboux was a hefty thing, with dark skin and a bald head. His outstanding characteristic that defined him were the multiple horns that grew out of the top of his head, creating a sort of gruesome X. Each demon that visited the bar was different from the other. Each had their own story of creation, and Michael knew to stay out of the way of every single one of them.

As the night wound down, the patrons of the bar slowly left the establishment and wandered off into the night. The last two to leave were Azathi and Mr. Luke. The later of the two placed a hefty tip on the bar before leaving. He did that every night, leaving money on the bar before stepping out onto the dark streets. The money Mr. Luke left would then be placed in a safe located under the bar. That money would one day go on to pay for whatever college Angel wanted to attend.

After taking care of the register and cleaning the last few glasses, Michael was getting ready to lock up the joint when the front door opened and an unexpected customer walked in. The reason he was unexpected was because he was human. Humans rarely ever walked into the bar, so in that instance, the man's presence put Michael more on edge than the demons did.

“Sorry buddy, but bars closing for the night.” Michael calmly told the stranger. Whoever he was, he wore a gray zip up jacket with the hood pulled over his head. His hands were dug deep in the jackets pockets while his head moved from side to side, obviously searching for anyone else in the bar. When he found Michael to be the only one in the bar, he quickly pulled his hands out of his pockets.

Michaels eyes widened at the fast movement and soon found himself raising his hands up as the man aimed a gun at him. This had never happened before. The bar was relatively safe from robbers, but as Michael stared at the man, he noticed something. Gleaming on his chest was a chain, and hanging on that chain was a finely crafted silver pendent in the shape of a snake eating its own tail. It was the symbol of one of the local gangs used to identify themselves with. But that gang was run by an older man named Thomas, someone who knew to steer clear of this bar.

“Hey, now, wait just a moment.” Michael kept his voice even and as calm as he could make it. “The old man knows this bar has nothing to do with either of the gangs that run around this city. It would be best if you just put the gun down and walk away.”

“Shut up man. The old man is dead. Gabriel is running these streets now. And with him in charge, your place is back on the market. So open up the register and hand over everything that's inside.” The man cocked the gun and stepped closer to the bar.

Michael kept his face blank and calmly opened up the register. He carefully pulled out all the money and placed it on the bar for the man to see. There was only about $600 in the register, the real stash was in the safe sitting at Michaels feet. He didn't care about losing the money in the register, but he’d be damned if the man tried anything for that safe.

“Alright, that's all there is. Now take the money and leave.” Michael watched the man carefully as he reached out and grabbed the money, stuffing it into his jacket pockets. Michael could only hope that once the man got what he wanted, he would leave and that would be the end of it.

“A safe, there's gotta be a safe in here, right?” Michael could feel his face pale a little, but did his best to not show any emotion on his face.

“No man, there's no safe here. All the money I have was in the register.” The man didn't seem to believe Michael or take his word for it. He got up closer to the bar and pressed the gun into Michael's chest.

“Don't lie to me man, I know there's gotta be a safe in this place. No way you don’t have one.” With the man so close to Michael's face he could clearly see who was under the hood. While he didn't recognize him, he could tell that he was young and his eyes held a certain level of fear and uncertainty, that when mixed became desperation.

“I am not lying. I don't have a safe here. Just take what you already have and leave.” Michael wanted this kid out of his bar. This was going too far, and he wasn't willing to give up what money he had in the safe.

“Stop fucking lying to me man!” The young gang member jabbed the gun into Michael's chest and pushed him back with its force. “Just tell where the safe is.”

Michael stared at the gun pointed at his chest and felt his heart pace beneath his rib cage. Dont do anything stupid, he thought to himself. But as the man added more pressure to his chest, Michael made a split second decision, that if executed wrong, would end in his life being taken.

With one hand Michael reached out and punched the young man in the face, while at the same time his other reached for the gun and with enough force pulled it out of the robbers grasp. That punch to the face was well aimed and packed enough force to cause the man to lose his grasp on his weapon and stumble back from the bar.

It was a risk, and Michael was lucky to have succeeded. Now he needed to get the gang member out of his bar and away from his home. The young man scrambled to stand up and as soon as he saw Michael with his gun pointed at him, anger crossed his features. The kid knew he had just fucked up big time and he was going to pay dearly for that. The side of his face told him he already was.

“Your going to regret that man. Gabriel runs these streets and he’ll come calling sooner or later.” The man warned him.

“Listen, I don't care about your boss or who runs these streets. My bar has been neutral from all the gang shit going on outside, and it's going to stay that way. Now get the hell out of my bar.” Michael watched the young man closely as he walked backwards to door. They held eye contact up until the last moment and the young man fled down the street.

Michael held his breath and listened for anymore disturbances before releasing the air in his lungs and allowing his shoulders to slouch. Relief filled his mind as he placed the gun on the counter and locked up the bar properly. Losing the money from the register didn't even faze him, he only felt relief go through him as he glanced down at the safe tucked away under the bar.

#writing my writing the two headed dog story short story

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aletaevers · 5 years

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( cisfemale ) haven’t seen ALETA 'PIXIE' EVERS around in a while. the FREYA MAVOR lookalike has been known to be (+) DRIVEN & (+) RESILIENT, but SHE can also be (-) VAIN & (-) UNRELENTING. The 22 year old is a JUNIOR majoring in NURSING. I believe they’re living in TERRA FIRMA, but I popped by earlier and no one answered the door. ( james. 20. EST. she/they. )

i’m......so excited......................like i LOVE aleta and im so iskdjfg !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

pleathe give this a like if u’d like to plot w/ her !!! esp if u have a hendrix bb as they’d know her more ... obv

TW: child abuse, alcoholism, death, violence, grief. just some really tragic shit, man. self loathing.

a e s t h e t i c s

french-pane windows and ivy-coated bricks, silk pajama sets and champagne bubbles, wind through hair and constant, constant running; red cards and penalties, explosive words and hair-tugging, tear-soaked pillows and red eyes in empty bathrooms, the smell of roses and death, loose curls and sharp scissors, fairy tales and their endings -- how bittersweet, nails against desks, against backs, nails down a chalkboard, nails breaking skin. thrown fists and bruised knuckles, late night cereal-runs, getting lost in the woods, sleeping in fields. choking down insults, forced smiles, a wish for comfort.

general information !!

full name: aleta marit evers

nickname(s): pixie, tbd

b.o.d. - june 17th, grand ol’ gemini

label(s): the vixen, the amaranth, the hellcat, etc. etc.

height: 5′8″ tbh

hometown: giethoorn, netherlands

sexuality: bi as hell

stats

biography !!

all aleta has ever wanted was to be happy. to just, for once--be content.

born to anton evers, a well-known neurosurgeon and eleanor evers (nee du pont), a talented actress appearing on several tv shows in her youth -- privilege is, essentially, her middle name

her parents met on the set of a hospital show, anton a consultant and eleanor a ‘patient’; it was the kind of love that was volatile and loud and known -- dangerous, in the end, maybe.

this was only possible because eleanor had always dreamed of being a star, instead of inheriting her families’ horse racing business; which thus resulted in her traveling across an entire ocean to pursue her dreams where there wasn’t already a name made for her.

lil fun facts about the evers: anton’s older brother is a partner with their father at evers & evers, and his younger brother is koninklijke marechaussee.

life was normal in the beginning; eleanor had her firstborn, rhys -- a son, which made anton happy. then, her second born, aleta -- a daughter, which made anton less happy. a few years after aleta came laurel, another daughter. and that was that.

it was supposed to be the three of them.

anton evers, in all his glory -- was nothing more than a no-good cheater with a bad temper and a lack of empathy. which, of course, led to his numerous affairs with one of his nurses. which -- in turn, led to the birth of one ramona evers, only to be discovered six years later.

