#❖《 ⋯ ♖ s4. fractures ♜ ⋯ 》❖

[samjacksonwc]

Pollination ♜ Sam × Sage

TIMING: Days before the Town Hall Meeting LOCATION: Namas-Tea Happy Farm, Outskirts PARTIES: @samjacksonwc & @loverleaf​​​ SUMMARY: Sam checks out the Namas-Tea Happy Farm in the Outskirts for any labor irregularities. Sage welcomes her new victim, er, friend! CONTENT: Drug tw, Drug use tw, just two weirdos hanging out

Of course Sage was worried, and of course she told the rest of the farm that she was not. Telling them otherwise would have been more problematic than helpful. Fortunately for Sage, she was very skilled in making people feel calm, better even, without lying outright. Words were her favorite weapon, and she knew how to wield them properly, masterfully. In the end, even without saying that she was not worried about a government man coming to the farm to check them out, an obvious lie, she still managed to convey to the farmers that everything was all right. She would handle it all. What could go wrong?

He went up the main drive until he reached the main gates. They were open, and as she told them to, the farmers happily bid him kind greetings, a nice and cozy welcome. She could’ve just left them closed, so the snoopy man would have to squeeze between the bars to get in. As he eyed the magnolia bushes lining the path, Sage watched him make his way to and inside the main house from the safety and comfort of her window. “He’s here,” she announced to no one but herself as she closed her curtains, took a hold of herself for a moment or two, before making her own way to greet him. 

“Namasté, Sam Jackson!” Sage joined her palms together and bowed her head as she welcomed him to her abode, to their farm, smiling with warmth and giddy excitement, even though she was feeling more stressed and concerned within. “How was your travel? I hope all right?”

Finding the time to check on the strangely named Namas-Tea Happy Farm, a name that made his assistant Yoo-ara chuckle, was a little bit hard, considering the past few weeks have been a mess for the town and the Tourism Board. But the youngest member of the Board, Sam, would not be denied. He had made a promise to check on the place for any irregularities in terms of labor, which wasn’t even his jurisdiction, and he vowed to keep that promise to the laborers of the farm, none of which he had ever met before and would meet until today, when he finally made his visit. Ah, the things we do to procrastinate.

“Uhh, namasté, miss Sage, wasn’t it?” Her name was very peculiar to Sam, though he couldn’t judge. After all, he shared his name with a Hollywood actor, which often confused and then made people laugh when they finally got to the bottom of all that confusion. Sam didn’t look anything like his actor counterpart. He wasn’t as dignified or as threatening or as stoic. Sam was just Sam, and it often left new acquaintances disappointed when they realized he wasn’t the man with the snakes on the plane. “My travel was all right. Will you be giving me a tour around your farm?”

Sam took a good look around her place, though he tried to be insistent on being frank and to the point. He was here to do some checking, after all, and this was definitely not a friendly visit. For the most part. She does look…very friendly. Easy, Sam. Don’t be so pathetic.

“Yes,” Sage beamed. “It’s Sage Magnolia. That’s my name.” Despite the many, many criticisms of her chosen name over the years, she was mightily proud of it. It combined two of the many, many things that she loved: sage, with its stress-relieving properties, and magnolias, the very same flowers that grew in her hair. Strangely, as the years went by, people have stopped asking her as much about the magnolias in her hair, easily accepting the non-explanation of how they looked good in her hair as accessories. “I will, though would you like some tea first? Maybe those pastries we’ve discussed online?”

Sage found no difficulty in sensing that Sam was smitten by her look. Whether there was anything deeper than surface attraction, she didn’t really care. All she cared about was that he took to her quite well, which meant she could use his own emotions to her advantage. Just like old times. How many others have fallen to her charm, her beauty? She hasn’t even kept count. Outside of her more active contingencies, her social skills proved pivotal in keeping the farm afloat. This visit would be no different. Sage would win Sam over and he’d stop being a threat to her and the farmers. “Shall we?”

“Well, I am feeling a bit peckish,” Sam beamed, following her lead to wherever the tea and pastries were. Most people in town were just as friendly, offering him some food whenever he visited, though those people knew who he was and what he did for the town. The others who didn’t weren’t as friendly but those who really knew him, how he never fails to try and mask the dangers of the town as nothing more than rumors or even lies, were the least friendliest of them all. Probably for good reason. “What kind of tea are we talking about? And pastries? Like cookies?”

Sam did not hesitate to take his seat when he finally received his tea and pastries. He wasn’t that hungry but he would never say no to free food, especially not when it’s from a pretty lady. “So, like, have you always been here? I mean, as the farm owner or something? I don’t think I’ve seen a lot of you in town.” And he would remember. With her pretty face, Sam would’ve been head over heels for her. And most likely get summarily rejected. That’s just how things were. It is what it is. Hopefully, this one’s different. 

“Oh, goodie!” Sage made tiny claps when he agreed to have some tea and pastries first. She was also delighted that he didn’t make a big deal about her name. Usually, people made a big deal about her name. Now it was her turn to make a big deal about someone else’s name, his name. She asked a question while leading him into her tearoom. “So your name is really Sam Jackson? Like the movie star?” She was even more excited when he inquired about her tea and pastries. “Well, what’s your poison, mister? We have assam, darjeeling, and noon chai! As for the pastries, have you ever had vada pav?”

The assortment of offerings were already actually waiting for them in her tearoom, prepared in advance after he shared his intention of visiting her at the farm online. It didn’t really take much time or effort to make the pastries and the teas, the ingredients readily available on the farm. For herself, Sage took a cup of noon chai before pointing out the signs on two separate plates of the vada pav pastries: one normal and the other with a special ingredient. “I guess so. I do travel a lot, outside of town and the country, so maybe we’ve just had conflicting schedules until now.”

“Huh, maybe,” Sam shrugged as he opened his mouth and started to usher inside a piece of pastry. He stopped when he failed to pronounce vada pav in his head. “Vada what? It’s, uhm, nothing weird, right? Just healthy baked bread? Noon chai sounds good, too, but no poison.” He chuckled out loud at his terrible pun and watched as the tea was poured in his glass almost immediately. He drank his tea first and waited for her response before stuffing his face with the baked goods. Just in case. “Yeah, like the movie star, but I’m more handsome, right?” 

Once they were done with the pleasantries, Sam immediately switched to work mode. He looked around the place, admiring the view, before throwing pointed questions at the otherwise attractive farm owner. “So, like, is this a family farm? Your parents left this to you? You look too young to start something like this on your own. Or maybe your boyfriend owned this place before he left it with you after the break-up?” That last bit was obviously a reach, a terrible attempt to check whether she was single or not. Hey, if it works, it works. If not, then it’s back to business.

“Of course, you are, Sam Jackson of White Crest,” Sage giggled to indulge the man’s ego, hoping that the act would skew his loyalties toward her. Didn’t he come to root out any irregularities in the farm’s inner workings? She’s suffered her fair share of his kind, though they never failed to amuse her. This one was more of the same, confident of his power, or at least what he believed was power. “Nothing weird, of course. Just deep-fried potato dumplings in between bread buns. You like buns, don’t you? Most men do.”

“You could say that,” Sage kept the man company as he began his work, interrogating her with all the questions he could come up with. Again, this wasn’t her first rodeo. She knew the loopholes, the routine, though her memory has suffered over the decades. She could only hope she wouldn’t slip up this time around. It wouldn’t be good for the farm and most especially the farmers. “I started this farm with a couple of friends, but they’re gone now. No boyfriend at the moment. Unless you’re thinking of applying, handsome Sam Jackson?”

“Wait, Jackson…” And then Sage remembered someone else who had that last name, someone who was neither a friend nor an enemy, oftentimes a thorn on her side and fewer a boon. She squinted at him, noticed the similarities in their facial structure, and heaved a deep sigh as she contemplated their association. “I know of someone who had the same last name… How many Jacksons are there in town? You would know, wouldn’t you?”

Sam nodded at every graceful word that slipped out of Sage’s beautiful mouth, as if he was a moth and she was the fiery death of him. It was a trance that he was no stranger to, having been in numerous ones throughout his stay here in White Crest. When she mentioned the word ‘buns’, however, Sam unintentionally snickered like a grade school boy. He wasn’t thinking about fluffy pastry, especially not in the presence of Sage, though it was probably her intention. Be that as it may, Sam was unaware of any subtle implications. He was just being a grade school boy. As per usual. “Yes, I love buns.”

“Oh,” Sam did find himself blushing red when Sage explicitly dangled her carrot juice in front of his thirsty, thirsty donkey brain. He even gulped, realizing his throat just went dry, and went for a quick sip of tea to wet his whistle. Literally. “I mean, if you’re accepting applications, why not?” He shot her a playful smirk, though hers was much better and less nervous. His eyes started wandering around places it should not, though he caught himself and feigned a cough to hide his mistake. “Can’t say that I do, but I’m sure I’m the only important Jackson in town.”

It may have sounded like an idiotic boast or an arrogant ignorance, but Sam did consider himself the only important Jackson in town, mostly because he was the only Jackson in town he knew of, especially the only Jackson in town that worked for the town that he knew of. Sam’s focus was on tourists these days, lacking as they may be, so he was a little out of touch with the quieter denizens of the town. He barely even remembered those he had bumped into a few months ago. He did remember the “hotties,” though, so there was that. “What about you? Any family in town?”

Sage simply giggled at Sam’s declaration of love for buns. They both knew what he was referring to, and it wasn’t the pastry. Looking him over, Sage considered his application very acceptable. The man was handsome and charming but he also seemed…innocent, to use a less offensive word. He was the perfect boyfriend, which in Sage’s mind was no more than someone who could please her in more ways than one. A living, breathing toy. We all know the one. 

Sage, however, became more interested in his assertion of being the only important Jackson in town. Crossing her legs, real slow to draw his attention to the act, she leaned back on her side, an arm draped over the head of her couch. Her smile remained ever enticing. “Are you now? How important?” She wondered if he was some sort of fairy king or ancient vampire. If he was a hunter leader, though, that may be a problem. “The farmers are my only family in town.”

“Very important,” Sam played up his ego some more, stroking it in his head. Sage’s very seductive handling of his pride, masterful even, didn’t help him make sense of what she was doing. To Sam, she was a lovely woman who was very interested in him and the importance he had within the two, failing to recognize that he was being played by someone who just wanted him to give them the best result for them and the farm. Sam would be a terrible auditor. Fortunately for him, he was a Tourism Board member. “I’m the youngest member of the town’s tourism board!”

Sam actually took pride in that fact. Well, most of the time. Well, a part of him does. Sam hated all the politicking that he had to wade through to get to the position, and he hated more that he had to do it every second of the day now, and all for what? To spite his dead father? To outplay him, so to speak? To outdo a dead man? These days, however, it was harder to make sense of what he took pride in anymore. He did enjoy his job, though he would never admit it to himself when alone. 

“Oh,” Sam grinned again, also from ear to ear, as he made himself comfortable in his seat. “Well, maybe I can be part of that family someday.” He literally winked twice as he made the confusing statement. In his head, it was a pretty smooth pickup line. He failed to realize, however, that being part of a family doesn’t just mean husband and wife. Most of the time, the first thought was brother and sister. Or brother and brother, sister and sister. Maybe even parent and child. So many other things before husband and wife. Sam was not good with flirting.

“Tourism…board?” At first, Sage was a little confused. She had expected him to say something else, something more interesting, maybe even more intimidating, but he did seem like he took great pride in it. He could have been the king of the faes, which meant he would be very interesting and might even be quite useful to her and the farm. An ancient vampire might make him troublesome, but there was nothing more exciting than a dangerous fling. The hunter leader would have been the worst result. Or that was what she thought before he revealed what he truly thought the meaning of the word ‘important’ was.

And then Sage’s eyes lit up. Tourism board? That meant he had some semblance of power over the town’s tourist attractions, right? Maybe even have influential connections that could be directed toward her farm? Their produce? If she was very lucky, he could even become the mouthpiece she needed to truly establish her agenda: No to war, yes to peace! Surely, tourists would love vegetarian food and being told to stop being violent. “Tourism board! Of course! Well, aren’t you real important.”

That bit about the family thing was real awkward, though. Even Sage couldn’t deny that. She gave him an uncomfortable chuckle, as if still trying to make it seem that his pick-up line was acceptable, even though anyone with half a brain would be quick to realize it had failed, missed its mark. Maybe, she thought, Sam was one of those people who got off on those scenarios with their family. She almost shuddered at the thought, so she tried to change the topic. “Let’s talk about your family, if it’s all right? Are they still in town?”

“I am, aren’t I?” Sam fumbled for something interesting to say but only managed to repeat rhetorically the same thought that’s been discussed by the pair for minutes now. It was like he couldn’t find something else to move on to, something more interesting than his job description. Maybe there was just nothing else interesting about him. Nothing that he believed to be or would interest someone more interesting like Sage. “My family? Well, yes and no. They’re not exactly still in town. But they are.”

It was hard to describe his current situation. Technically, all his relatives were buried in town, so that means they’re still in town, right? One of them, his least favorite one, was even haunting him. But they’re also dead and no longer interacting with the rest of the town, except for his least favorite one, so doesn’t that also mean they’re technically no longer in town? Sam confused himself to no end by focusing on the wrong things. As per usual. So he just decided to come clean to Sage, “None of them are alive, but they’re in town.” Smooth.

“Anyway,” Sam tried to move the conversation elsewhere after that long, awkward pause. “Should we do the tour now? I’d love to see the rest of the farm.”

Sam’s explanation confused Sage for a bit. She had no idea what anything Schrodinger was, and should she be given the clue of a cat, she’d most likely just nod and think to herself that whoever had been talking about Schrodinger's cat quite literally was just talking about some German guy’s cat. Fortunately for her, Sam went on and explained it much better in the end. “Ah, so they’re…part of the town itself now, no longer just members of it before…” She tried her hand at the explanation herself but felt very uncomfortable talking about someone else’s dead, especially someone else she had just met and was now in a trance over her. Man is something.

“Oh, but of course,” Sage quickly rose from her seat after cleaning the crumbs of pastries from her dainty little hands and off her dress, even though there weren’t any on her dress. With a smile, she gestured for him to follow her around the farm and began the tour without much delay. Of course, Sage tailored the tour to suit her own needs. Well, the farm’s needs. The farm must survive, and so, the tour must only feature the things that would secure its survivability. The good things. “The Namas-Tea Happy Farm is a very sustainable organic farm commune that allows for everyone to come in and just plant where suitable.”