pre-ramona: when the kids got too much for eleanor, she’d let them fall into the hands of the nannies. plural, as there were many; not all willing to deal with three spoiled devils from the deepest pits of hell. she loved her children, but god, was she not built for motherhood. eleanor spent her days drinking wine and champagne, excessively, while the nannies chased after mud-coated children and faced their tantrums head-first.

their house was old and ~vintage~ and more like a mansion than anything else, a backyard leading into woods--countless woods. this is where aleta spent most of her time, when she got sick of rhys pulling her pigtails and him refusing to play knights and princes with her.

after a severe accident, ramona was suddenly left motherless and thus: custody went to anton. it came to a shock to the entire family, but eleanor the most -- she’d gone six years unknowing of the fact that her husband had another child.

it was like watching their mother turn into a completely different person overnight -- while never cruel to her own children, eleanor was relentless towards ramona. whether it were insults or nails dug into arms; more often than not a martini glass in her hand.

aleta had always loved her mother -- even with nannies looking after her more often than not. in her eyes, her mother and father had a marriage that fairy tales were based off of. anton worked often, but everyday he’d bring home flowers for eleanor; their home was essentially a garden; vases and vases of roses.

if her mother hated ramona then aleta hated ramona. rhys had begun closing up and laurel, out of fear than anything else, stayed clear of the soap opera that was now their life.

these were aleta’s nightmare child gone extreme years. unapologetically violent towards any other student who dared step in her way, she took what she wanted and was a typical bully throughout her school years. she was essentially just. a really angry brat. with dyslexia, which also made school Hard which in turn made her Hate School.

more often than not, she was alone at home. more often than not, she was in the woods. they were her only source of peace. it was in the woods that she met vos. whether that was his real name, she didn’t know. she didn’t care. he’d gotten his foot stuck in a rabbit hole, and she’d gotten it out. and from that point, they were friends. it was like a fairy tale, which aleta had always been big on. she went by duif, going along with his shenanigans.

together they played knights and princes (aleta, always the knight. always. vos, the prince. always.) practically everyday until sundown, where they’d part ways.

throughout this all, eleanor had been getting worse. her alcoholism had taken an extreme turn for the worst.

when aleta was 12, she found her mother dead. she doesn’t remember much, just red wine mimicking blood and pearls strewn across the room, shattered glass and her own screaming sobs.

the day after the funeral, they moved.

aleta was, essentially, alone in the world after that. rhys had gone off with the bad sort of crowd and had no time for his mourning sister; he was grieving in his own way. laurel had befriended their neighbor, eva, and aleta had immediately taken a dislike towards her. she thought she looked like a rat. aleta told eva that much. and ramona was...off doing ramona things, avoiding her family by any means necessary.

time sort of...flew, after that. aleta channeled her anger through sports--and as she got older, into parties and general reckless activity involving alcohol and whatnot. grief still hung heavy in her throat, but she put on a mask of cynical coldness and became known as the resident bitch. it fit her. she didn’t care.

her moods calmed a bit as she entered university, but not by much tbh.

uuhhh hmmm. met tiago through her brother, and only pursued him because she had overheard ramona gushing to either laurel or eva or whomever the fuck about her little ~faraway crush~. so, like, obviously aleta fucked him? and somehow! they wound up dating! she’s very much in love with him, which terrifies her because she’s very scared of loving someone.

also...........uh......................may have gotten ramona expelled out of sheer pettiness. more on that later. :~)

personality !!

frank, rude, and spiteful -- at least she’s honest. even if her comments are riddled in backhanded compliments and eye-rolling.

she’s not the....easiest person to befriend. has a habit of really only paying much attention to people she finds interesting; if you bore her then you’re out! thanks for playing!

despite how off-putting she can be, she’s pretty well-known. whether its because of her viciousness on the field in the many, many sports she has played for hendrix, or her presence at parties, or ‘cos she made your cousin or best friend or whomever cry in the bathroom, or y’know. her famous, dead mom.

doesn’t...seem to have a problem with her reputation? likes being seen as this tough, untouchable person.

is soft with very very few people, like, maybe three at the max? and she’s not even soft towards her siblings so difjgkh. one of these people is obv tiago.

she’s endlessly loyal, even if she does flirt with other people to make her bf jealous ?? like, she’d never actually cheat. not after what her father did to her mother. does it excuse her actions ?? fuck no. she’s still a bad person

hates her dad so yay !! daddy issues. p sure papa evers is part of a secret society but, y’know. just dad things.

she’s....very emotional. very prone to sudden spouts of just, anger. it doesn’t take a lot to piss her off, and she’s not a particularly friendly whirlpool.

cries a lot tbh. usually before she sleeps, or in the shower, or in one of the campus bathrooms. doesn’t let people see her cry but like...it’s also not surprising to catch her fixing her eyeliner in the bathroom after an episode.

she’s just in general p moody ?? petty ?? will talk shit to you in dutch, even if u fucking speak it. she doesn’t care. would probably spread a rumor about u just for funsies.

she’s gr8 at parties, usually ‘cos shes too crossed to be actively mean.

like, okay, i’ve made her out to be pretty Horrible but hbjnfdmgh she isn’t going to look at your character and just. start beating them down with words n fists and shit, y’know ?? she might be thinking it, but she’s not That impulsive

is apathetic at best towards most people otherwise, like, idk -- if she doesn’t have a reason, even if its a very small reason, she won’t bother with you.

this VIDEO right fucking here. GOD. that’s an aleta vibe. it’s probably not something she’d say but just. the tone ?? awful. it gave me flashbacks to middle school when i watched that video.

has a sketchbook which is essentially anatomy notes and like, lil doodles n shit of fantasy scenery n shit

kinda...escapes into her mind sometimes ?? is still in love w the concept of fairy tales and perfect love and just. happiness. like she’s kind of obsessed with it ?? with the perfect image ?? which, hence, leads to her illustrating it. hence why she’s just so. in love. hence why she sabotages everything for herself too ‘cos ! she just sort of hates herself and knows nothing will ever be magical and perfect and shit.

so like, big secret fantasy nerd. probably has tried to sing with birds once when nobody was looking. she cant even sing. she shower sings and like maybe the bathroom acoustics make her sound not horrible but ?? she’s mediocre at best. it’s tragic, really.

there’s sm more, like, she’s just got a lot of feelings and contradicting personality points and she’s udfjighk she’s annoying. that’s what she is. aleta is CANCELED

ok ok ok but GOD is she good at sports ?? like genuinely just. she does like, track, hockey, lacrosse, tennis prolly idk, maybe other shit. and like granted she gets angry n then gets penalized for almost beating a girl down but isjkdfg she’s good at sports

got the nickname ‘pixie’ on the field ‘cos shes fast and also has bitten a few people and is just very aggressive

EDIT: i forgot to mention that she !! stopped relying on her father for money (this does not include....stealing from him, which she most definitely does!!) and she’s kinda paying for things w/ savings and like...soon, she’ll get a job, i promise uhdfijfkg

wanted connections !!

like...two close friends. pleathe, for her sanity.

uuuuuHHH god, just enemies of all sorts. ex-friends or never-friends or exes before tiago. people she’s talked shit about, or spread shit about

maybe she fucking poured her alcohol on ur muses’ head during a party

GOD i don’t know she drops people so much !!

other....friends, y’know, that she isn’t ~close~ to, but she gets along with fairly well

people she flirts with to make her bf jealous !! because she’s awful !!

temptations...b/c commitment is difficult for her b/c of y’know. her parents. not an actual affair but just...y’know. checking each other out, flirtatious banter, the whole ‘no i can’t ive got a boyfriend’ and shit like that.

teammates !!

dead parents club.

somebody who caught her crying in the bathroom hfdjgkh whether theyre concerned for some fucking reason or r straight up like ‘lmao...u deserve it’

ummm give me rhys ?? and laurel ?? or people who know them

rhys is a drug dealer so like.............she prolly knows a few ppl who get their drugs from him

friends of ramona’s before she uh . . . disappeared / got expelled

good influences who r like ‘stop being such a fucking dick aleta get ur shit together’

cousins !! she prolly has a ton

maybe......an online friend ?? who shes known for a while ??

bad influences who r like >:3 yes stay angry. stay bad. here, break this fucking window with this bat. yes, good.

literally i will take anything sjkfdg

people she’s tormented ??? has bullied ?? has embarrassed ???