Every now and then, a farmer would make an appearance and Sage would exchange smiles and pleasantries with them, as if all this wasn’t tailored perfectly to display the truth of their camaraderie. What is the greatest, truest unity if not for the defense of someone’s home, of someone’s livelihood, of someone’s life? Few would argue that it would be for peace and love but peace and love are very complicated generalizations. Sage would know. She’s lived through different versions of them. “If there’s anything else you’d like to know, feel free to ask. I’ll try my best to answer you.” And then the girly chuckle to sell the story.

To say that Sam was very impressed with the farm would be quite an understatement. He has visited something like this before, entire acres of crops and greens, within and outside the town. One of his closest friends in White Crest lived on a farm, after all. Well, they were close growing up but things change when you leave town without even saying a goodbye. That said, he did recently save her from vampires, so that should get him some points, right? 

“You said you started this farm with friends, right? If you don’t mind me asking, why did they leave all this with you? I mean, if it were me and I had a hand at this today, I wouldn’t want to leave,” Sam meant that as a compliment but he didn’t really think things through. What could be a random, nonchalant statement of admiration intended for such a blissful and bountiful property could be received as a crass slight to abandonment issues. Of course, Sam had no way to know if that last part applied, but he didn’t try to be sensitive about it either. Sage was beautiful. Why would all of her friends leave her, right?

“Well,” Sage started to respond with a sing-song tune, not really sure how else to go about it. It’s a tale as old as time, a tragic tale, one that has had enough time for all involved to finally move past and let go of. Yet Sage, despite her longevity, still couldn’t, still held on to the regrets and despair of events that have long unfolded, that she could no longer change. She has tried, debatably her best, but every now and again, that same longevity only served to remind her of how tragic losing her loved ones had been. That and she still literally had a hold on the constant reminder that was the farm. “It wasn’t like they had a choice.”

“It’s sort of the same thing with your family,” Sage tried to go the more familiar route, trying to make her situation resonate with that of Sam’s, even though she wasn’t quite sure if he had suffered the same tragedies. Or if he hadn’t. “You can’t really leave a place if you die there, can’t stay in a place if you die elsewhere.” Did that make sense? Sage’s shrug made her believe it did, though a part of her was very uncertain. 

“But you’re right about one thing, Mr. Jackson: It’s hard to leave something like this. Something productive. Something so loved by so many people, useful to so many people,” Sage tried to reach out to his sense of community, trying to make him sympathize with her and the farmers, especially if he found something that wouldn’t fly legally. Bureaucracy wasn’t something she was good at. She’s tried that as well but it just wasn’t for her. It’s been a pain in her butt for a long while now. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be as problematic with Sam.

“Ah,” Sam was at a loss for words. Perhaps even for the first time in his life. How was he supposed to know all her friends are dead now? That seemed very unlikely in his head, though at the same time, also pretty believable. It wasn’t like they all died at the same time. Probably over the years. Due to different reasons. Sam tried his best to rationalize Sage’s tragedy the only way he knew how, which wasn’t hard, considering he did that on a daily basis. 

As a member of the Tourism Board that was trying their best to cover up all the supernatural bullshit in town, mostly because the older members were adamant in the belief that it was the only way to save the people, Sam had grown to be very well-versed in bullshitting his way through life. “That explains a lot,” he tried to flash her an understanding smile, though the awkwardness in the air rendered it somewhat uncomfortable.

Sam couldn’t agree more. The farm was fantastic. It was most definitely a breath of fresh air, though to be fair, that was mostly only because Sam spent most of his days downtown, never in the outskirts. Who knew how many more similar farms were in this part of the town? Should be him, if not the Tourism Board, but he digressed. In the grand scheme of things, the farm was something that seemed very useful to the community, and that should count for something, right? Sam believed the same. “I can see that. Seems to me like a great place in town. Your papers are in order, I assume? Because if they are, then I see no problem here. None at all.”

Sage couldn’t help but smile at Sam’s response. Her plan was working! Or at least it seemed like it. The man didn’t seem like he wanted to scrutinize anything else. Was it her charm? Or was it the familiarity of death that seemed to draw them to each other. She had lost her friends, and he had lost his family. This town was a constant reminder of their respective losses, yet they chose to stay. If that wasn’t something that bound them together, Sage wouldn’t know what else would qualify. 

Despite the sad realization, however, Sage still managed to put on a cheerful aura around her. No use in sulking, she always believed. If there was an opportunity to choose the sun over the moon, then the sun was her best option. Always was. “They are. Would you like to take a look at them? They’re in my private quarters.” 

Sage gestured back inside the main house, eager to lead him away from the farmers. They were good people, all of them, but they weren’t always reliable when it came to making sure bureaucrats like Sam wouldn’t find anything to zero in on, anything unnecessary, and use for their terrible agenda against people like them. Sam seemed different, but they had just met, and Sage wouldn’t risk the farm on a first impression.

“Maybe some other time,” Sam had to decline the most tempting of all offers when he received a text from Yoo-ara, reminding him of preparations for an upcoming event. He shook his head, sighing, at the most inopportune of all distractions, before turning to the lovely Sage with an apologetic smile. “I have to go and help with the town hall meeting stuff. You should drop by. Might be a whole lot of important stuff to learn.” That last part was a stab in the dark for him as well, as he was not in the loop with whatever that damned thing was about. For his part, he was just thinking of once again telling everyone there was nothing to worry about. Even if there was.

After bidding some more goodbyes, Sam headed out of her place, where Yoo-ara was waiting in her car. That was one of the good things about having your own assistant: They can drive you anywhere. Unfortunately, Yoo-ara was a terrible driver, mostly because she didn’t like paying too much attention on the road and may actually enjoy screaming at other drivers and passengers. Still, she was the only one he’s got. “I had a fun time, Sage,” Sam gave her one final nod before he got inside the car. “Maybe we can have more fun times in the future.”

#wickedswriting #❖《 ⋯ ♖ para ♜ ⋯ 》❖ #❖《 ⋯ ♖ feat. sage magnolia ♜ ⋯ 》❖ #loverleaf #❖《 ⋯ ♖ pollination ♜ ⋯ 》❖ #❖《 ⋯ ♖ s4. fractures ♜ ⋯ 》❖ #drug tw #drug use tw

[samjacksonwc]

sins of the father ♖ solo

TIMING: During the Town Hall Meeting LOCATION: Jackson Residence, Downtown, White Crest SUMMARY: Sam prepares to attend the town hall meeting but is accosted by the ghost of his father. Secrets are revealed as the two let out decades-long animosity in a fight. In the end, Sam leaves town before the big kaboom, though is it really Sam? Or is it someone else in his body? CONTENT: Parental death, parental issues, gaslighting

Sam Jackson fixed his tie as he looked himself over through the tall mirror in his room, certainly a dashing sight to behold. A smile found its way on his lips as he began fixing his hair, reciting his speech for the town hall meeting. “My dearest darling citizens of White Crest,” he began, more focused on his appearance than the contents of his actual speech. “Just heard that you were all concerned about the recent strange happenings in town. I am no expert, but I am sure that these things are just temporary, simply brought about by the recent change in weather and climate.” 

“You know how that is, right? Climate change?” Sam barely even believed his own words, only casually throwing easily digestible explanations as if it was all part of his life now, his instincts. “So, if you love the town, if you respect the town, if you care about the town, then don’t worry. Everything will be fine.” 

Sam dusted his snazzy suit with his hands, careful not to grease up the make but also with enough force to chase off any unwanted foreign substance. Like dust or someone else’s dandruff. “Once this all blows over, you’ll be right back to singing and dancing, or sulking and in need of some TLC if that’s your jam. Hope you stop worrying yourselves over nothing.” He repeated the last two words in his head, mouthing them but not quite saying them again. 

Focusing on his reflection in the mirror, Sam wasted a couple more seconds before beaming from ear to ear, proud of his appearance. It was the most important thing to him now, keeping appearances. Fuck the truth. Fuck the facts. As long as people think they’re happy and safe, they’ll be happy and safe. Worked for me, growing up in this terrible place, with a terrible father. Should work for the rest of the town.

Sam began to make his final preparations, making sure no electrical appliances were still plugged in, before leaving for the door. He hoped everyone in town would be present, so they could see him make his case, marvel at his positivity. Hopefully there will be a lot of pretty faces. He was almost at the door, his hand only inches from the brass knob, when a familiar voice stopped him. Not unlike the devil unable to make a single night not about him.

“You look good, Sam,” the ghost of his late father leaned against a nearby wall, which was pretty impressive, considering he was a ghost and Sam thought he’d just phase through that wall because ghosts and walls, right? But the ghost of his late father did not just phase through that wall, and not a second later, even pushed himself off of that wall to walk toward him, fixing his tie as if he was still alive. “Ready to gaslight the entire town into believing your preferred narrative?”

Sam scoffed, swiping the ghostly hands off of him and his tie. He didn’t even check whether he felt any sort of collision with that act, his entire focus on how he felt offended by his father’s remarks. “Ha! You of all people can’t judge me. You’ve done worse to this town.” 

He turned around, his back to his father, as he tried to calm himself down. Clenching his jaw, Sam decided to stay for a bit longer instead of just leaving Jackson Manor. After spending the past few days, maybe even weeks, with the damned ghost, Sam had found out it could not leave their home, which was supposed to be to his advantage. Yet he stood there, confronting the dead, wishing his old man was still alive so he could kill him. Again.

“Worse?” The ghost of Sam’s late father chuckled, as if his son had made such a witty retort. Even if Sam truly did, however, the old man wouldn’t give him the recognition. He was toxic that way, a real piece of work, especially after he lost his political hold over the town. “Come now, Sam, that’s a terrible joke: You know full well I was looking after this town, doing the things no one else could to protect it, to make sure it survived to the end.”

“Survive?” It was Sam’s turn to chuckle, though his was more venomous than that of the ghost of his late father. “Well, if you did such a great job, we wouldn’t be in this mess, would we? That thing in the lake, those weird dreams, the giant tree in the outskirts, and now the end of the world… If you did such a great job, I WOULDN’T HAVE TO LIE TO PEOPLE, IN THEIR FACES, ABOUT THE OBVIOUS DECLINE AND DECAY OF THIS GODDAMNED TOWN, YOU INSUFFERABLE ASS!”

Sam screamed his heart out, the veins in his neck almost popping in rage. How dare his dead father make him look worse than him?! Everything that has happened, every bad thing, to Sam, to this town, was all his fault! Sam clenched his jaw, almost breaking his own teeth. It might be impossible, but with all that he was feeling—the rage, the fury, the anguish, the despair—he actually felt it could have happened.

What happened instead was his father’s hand striking the side of his face. Sam was shocked. He stared at the ghost of his late father with wide eyes, his own hand on his own face. Normal people would have zeroed in on the fact that the ghost managed to slap him hard, but Sam was not normal people. Instead of that, Sam zeroed in on the fact that his ghost father laid its ghost hand on him. 

But before Sam could speak, the ghost interrupted him. “How dare you, you ungrateful, spineless, sad excuse of a son?!” The ghost feigned a cough before fixing his own tie and then his hair. “Those things wouldn’t have happened, those things wouldn’t have escalated, if you didn’t come back where you weren’t wanted, only to murder me in cold blood.” Sam’s father raised an eyebrow at him, staring daggers into his soul.

Sam, however, was confused. “Murder you? In cold blood?” He couldn’t believe the accusations he was hearing. That was not how it happened! “Your death was an accident! Of your own making! Who hunts at night? In the dark? You shot something, grazed it, and that something? Well, it didn’t miss your neck.” Sam scoffed, beaming with pride after slapping the ghost with the truth.

“Well, what do you know? Seems like you are, after all, capable of speaking the truth,” the ghost did not seem fazed at Sam’s retort, even seemingly strengthened by it, gloating for some reason, a reason Sam was quite unaware of. “But what did you do, Sammy? What did you do after the thing noticed you, stared deep into your soul, and then fled? What did you do once the violence was over, once I asked for your help?”

Sam gulped, trying to remember exactly what he did. He didn’t finish the job, did he? He hoped not. He couldn’t remember doing anything else to ensure his father’s demise. If he did, he would not forget it and instead even celebrate his own actions. “I…”

“YOU DID NOTHING!” It was the ghost’s turn to scream and wail at Sam, who could only close his eyes and quiver at the sudden display of violent outburst. “YOU WATCHED ME DIE, THE BLOOD DRAINING OUT OF MY BODY! YOU JUST STOOD THERE AND DID NOTHING, EVEN AS I BEGGED FOR YOU TO HELP ME!” The ghost wrapped its hand around Sam’s neck, and fueled by its decades-long anger and hatred, then began choking him.

Sam screamed back, but nothing incoherent came out of his mouth, nothing that made sense, that sounded anything else but a scream, as he placed his hands on his ears. Glass shattered all around him, and Sam was pushed back, hard against the door behind him. It was the perfect opportunity to escape, to leave the angered ghost to its own, trapped in that house that held nothing else but darkness and regret and hatred and death. But Sam was not thinking of escaping. Sam was thinking of something else.

“You didn’t deserve my help,” Sam gritted his teeth as he fought back against the pain, the fear, and everything else in between. “You deserved your death—slow, painful, and alone. Did you actually think I’d forget what you did to her? That time truly healed all the wounds you gave me, gave us, burdened this family with? You deserved worse, father.”

The ghost stared at Sam and slowly calmed down. Squinting at his son, the father asked with a much softer voice this time, though he already knew the answer in the back of his ghostly head. “What I did…to whom? Who are you talking about, Sam?”

Sam threw a punch at the ghost, which surprisingly hit him, forcing him down on the ground and on his back. Without even thinking about that, or anything else that was strange about this interaction, Sam quickly mounted his own father, pinning him down on the floor and punching him again. “You know who! You killed her! Pretended it was an accident, then blamed me!”

Sam threw punches after punches at the ghost of his late father who protected himself with his own hands. The only surviving member of his cursed family screamed with each strike, rage too much to hold back now, as tears streamed down the side of his face. Sam remembered everything vividly. He remembered the beatings, he remembered the blood, he remembered the bruises. More importantly, he remembered her.

His sister was the only shining beacon of hope in that house, in their household. Even their mother ignored his screams of pain whenever their father took his anger out on him. It was sister, and his sister alone, who sat with him after every violent visit, helped him heal from his wounds and bruises, and even tried to protect him once, an act of charity that cost her everything. He could still remember her fighting their father for him before she was thrown down the stairs like her life meant nothing. And of course, to the politician who cared more about appearances than the truth, she, they, did mean nothing.

When Sam finally took a moment to stop his assault, wiping the tears that had began to obscure his vision from his face, he slowly realized that his knuckles were bleeding. Underneath him was nothing else but the floor. His father, the ghost of whom, was nowhere to be found. In his loneliness, Sam sat back, pushing himself backwards into a corner, and weeping alone. Then suddenly, from out of nowhere, he heard her humming to him, his sister, who never aged one bit, whose smile beckoned for him to leave with her and move on.

♜♖♜

Downtown, White Crest. December 3, 2022.

With a wild grin on his face, Sam excitedly departed Jackson Manor through its front doors, pulling behind him a single piece of luggage that was at least big enough to bring along a couple of clothes and other necessities for an extended vacation. It had been a while since Sam had left town for things other than business. This time, however, he made sure to see the rest of the world with new eyes, finally free from the shackles and chains of the town and all its political folly. For once in his life, Sam was glad to be rid of White Crest and all that bound him to it. It was, as if, he was reborn.

“Dearest White Crest,” Sam thought to himself as he stood next to the door of his car, taking one final look at his residence. “The end has finally come for you. May you burn in hell, as I did when you betrayed me.” He scoffed and then laughed before putting on a pair of dark-tinted shades over his eyes. Sam then nonchalantly opened the door of his car, slid himself in on the driver’s seat, and after slamming the door closed next to him, drove away listening to a song he wasn’t quite familiar with but quickly enjoyed listening to.

[END]

#wickedswriting #❖《 ⋯ ♖ solo ♜ ⋯ 》❖ #❖《 ⋯ ♖ solo finale ♜ ⋯ 》❖ #❖《 ⋯ ♖ finale ♜ ⋯ 》❖ #❖《 ⋯ ♖ sins of the father ♜ ⋯ 》❖ #parental death tw #❖《 ⋯ ♖ s4. fractures ♜ ⋯ 》❖

[samjacksonwc]

Exhibitionists ♜ Sam × Abigail

TIMING: Recent LOCATION: Crest Works Art, Downtown, White Crest PARTIES: @samjacksonwc & @morbidlycuriousabigail​​ SUMMARY: Sam attends an exhibit at Crest Works Art where he meets Abigail. They bare their souls to one another. CONTENT: Parental death, parental issues, art stuff

Sam Jackson hated to admit it, but art was never his strong suit. Just because he dated a couple of artists a few years ago didn’t mean he had become an expert in the field. Far from it. Tonight, however, he felt a strange nagging feeling that urged him to finally make his way to Crest Works Art, pay a visit to a once-familiar building turned unfamiliar, and as luck might have it, there was already some sort of small exhibit waiting for him. He settled in front of a giant painting filled only with white, eyes narrowed at that singularity so alone in such a massive space, a rabbit in the snowstorm.

Faintly, from behind him, he heard footsteps approach where he stood. Sam didn’t even turn to face whoever it was, still fixated on the giant work of art before him, alluring, enticing, drawing him ever captive like a flame to his moth. “Before I left this town,” he muttered with a smile. “I had thought this building would remain untouched, perhaps declared some sort of monument to the town’s history, or worse, demolished and replaced by a mall.” The tourism board member began to feel an itch in his cuffs, so his hands set out to deal with it.

“Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine it would become an art gallery of sorts,” Sam shook his head, the smile never faltering from his lips. “Never thought this place, this town, would have the sense to appreciate art.” He heaved a sigh, as his hands finally returned to their respective pockets, where they were holstered most of the time. “Glad I was wrong.” Turning to the woman, he looked her over quickly, from head to toe, as if committing her features to memory, lest she vanish right away like a figment of his imagination. “Do people from here actually buy these paintings?”

As Abigail approached from behind Sam, her boots gently tapping the ground beneath her to signal her approach, she also found her gaze focused on the painting. She stepped up beside the stranger, listening to him speak while her blank, unaffected visage remained aimed towards the sizeable white canvas. “That was a naive thought. Things are always changing, especially here… in the studio, I mean.” Abigail’s tone was hard to pinpoint, it was without malice, joy, kindness, or sorrow. It simply just was. She’d been assisting with the gallery for a few hours now, and her customer service mask was worn out.  

“This building was lucky enough to have caught the eye of the gallery owner, Metzli Bernal. I don’t know the specifics of when and how it was founded, but now, it’s home to a rotation of both new and old pieces of art.” Abigail’s eyes slowly drifted over the painting, spotting no paint streaks or irregularities to the form, it was very well made in a technical sense, and in an artistic sense. She could appreciate that. Abigail soon turned on a time, the squeak of her boots on the hard-wood floor muted by the conversations and footsteps of the many guests around the exhibit. She examined the stranger, wondering if she knew him or had seen him somewhere, eventually reaching the conclusion that she had no clue who this person was.

While being observed by Sam, Abigail took a moment to fix her dark red suit jacket, making sure it was perfectly straight and proper, before returning her attention to the person across from her. “I’m glad it did, otherwise I probably wouldn’t have stayed in this town for long, or I’d be submitting my art to galleries outside of town.” She made an effort to look at the point right between Sam’s eyes, mostly to seem polite and good at her job, but also so she didn’t have to make genuine eye contact with him. “People buy art all the time, either rich assholes treating it like the stock market, or people with a genuine passion who like supporting artists. Either way, it’s part of what keeps the place going.” She reached a ghostly pale hand forward, offering a handshake to Sam, still wearing an expression devoid of external emotion. “I’m Abigail, by the way, Abigail Varcroft. I’m the assista- the gallery director here.” She’d almost forgotten about her promotion.

“Well,” Sam smiled as he continued staring at the beautiful woman beside him. If she had turned out to be another guy, just like him, it would’ve been very disappointing. Although he would never admit it, Sam preferred art with women. He’s had more opportunities to learn about the male condition, the masculine view of art, than he’s had about the female condition, what he personally considered the much better feminine consideration of art. That and he dated a female painter before, an illustrator whose focus was on watercolor painting, so that should make him more sophisticated than most people, right? Never mind that he can’t even draw stick figures to save his life. “I was very young and naive when I left home and fled this town. But here I am, back to the place I swore I’d never return to again.”

Sam listened intently to the woman as she shared what she knew of the building, far more than he would have ever known himself. Nodding, his dark brown eyes fixated on her face. She seemed familiar for some reason. Maybe he met a relative of hers way back when? Someone he would no longer remember now. He turned his attention back to the painting, drawn to it by a strange feeling of familiarity, as if it was speaking to him, seducing him, mind and soul. “Ah. Compliments to the owner then. They’ve done a marvelous thing, bringing art to the people of White Crest, giving art home.”

“You’re an artist and the gallery director,” he muttered matter-of-factly. A vision of his old flame suddenly appeared in his head. Clenching his jaw, he tried to shake that memory off. Not now. “That’s very impressive, Miss Varcroft. Is this yours?” Catching a glimpse of the woman’s hand, Sam carefully held it in his own, shaking it briefly. The thought of kissing it came to mind, mostly because he was still feeling hoity-toity for being near art, but decided against it, not wanting to be too intimate, if that was even the right word for it. “Sam Jackson, from the White Crest Tourism Board.”

“Same here, never thought I’d be back but eventually there’s nowhere else to go but home.” Abigail shrugged, soon turning away from the painting to scan the room, checking to make sure that tonight’s guests were enjoying themselves and not in need of any assistance. It was a somewhat busy evening, footsteps quietly walking back and forth as groups talked amongst themselves in front of different art pieces. Spotting a guest that dropped a gum wrapper on the ground, Abigail simply stared at them with a blank expression, though it was clearly interpreted correctly once the guest locked eyes with her, prompting them to bend over to pick it up and throw it away properly in terror. “Apologies for the disruption. Some nights I feel more like a babysitter in this place.”

“Indeed they have. If I’d had a place like this to visit when I was younger, maybe I would have stayed around.” Abigail didn’t think on it for long, but it was true. Growing up, she constantly felt suffocated by the town, especially after the trial and all of the news surrounding it. It was a particularly low point in her life, one she’d hoped to escape eventually. Luckily, for the time being, it seemed like she’d succeeded in escaping her past.

“That’s correct.” Abigail confirmed, giving a dutiful nod as she firmly shook Sam’s hand, returning it to her pocket after the handshake was finished. She took notice of the tense expression on his face for a moment, but let it pass by without question. For now, it was just something to remember. “No, it’s not mine. I only have one of mine out on display right now, over there.” She pointed a direct line at a painting across the room, but it was surrounded by a group of individuals that could only be described as ‘gothic’. In all fairness, they were probably the intended audience.

“Home, sure,” Sam wouldn’t quite call this town home, though it served its purpose as such for now and unfortunately for all those years ago. If he could, he would deny remembering his childhood, as tragic and barbaric as it all were when it came down to it. His mother tried, the poor woman, but his father was just too evil to relent. His sister had to— He felt himself choking on air at that memory, though he was quick to regain his composure. It was not something he liked remembering when he was in public, especially in the company of a very attractive woman. 

Looking around, Sam easily caught sight of the person that had stolen Abigail’s attention from him, making him smirk and raise an eyebrow at what was easily the second-place highlight of his night. Placing first? “Well, I hope I don’t prove too annoying as a baby.” Her revelation of what seemed to him like a situation that had been similar to his own a while back made him raise an eyebrow in curiosity. “Stayed? So you’re a runaway as well? Ah, so we’re not so different, you and I,” he quipped, though he wasn’t quite sure if that was a good thing. Maybe tonight, it can be.

“Ah, your work seems to be quite the popular entry tonight, Miss Varcroft,” Sam admired the crowd that had nested around her piece, second only to the firmness of her handshake, but something else immediately nagged at him from the back of his mind, something familiar and yet strange, but in a good way. “I’m sorry, but have we met? You look oddly familiar, maybe one of those local celebrities I’ve been hearing about but have been too stuck at work to actually meet?” If Sam could, he would have admitted to failing to ask that question much sooner. He was just distracted, that’s all, but in a good way.

Recognizing the appearance of somebody drowning in the past, Abigail quickly took action, moving to walk past Sam to another exhibit, tapping his arm and gesturing for him to follow. She felt that it was best to stay distracted when thoughts became too much to handle. “Hurry along, Sam from the Tourism Board.” She stopped in front of a painting near her own entry of the night, one by a familiar local artist who’d sent in a few submissions in the past. It depicted a melting plastic food wrapper on a black canvas, so the meaning was up for interpretation like most of the other paintings on display. 

“So far, for a baby, you’re not inconveniencing me, yet.” Abigail was being honest, while keeping her hopes low for the future of this interaction so she wouldn’t be disappointed if it turned south. “I guess you could say I’m a runaway, but my parents weren’t exactly around to stop me, and I was a legal adult at the time.” She shrugged, blankly tilting her head at the painting in front of her as she did her best to come to a meaning for it. It was probably something about global warming or pollution, but the melting reminded of her own tendency to melt at times, which wasn’t necessarily a pretty thought. “Seems so. Why’d you run away?”

Abigail didn’t pay much attention to her art for the most part. She knew that if she thought too hard about it, she’d start panicking and growing self-conscious about it. “Guess so, a small group of people have gravitated towards my work lately.” She turned to face Sam next to her, though her heart dropped when she heard his words. There it was, the reason she’d kept her hopes low, the past she’d tried so hard to escape from. “I don’t think we have, but I was in some newspapers when I was here last time, hence why I left.”

Her touch and the sound of his name from her lips served as a good distraction, good enough to force a warm smile on his lips. Sam from the Tourism Board… I like that. Following the woman like a dog on a leash, Sam raised an eyebrow when she brought him in front of another strange painting. Not that it was bad or that Sam knew of a painting that wasn’t strange for one reason or another. He liked his art that way, like his women, carrying a spark of strangeness, mystery, something akin to a puzzle to be solved, a curiosity that must be satiated. Otherwise, life would be boring.

“That’s really good to hear,” he quipped, turning to her briefly to once more take in her very being. Sam didn’t get much opportunity to mix and mingle these days. Or any day for that matter. He’d always bury himself in his work to distract himself from many things, including his past and even his present. Maybe that’s why he liked the strange: They always made for great distractions. “I’ll do my best to only convenience you.” 

His hands crawled out of his pockets, with one providing a base for his elbow and the other cradling his chin. Looking at this new painting, Sam realized he preferred the first one. It was less…dark. “A runaway adult? If only I can be like that now,” he offered her another smile but it quickly melted away at the question, mostly at how dark he felt his answer would be. “My sister died. Dad beat us up on the regular. Mom couldn’t—wouldn’t do anything to stop it.” Thank god, they’re all dead now, he would’ve quipped but managed to just keep that supposed dark joke in his head where he believed it belonged.

“You’re not a fan of crowds, are you?” Sam assumed, incorrectly, when he caught her seemingly feeling saddened at the sight of them. “If you want to go somewhere else, I can keep you company.” Or was it because of his answer, his revelation that he had a terrible childhood. Do women still like that? Or was it something they avoided entirely? Either way, he hoped she would understand, not treat him like a pathetic head case like most usually do. He tried to lighten up the mood, her mood specifically. “Oh? So you are a celebrity! Newspapers don’t really care about runaway adults that much. Must’ve broken a lot of hearts when you left. I know I would have been devastated.” He put a hand on his chest to exaggerate his point, still grinning from ear to ear.

“Thanks, your attempt at not hindering me is appreciated.” Abigail responded quickly, almost seeming a bit playful in her intention, though her speaking and physical mannerisms were extremely rigid and dull. It was either a defense mechanism, or it was just how she was. Even Abigail didn’t really know, it just came naturally after having to speak with a bright ‘customer-service’ tone for hours, or when she was spending time with people she felt like she didn’t have to struggle to be around. Her gaze remained fixated on the painting, with the intention to not have to make eye contact. It kinda felt like she was talking to the art, rather than to another person, which helped her relax.

Scanning over the brushstrokes, Abigail could almost tell the way the artist held the brush, but not quite. It was similar to her own technique, but less pressure was placed against the canvas with the brush strokes, and most of the small parts were slow and deliberate. It took longer than it should have for her to realize that she’d spaced out, prompting herself to fade back into the present moment. “I wouldn’t call myself a runaway. I just ran, but I thought I was running to something. Then I realized that everywhere’s the same.”