#water:intro #child abuse tw #alcoholism tw #death tw #grief tw #violence tw

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joemerl · 5 years

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Writer’s Month, Day 4: “Road Trip”

Original Fiction, specifically “the Werewolf WIP”

Word Count: 1,829.

Summary: A newly-single mother tries to take her three sons to the beach. This is hampered by the fact that two of them are werewolves.

Author’s Notes: So, after reading my Julycanthropy entry, who wants to know more about the characters from the novel that I’m writing?!

...No one? Oh. Well, I wrote this anyway. It’s pointless but character-building backstory, focusing mostly on a character who’s not even alive in the actual book. Enjoy!

Carla expected her sons to be excited when she told them that they were going on a road trip to the beach. Four-year-old Con was, at least. Her older sons were more hesitant.

Her eleven-year-old, Curtis, scowled. He was scowling a lot these days. “What about the curse?”

Carla pursed her lips. The resemblance between her and Curtis was uncanny. “What about it? If you boys have to turn into wolves for three days, y’all might as well do it at the beach for a change.”

“But people will see us!”

“They’ll probably—” she began, but cut herself off. They’ll probably just think that you’re big dogs would have been the exact wrong thing to say to Curtis. “We’ll find a stretch of beach with nobody around. And we’ll spend some of your wolf days driving anyway. Let y’all enjoy as much time on the beach as possible.”

Fifteen-year-old Randall had a different concern. “What if Dad comes by while we’re gone?”

Curtis gave him a withering look. Carla’s nostrils flared. It had been more than a month since Roger had last been by to visit his children. Randall and Curtis were now going into the forest alone for the three days each week when they were cursed to transform into wolves.

“Your father knows how to call us if he wants to,” she said coolly.

Randall looked at the floor. “Can we even afford this?” he murmured.

“Don’t you worry about that,” she snapped. The answer was no, obviously, but Carla didn’t care at this point.

They loaded into the car on Thursday morning. The plan was to drive halfway there the first day, stop before the boys needed to shift at sundown, then drive the rest of the way on Friday. The fact that Randall and Curtis would be wolves at this point would be an inconvenience, but Carla was choosing not to think about that too much.

Of course, the best laid plans just had to go wrong.

Randall did much of the driving that first day, and like every teenager with a learner’s permit he drove annoyingly slowly, even on the highway. Then they got lost for half an hour passing through the city, all of which meant that they were quite behind schedule by late afternoon.

Curtis and Randall kept reminding her that it was almost sunset. They were almost as aggravating as four-year-old Con, who kept yelling that he was bored or tired or hungry.

Finally, just as Randall was giving his millionth glance at the horizon, he flinched. So did Curtis in the backseat.

“Mom?”

She sighed, already aware of what he was going to say. “I know. Can you boys hold it in?”

“It hurts when we do that.”

“Just for a little while?” she said, even though they were at least forty-five minutes away from where they planned to stop.

Curtis sat back moodily. Randall put his head down to avoid his mother’s gaze. Even in the dying sunlight she could see their expressions get increasingly pained as they continued down the road. Curtis kept rubbing his arms, his skin itching worse and worse with each passing second.

After ten minutes he let out a growl of frustration, his breathing labored, and Randall got a spasm of pain so strong that the car momentarily swerved out of its lane. Carla sighed angrily.

“Alright, fine! I guess y’all have to change here.”

Randall stopped the car and immediately clambered out. Curtis scoffed even as he unbuckled his seatbelt.

“Where? There’s nowhere to change, just—a road and a big empty field!”

“Well, changing in the road’s a bad idea,” Randall said with uncharacteristic sarcasm. He walked around the car, already starting to take off his shirt. “Come on—there’s nobody else around, and you can use the car as cover.”

“But—”

“It’ll be okay, Curtis,” his mom said, climbing into the driver’s seat. “Just—do it, if you absolutely have to.”

Curtis made a face, but another painful twitch went through his body and he reluctantly climbed out of the car. “Don’t look,” he said quickly, joining Randall in the field by the road.

Carla didn’t need to be told twice; she had seen her husband change, once, and the last thing that she wanted was to see that happen to her sons. She glanced pointedly away at the empty road as her sons undressed, leaving the door open so that they could throw each piece of clothing into the car.

“Mom, make Con stop looking!”

“Curtis, he’s your four-year-old brother.”

“Yeah, but—I don’t want him to see me—changing.” It was clear from the way he said it that nudity was not the issue at hand.

Carla grimaced, then turned around to get Con’s attention while avoiding her other sons. She did shudder a bit as she heard them transform—there were groans and a series of soft but unsettling sounds, bones reshaping themselves and organs changing inside their bodies. Only when she heard Randall clamber through the open door did she turn, watching as two dark wolves slunk reluctantly into the car.

Con pointed excitedly. “Woof! Mom, Randall’s a woof!”

Randall licked Con’s face, causing him to giggle. Carla knew it was Randall because Curtis would never do that, though she had to admit that they were hard to tell apart like this—they looked like two big dogs with black faces and mostly gray bodies, though Curtis was smaller and had lighter fur. He curled up in his seat in the back, his canine face somehow managing to look sullen.

“Play!” said Con, holding up his arms like he wanted someone to undo his car seat. Sure enough Carla was walking around to the backdoor, but only to close it so that they could continue on their way.

“Not now, hon. We gotta get to the hotel first.”

Con play-howled in response, then tried to pet Curtis, who growled.

The next few days were pretty miserable.

They had to sneak Randall and Curtis into their motel room, because of course this place didn’t allow “pets” (and Carla would have balked at passing her sons off that way anyhow). Curtis kept pacing through the cramped room while Randall absentmindedly clawed at the bedspread---Carla kept telling them to stop, then started yelling, which made Con start to cry. He eventually calmed down when Randall cuddled next to him and let him climb on his back.

Also, something to note: wolves, even when possessed with human intelligence, cannot use toilets. They had to do their business in the bathtub, with Carla cleaning anything that didn’t wash down the drain. The result was disgusting for all involved.

Carla had to do all of the driving the next day, and conversation was obviously a bit lacking. Curtis, lying on the floor of the backseat, kept trying to read his books without the use of hands; he finally gave up, put down his head and spent the rest of the trip growling. Con's legs were dangling over the edge of the seat and kept kicking him in the head.

Finally they reached their destination, sneaked the boys into another hotel room and set about trying to figure out how to get them to the beach.

In retrospect Carla should have put more thought into this part. The beach was just too crowded during the day, and even at night it seemed like there was always somebody around the hotel, making it impossible to sneak them out. The result was that Carla spent all day chasing Con around the beach alone, then, dead tired, dragged herself back to the room to spend some time with the older kids. She was harried, they were restless and miserable and Con, picking up on the bad mood, was often whiny and prone to tantrums.

Finally Sunday evening arrived. Carla took Con to get takeout (she was spending way too much on takeout, especially with how much a bored wolf can eat) and was relieved to find the others were human when they returned. Curtis continued to sulk all through dinner, however, while Randall, as usual, put on a cheerful face.

“So Curt and I haven’t had a chance to use the pool yet,” he said, kneeling down to tousle Con’s hair. “You think you can show us where it is, little cub?”

“Uh-huh!”

“No thanks,” Curtis mumbled, laying down on the bed and turning away.

Carla watched him with a frown and opted to stay behind herself. Randall and Con left, leaving her to regard her middle son. He kept his back to her, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

She sat down on the edge of the bed, absent-mindedly patting his knee. “So, this trip is going well, isn’t it?” Her tone dripped with sarcasm.

“Yeah, sorry us being cursed ruined your stupid vacation!” he snapped.

Carla scowled. “Don’t be a brat. You know, I’m doing all this just to make you boys happy, so—”

“No you’re not, because Randall and I told you that we didn’t want to come!” he said, sitting up now and turning to glare at her. “If you wanted to make us happy, you wouldn’t have locked us in here for two days so that you and Con can go have fun without us!”

"Oh, so you’d rather be back home, hiding in the woods? Huh? Like your father always made y’all do?”

“Yeah, well, at least---at least he knew that---”

He sniffled, then suddenly covered his eyes and started to cry. The anger quickly dissolved from Carla’s face. With a soft “oh” she wrapped an arm around Curtis shoulder and pulled him toward her, and he laid his head on her arm, trembling slightly.

“I’m sorry, hon,” she murmured, gently stroking Curtis’ hair. “I know you and Randall haven’t had the best time cooped up in here. And...I know that you must miss your dad a lot, huh?”

“No,” Curtis sniffed, wiping his eye forcefully. "He’s an asshole.”

“You watch your tongue. No matter how much of a right you’ve got to be mad at him.”

Curtis was silent. Carla sighed.

“You’re right, though. At least he knew more about this werewolf thing than I did. He always said we couldn’t go on a trip like this, but...well. Everybody’s been so miserable since he left, I was hoping...”

She glanced at her son; his face had turned red, and he was looking shamefaced down at his feet. She pulled him closer.

“Well...we got four more days to enjoy this place, before y’all turn back into wolves and we start to drive home. Want to go join your brothers for a swim?”

“No, thanks.”

“You were just complaining about being cooped up in here for two days. At least come sit by the pool with me. Give us a chance to talk.”

She had a feeling that that would work, and Curtis smiled shyly as he stood and followed her out of the hotel room.

#WritersMonth2019 #The OTHER novel that I'm supposedly writing #Werewolf #Werewolves #The Bisclavret Brothers

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thebuckblogimo · 3 years

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Why don't I do the things I don't do?

October 3, 2021

Many times I've asked myself the more common, self-reflecting question, "Why do I do the things I do?"

However, this summer, Debbie and I visited Sturgis, Michigan, where some friends from her early childhood days in Bloomingdale, Ohio, were sharing a vacation cottage, and I overheard a woman ask one of the men in the group how his brother was doing.

I heard the man say of his sibling, "Well, he doesn't hunt. He doesn't fish. He isn't into guns or motorcycles. Basically, he leads a pretty boring life."

When I heard that I thought to myself: I don't do any of those things, either. What does that make me?

Plus, I don't golf, gamble, play cards or tinker under the hood--things that many of my friends and family members do. And despite living near Lake Michigan, I'm not into boating or water skiing. What is more, I now spend my winters in Florida, but before that I didn't snow ski, snowmobile or do ice fishing, either.

During the drive home from Sturgis, I confided to my wife that upon realizing that I don't enjoy a lot of things that other guys seem to enjoy, I began to fret about being a boring person.

She laughed and said, "Well, you know a heckuva lot about doo wop. You competed for almost 20 years in the Senior Olympics. And you collect pudding stones. Who does that kind of stuff? I think it's interesting that you don't do the things most other men do."

She's right, I guess. Unlike many of my friends, I've always been more interested in doo wop, soul, jazz, etc. than in rock. I ran in 100- and 200-meter sprint competitions until I was almost 70. And some people call me the "rock god," not because of music but because of my penchant for hunting down cool-looking boulders, particularly pudding stones (a jasper-quartz pebble conglomerate originating in Ontario and deposited in Michigan by the glaciers).

Actually, I've taken golf lessons three times during my life: through the Detroit Free Press golf school when I was 13, as a physical education class during my college years, and at a public golf course when we lived in Clarkston. Still, the game never captured me. It takes too much time, in my estimation. And you have to play a whole lot if you want to be reasonably good at it.

Also, I boated and fished some during my youth. In fact, my Dad had an 18-foot runabout with a 35-horse Johnson motor, and he was great about letting me take it out to the Detroit River with friends. And yet, the older I got, the more time I spent away from boating, I lost confidence in my ability to operate a boat on the water...especially bringing it into the dock.

I even went deer hunting once, but being hunkered down on a snowy log with a rifle in my arms, in the early hours of a late fall morning, wasn't fun for me. And getting trashed in a country bar during the afternoon and observing how many intoxicated hunters went back into the woods with their rifles before sundown, well, that wasn't my thing, either.

Truthfully, sometimes I wish I'd have taken up golf because my boys are into it and it would be fun to get out on the course with them, to interact and converse with them, on beautiful summer mornings. And had I been into fishing, I could have taken out my father-in-law, who was totally into it, and made memories together during the prime of his life.

I'll just have to remain content with the fact that I write these essays, something no one else I know does. That I read a half-dozen or so different newspapers (online), something few others do. That I train seriously with weights five days a week--there's only one other retiree I know who is as diligent at it as me. And that I love striking up conversations with strangers in bars, weirdos on the street and characters of any type--usually not hunters, golfers or people who play euchre.

Over the years I've dabbled in photography. Taken cooking classes. Sung harmony in a five-man group, as well as a couple of duets in trailer park shows. But it's true...I don't do many of the things that many other men do. As Sammy Davis said in 1968, "I've gotta be me, what else can I be but what I am?"

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jewishnurse · 5 years

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The strong and scary patients

Most of the people you come across as patients in the hospital won’t try to hurt you. Of the ones who do, some do it on purpose or on accident because of their medical condition. Both are no fun to deal with, the first one pisses me off more.

Awhile ago I had a patient, lets call him Mr. O. He was old, weak in his legs and got confused at night, sundowning as they call it. This occurred pretty quickly. The orientation questions we ask patients: Do you know where you are? What year is it? Is it daytime or nighttime? Who is the president? What is your name? Etc. The answers to these questions can change rapidly and quite drastically. The answers can go from semi normal to out of this world, literally. That’s a story for another time.

So this man, Mr. O, he was a very nice man normally, loved to chat and always kept himself busy with crosswords or coloring for fun. He also enjoyed a good documentary during the daytime when things got slow for his care. This sundowning that he did occurred without much warning, although I knew it would, just not when, it would happen. He first seemed to forget it was sleeping time. He began to think we were in his home. Then he thought it was a prison, which is a common confusion among patients who sundown. When someone looks frail and old, don’t underestimate their abilities to take you down during this confused state. The man didn’t feel pain from his massive surgery, didn’t even flinch when he tried to escape from the unit, eloping we call it.

He stayed in the hallway and wouldn’t leave. Screaming and disrupting our other confused patients, we tried to de-escalate the situation. The way that sounds makes it seem we chat and calm him and get things back to normal. If only this were true. He began to try to hit us, kick us and he even put a curse on us. Spitting usually comes with the territory. The easiest part of this, he had no drains attached or anything that would cause bleeding or limbs to fall off or break.

We had to call something that is basically a code for when a patient becomes uncontrollable in a situation where more people are needed and more specialists are needed, like psychology, to assess the situation. After we called this code, you could hear it overhead in the hospital speaker system. While other units probably could see a young person causing a disruption or a middle aged person becoming upset at their care, this was a very old person, who at first sight looked like he could fall with a simple push of your pinky. Let that be a lesson, don’t underestimate the strength in someone who doesn’t understand even the slightest bit of reality.