Abigail listened to Sam recounting his childhood, nodding in understanding but not commenting on it with empty sympathies or fake sorrow, she was just making it clear that she was listening without giving input. She was tempted to say something about her own childhood to relate to Sam, to make herself seem more human in the eyes of this stranger, but a part of her screamed that it would compromise her defences too much. “Dads suck.” Abigail responded simply, not seeming put off or saddened by his admission, for better or for worth. She knew just how cruel life could be, the strongest of people were always forged in unfair moments, robbed of what could have been if things had been ideal.

“I’m indifferent to crowds, it’s just complex conversations that vex me.” She admitted, momentarily glancing over at Sam before returning her attention to the painting. “You’re right, newspapers normally don’t care about that, unless it’s a person leaving town right after being deemed innocent in court for the murder of their father.” Stopping somebody passing by, Abigail grabbed a glass of champagne, quickly tilting her head back and drinking every last drop, handing the glass off soon after. 

“Oh, yes, well, you’re welcome,” Sam preened like an infatuated idiot, though whether that infatuation was on Abigail or his art enthusiast persona, not even him will ever truly know. He watched her admire the brushstrokes, focusing more on the mysteriously alluring woman before deciding his persona would prefer the brushstrokes themselves. He saw nothing but the lines for what they were, just lines, and any attempt at a deeper meaning would have required him to make more effort in trying, an effort his brain currently felt wasted if refocused from his lovely companion. Sam is a man, after all, and he was the worst kind at the moment: Lonely and quick to romanticize any and every thing. “Ah, yes, been there, done that.”

Her statement about running towards something, only to realize that all roads lead to ruin, or something like that, refocused his mind on his own past. Sam tried his best to run as far away as he could, but he was still caught. His father’s reach was far beyond his own, though he was as surprised as anyone else when he decided to just ship him to boarding school, far from White Crest, far from his remaining family, a fate he had wanted all along. Did his old man realize what his only son wanted? No. Sam would never give him that benefit. For all he knew, his father just wanted him out of the picture, especially after his sister’s demise. He absentmindedly repeated the thought in his head, “All roads lead to ruin.”

“Dads definitely suck,” he grinned at the sentiment, shaking his head in disbelief. Abigail felt like a familiar soul, a kindred spirit. When Sam looked back at her, he saw someone he could maybe spend the weekends with, perhaps even longer days. Of course, Sam felt that way every time he was alone with a woman, whenever his intense loneliness and his yearning for human companionship would win over his heart, strangle it with that suffocating desire to reach out and be with someone, anyone. He ended up swallowing all that, however, forcing those feelings back down his throat, into the pits of his stomach where they belonged. How dare he selfishly believe his blood’s curse would make for a better companion to anyone? What a foolish thought! 

“I hope this conversation isn’t as complex to vex you?” Sam tried to break the ice, a coldness that only he probably felt, thanks to his complex internal argument with himself. He instinctively feigned a cough when he caught her turning to him, when their eyes met, even if only so briefly. Then she surprised him yet again, though the jury was still out on whether it was a good surprise or something else. “You mean, you—” Sam cut himself off as he watched her pilfer a glass of alcohol and so quickly do away with it. Heaving a sigh, as if unburdening himself, he decided to take a very strange leap of faith, turning his full attention back to the painting as he shared his own misfortune with the same kind of parent. “Never got to court or the newspapers, but when my old man died in a hunting accident and I survived? Felt like it did, with all the folks reaching out. They never said it, but I could see it in their eyes, the curiosity on whether I actually had a firmer hand in things, on whether my survival was more than a lucky break.”

 With a small nod, Abigail glared deep into the eyes of the man across from her. He was simple, open, and honest. Nothing about him seemed like he was putting on an act, not from the first glance at least. It was easy to see that he began thinking deeply on something when she spoke about leaving home, but whether it was envy or not was yet to be seen. She was good at reading the simple things, but when it came to the complicated emotions and thoughts that weighed down on one’s very soul, she could do nothing more than take notice of something looming over. “You are plagued by something. Use it.” She spoke on something she knew nothing about with the confidence and commanding tone of an expert. Abigail had intended to suggest that Sam use whatever was affecting him to create art, but the way it came out made her words sound more serious than a friendly suggestion.

“Mine was more useless than anything.” Abigail spoke with the bluntness and blandness of an individual who tried to seem well adjusted, but was anything of the sort. The memories still brought with them fear, rage, and hatred, so it was better to picture the idea of her dad rather than anything he really did or didn’t do. It was safer that way, both for Abigail and those around her. When the guests at the next painting over moved on, she looked past Sam for a moment, before leading him over to it, returning her gaze to the portrait, though her attention was very much on the conversation. 

“No conversation is complex enough to cause me any distress.” That was a lie. Many topics caused internal debates and deliberations that sometimes lasted days, but this topic certainly wasn’t one of them. It was one of the few times that the answer to something was truly black and white. Listening to Sam’s recounting of events, Abigail glanced over at him sideways, scanning him over as he spoke, almost like she was examining another piece of art while listening to the story being told so that she could piece the two together, but something seemed not to add up. “Patricide is never easy and only occasionally deserved, but it takes a broken person to do it all the same. I did it, but did you?” She turned her body slightly, her head turning to fully face Sam with her ever-empty expression. “I don’t believe you did it. Not on your own accord, at the very least. You are too… genuine, and sheepish. The look of murder in your eyes is less prominent than I’d expect it to be if you’d had your hand and heart on the trigger.”

“Use it?” To say that Sam was confused would be the understatement of the year, though the confusion only lasted for a few seconds, immediately replaced by a myriad of possibilities brought forth by Abigail’s confident command. If she had told him to jump off a bridge with her, he’d do it in a heartbeat. At least that’s how he felt at the exact moment. Sam could barely get near the edge of a bridge willy-nilly. The last time he tried, he almost had a panic attack. For now, he simply followed her towards the next painting. “Beautiful,” he remarked, half at the painting, half at her.

“How so?” His curiosity was piqued by Abigail’s revelation. Usually, when someone offers advice, they’d double down on making themselves appear all the better because of it. Or maybe in spite of the advice? Sam wasn’t quite sure. No one he ever spoke to would downplay their own experience after giving such sage advice, instead always adding how they miraculously solve their problems, and with that solution, he could solve his own. But then he realized he may be overstepping his bounds. After all, they just met, and no one, not even the most interesting woman he’s ever met in recent memory, liked a nosy neighbor. “I mean, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, if it’s too personal. It took me some time before I could… Well, before I could talk about my late father’s accident without sounding so guilty.”

“That’s good to know,” his lips curled into a smile. There were many things he liked to talk about, most of them things that no one else entertained, some of them things he couldn’t talk about in public, especially as a public servant, and a few of them, he wasn’t even sure he could actually talk about. He mustered a chuckle when Abigail joked about the patricide thing, even though part of him knew he shouldn’t have, but he’d laugh at any joke she’d ever— “Oh, you’re not kidding?” Sam’s heart started to beat faster. He wasn’t quite sure if it was because the woman he was fawning over just admitted to a crime or because she was looking directly at him, in his eyes. “T-thanks? You look very hot— I mean, uhh,” he started looking around, pretending to fan himself with his hand. “Did someone turn the AC up or what?”

“Yes, use it. That is how good art is made.” Abigail spoke firmly, giving a brief nod as she spoke to Sam. She clearly knew what she was talking about, or at least she very much sounded like she did. In reality, she poured her heart and soul into painting what she thought was beautiful or meaningful. She failed to see the purpose of making art if not to put a piece of yourself in it. “I suppose it is beautiful, not necessarily my thing. I prefer more abstract pieces, with real meaning.” She’d missed the double meaning to Sam’s compliment completely, but she could tell something was distracting him still. From how much he was looking to her, she came to the realization that she might have something in her hair, so she carefully brushed her fingers through her hair, shaking it out a bit afterwards just in case. 

“I understand your concern, but I won’t bother dodging the question. Consider this conversation different than your normal ones and maybe it will alleviate your stress.” As Abigail spoke, it wasn’t from a place of annoyance or empathy. Instead, her words sounded like she was seeking to make things easier for both herself and Sam. She certainly didn’t see herself as a normal person, so if they were going to talk about the deep stuff, why bother trying to be normal by dancing around the hard parts? “My dad was just a drunk. Sure he got real aggressive and violent, but I could put up with that. What set me off was that he did all that and had the audacity to just sit do nothing when he had free time. I came home from school and immediately had to clean, cook food, and do the laundry, all throughout my childhood.” Staring off into the distance, Abigail thought back on her childhood, and how she somehow managed to make it here today despite the odds. Sam seemed to have done the same, so she made the decision to show him a mutual respect.

Abigail paused and remained silent as Sam realized that she was completely and utterly serious, looking over at him to see the look on his face while his brain buffered. “Not kidding at all. I don’t kid often with people I don’t know well.” She remained looking at him throughout his sudden outburst, unable to hold back the small chortle that escaped her. With an amused shake of her head, she looked back to the painting ahead of them. “I did not intend to compliment you, but your rather precious compliment is appreciated.” As she continued looking at the painting, a noticeable deep grey hue painted her cheeks, like a blush that lacked color. She was not used to receiving compliments, so the best she could do was to try and hide it by staring at the painting. “No, the air conditioning in this building is locked, only myself and Metzli Bernal have keys to unlock the control panel. You should own your words. The words that come out accidentally are often the most honest, Sam.”

Although Sam wasn’t quite sure he’d be able to make art as good as Abigail, her words inspired him to maybe try some other time, when he was more free, when he was much lonelier. Right at this point in time, he was neither free nor lonely. Not that he would ever want to be free from Abigail’s company, but her very presence did keep him from becoming his usual lonely self. Sam wasn’t quite sure he’d be able to make anything resembling art when he was feeling much more positive, much less deserving of karmic pain. Might be the best thing that’s ever happened to me for a while… Guess this’ll end very badly one way or another.

Sam could only nod as he braced himself, internally, for whatever Abigail was about to tell him, confide in him. He hasn’t always had the best ear, and most of the time, he made for a terrible priest in charge of confession. The last time time anyone had told him a secret, Sam had forgotten about it. Some would find that useful, but that person wanted Sam to remember because they would not, and now that secret’s lost forever, in the wind, upon where no one would be able to see or hear about it. “Huh,” he wasn’t quite sure what to say to make her feel any better, if that was even possible, so instead he just decided to join her in her misery. “Dads are really disappointing, aren’t they?”

Cringe, bro. He could already hear Yoo-ara mock him at the back of his head. Fortunately for him, his assistant wasn’t around to embarrass him further. He was already doing a splendid job of that himself. “Metzli Bernal? Your coworker?” He stared at her not unlike a puppy would its owner. Even after making a fool of himself, Sam was still relieved by Abigail’s patience with him. Not a lot of people could bear him, and perhaps for good reason. “You don’t think I talk too much? Sound so annoying? You’re more than impressive, Abigail Varcroft. Where have you been my entire life?”

“Yes, but most people tend to disappoint me, so dad’s aren’t special.” Abigail joked, though it wasn’t very apparent due to her deadpan delivery. At the very least, she thought it was amusing, and that was all that mattered. Even if she was still tormented by nightmares of her father’s actions and his death, she had no problem talking about it. The thoughts only worsened if her mind was allowed to run wild and think of the specifics, of the possible choices she could’ve made to do things differently, so she stayed busy. She was always painting, playing music, working, or scheming, and it kept her safe from herself. “ I sincerely hope you aren’t ‘most people’. It’s not very often I can relate to somebody on such a sensitive manner.”

“They’re my employer, actually. Do you know them?” Abigail noticed that Sam seemed rather self-conscious, but she didn’t know him well enough yet to know why that was. She wondered what he would think of her if he knew everything she’d done, if he’d hold her to the same standards that he held himself to. “I have a very low tolerance for things I believe to be annoying, Sam. If I’m still here with you, that is a good sign.” As the flattery continued, that light grey blush remained, though luckily for her it could just be played off as weird makeup if Sam or somebody else became suspicious. “I came back here because I had no other choice. People find my art too gruesome and find me too unpleasant to speak to, so I found it difficult to keep a job. That’s where I’ve been all of your life, what about you?” 

Abigail’s gaze shifted to look towards the next painting, one she was rather proud to call her own. Standing room had just opened up in front of it, so she began moving over to it, curious as to what Sam would think about the piece. Like her other paintings, it was painted using oil paints, in an abstract style that somehow managed to appear gory despite there being not much that wasn’t up to viewer interpretation. “This is mine, by the way. It is named ‘all that remains’.” She gestured to the painting, trying to hide how eager she was to hear his reaction. Though she didn’t worry about many things, viewers’ reactions to her art were one of the few things that could genuinely make or break her day.

Sam wasn’t quite sure if she was kidding at first. He had originally wanted to laugh but managed to rein himself in, confused as to whether she’d find it offensive. What if she finds him not laughing more offensive, though? In what felt like an eternity, even though it was just a matter of seconds, Sam found himself caught between a rock and a hard place. Don’t laugh at that, you child, he reminded himself before immediately freezing in place, a thousand possibilities of failure running through his mind. But then he looked at her, and with that last line of hers, forgot all of those worries and concerns, instead making a promise that was more genuine than anything he’s ever made. “I’ll try not to be.”

“Oh, well, I have heard the name,” Sam wasn’t quite sure if someone else had mentioned the name to him in passing. Or maybe he just read it somewhere. Maybe on an invite to another exhibit. Maybe on some sort of pamphlet his coworkers had done about the place. Either way, the name was familiar to him, though familiar why he couldn’t figure out. Not yet. “But we haven’t met yet, I think.”

When she implied she didn’t find him annoying, Sam beamed. Like a high schooler with their first love. Complete with an awkward grin followed by feigned coughing to regain his composure. He also fixed his tie to boot. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” As the conversation shifted to their whereabouts prior to this encounter, Sam couldn’t help but find himself drawn to a more serious atmosphere. His time away from White Crest wasn’t as great as he had led himself to believe. Even though he managed to free himself from his dick of a dad, he was still haunted by past mistakes, regrets, things he should have done, things he shouldn’t have, like a curse that wouldn’t leave his side. “I was stuck in university outside of town. Wanted to find my own place in the world, make it, without my parents’ help or name. Never needed them to begin with.”