Multiple hospital officers came, along with the psych department, the patients surgical team as well as some people from the unit and head of nursing for the hospital staff. He began to try to throw punches that barely made the officers flinch, although I could see the surprise in their face when this happened. The staff that responded were calm, not shouting, nothing in their hands and kept their faces in a neutral look. Eventually the officers took a “walk” with the patient which led back to his room. Some medications, restraints and call to the family awhile later, solved the current problem at hand. However this was one night. For the rest of the stay, the patient had moments like this. Scary for the family, staff and patient as well.

During the following day, the patient was told why he had restraints on, he didn’t believe his ears. He had this sad face on, concerned about us and wanted to make sure nobody was hurt in this incident. It truly is sad when our minds are no longer under our control.

The next patient that I had with the same code announced was Mrs. Y. She wasn’t old, wasn’t young either, but strong in her arms and legs, not something you want in a confused patient. Her diagnosis wasn’t tricky or rare, seemed like a simple case of medications, physical therapy and rest. Despite the simple sounding diagnosis and treatment, it was far from it. She would become upset at the simplest little change in light or darkness in the room, staff members in the room and even when a medication was mentioned. The unpredictability became her biggest trigger. Ironically that part became predictable.

One day I was going to give her a medication, nothing extreme, it was one pill, not large and something she had taken before. I didn’t see it as something huge for her, but was cautioned just the same. As I walked in the room she became almost manic. She was rambling on about nothing, upset at my lack of response or understanding and seemed to be fed off of the simple reactions I had, even the non verbal ones. She had this look in her face, something I had seen in patients who attack their nurses or want to. I stayed by the door for a quick escape just in case. I left the room shortly thereafter and the room stayed calm for a bit. While cleaning up an incontinent patient I got a call. My gloves covered in poop, wipes all over the bed and not even close to finishing up with the patient. My PCT then got the phone from my pocket and I could hear a loud noise and words like “bed”, “sheets”, “tearing”, “belligerent”. None of the words sounded to get better as I listened to the conversation. I didn’t have to hear more to know what I was getting myself into, going back into that room.

I walked back to the room and found Mrs. Y on the top of the bed, sitting like a monkey with her knees to her chest, arms around her legs and food stuffed all around her. She had crumbs everywhere, medical supplies on the floor and this pacing look on her face. Pacing, closed fist and not talking are big non verbal cues of anger and a possible outburst. She showed all of the signs. She was in the perfect spot to fall, hit her head, end up with a TBI or worse, death. All nurses fear the day their patient falls and it’s not a simple day of paperwork or further education with the patient and their family members.

This patient, Mrs. Y, started to try to move from the bed, to the chair, to the doorway. She was becoming more manic by the second. I called in another nurse for backup and more manpower if needed. I then made the call I didn’t want to make. This usually opens a can of worms for some, however, she was well-known in the officer community at this hospital. Lots of these code strongs had been called for her. It normally required some medication, IM or IV depending on the incident in front of us, a psych consult and a report about what led you to call the code strong.

You would think a sedating medication would help with this, but no, it didn’t not. If anything it calmed the manic behavior, but continued her appetite for no sleep and more talking. Mrs. Y is a classic example of this code strong we call in hospitals. Luckily nobody was hurt and the patient was safe without any incident.

Saving the best one for last, of course.

Where would we be without the challenge that tests our abilities with language, bodily fluids and insults.

I had a shift once where I was talking with a patient about general medical concerns, nothing drastic. I could hear a loud noise, someone’s voice, but nothing specific. I opened the patient’s door and heard a language I couldn’t speak and loads of English where words like “calm down”, “don’t hit”, “my arm!” And more were said. I could tell the situation wasn’t getting any calmer so I decided to go assist the nurse with this patient. My language abilities aren’t vast and the ones I do know, besides English, I can survive shopping, asking about how people are and going to the bathroom. Nothing exciting or helpful in this setting.

I walk into the room and see an older lady, let’s call her Mrs. S, screaming at staff, trying to hit people, calling the nurses whores in her language and more that I am glad I didn’t understand. She didn’t have her dentures in, but despite this fact, she still attempted to bite the staff preventing her from falling off of the bed. Even with all of the effort put into this incident, we still had to make the call for a code strong. Officers came, psych came etc. It was a fiasco in two languages. It was as chaotic as it sounds, probably more. She continued to curse us, try to bite us, scratch us and more. It was more amusing than scary luckily.

It seems insensitive to call it amusing, however in the nursing world, if you can’t laugh at what stresses you out, you will go mad.

Code strongs are sometimes, but not always predictable. When they happen you need a good team of nurses, security, psychologists and more to assist with the patient and what is causing them to get aggressive or just in general, act out of character.

#neurologynursing #neuronurse #neurologynurse #codestrong #challenges #patientstorytime #patientstories #medicalstorytime #medicalstories #medical

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queen-of-deans-booty · 7 years

Text

Scarecrow- Part 3

Pairing: Eventual Dean x Reader

Word Count: 1,934

Warnings: Typical Supernatural violence, angst, language, minor character death, blood, you know the usual

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. Please, if you want to be tagged for this series, let me know and I’ll add you! If you want to be tagged for my other fics, I’ll add you! I want to hear what you guys think about this. If you want something requested, send it in!

Feedback is always appreciated

Tags at the bottom

Part One, Part Two

“Dean, it looks like it too late out. Are you sure they are okay?” You bit your lip as Dean raced into Burkitsville.

“Y/N, would you calm down? We will make it.” Dean said, gripping the steering wheel tightly.

“Dean. This is a Pagan God we are dealing with here. I’ve never messed with one before but I know that we shouldn’t get on it’s bad side.”

“Y/N, no one is dying tonight and I will do this without you too if I have to.” You shut your mouth and just let Dean drive his car and hopefully, the couple weren’t dead when you got there. Dean’s car came to a screech at the entrance of the orchard and it looked even creepier at night.

“Shit, Dean, that's their car.” You saw the abandoned red car and you grabbed your shotgun from the back, handing Dean his. You got out of the car and raced inside the orchard, cocking the gun.

“Go find the couple.” You said to Dean. He was about to argue but you already ran off in search for the scarecrow. You walked and looked around for the creepy thing when you heard a woman scream. You raced to the noise and saw the scarecrow making its way to the couple who were running. You raised the gun and shot the scarecrow in the back. You knew it wouldn’t do any harm but it will slow him down and that is all you needed.

“Get back to your car.” You heard Dean say to the couple. Before the scarecrow could look back at you, you ran behind the trees and stealthily made your way to Dean. You heard shots being fired and growling come from the God.

“Y/N!” You heard Dean yell for you. You were dodging trees, making your way to the entrance.

“Go, Dean! I’m right behind you.” You couldn’t see Dean but you weren’t concerned for the Hunter right now. You knew he could take care of himself. You were focused on you and how you needed to get the hell out of there. You ran out to the clearing and saw the entrance. You saw Dean but gasped when you felt a blade hook onto your jacket and you screamed out.

Dean ran inside the orchard to come to your aid, leaving the couple behind. You saw the Scarecrow ready to devour you but you weren’t ready to die yet. You quickly got out of your jacket, leaving it behind as you ran away from him. You caught up with Dean and he held your hand as the two of you ran to the entrance.

“No, wait, Dean, my mom’s letter was there!” You ran back to get it but Dean held you back.

“No, we can’t go in there. He’ll kill us.” You looked back at the entrance to see him gone. You let a tear fall but you knew it was stupid to go back in there.

“What the hell was that?” The man panted, looking at his girlfriend.

“Don’t ask.” You and Dean aid at the same time. You put your hands on your knees and breathed out deep breaths. You had to get the letter back. You would just have to go in the morning, any time before sundown.