“Oh,” Sam’s eyes widened in surprise, even though they shouldn’t have. From their conversation, he should have been able to gleam that this was pretty much Abigail in a nutshell. It was weird, gory, out-of-this-world. He could sense darkness from it, or maybe he was just projecting, but something about her work felt familiar, as if he could relate to it. Should he? Probably not in public, but in this point in time, there was just the two of them, and Sam felt it was enough. “It makes me feel like something’s trying to break free. Not sure if it’s just the painting, myself, or your genius. All that red, fractured… I shouldn’t be saying this, especially on the record, but all this beauty… It makes me feel like I’m home. All that remains, when everything has fallen apart, is home, you, me, who we really are, where we truly belong...”

“I can introduce the two of you sometime. It would be good for business for us to have a positive and mutually beneficial relationship.” Abigail knew that she’d be praised if she could get the gallery some form of official endorsement or recommendation from the tourism board. She enjoyed doing well at her job, almost as much as much as she enjoyed bringing new faces into the gallery. Even if it could possibly bring in more wealthy snobs, it was worth it to get more normal people in who might genuinely enjoy seeing the art, or better, find some meaning in it. “If you have a business card I can give it to them.”

Sam’s glowing expression did not go unnoticed by Abigail. He looked like a puppy, or a tarantula that had been given a fruit fly as a treat. “It is a compliment, I assure you.” She watched as his posture seemed to shrink a bit, but he also seemed more fulfilled with the conversation as it went on. She didn’t understand the contradiction, but she hoped to soon be able to. “Did you..? Find your place in the world, I mean.” Curiosity had once again grabbed a hold of her. The person standing next to her seemed very well put together, but she wondered how much of that was a facade. Everybody wore a mask most of the time, but some masks covered more than others. It was simply a matter of how and why they were worn.

Abigail hadn’t expected such a profound and genuine answer from Sam. He didn’t seem the type to truly see what she had put onto the canvas. It was a pleasant surprise. She was flattered in every possible sense of the word, her face returning to a deep grey as she turned to stare at the painting. Finally, somebody who saw the true beauty in the horrific, the calm of death, the return to nothing. She turned to look at Sam, staring for a few moments as he seemed to let the painting wash over him. “You see it for what it could be, rather than what it is. You are… fascinating. I wonder what darkness lies under your soul.” She spoke softly, taking a moment to adjust her scarf. “I believe the evening is coming to a close. I must close up, but you should stay. Accompany me to my bike.”

“Huh,” Sam just nodded like a good boy, a loyal dog, at Abigail’s offer. Although he watched her like a hawk, hanged on to every word that was coming out of her very beautiful mouth, the meaning and possibility in that promised encounter was lost on him. Right now, at this moment, he was more focused on Abigail above and beyond anything else. “Hmm? Oh, yeah, I have one right…” He scrambled to find a business card, his hands searching every nook and cranny of his suit, until he managed to procure one from a pocket that they had gone through at least three times. Sam showed it to Abigail with a wide grin before surrendering it. “...my number’s also there, so if you’d like to talk again, speak with me, just the two of us, you can just hit me up whenever you want.”

Her question took him back to a more serious place, and Sam looked away from her, momentarily stunned. It wasn’t the kind of stun that someone became when offended or hurt. It was more the kind of stun that was more about being unable to process something, anything. For Sam, he wasn’t quite sure how to answer her question. Normally, he would just say yes, chuckle with someone else, and then be on his way, back to his lonely manor, his late father’s residence, haunted by the old man’s past misdeeds and terrible secrets. But Sam didn’t want to treat Abigail like everyone else. He wanted to be honest with her, even if she’d find him boring or unattractive. “I guess not. I try to bury myself in my work, pretend like I’m doing something I’m supposed, I’m where I’m supposed to be, but at the end of the day, I’m just…alone.”

Sam feigned a cough after lingering on those very honest thoughts for a few more moments. He wasn’t entirely sure why he admitted to that, and he wasn’t even sure he had the courage to say those things, share his truth, but they were out there now. Sam Jackson is a pathetic loser confirmed. As if that needed confirmation. He put one hand in his pocket, frowning, and scratched his head, ruffling his already wild mane, with his other. “Uhh, I’m sorry, I don’t…” He scrambled for excuses but dared not hide behind any. And then she complimented him and all was right in his world again. Back to that goofy grin, like a young boy around his first love. “Fascinating? You think so? I think you’re fascinating, too.”

Yet the part about the darkness latched on the back of his head, as if a deep, nagging feeling that he couldn’t just let go. Did Sam have darkness in him? Of course. Everyone does. Right? But what kind? And would he fall prey to it? “Hmm? Oh, well, I wouldn’t want to burden you,” he caught himself, realizing what the end of the night could mean, and derailed his own thoughts, forcing them elsewhere, another suggestion in hopes that they could still be together even as the dawn breaks. “I have my car parked, if you’re, uhm, interested? I mean, I could drive you home. Keep you safe. Not that you need that. You’re a very strong woman, I can tell.”

“I will add it to my phone.” Abigail slipped Sam’s business car smoothly into one of the pockets in the lining of her suit jacket. She would add it to her phone, but rarely ever did she want to send the first message, that was a bit of a leap that made it all too easy to respond. She found that forcing somebody else to message first sorted out the strong and the weak. Yes, it was definitely that, and not social anxiety. To rectify that problem, she pulled her business card out, sliding it into the pocket of Sam’s shirt rather than simply offering it to him. After all, she knew he would accept it. “If you wish to speak again, message me, I may respond.”

It was clear to Abigail that what she asked had prompted some deep thought, so she gave Sam the time he needed to find an answer. She was genuinely taken aback by the intense honesty of the answer given to her, and it showed on her face for a few moments. “Very rarely does work help much in the way of escaping loneliness. It keeps your focus elsewhere, but the feeling is still there, and doesn’t go away until you find a real means of resolving it.” Abigail’s work and her hobbies were often what she used to avoid thinking too much on the current problems plaguing her life, but rarely did it do anything other than keep her from falling apart. Spending time with friends and loved ones was the only thing that really pushed those feelings back.

“Thank you, Sam. For being so honest with me, and for not wasting my time.” Grabbing the last glass of champagne on the tray in the center of the room, Abigail suddenly slammed it back, setting the glass back down. She’d clean up everything in the morning before they opened back up, but for now she just needed to lock the door once everybody was gone. “Alright, everybody out. We hope you’ve had a wonderful evening.” She raised her voice and spoke in a commanding tone, the last stragglers listening to her orders and leaving. Rather than respond to Sam, she walked to the coat rack and grabbed the hanging motorcycle helmet, before turning to the last remaining person in the gallery other than herself. “I’ll drive and drop you off in the morning. It is not me who needs keeping safe, I am normally the danger… and I can’t leave my bike here overnight.”

Sam let out a cheeky grin as he accepted Abigail’s business card, taking a moment or two to linger on it, as if memorizing everything that the small piece of paper was revealing to him. “Of course. Might be sooner than you expect. I’ll try my best not to be as…clingy,” He knew how impossible that was, but he couldn’t very well say anything else. Sam had been lonely for quite some time. Every bit of social contact he could muster outside of work, he almost always immediately held on to, tightly, like his very life depended on it. With all the recent rumblings in town, the strange goings-on, it might very well do.

A real means of resolving it. Sam let her words stew in his brain a little bit, thinking it all over and over again. He wondered what could that be for him. Certainly won’t be as easy as reaching out to others. He had a terrible habit, he was starting to notice, of annoying everyone that spent more than a passing glance at him. Abigail seemed different, but he didn’t trust himself not to botch that, too. Watching her take control of the entire place only served to attract Sam further. He smiled at her offer, mystified by the image of her on a motorcycle, among other things. It was a hard offer to resist. With a shrug, he followed her out and wherever else they might go. “Sounds like a good time.”

[END]

#wickedswriting #❖《 ⋯ ♖ para ♜ ⋯ 》❖ #❖《 ⋯ ♖ feat. abigail varcroft ♜ ⋯ 》❖ #morbidlycuriousabigail #❖《 ⋯ ♖ exhibitionists ♜ ⋯ 》❖ #❖《 ⋯ ♖ s4. fractures ♜ ⋯ 》❖ #parental death tw

[samjacksonwc]

Sidekick By Night ♜ Sam × Cass

TIMING: Recent LOCATION: Downtown, White Crest PARTIES: @samjacksonwc & @stolensiren​​ SUMMARY: Sam gets accosted by a “cosplayer” but superCass saves him. CONTENT: Cosplaying on a bad day, Sam’s vampire mommy issues, Cass being a vigilante

In White Crest, there really was no such thing as a quiet night. There were nights that were calmer than others, maybe, but no night that was straight-up relaxed. There was always something going on, always some trouble to be found. It made it a pretty good town to be a superhero in… but a pretty bad town to be just about anyone else. 

Take, for example, the scene in front of Cass now. Whatever was trying to pounce on Sam Jackson, tourism board extraordinaire, was definitely not human. It had a mouth like a leech and hair down to its feet, and it was, like, definitely trying to eat the guy. And Sam, for his part, was… offering it his wallet. Which, honestly? Wasn’t exactly ideal. He was definitely going to get eaten by a weird leech lady if Cass didn’t step in. And Cass liked Sam, so. Stepping in was pretty necessary here.

Quickly, she shoved her way onto the scene and yanked Sam back just as the leech lady pounced forward, leech mouth first. “Dude, what are you doing? You’re gonna get killed!” 

As far as quiet nights went for the town, every night was a quiet night. Well, as long as Sam was the one asked. While the rest of the Tourism Board kept out of the public eye, he was the sacrifice, the sheep the wolves of the elite offered to the rest of the sheep to be mauled and mistreated and bleated at, even though it was his job to make sure no one got hurt out of curiosity. Sure, maybe people needed to be informed about the strange goings-on, so that they could come up with their own contingencies and protection, but what they don’t know can’t hurt them, right?

“That’s…a pretty great costume,” Sam gulped, knowing full well that it wasn’t a costume. Chuckling awkwardly, he held up a hand and slowly took out his wallet, offering its lacking contents to the creature in front of him. It’s just some kid in a costume…right? “What’s that from? A new Stephen King show? Looks really good. Very, uhm, believable. I can actually smell…”

Before he could finish his thought, however, someone pulled Sam back and away from the gross, stinky costumed person. After the initial thud, and the familiar yell-y voice, he grinned at the sight of Cass. Cass was nice and she was pretty and she was a great kid. “Oh, hey, Cass! Are you also wearing a costume? Who are you supposed to be?”

A costume? He thought that was a costume? Cass could barely bite back a groan. Sam, for the short time she’d known him, had always seemed like something of an enigma to Cass. She was never quite sure if he genuinely believed that there was nothing amiss in White Crest or if he was only trying to save face, desperate to keep the wool over the town’s eyes. She liked to believe it was the latter option, and she liked to believe there were good intentions behind it, but it was so hard to be certain. There were plenty of people in White Crest who really did think it was little more than a normal town in Maine, after all. For a short while, Cass had been one of them.

All she could do, she figured, was keep whatever Sam was doing from getting him killed. She probably could have been gentler in yanking him back, but she was trying to save his life, so she figured he’d forgive her. When he said her name, she shot him a glare. “Sam, you’re gonna, like, ruin my secret identity!” She’d never been particularly good at keeping it up, of course; she told most people herself thanks to her own excitement. But that didn’t mean she wanted Sam blurting it out! 

Before she could berate him further, though, the creature — was it some kind of vampire? — pounced at them, and she was pulling the board member back again to keep his head attached to his shoulders. “That thing is trying to eat us,” she said plainly, shoving Sam away from her and trying to get the creature to focus its full attention in her direction. 

“Your secret what?” The first thought that came to Sam’s mind was that Cass was a secret agent. Like one of those white guys who traveled the world with their numerous identities and aliases, working for posh international organizations and saving the world, one chick in their arm at a time. Then he realized Cass was neither white nor a guy, and she wasn’t wearing a suit, so he realized she was playing at a superhero. Well, she does like her comic books, I guess. He let out a brief chuckle before reining himself in, realizing it was rude to laugh at people’s…things. Like when his interns laughed at his stuff. “Oh, like a superhero? Nice!”

Did White Crest need superheroes? Probably. Did the town need superheroes working outside the law? Probably not. In Sam’s head, he himself was already some sort of superhero, as he worked his butt off to make sure people weren’t harmed by their curiosity. In his head. See, most people used to run away from danger when someone told them about said danger. These days, people would run away…to get their phones so they could run back toward said danger and snap a chat or whatever kids these days call that stuff. 

“Eat us?” He raised an eyebrow, not really resisting Cass as she moved him around like he was a prop to her cosplay adventure. What are those things called again? Harping? No, larping! Yeah… Seems cool, I mean, uhh, a waste of time, yeah. Although there was a brief moment of delight in the idea, he soon remembered that Cass was like a kid or something, wasn’t she? “Whoa, whoa, whoa! I mean, you’re cute and all, but aren’t you like underaged?” Sam then turned to the kinky third person and scowled, crossing his arms at them. “Look, lady, I’m down with whatever you’re into, but let’s not involve the kid, okay? That’s, like, illegal. In most states.”

God, most people did not make themselves this hard to rescue! Most of the time, Cass came up on some scene like this one and stepped in, and the would-be victim was gone long before the fight even started. White Crest, she’d learned, was full of people who were very good at two things — denying that anything weird was going on and high-tailing it away from those weird things. Sam definitely seemed to have the first mastered. But the second? His technique could use some serious work. 

“Don’t laugh,” she snapped, a little annoyed in spite of herself. She knew it looked a little ridiculous, but she’d done some good with this gig! She’d helped a lot of people, stopped a lot of damage being done. Really, the tourism board ought to be paying her for making sure the town was, like, safe for tourists! Sam should be thanking her, not laughing at her. Or patronizing her, because that tone was totally patronizing! 

But… still sort of preferable to whatever it was he did next. Cass made a face as she saw the expression on his face shift a thousand times before he spoke again, and she shook his head quickly. “First off, ew. Second, I’m twenty-three. Third off, ew! Not any kind of eating you’d be into, you freaking weirdo! I don’t even know if this thing is a lady!” The thing in question, undeterred by their conversation, pounced forward. Cass shoved Sam in one direction and jumped back in the other, trying to make sure the thing followed her instead of him. Its long hair dragged the ground behind it as it snarled at her, rushing forward. Using a move Metzli had taught her, Cass ducked at the last moment and shot up to launch the thing over her shoulder and onto the ground. “It’s not going to stay down unless I make it stay down so, like, you should run.” 

“You’re twenty-three?!” Sam couldn’t believe what he was hearing! Sam had always thought Cass was younger, though that was probably because he’s terrible at guessing people’s ages. He really only had two categories: the ones younger than him and the ones older than him. The older ones were obvious: white hair, wrinkles, not laughing at his terrible childish jokes. 

The younger ones were harder for Sam to tell. Or more precisely, gauge their actual youthfulness. Although all of them shared the same disdain for his existence, some seemed more mature than others. In his head, the younger ones who hated him and had no patience for his dumbassery were above 18 and those he got along with were younger than 18. Cass, unfortunately, fell in the latter category in his head. “Huh. I always thought you were, like, younger.”

Sam tried to protest but at the same time agree with Cass. He, too, was disgusted. More or less. “That’s what I’m saying! I’m not into kids, and I’m really glad you’re much older than what I thought you were because that means I wasn’t actually befriending a little kid online. That’s… That would’ve been… Oof.” He barely understood what he was saying, though, so he just stood there and watched her fight the thing, even cheering her on occasionally. “Damn, girl! That was fierce! But don’t worry about me. I got…” He suddenly pulled out a gun from behind him and started pointing it at the costumed lady. “...this. Hey, ma’am, you better stop or I’ll be forced to blast you in self-defense.”

“Yes,” Cass replied, exasperation clear in her tone. Sam was focusing on all the wrong things here, really; questioning her age instead of the vampiric thing that was obviously trying to eat him, flirting with a supernatural beast instead of doing literally anything else. It was kind of frustrating, but at the same time, it was so incredibly Sam that it was kind of hard to really be annoyed. He was being himself. There was something a little touching about it, in a strange way. Maybe it was just because Cass was so rarely herself in front of anyone who she didn’t already know would accept her for it.

But it still wasn’t, like, ideal. Not in this situation, where Sam being himself might end with Sam being dead. Cass rolled her eyes as he spoke, shaking his head. “Really not the time for this conversation, buddy!” She ducked another swing from the creature, though she did find herself smiling faintly at Sam’s compliment.

And then there was a gun. She had no idea where he’d even gotten it from, only that it was absent one moment and there the next. The beast didn’t seem to care much about it, but it became the only thing Cass could focus on fairly quickly. “Uh, dude, what the hell! Do you even know how to shoot that thing?”

“Hmm, you’re right,” Sam shrugged and then stopped pointing the gun. Instead, he took a moment to stare at it, as if it was such an alien object, before putting it away. Sam does in fact know how to shoot the damned thing. He’s shot it before. A lot of times. Even started as a kid because his deadbeat dad thought it was a good idea to teach a seven-year-old how to fire a gun. Might have been right. “It’d be too loud.”

Probably sensing the stupidity in Sam’s actions, the cosplayer suddenly lunged at him, forcing him off his feet and down on the ground. “Ow!” The creature growled at him as it tried to get to his neck while Sam tried to push it off of him. “Okay, this is getting too hot to handle, and I don’t mean it that way! Lady, get off me! No one gets to ride for free!” In his head, those words sounded cool, maybe even very sexy. Not as capitalist, and in the wrong way, as they actually were.

In the confusing struggle, Sam found the opportunity to put both his hands around the damned thing’s neck, and he pushed as far as he can, digging his thumbs into her throat out of desperation. He could her the damned thing choke but not as much as he expected it, too. “See? It’s not fun for you either is it? Just get the fuck off and I won’t report you for sexual misconduct.” He would, if he was sure she wouldn’t just eat the local police. And not in a fun way. 

Cass wasn’t sure whether or not to be relieved when Sam put the gun away. On one hand, it was definitely better to avoid firing bullets in the streets, especially if Sam really didn’t know how to handle the gun. But on the other hand, Cass wasn’t sure he ought to be carrying it at all. She’d never really cared for guns. And the fact that his reasoning for not firing it was just the sound wasn’t, like, great. But the gun was away, and that was the important thing.

Well, that and the vampire monster. The vampire monster was pretty important, too. As if to prove that it was, in fact, still a threat, the thing turned its attention from Cass back to Sam, who might have been the easier target now that he was unarmed. It jumped for him, trying to get its teeth into his neck while he continued to seemingly misunderstand the situation, and Cass felt… overwhelmed, to say the least. She wasn’t entirely sure how to proceed, wasn’t sure how to move forward.

Sam, at least, wasn’t totally helpless. He wrapped his hands around the thing’s neck and, to Cass’s surprise, it wasn’t entirely ineffective. Whatever this thing was, it wasn’t exactly like a vampire. There were ways to incapacitate it that didn’t involve a wooden stake. Armed with the new knowledge, Cass ran for the thing, tackling it off Sam and hitting it as hard as she could in the head.

How many times has Sam found himself on his back, mounted by some strange person-monster-thing that wanted to take him out for good? If he remembered correctly, he’s actually met a lot of White Crest’s stranger denizens on his back, with them either trying to kill him or saving him. He was glad that Cass seemed to be on the latter category, though he did have a brief moment of stupidity when he made a joke in his head about her being on the other category. Not an appropriate time, sure, but would being appropriate be appropriate when he was about to die?

Fortunately for him, though, Cass extended his remaining time on God’s green Earth by kicking the living, or, well, unliving shit out of the monster-woman-thing, forcing it to get the hell off of him. Sam instinctively crawled away, far from where the cosplayer-monster had been punted to, so he could get back on his feet as soon as he could. That actually put him right behind Cass, where she had the great experience of hearing him scream in her ear with how close he was. “Quick! Kill her! Kill her with your spider webs or something!”

Cass turned to glance at Sam, trying to make sure he was all right even as she fumbled with the thing that had been attacking him. He seemed to be in one piece — certainly well enough to scream in her ear. The sound was so unexpected that it startled her, giving the creature beneath her time to snag the upper hand and throw her back. She landed on the sidewalk with a yelp, the air forced from her lungs with the impact.

“I don’t — have — spider webs,” she grunted, scrambling to her feet just in time to avoid the snapping of the creature’s teeth. It had knocked her next to a dumpster, and she took a moment to be glad that she’d avoided hitting the metal structure when she’d landed. Concrete wasn’t soft, but it was definitely better than that. Less smelly, too. Scrambling back, she looked down beside the dumpster in hopes that she might find something to use against the creature. She doubted enthralling it would work, after all. There was a broken bottle at her feet and that, she figured, was a lot better than nothing. “Sam! Grab that bottle and hand it to me. I’m a little busy trying not to get eaten here.” 

No spider webs?! Sam almost looked offended. What kind of superhero doesn’t have spider webs? If he could think clearly, then maybe he would have found the answer in plain sight: A lot of them actually. Instead, Sam just stared at Cass with his mouth open, a scowl on his face. Maybe he should just shoot the damn thing. Or maybe he didn’t want to go to jail just in case he was wrong and it was just some non-sober civilian on a trip. Either way, it was probably best to let Cass do all the work. She wasn’t even underaged.

At Cass’ directive, Sam immediately looked around for whatever bottle she wanted him to go get her. It didn’t take him that long to find, so he immediately went for it. Unfortunately for him, in his panic, his foot accidentally got to it first, unintentionally kicking it far away. Shit. He tried to go for it again, and again, his foot kicked it away. What the hell?! On his third try, he threw himself at the bottle, managed to get it in his arms after a few seconds of fumbling for it, and instinctively threw it at Cass without even checking if she was ready to catch it. “Here! Catch!”

Sam looked at her like she’d grown a second head, and Cass took a moment to marvel at the fact that he found her not having spider webs to be odd but could easily rationalize a monster trying to eat him as a pickpocket or someone in want of a hookup. He really was a weird guy. Right now, she decided, he was a weird guy who was really lucky she liked him and didn’t want him to get eaten. Otherwise, she’d totally leave him behind. (She pretended there was any world where that was true but, of course, she knew that wasn’t the case.)

But he wasn’t exactly making this easier. Usually, when she teamed up with someone on one of these patrols, they were helpful. Sam was kind of the opposite. Cass groaned as he kicked the bottle away, unable to watch him fumble for it due to her attention being primarily focused on not getting eaten. Because of this, she also wasn’t ready for him to throw the thing. “Are you serious?” She yelled as the bottle sailed through the air, shoving the beast back in an attempt to catch the weapon. Instead, she inadvertently shoved the monster into the path of the flying projectile. The sharp broken ends of the bottle struck the beast in the back of the neck, sinking in deep. The monster let out a shrill screech, fumbling for a moment before falling. Cass gaped at it. “Okay,” she muttered, “I guess that works, too.” Then, a little louder so Sam could hear, “For the record, you’re, like, the worst sidekick ever.” 

“What do you mean?!” Sam loudly gasped in shock, as if offended that the truth was thrown in his face. Plenty of things have been thrown in Sam’s face, but none felt more offensive to him than the truth of that very moment. Of course, water and most other liquids were easily wiped off and bruises from solid objects were a good excuse to see that hot doctor at the hospital, but the truth? The truth was harder to face, even swallow. “I literally just saved your life.”

“Didn’t you see me kill that monster with one throw? I’m like a sniper with those bottles. If this was the NBA, I’d be, like, I don’t know, that Shaq guy. Three-pointers all day!” Sam even made an awkward attempt to air-shoot an air-ball, very much like an air-guitar in that it was very, what the kids call, cringe. Misuse of the word ‘literally’ and obvious ignorance of the NBA and basketball in general, Sam was about to make another terrible mistake: After checking out the corpse of his attacker, and grossing himself out, he took out his phone and started to call the local police department. Worst sidekick ever. “Let me just call the cops so we can get this criminal out of here and you can buy me dinner as a thank you.”

“You’re the whole reason I needed saving!” Cass shot back, clearly frustrated. Levi would have never been this tragic as a sidekick! She was starting to miss her usual partners in crime. Still… she was glad she’d happened by. Sam definitely would have been toast without her and, as terrible a sidekick as he might have been, Cass definitely didn’t want anything to happen to him.

She sighed as he dramatically recounted his heroics, definitely exaggerating just a little bit. “You did good, Sam,” she relented. “Now I think you just need to work on, like, everything leading up to that part.” At least he was trying. When he took out his phone, though, Cass snatched it away. “We can’t call the cops on a monster, dummy. Especially not one you just killed with a bottle. They’ll put you in jail. I’ll text my friend. They’ll know how to get rid of it.” Metzli would take care of the monster’s remains without question, and maybe even tell Cass what it was, too. “But you’re definitely buying me dinner. Come on.”

#wickedswriting #❖《 ⋯ ♖ para ♜ ⋯ 》❖ #❖《 ⋯ ♖ feat. cassidy terrence ♜ ⋯ 》❖ #stolensiren #❖《 ⋯ ♖ sidekick by night ♜ ⋯ 》❖ #❖《 ⋯ ♖ s4. fractures ♜ ⋯ 》❖

[samjacksonwc]

Spice to Meetcha ♜ Sam × Bobbi

TIMING: Between late April and early May LOCATION: Thai Tanic, Downtown, White Crest PARTIES: @samjacksonwc & @timetide SUMMARY: Bobbi and Sam settle their differences over a nice dinner at Thai Tanic, but as it turns out, they’re the most “intensely spicy” item in the restaurant. CONTENT: Parental issue tw, parental death tw, implied suicide tw, just two lonely people getting spicy

What the hell was she thinking? Going out with the enemy’s son? Granted it was just dinner between two people that wanted to try the same restaurant out but still! Bobbi should know better, she scowled as she screamed at herself in her head, all while she sat quietly in John’s truck, much to her first mate’s amusement. The same wicked blood still runs through Sam’s veins, incompetent as he seems to be. She can’t afford to be entangled with his ilk again. For the sake of the docks and the people she’s taken to as family and friends, she should never be blinded by their silver tongues again. Fuck me.

“Penny for your thoughts, my lovely grandma?” John quipped, giving her a quick side-eye from the driver’s seat, as they made their way closer downtown. Bobbi was quick to slap him in the arm, making the boy laugh in turn. “Easy there! You’ll ruin your beautiful dress! If I didn’t know you any better, you look like you’re really into this date.” Bobbi snarled, scowling even harder, if that was even possible, as she snapped at her most loyal crewmate. “It’s not a date, John! And I’m not a grandma! I just want some Thai! Can’t a girl just get some Thai?” She followed that up with a few choice curse words in fluent Chinese. Shaking his head, John relented as they pulled up in the parking lot. “All right, all right! No need to go there, B! Sheesh!” He chuckled some more before unlocking the door, even opening her side for her. “Here we are. Enjoy your…not-date. Just let me know when to pick you up, mkay?”

“Go fuck yourself, John! I’ll head home on my own,” Bobbi growled as she pushed herself out of his truck in her somewhat fancy dress and slammed the door at him before he could speak. The huxian immediately tried to stomp out of there to keep him from making more quips, but the boy could not be denied, calling out to her one final time before driving away. “All right! Enjoy your hot night, granny!” That should have been enough for the huxian to launch lightning at his truck. Fortunately for John, he was who he was. That and Bobbi didn’t want to mess up her dress. Fucking hell, what the fuck am I doing? She took a moment to breathe hard, relaxing herself, and exhaling all the negative emotions in her body. Well, most of them. She was almost feeling great when the other person, the one she had irrationally agreed to have this dinner with, made their presence known. This curry better be kickin’ hot.

“Oh, wow!” Sam exclaimed as he approached Bobbi, a huge grin on his face. His dark brown eyes wandered all over her, wide with excitement, though half of that was for the food. Sam had been looking forward to trying out Thai Tanic for days now, weeks even, but work has been piling up and keeping him away from all the delicious danger of the cuisine. Yoo-ara had tried to come up with a compromise but even her attempt to order takeout just a couple of days ago while they worked overtime on a new campaign project proved futile: It just wasn’t in the cards for Sam and Thai Tanic. Enter Bobbi. “You look very hot tonight, Bobbi!” 

If Sam had taken some time to reevaluate his whole thing with Bobbi, he would have probably realized that was not the best greeting for him to make. After all, Bobbi seemed to hate him with all her existence, and not just online. They had met before, and she seemed equally frustrated with his existence in real life. So frustrated in fact that she would have rather died in that cave alone than be saved by him of all people. She probably wouldn’t even acknowledge that if it came down to him, but he did. He saved her. Him of all people.