The next day came and you and Dean had an appointment with a professor who knew a lot about Pagan Gods and their history. You were in the car, waiting to go in when you took out your phone. Dean had his eyes closed, just resting them when you dialed the one person you missed.

“Hello?”

“Hey, it’s me.” You said into it.

“Who are you calling?” Dean asked without opening his eyes.

“Y/N, are you okay?”

“Yeah, Sam, I’m fine. Dean’s okay too, if you were wondering.” You said, watching Dean open his eyes and turn towards you. You could see it in his eyes that he wanted to talk to his brother.

“Good, good. What’s up?”

“Well, Dean and I just dealt with a scarecrow. A scarecrow that walked right off its cross. It was really creepy in the daytime so imagine it at night. It kills couples and it has been for a while now. We had to interfere with the couple last night.” You looked at Dean and saw his hand twitch. “Hold on, Sam.” You handed the phone to Dean. “Would you like to talk to your brother?” Instead of answering, Dean took the phone and pressed it to his ear.

“Hey, Sammy,” You smiled at the relief that was etched on his face. You couldn’t hear what Sam said but Dean laughed at whatever was being said. “Yeah, I’m telling you. Burkitsville, Indiana. Fun town.”

“Put him on speakerphone.” You said to Dean. He did as he was told and you listened to Sam.

“It didn’t kill the couple, did it?” Sam asked.

“No. We can’t cope without you, you know.” Dean said. You heard him say we but you knew he meant I.

“So, something must be animating it. A spirit.” Sam said, ignoring his brother’s statement.

“No, it’s more than a spirit. It’s a god. A Pagan god, anyway.” You spoke up.

“What makes you say that?”

“The annual cycle of its killings? And the fact that the victims are always a man and a woman. Like some kind of fertility right and you should see the locals, the way they treated this couple. They were fattening them up like a Christmas turkey.” Dean said.

“The last meal. Given to sacrificial victims.” Sam said quietly. You wondered where he was.

“Yeah, I’m thinking a ritual sacrifice to appease some Pagan god.” Dean stated.

“So, a god possesses the scarecrow and the scarecrow takes its sacrifice. Then, for another year, the crops won’t wilt, and disease won’t spread.” Sam put the pieces together.

“We don’t know which God we’re dealing with but that’s okay because we have an appointment with a college professor.” You said to Sam.

“I don’t have my trusty sidekick geek boy to do all the research.” Dean joked.

“You know, if you’re hinting you need my help, just ask.” Sam said. You wished they would just make up.

“I’m not hinting anything. Actually, uh, I want you to know…. I mean, don’t think….” Dean had trouble saying what he was thinking. You knew what it was but you needed him to say it.

“Yeah. I’m sorry, too.” Sam said suddenly.

“Sam, you were right. You gotta do your own thing. You gotta live your own life.” Dean said softly. You watched him and he looked sad but envy a bit.

“Are you serious?”

“You’ve always known what you want and you go after it. You stand up to Dad and you always have. Hell, I wish I… anyway…. I admire that about you. I’m proud of you, Sammy.” You smiled at his confession.

“I don’t even know what to say.” Sam said, surprised.

“Say you’ll take care of yourself.”

“I will.” Sam said.

“Call me when you find Dad.” Dean was about to hang up but you stopped him.

“I miss you a lot, Sammy. I wish you were here with us.” You said.

“Yeah, I miss you guys too but this is something I have to do.”

“Yeah, I understand. Please be safe.” You said sweetly.

“OK. Bye, Dean. Bye, Y/N.” Sam hung up and you took your phone back from Dean.

“Why did you let him go.” You asked.

“Because he deserves it.” He looked at the time and got out of the car, ending the conversation. You opened your phone back out and sent a text to Sam just in case you were in trouble.

Sam, please call us tonight. I have a feeling that something is wrong and if we don’t answer, please come to Indiana and finish this with us. Dean loves you and I know you love him so quit acting like babies and be together again.

You got out of the car and didn’t bother checking if Sam texted back at all. You walked into the university with Dean and walked to the professor’s classroom where he said to meet.

“Professor? My name is Y/N and this is Dean. We called about the Pagan information.” You smiled at him and he got up from his desk to shake your hands.

“It’s not every day I get a research question on Pagan ideology.” He smiled.

“Yeah, well, call it a hobby.” Dean chuckled.

“But you said you were interested in local lore?” You nodded and he continued. “I’m afraid Indiana isn’t really known for its Pagan worship.”

“Well, what if it was imported? You know, like the Pilgrims brought their religion over. Wasn’t a lot of this area settled by immigrants?” You asked.

“Like that town near here, Burkitsville. Where are their ancestors from?” Dean added to your thought.

“Uh, northern Europe, I believe, Scandinavia.” You saw him tense up but didn’t think anything of it.

“What could you tell me about those Pagan gods?” Dean asked. You would be asking the questions but you were too busy focusing on the professor’s reactions to the questions.

“Well, there are hundreds of Norse gods and goddesses.” The professor began to say, trying to steer Dean off the topic.

“I’m actually looking for one. Might live in an orchard.” Dean said.

“I have more information in my office. Please, if you’ll follow me.” The professor got up and led you and Dean out in the hall and down it.

“Dean, he doesn’t seem like he was giving off everything.” You whispered to Dean.

“What do you mean?” Dean whispered back.

“I don’t know. The people in this town give me a weird vibe. Everyone except Emily.” You stopped at an office and walked inside, seeing the professor holding a hand out to you.

“Wait here.” He walked deeper into the office until you could see him anymore.

“Dean, something is happening and I don’t know exactly what. That scares me.” The professor came back with a book and set it down, opening it.

“Woods god, hm? Well, let’s see,” The man said, rifling through the pages. You watched the different pictures of Pagan Gods flitter the pages but stopped the professor when you saw what you needed.

“What, what’s that one?” You asked, looking at the older man.

“Oh, that’s not a woods god, per se.” He said.

“The Vanir were Norse gods of protection and prosperity, keeping the local settlements safe from harm. Some villages built effigies of the Vanir in their fields. Other villages practiced human sacrifice. One male, and one female. Kind of looks like a scarecrow, huh?” Dean said, looking at the picture. You were getting somewhere.

“I suppose.” The professor said, shrugging. You could tell the professor was getting uncomfortable with this kind of questioning.

“This particular Vanir, it’s energy comes from a sacred tree?” You asked, reading the text.

“Well, Pagans believed all sorts of things were infused with magic.” The man shrugged.

“So, what would happen if the sacred tree was torched? You think it’d kill the god?” You saw the man tense and break out in a thin sheet of sweat.

“Son, these are just legends we’re discussing.” The shrugged and wouldn’t look at you in the eyes.

“Oh, of course. Yeah, you’re right. Listen, thank you very much.” You smiled and shook the man’s hand. You looked at Dean and motioned to follow you.

“Glad I could help.” You opened the door but once you did, everything went black.

Part Four

Masterlist // Series Rewrite Masterlist // Buy me a Coffee?