Sam didn’t blame her for hating him, though. He was his father’s son, and even though Sam hated his old man with the same fervor, maybe even more, he could not change the fact that his blood flowed through his own veins. He tried. Some things, you just need to live with. “I got the reservations! Pretty nice table, too. Friend said it’s the best table in the house. Shall we, my lady?” He offered her his arm to hook with her own, his excitement for Thai food clearly overwhelming his common sense.

Bobbi’s face turned red at Sam’s inane babbling, her cheeks feeling hotter than usual, mostly from the rage that his very existence was inciting within her. Mostly. That huge stupid grin on his face didn’t help. On the contrary, it made the huxian want to grit her teeth until they were dust, just to keep herself from biting him should the fury end up uncontrollable. Shut up, shut up, shut up, you dumb fuck! His voice, to her, was unbearable, every syllable coming out of his mouth a nail being hammered into her head. If all this wasn’t torture, Bobbi wouldn’t know what was. 

“Let’s get one thing straight, Jackson,” Bobbi scowled at the very idea of her having to hook arms with the son of the vile man she held utmost contempt for. With a look of disgust, she took a step back, not even wanting to be anywhere near that disgusting Jackson limb. Who knows where it had been? Certainly not her. “This isn’t a date, all right?” She glared at him, making sure her almond-shaped ebony eyes were locked with his dark brown pair. “We’re just two people who happen to want to eat at the same restaurant, okay? At the same table. Nothing more. Understood?” The urge to just bite him was strong, but the brave captain of the Salmon Ella, sometimes the Salmon Fella, held herself together much stronger.

Bobbi heaved a sigh, taking in all the good air she could and then breathing them with all the negative emotions that were building inside of her again. After a moment, she managed to compose herself, turning towards the door and immediately walking towards the inside of the restaurant without even waiting for Sam. Nevermind that it was just dawning on her how she forgot to bring along her wallet. Or did John take it? Fuck! This was the wrong time to do one of your childish pranks, John! You stupid child! Clenching her jaw, she did call out to him, the only one who could pay for dinner now. No way she was leaving. She was already here. Might as well. “You better be following me, Jackson. I don’t know where that table is, but I know where I can tase you.”

Sam was caught by surprise by Bobbi’s sudden outburst, though he should have really expected it. The look on her face from the moment she saw him was a warning in itself. Plus, that whole thing about her hating his late father for reasons she had not yet shared but he simply assumed were because that guy was an asshole. He was. Even to his family. Especially to his family. Behind the scenes at least. “I didn’t say anything about a date, but understood,” he almost chuckled but managed to rein it all in. Just in case Bobbi would take offense to that, too, which of course he also understood.

Sam watched her as he took a moment to calm herself down, his lips curling into a smile. This wasn’t the first his very existence has irritated someone and he had doubts it would be the last. Maybe he was just cursed or something, the black blood of his hateful father cursing through his veins like a repulsive stench everyone else but him could not stomach. For a time, he hated that thought, but some things you just can’t change. You just have to live with them. “Coming!” Dear. He shook his head, chuckling to himself, as his feet quickened the pace to catch up to her, so he could do the most gentlemanly thing of opening the door for a woman…who can, on every account, beat the living shit out of him without even breaking a sweat.

Finally inside, Sam’s eyes grew wide in fascination. His excitement for this moment had been built up by time and his assistant Yoo-ara’s persistent ravings. This place was amazing, she said. Well, now, as the servers helped them to their table, Sam can finally relate. He waited for a moment for Bobbi to take her seat first before taking to his own. With a huge grin, he browsed the menu like a child spending their first time in a candy store. “We should definitely try that “intensely spicy” thing my friend has been raving about! Are you vegetarian, though?”

On their way to the table, Bobbi stole glimpses of Sam’s face. It wasn’t like she wanted to see his face, though. Far from it. It was more about gauging his reaction, making sure he wasn’t ogling her like the animal that he is, his father was. Surprisingly, Sam seemed more interested in the restaurant than her. Wait, why’s that surprising? That’s actually a relief. She heaved a sigh at that thought, believing it might actually just end up a peaceful night, a welcomed respite from all the troubles she’s had to endure the past few weeks. 

Then Sam opened his mouth and a familiar but unwelcomed wave of anger washed over Bobbi, reminding her of what his blood had done to her all those years ago, the persecution and the debt paid and owed. She clenched her jaw, almost slamming her fists on the table. Fortunately, she caught herself, and although the server was clearly confused, they seemed more interested in getting their work done as fast as they could so they could leave them be. A smart tactic. 

“I’m not,” the anger in her tone was apparent, so she paused for a few seconds to let herself calm down. “...a vegetarian, Jackson. Let’s get whatever that is then. Oh, wait, aren’t you too weak to handle anything intense? Maybe you should get something else.” Bobbi turned to the server who appeared extremely uncomfortable to be there, pretending they were in on the supposed gag. “He’s got a weak stomach. Boys, am I right?” 

“I appreciate the concern, Bobbi,” Sam chuckled, oblivious to Bobbi’s rising blood pressure. A part of him wanted to quip, intentionally calling her baby instead of her name just to get another rise from her. Then he realized that it would not be worth endangering their server, himself, and anyone else close by. “But my stomach?” Like an idiot, he slapped it with both hands not unlike a professional wrestler would their chest to hype themselves up, still grinning from ear to ear. “My stomach is made of steel! I am ready for the challenge!”

He didn’t even have time to look back at Bobbi. Instead, Sam focused his attention at their server, a pretty little thing, definitely his type, which was a wide category most precisely defined as “every woman on God’s green Earth,” and with a playful smirk, ordered the  “intensely spicy” thing his friend has been raving about. The server just stared at him, though, and asked what he was talking about. 

Sam just said the same thing again: “The intensely spicy thing? It’s on your menu. Here, let me just,” but when he went over it, there was nothing. As if the damned thing had never existed. As if Yoo-ara had been lying to him for several weeks now. As if the whole reason for this dinner was a sham. “It was here a moment ago.” He turned to Bobbi not unlike a child looking for an ally. Was this place gaslighting him? Why? This was his first time. If this is the intensely spicy thing Yoo-ara meant, I am so screaming at her back at the office.

“It wasn’t concern, Jackson,” Bobbi shot him a look of disgust even before he started playing with his stomach. Like, who even does that? And at a restaurant, too, with a beautiful girl as his date. Not that this was a date per se, but people around them probably and mistakenly thought it was, so he should really be careful at how he was acting right then and there. Of course, Bobbi didn’t really care. Pft. Of course not. Why would she care? She was just there to try out the restaurant for the first time. Just unfortunate Sam was here with her at the same time.

Bobbi heaved a sigh, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms, as she sat back in her seat, annoyed at Sam’s “intense” “fight” with the poor server. It was more like a squabble, really, between a misinformed idiot and someone just doing their job. “Look, Jackson,” she finally had to step in, not wanting to prolong the server’s agony. “If it’s not on the menu, just order something else.” She wasn’t about to enable his delusions, especially not while she was hungry. Bobbi shifted her full attention to the server, and with a smile, went with an old favorite. “I’ll have the yam talay and gaeng keow wan with steamed rice.”

Back in the good old days, when she was still the bad young pirate Baozhai, Bobbi had visited the shores of Thailand more times than she could remember. It had been quite the ordeal, learning the language during the first few visits, but over time, she had managed to speak it quite fluently, even adopting the accent with relative ease. To this day, she still does business with the Thai, though most of it is legal procurement. The only thing debatable is the manner of transport. Things can be quite a hassle when it comes to differing authorities.

“Ugh, fine,” Sam rolled his eyes like a petulant child, deeply disappointed by the lack of the one thing that had been urging him to try this place out. What was the point now? If the primary cause of an event ceased to exist, does the event still hold meaning? Or something like that. Sam tried to put a deeper logic into his supposed defeat but there really was none. Even a part of him knew that, the same part that allowed him to just let it go with a deep sigh. “I’ll just have what the beautiful lady in the beautiful dress is having.”

Sam continued to mope as they waited for their food, burdened by his helplessness as his main motivation for this venture dissipated into nothingness as if it didn’t even exist in the first place. Was Yoo-ara fucking with him again? Probably not. She seemed genuinely obsessed with the damned thing. Then again, she was a believable actress when she really wanted to be. Ugh. Life can be so cruel at times, so cruel in fact that he didn’t even remember how interesting the other person at the table was.

When the food finally arrived, Sam just stared at it for a few minutes, disgusted by its presence, even though everything smelled so wonderful and appetizing. The waitress took one look at him and flashed Bobbi a concerned look that also contained a little bit of discomfort. Why was a grown man acting like a child over Thai food? Some things the server will never know. After a while, Sam heaved another deep sigh and picked up his chopsticks. In the end, he realized he was already there, and chances were, he was going to get saddled with the entire bill, so there was no point in letting good food go to waste. “Itadakimasu.”

Bobbi turned red, surprised at Sam’s flattery. Although she did dress up for the occasion, against her better judgment, she wasn’t expecting him to notice her dress. Or her beauty. But then she remembered how annoying he was during their conversations, whether online or in real time, and that red turned from shyness to anger. Is he mocking me? Him, of all people? With his father’s disgusting blood running through his veins? What the flying fuck. “You’re such an idiot, Jackson.”

As Sam moped throughout the waiting time for their meal, Bobbi sulked, arms crossed over her chest, face turned far away from Sam’s direction. She felt that if she was to take another look at his face, her fists and her feet would follow suit, and she was wearing a dress too nice for a justified beatdown. Besides, she really wanted to try the food here. Screw Sam and his stupid face. Stupid shitty Sam. He wasn’t going to ruin this night for her. Not when she was wearing a beautiful dress.

Focusing her attention on the food, Bobbi ignored Sam, pretending like he didn’t exist right across her. She couldn’t ignore the server, however, mostly because she’s been in that position before, and if she wanted to come back here with better company, she probably shouldn’t make such a bad first impression. She’d rather not be remembered as that kind of customer. With an apologetic look, Bobbi sympathized with the server. At least they’re not in my shoes right now. Would be worse. She was already eating her food when Sam spoke in Japanese, surprising her so much that she couldn’t resist commenting on it. “You speak Japanese?” Hopefully, he was just one of those weebs John won’t stop complaining about.

“What?” Sam was caught surprised with Bobbi’s sudden aggression. He was just trying to compliment her, and it wasn’t even that bad of a compliment. Her dress was indeed very beautiful and maybe because of that she also looked somewhat beautiful tonight. Well, to be fair, Sam has always thought Bobbi was beautiful. That was very hard to deny. It was just her attitude, mostly against him, that scared him, pushed him away, made him think twice about hitting on her. As he shouldn’t. “What did I do?”

Sam was already munching on a shrimp when Bobbi raised the concern regarding the languages he knew. Swallowing the rest of it whole, which was probably not something he should’ve done, unless he wanted to offend Bobbi some more, which wasn’t his intention, not at all, Sam beamed with pride as he tried to satiate her curiosity. “Well, it is the language of anime and all other superior forms of art!” Sam was definitely a weeb, and if that wasn’t clear before, this would’ve made it clearer for Bobbi. “I learned it in university a while back. Roommate was into it, too, so I learned from her. Also went to Japan a few times for some seminars.”

“What about you?” He took a piece of chicken and started gobbling on it, ignoring the sauce now painting his mouth like it was a canvas. Sam knew his tableside manners, but at this point in time, he was messing up East Asian etiquette with his laziness. If he remembered correctly, it was a compliment if soup was slurped, though for the life of him, he couldn’t quite recall if not wiping the grease around his mouth fell in the same category. “I’m sure a ship captain such as yourself knows a few languages more than one?” 

So many things, Sam. Bobbi heaved a long, drawn out sigh of disbelief. She rolled her eyes, intentionally not looking at Sam, not paying the politician her full attention. He deserved nothing of the sort, only her ire. “What didn’t you do?” Angrily, she couldn’t eating, shoving the delicious morsel into her mouth. She made sure not to make loud noises, however, still respecting the sanctity of the restaurant. It wasn’t their fault Sam was…Sam. It was his and his alone.

“Anime?” She groaned in dismay, though it was short-lived. As much as she hated Sam, Bobbi could not deny that she found some anime the same. A lot of them were hilarious, and a few of them even spoke to her. But she wasn’t going to tell Sam any of that. She didn’t want to have anything similar to him, most of all her taste in entertainment. Bobbi still viewed herself as a step better than Sam, mostly because of his father, a story that would be left for another time. “Uh-huh… Your roommate was a woman? Must’ve been one amazing gal…to be able to withstand you, Jackson.”

To prove her superiority, Bobbi began speaking in different languages, transitioning easily from one to the next. It helped that China itself, where she had come from, spent most of her early life around, had over a dozen languages just alone. She also spoke in Korean, of course, as she sailed near the country before it was broken in two. There was also a more fluent and much smoother Japanese thrown in there, some Filipino, Thai, and a myriad of other languages heard around the Pacific, her former wading ground as a pirate. “I know more than you, Jackson. Always.”

There was a point when Sam would wonder if Bobbi’s hatred of him included him as a separate person from his father, but he dared not ask. He didn’t think she knew him enough yet to distinguish him as his own person. Whatever his father did to her must have been horrible, but his old man had never run out of horrible acts he had committed himself over the years. Just the pain of being born his son, nothing new.

When the talk shifted towards his roommate, Sam grew more serious. “She was,” was all he could muster, head bowed down to his bowl, pretending to tinker with his meal, even though he was instead wrestling with bad memories. His roommate was more than an amazing gal. She had inspired him to carry on, to continue fighting, despite his past, his horrible childhood, and the blood on his name. It was a terrible shame that, in the end, it was her who did what she stopped him from doing, and Sam couldn’t even save her from her own sadness. I didn’t even know.

Bobbi’s impressive display of language fluency distracted him from his dark thoughts, however, and Sam immediately found himself grinning from ear to ear. Leaning back in awe, with meat still in his mouth, he started applauding her, truly bewildered by how many languages she knew. “Dang, Bobbi! That’s… I don’t even know how to… No words can express how amazed I am with you!” He shook his head in disbelief but with wide eyes shimmering in the restaurant’s artificial light. “You definitely do! That’s so cool! Must’ve traveled a lot while you were a kid, huh?”