Series Rewrite tags:

@helllonearth @amyisabellal @deanwnchstr @caseykitten6 @roxalya19 @quixoticcat @supernaturalblogging

Forever tags:

@maddieburcham1 @ginamsmith @mogaruke @jarpadandjensenaremyheroes @whit85-blog @inlovewithbja @spn67-sister @kdfrqqg

Dean tags:

@akshi8278 @mega-mrs-dean-winchester @winchesterandpie

Other tags:

@jensen-jarpad @notnaturalanahi @deathtonormalcy56 @27bmm

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kittymiauuniverse · 7 years

Text

Ocean City - The Best Night of My Life

This is gonna take a while. So I was just in Ocean City, New Jersey from Sunday to Friday, and I had the absolute time of my life. After nearly a 10 hour drive, we finally arrived in the late evening of Sunday. My family and I pretty much just unpacked that night and we did go down to the boardwalk, our hotel was less than a block away, but for the most part we just looked around and were too tired to do much. I've got 2 brothers and I didn't know anyone there, so I kinda felt like a weenie, walking around with my parents and such, I could've walked around alone but that would've gotten very boring very fast. Luckily, sometime around midday Monday my mom asked me how I'd feel if one of my friends and her family came down and met up with us in O. C., her step dad couldn't get off work but her mom did, and with a lack of plans, meeting up with us was totally an option. So after driving 10 hours thru the night as well, they got there early Wednesday morning. LEMME TELL YOU I COULDN'T HAVE EVER IMAGINED HOW AMAZING IT COULD'VE BEEN WITH MY GURL ALEXIS WITH ME. Of course, they had to get oriented to everything here, but having the whole day to get used to it, it was good by night. We went to the beach with them and built a pretty sweet sandcastle. Later that night we went to the boardwalk but again, just kinda walked around and didn't get too into things. We did go mini-golfing though, and that was fun. Thursday night, we had finally gotten together the confidence, Alexis and I, to hit the town ~alone~. We didn't exactly plan on spending a ton of money, so we didn't have to worry about going back to our parents with puppy eyes, begging for a few extra bucks. The first thing we did was go to a coffee shop where I got some coffee and Alexis got hot chocolate. We left after sundown, and with the ocean breeze it was chilly, we later got pizza too, it all warmed us up nicely. I was interested in meeting people, preferably for a one night fling, considering it was our last night there, but by midnight and having met no one, I had accepted the fact that although it was really my only goal in coming here, it had not happened. So Alexis and I walked up the boardwalk one last time, looking at the few places that were still open, and we came across and ice cream place. We both got chocolate-vanilla swirl in a waffle cone. And wandered back towards our hotel. I just didn't want to go back, maybe I had accepted they fate of not meeting anyone, but this night just had something about it that I could not and would not walk away from. We got to our hotel, but I suggested we sit outside on the benches to finish off our ice cream. By this time it was about quarter after 12, and we just kinda talked about what it was like here, and a guy was walking towards the boardwalk. Ocean City being a dry place (no alcohol), meant there weren't any drunkards causing a ruckus, nor were there really and creepy people at all. The guys looked to be early twenties, late teens at the youngest, it was dark with simply a blinking hotel light and dim street lamps. As he breezily walked past, he asked how we were doing, we responded with something along the lines of "just fine, thanks, how are you?" And we responded with something similar to our statement. He took a few more steps and turned back around on a dime. He introduced himself as "Christian, well my name's not Christian, I AM a Cristian, my name's John Michael." And thus begun one of the most intimate and soul touching conversations I've ever had. With Alexis and I being Catholic, we strongly related to everything John was saying. He described his journey to an extremely strong faith from just last summer, and I nearly cried when he prayed with us. we talked for about a half hour, praying lots and having excellent talks of faith and spirituality. He wasn't like the kind of preacher person who won't listen to you, I've known a few of those who try to teach me my own faith, but this guy, he just gave you the confidence that God IS with you, and that you can always call out to him. It was incredibly powerful to be there with that guy, at 12:30 am sitting outside a hotel. He was so kind, so giving, so positive, I really wished we could've talked to him again. As we said our good-byes and shared a hug or two, we went our separate as we waltzed into the hotel, light as air, but heavy as bricks having to end the night. We greeted the woman at the front desk, a kind old lady who asked no questions. As we got into the elevator, I just let the door close and didn't hit any of the buttons to go up, which of course Alexis questioned, but I just said I wasn't ready to go back and that I need to process what on earth just happened. Alexis slid down to the ground and agreed. Eventually I hit the button for the 9th floor, our floor, the top floor. I mentioned to Alexis that I regretted not asking for his number, and she agreed again. I'm not positive what exactly transpired in that hotel elevator in those few seconds, but what I recall is that Alexis said "should we go back?" Without missing a beat, I said yes, punched the button for floor number 5, the nearest floor, and we came flying out of those doors faster than I knew we could, we scrambled around trying to find the stairs without waking up any guests, and we eventually found them. We crashed down those stairs, knowing time was precious and we were losing it. We caught our breath and walked through to lobby, giving the front desks lady some relief by telling her I had forgotten something outside. As soon as we got out the doors, the engines came roaring back in our legs as we sprinted to the boardwalk. I thought he went one way, I don't recall if Alexis disagreed or if we were just looking at the addresses, but we went the opposite was in which I thought he was going. Feeling defeated after getting to the end of the walk, we started back towards the hotel, our heads hung in shame. There were a few people out, mostly older couples, but there were a group of 3 guys who had tried to talk to us I suppose earlier in the night. I thought it was them, but again, darkness covered their identity. As we passed them, they used the same line they had earlier and I knew it was them. Alexis got made and told them to fight her, and I got scared cause in our hometown people get killed for those kind of words exchanged, but they just yelled back petty responses ("you got no ass in them jeans" "glasses wearin' something"). I was still scared out of my mind tho, but then 2 other guys came walking past us and were yelling at them to chill. They asked if we were ok and I said yeah just a little spooked. But then we saw other people down the other way of the boardwalk and decided we better at least try to see if any of them are him than not. So we ran and ran down and again, found mostly couples. This time, TRULY defeated, we started out walk of shame back to the hotel. Now we get to the good part. As we were waking, we re-passed some of the same people, but we just smiled at them, they probably thought we were nuts, as none of them really smiled back. As we were walking, some guy, looking relatively attractive, rode past on a bike and I yelled hey to him, I have no idea why, it was completely impulse, it should've made me even more nervous, him being attractive in the low lighting too. But I guess I just wanted to see if he was hostile or anything, but he was friendly enough to say hi back. I can't remember if he rode past us once or twice, I think just once before he came back riding right next to Alexis. We had a nice bit of small talk, him explaining he thought it'd have been creepy had he continued riding past us after saying hi without talking to us. We eventually stopped right at the corner where we would've turned to go back to our hotel, but we just kept talking to him. He told us he was 16 and was renting a house pretty close to the shore with some friends, and continued saying most of them are 19, as well as his brother. He told us about his interest in trucks and how he wants to get one when he turns 17 and starts driving. We checked out his bike, which wasn't really his, but tried to figure the many features it had. By this time it was about ten til 2 (am), and we started talking about Wawa, which I really wanted to go to, but hadn't had the chance to. He totally was like you have to go, and I said we should go right now. Alexis started getting a little nervous at this point, concerned as to what our parents would think of us being out this late. I asked OH I FORGOT TO SAY HIS NAME WAS MATT so I asked Matt how long it'd take to get to the nearest Wawa and he said on bike, one minute, walking, he wasn't sure. I said screw it, texted my mom we'd be no longer than 10 minutes, and we headed off to Wawa. On our way there, Alexis and I tried to think of what we'd tell our parents. We DEFINITELY couldn't let them know we left the boardwalk and went to a Wawa, so we got that far, THEN I REALIZED THIS WAS THE IDEAL TIME TO PUT MY MOVES ON HIM. So I said "well, I'll just tell my mom we met this super cute guy..." and of course Matt was all like "oh really?? Cute??" And it was so perfect. We got to the Wawa and this Matt character was REALLY cute in better lighting. He followed me around, smiling at my fascination of just a regular convenience store he goes to "at least 4 times a week". We left without getting anything, and on our way back I said something about how I thought he looked to be about 21-22 years old, to which he laughed at saying just yesterday he looked 12, cause he had just gotten his braces off that day. I wanted to say something to him about his teeth cause they looked so perfect and that explained it. It was amazing, but then Alexis' and my mom came out from the hotel and we thought all hell would break loose. Not so much. Matt said he'd go introduce himself and IT WAS SO SMOOTH i even asked if he talked to parents a lot it went so well (out moms went back inside and told us to say our goodbyes). So we had to say goodbye and we hugged and HE SMELLED SO GOOD. I was so sad we had to leave but at least we had his number, we weren't so foolish this time, and off he rode into the night. Both of our moms accused me of kissing him WHICH I WISH I HAD, I bet I could've, but I didn't. So I guess I did meet someone, and maybe we wouldn't have met Matt had we found John, it all kinda worked out. I was on the verge of tears as we left the heavenly place, and now here I am, ready to cry again, I hate my town, I want to get out, not to get all Brucey on ya but I've never missed a vacation so much. I want to go back so bad. By the way, could it have been possible for me to fall in love in one night? @divine-wolf-rose luv ya

#sorry this was so long #i needed to tell someone #Matt was SO FRICKIN CUTE #i'm never getting over this #I'm never getting over him #he was so polite too #I'll never find a guy like that in Lima #im in love

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marjaystuff · 4 years

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Elise Cooper Interviews Linda Howard and Linda Jones

After Sundown by Linda Howard and Linda Jones is a very relevant story. It will sound familiar to those who have sheltered in place during this pandemic. The timing could not be better with panic surrounding certain aspects of the coronavirus, and in this book the panic surrounds preparation and fallout from a solar storm.

A quote in the book is surreal considering what is going on today. “They walked in the middle of the road… there was no traffic at all. Walking in the middle of the usually busy highway felt both daring and freeing, and the fact that they could was one more example of how drastically their world had changed in a single day.”

Readers are introduced to Ben Jernigan, a recluse who has settled on top of a mountain outside of the small community of Wears Valley, Tennessee, after he got out of the Marines two years ago. Going against his solitary nature, he finds himself forewarning Sela Gordon, the owner of a small grocery store and gas station he occasionally uses. He tells her of a catastrophic solar storm that will take down the global power grid in less than 24 hours. She doesn’t quite believe him, but gathers supplies just in case. When the grid goes down as predicted, Sela and her neighbors are plunged into a new world order. Money has no meaning, gasoline is gold, and people must band together as food and other supplies dwindle. There is no electricity, no cell phones, TV, or computers; no more grocery stores, gas stations, warm water, or washing machines, and no more hospitals and medications. Unlike today, where people need to self-isolate, the town of Wears Valley was community isolating, where residents pull together to do what they must to survive and maintain social order.

Knowing she needs to protect her aunt, niece, and some elderly friends Sela realizes a community council must be formed. Due to unforeseen circumstances she is chosen as its leader; a role she feels she is not comfortable or suited for. Events sometimes lead people to find in themselves traits that they do not realize existed. Sela grew from a shy and insecure woman to an independent, take charge person, while Ben wanted to be a hermit and didn't want to deal with people, but Sela changed him. They complimented each other. He became protective, strong, and determined, and used his resourceful skills of surviving to help Sela, her family, her friends, and the community to stay safe. The relationship grew from a mutual attraction to a passionate love where both solitary people realized how much they needed and wanted each other.

The book starts quickly and the action never stops. It shows how people during a disaster can step up to the plate, exhibiting spunk and courage as they adapt to a new life. The story shows how events can bring out either the good or the bad in people. It is relevant to the current situation, while not a pandemic, the natural disaster has the potential to be as deadly or even more so with millions of people dying from both natural and manmade causes.

Elise Cooper: How did you get the idea for the story?

Linda Jones: We went up to the valley where the book is set. As we sat on the porch over-looking the valley, we thought about what could go wrong.

Linda Howard: When we started to kick around the idea we thought of an EMP, electric magnetic pulse, but that would mean we would be at war and it would not be worldwide. In the South, there was a huge solar storm a few years ago, actually there are a few every year. We started to do research and found out about CME, a coronal mass ejection, where the sun basically spits plasmas at us, destroying all the electricity.

EC: How did you both know what was needed to survive?

LH: We actually put in the book about a toilet paper shortage with the quote, “she grabbed more toilet paper.” In 1993 there was a huge blizzard where I lived. I was alone, without power for a week. When it was over I had my Scarlett O’Hara moment, “As God is my witness I will never go through this again.” I started preparing with supplies and a generator.

LJ: I experienced in 2011 a tornado that left us without power and water for a week. Linda told me horror stories to get me prepared and now I even have a solar charger for my phone.

EC: What was the writing process like?

LJ: It is a wonder we got anything done because our writing process is so different. I write really fast. If I stop for a period of time, I lose contact with the characters and have to go back to the beginning to pick up that connection. LH will write and then take a three-month break. It actually took us twice as long to write this book than when writing on our own.

EC: Did you each write certain parts?

LH: We wrote the book together, except LJ wrote all the Janis Joplin parts. There is only one phrase I know I wrote for sure, instead of Dear Jesus, it was “Dear Desus.” It is a Southern country phrase to keep from using the Lord’s name in vain.

EC: Ben distrusted people because of what happened to him in the military?

LH: He does not trust the establishment. We put in this book quote, “After years of combat and dealing with bureaucrats who didn’t know their asses from a hole in the ground, but were never-the-less in charge of life and death concerning him and his men.” Bureaucrats are not elected and no one knows who they are; yet, they make a lot of decisions in people’s lives. They have a lot of influence over the military and not all of it is good.

EC: How would you describe Ben?

LH and LJ: Fallacious, a man every woman wants. He is handy, a decision maker, pragmatic, and a man of action. He is like Daryl in “Walking Dead,” but better looking. His time in the military affected him and he got PTSD. After he got out he became a loner, talking more to his dog than anyone. If not for the crisis he and Sela would never have had a conversation.

EC: What about those nicknames for Ben?

LH: You are referring to “sweet bun,” Hottie McHot Hot, “Buns of Steel,” and “Stud Muffin.” LH made them up. Since Aunt Carol is fun and has a lot of zest for life she just thought of what popped into her head. Even though she is older she does not think of herself in that way.

EC: How would you describe Sela?

LH and LJ: She is shy, a thinker, logical, compassionate, and caring. Overall, she did not have much self-confidence, and is quiet. Sela is a risk-taker who will put herself in harm’s way to protect the people she loves.

EC: How would you describe Olivia?

LH and LJ: A typical teenager. She has grit, is courageous, and intelligent. She lost her parents at an early age, which caused her to grow up faster.

EC: What about the relationship?

LH and LJ: Ben felt safe with Sela and saw the strength in her she did not know she had. They silently lusted for one another. They are comfortable with and understand each other. They made sure they respected each other’s boundaries.

EC: The dog is a Mountain Cur Dog?

LH: This breed of dog is popular in the mountainous area of the South. The dog was named after Pat Sajak, the Wheel of Fortune show host. I think it is culturally appropriate for a dog. They are intelligent, friendly, and are good for hunting. I do not have this type of dog, but I do have a Golden Retriever. They are in a category by themselves.

EC: Who is the Janis Joplin fan?

LH: I am. She is a singer I like. I listened to her when I painted my house. I used the energy in the song she sang.

EC: What do you want readers to get out of the book?

LH and LJ: We get a lot of calls asking us how to prepare. We have become Survivalist experts. We wrote the book to entertain, but also to have people thinking about being prepared. There is a need for food, water, toilet paper, batteries, enough medication, and food for your dog. Modern technology is important, but there is also a need to have tools where someone could get by without it.

EC: What about your next books?

LJ: I am working on a self-published book that is in the paranormal genre. I got stalled when the virus quarantine hit. Because of all the stress, I could not concentrate.

LH: I am working on the third book in the “Go-Team series.” I got stalled after my knee surgery a few months ago. The Go-Team is a paramilitary organization. The “GO” stands for global offensive.

THANK YOU!!

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