Bobbi raised an eyebrow when she noticed Sam acting funny. Well, not funny. Definitely not funny haha, more like funny sus. As per usual, she had been picking up new terms and words from the crew, John especially. Was it something I said? Should she apologize? No, whatever it is, it’s on him, not me. Bobbi assured herself it was nothing more than his bloodline again. Their family was always a pain in the ass to her, and most of that was because they were a pain in the ass to themselves. Really messed up, she assumed, even though the only one she had butted heads with was Sam’s dad.

Bobbi was caught even more surprised when Sam complimented her. Sure, he had already done that before, especially tonight, but Bobbi thought he was going to insult her back. After all, she did mock him and all that he’s ever known. The natural thing was to argue back, prove himself better than what she knows of him. Maybe he’s just really that messed up. With a sigh, she rolled her eyes and took another bite out of her meal. “Sure, let’s go with that.”

Bobbi soon found herself thinking of her own childhood. The intense amount of traveling didn’t happen until much later. For most of her youth, before she even got any closer to adulthood, she was landlocked in the mountains of China. Before she met the pirates, she had never thought about the rest of the world, already content with hers, all of which she had already explored on her own. As safely as possible. “You did a lot of traveling when you were a kid?” She could only imagine.

Sam shrugged, pulling himself off his plate and taking his napkin to wipe his mouth and then his hands clean. He felt like continuing to eat while talking about himself was somewhat weird, like he shouldn’t, even though there was no real deep meaning behind it. Sam was free to talk and eat like anyone else. Yet there he was, thinking he could only do one or the other, not both. He stared at Bobbi, reaching out to clean the side of her mouth with his used napkin after noticing a tiny piece of shrimp on it.

“Not as much as you, I guess,” he grinned. Sam was able to do some traveling of his own, sure, but most of it was hitching a ride with friends, getting one or two of them to bring him along to wherever they felt like it. His trip to Singapore? A friend who liked him needed a fake boyfriend to keep her parents off her back. His trip to India? A bunch of his schoolmates wanted to do some soul searching, Eat, Pray, Love style. His first time in South Korea? Well, that was when he met Yoo-ara and almost married her. Weird how the world works sometimes.

“What’s your favorite place outside of White Crest?” The question popped up in his head randomly and was immediately blurted out, as if it couldn’t wait to be spoken and heard. The town was great and all, mostly because it was Sam’s job to think that and make sure others thought the same, but he was off the clock, and to be honest, he’d rather have been born elsewhere, as someone else. Weird can be a lot of pain.

Despite having tried her best to shift the conversation elsewhere, Bobbi still couldn’t shrug off the sadness that seemed to emanate from Sam. He was trying to hide it with that grin and that distracting question, perhaps trying to follow her lead in shifting their conversation to happier topics, but it was unmistakable. Bobbi has had the same herself, and she might even still have it. Slowly, her unwarranted and undeserved hatred of him, spurred by something he could not even change, began to dissipate. It wasn’t like Bobbi had forgotten who he was, who his father was, but it was like she was seeing him in a different light.

“Actually not all that great,” she shrugged, this time following his lead. Letting go of her utensils, she wiped her mouth off the grease of her very delicious food, took a quick swig of her drink, and leaned forward, elbows resting on the table. As if she wasn’t wearing a hoity toity dress. “Just means I couldn’t find a place to settle in, you know?” It was perhaps the most vulnerable thing she had shared with him since the first time they met. Bobbi had tried her best to focus on antagonizing him, making sure this Jackson Jr. didn’t get to have something over her, but this meal seemed to have changed her mind. “Favorite place outside of White Crest? Singapore, maybe, or Hong Kong. You ever visited those places?”

By the time they finished their meal, Bobbi felt herself loosening up. She wasn’t quite sure if it was just the food or maybe even Sam himself, but she wasn’t as agitated as she always was around him. Maybe it was even food poisoning. It was hard to tell, and she didn’t really put much thought into it. One thing’s for sure, she needed something stronger inside of her. “Speaking of, I just got some baijiu shipped over, Chinese liquor, kinda like whiskey, but way better. You’re welcome to try some, if you’re down? Never did thank you for saving my life in that cave.”

“Ah, well,” Sam found familiarity in Bobbi’s revelation. A traveler who just couldn’t find a place to settle in and another one who just wants to get as far away as he can from home, only to be drawn back to it a few years later. There was irony in that. Or was it something else? Sam had never been good with his literature. Not actually as technical as he saw himself to be. “You’re here now. With your crew. Sounds like you inevitably did, which is a good thing, if I can be so bold.”

Sam raised his glass as he leaned forward and tempted fate by gesturing to Bobbi that it would be the most opportune moment to clink theirs together. Why? He had no idea why. It just felt like it to him. Must be the loneliness in the night. “Been to both once or twice. One of them has a Disneyland, right?” He tried to make her laugh, even though he knew she would never. She must have really been screwed over by his deadbeat dad to hate him this much, even as he squirmed and squiggled in his grave. Which he deserves. He was just a casualty, again, of his father’s terrible schemes and past misdeeds. He heaved a sigh at that thought, wondering if he’d ever escape his influence. Probably not.

Sam raised an eyebrow, caught off-guard by the offer. He was just finishing his drink, and as he carefully returned his glass back on the table, he looked like he had just swallowed something terrible. Like an entire bottle of soju. Great drink, but goes down terribly. At least for Sam that was true. He even had to let out a cough as he tried his best to respond right away. “You sure? At your place? You’re not just going to murder me, are you? I mean, I’d deserve it, but at least give me a few days to wet my whistle first. Or months. Maybe years.” 

Sam laughed at his own expense, shaking his head. He wondered, right then and there, if Bobbi was just as lonely as him, too.

“I guess I am,” a smile found its way across Bobbi’s lips as she stared at a table decoration between the two of them, the cozy realization of having found a home while still working on retrieving her old one slowly softened her heart and herself to Sam. “I guess I did.” It wasn’t something that she had intended to experience, still fuming over his father’s betrayal. But after a few drinks, and this heart-to-heart conversation, it seemed that this Jackson was far from following in his dead old man’s footsteps. If she didn’t know they were related, perhaps she wouldn’t even have made the connection. “Both of them actually.”

“Trust me, Sam,” Bobbi raised an eyebrow, a sinister but still playful smirk taking root on her face as she leaned forward, closer towards him, as if a sultry temptress reeling in a hapless sailor. Between the two of them, though, she was both. “If I wanted to murder you, I’d have done it months ago.” 

It wasn’t a lie. Bobbi did antagonize Sam so much that it was becoming a fast habit. But there was no extra incentive for her to further that heat between them. A part of her knew he was just a victim of circumstance: You can’t really change who you are. Or choose your parents. “Last chance, Sam Jackson,” she finished her drink, cleaning the glass down to the last drop. “Drive me home for the best drink of your life?”

Sam let out a chuckle at Bobbi’s quip, finding it amusing but at the same time still very much threatening. He didn’t doubt Bobbi could murder him. Something about her just screamed dangerous to him, but in the moment, he found it more alluring than something else. Sam was like the moth to Bobbi’s flame, and a part of him knew that despite her seemingly changed demeanor towards him tonight, getting close to her would spell his doom, burn him flesh to bone. But could anyone even resist someone like her?

Sam quickly finished his drink, dark brown eyes glued on Bobbi, and paid for their meal even quicker. Before he knew it, he was driving them both to her place, a houseboat at the docks, somewhere that he had been before, outside of it at least, when he managed to save her from that strange creature in the cave a while back. Back then, Bobbi threatened him to stay away, though he could not remember if she explicitly told him off or if it was just her impressively scary aura. Right now and here, however, all he could put his mind to was the way she tasted, the way she felt, as they boarded her home aloft on the waves, bound to the town.

The morning after, Sam was the first to wake. Of course, he was. It had been so long since he was with anyone, woke up at someone else’s place, a ray of sunlight hitting him in the face. He had never done it on a boat before, though, lie as he might, and watching a sleeping Bobbi with all her natural beauty made him feel amazing about everything else. When she started to stir, he turned his body towards her, draped and clothed only by her sheets, a wide smile on his face. “Good morning, sunshine!” 

Hook, line, and sinker. That was an oft-used phrase at the docks, though to be fair, Bobbi has also heard it everywhere there was sea, fish, and someone with the patience to spend hours waiting for the perfect moment, the perfect bite. Bobbi did not have to wait for hours to get Sam’s positive reply to her invitation, and soon, they were in his car, listening to and laughing at his terrible music taste. “You need to get those ears checked, Sam. Or make better friends with better music in their playlists.”

As soon as they arrived at her place, Bobbi wasted no time in pulling him close, savagely dominating his past enemy’s son, claiming her superiority over him. Everything that happened between them in the late hours of the night, she signed off on, maybe even needed. It was, in its most basic form, her defiance against everything weird that has happened in town recently, her own “weird” to establish her unbowing dominance. The ghost fleet might have chained her to the town, but she was not crying her entire stay here. Bobbi was too proud, and too stubborn, for that.

And then sunlight betrayed her, morning forced her awake, pushing her right into the consequences of her actions. As if she was a migrating bird whose wings just rudely vanished on her, finding herself dumped into a lake of…majestic hair. Sam? “Ugh, why are you still here,” Bobbi groaned as she pushed him away, rolling in bed to turn her back to him. Like Sam, the sheets draped her from head to toe, as if she were a burrito, which she felt like she was. “Leave, you idiot. I want to sleep the rest of the day, and this hangover, away.” And you. And whatever this one-time thing was. Definitely a one-time thing.

Sam thought about arguing back, arguing to stay, maybe to cook her breakfast, ultimately missing the point that this was a one-time thing. But what crowded his mind more was the view he had of her last night, when he was on top, the bare truth of her very being, vulnerable and magnificent instead of life-threatening and scary. But that in itself was short lived because Bobbi was quick to flip them over and force herself on top, as if she had something to prove. Or maybe she just didn’t want him lording over her. Sam didn’t mind. Sam was just happy to be there. 

Instead of saying anything, Sam just took a moment to watch her for the final time today, as if committing her form to memory, a wide smile still on his face. His hand moved towards her hair, but he managed to stop it. Rolling off the bed, he picked up his clothes and dressed himself. Once he was done, he also picked up her clothes on the floor, and after cleaning his side of her bed, placed them there as neatly as possible. On his way out, he made sure to do some more quick cleaning of her makeshift living room, just picking up things on the floor and placing them on her chair or table. That sort of stuff, the stuff normal one-time things never require. Because it’s just a one-time thing.

On his way to his car, Sam hummed happily, almost skipping as he went. He passed by a familiar looking guy. James, wasn’t it? Or maybe Jack. He gave him a node, a wide smile still on his face. “Gooooooood morning, my good man!” The other guy just squinted at him, scowling, before turning to look at Bobbi’s houseboat. Sam didn’t see it and instead started his car, listening to his terrible music taste, before heaving a sigh, this time of delight. It was a good day. Yes, it is. Probably even the best day of his year, of his entire stay in this god-forsaken town, of his mediocre life from day one. 

Yet time has other things in mind, and the universe can be such a cruel storyteller.

[END]

#wickedswriting #❖《 ⋯ ♖ para ♜ ⋯ 》❖ #❖《 ⋯ ♖ feat. bobbi lin ♜ ⋯ 》❖ #timetide #❖《 ⋯ ♖ spice to meetcha ♜ ⋯ 》❖ #parental death tw #Parental issues tw #suicide tw #❖《 ⋯ ♖ s4. fractures ♜ ⋯ 》❖

[samjacksonwc]

sweet home ♖ solo

TIMING: Sometime during Sam’s “hiatus” (May 9 to June 5) LOCATION: South Korea & White Crest SUMMARY: Sam helps his assistant with a problem back in her hometown. His return home is shittier than he expected. CONTENT: Parental death, parental issues, terrible wordplay

“Hello, White Crest,” Sam spoke the words out loud as he typed them on his work laptop, a decade-old hand-me-down from the Tourism Board office. Usually, people in Sam’s professional situation would be quick to buy a new laptop for themselves with the public’s hard-earned-money-turned-incorrectly-used-taxes, but Sam felt that continuing to use a relic of the past would look better on his political resume. Aesthetics over practicality, though the damned thing still had its uses. “It’s your friendly neighborhood Tourism Board Member.”

“You can’t just ignore me, Sam,” came the annoying reminder from the annoying creature that Sam was trying hard to ignore into non-existence. Maybe if he tried hard enough, Sam thought, the damned thing would go away, would dissipate into nothingness, like the last few seconds of a half-remembered nightmare. That doesn’t mean he can’t yell at it back, though, especially since it has been getting on his nerves for the past week now. “Yes, I can. Watch me.”

Gritting his teeth, Sam continued to furiously type on the archaic machine, speaking the words again as he clicked the respective keys for each character. “Anything interesting happen while I was gone? Just came back from the vacation of my life—” And then the damned thing started rattling by itself, spooking Sam who instinctively kicked himself away from it, from the table upon which the laptop was often placed, his chair rolling back easily and swiftly, before the machine exploded on its own, not with a bang but with a whimper. “Great. Just great.”

“...I told you so.”

“Shut the fuck up, man.”

“Language.”

Just kill me already.

♜♖♜

Seoul, South Korea. The week of May 15-28.

Just kill me already.

Sam could see it in her eyes, the familiar wanting to expire, to finally end things, both the suffering and the boredom that existed in the times between. When his assistant Yoo-ara asked for his help with a problem “back home,” her disgruntled employer didn’t think it would involve a monster the locals called bulgasal. Sam was not a hunter, not even an expert in the supernatural, but the thing resembled to him a vampire or a werewolf from Western places, just a whole lot prettier. 

At the very least, he already knew Yoo-ara wasn’t anyone normal, certainly not a boring mundane human such as him, though in White Crest, she was far from the most interesting thing. In her hometown, she resembled to him one of those priestesses, a relic from ancient Asia, whose blood was bound to the supernatural. She knew how to kill the beast but could not find the expendable assistance to actually do it.

“For the last time, Sam,” Yoo-ara growled at her boss, her cheek drenched in someone else’s blood. “I never said you’re expendable.” 

It was a cold Sunday morning. The sun was barely out. Everything was frozen, everything except Sam’s blood. He was standing between his assistant and another woman, a few feet from each of them, both of them bloodied like they had just been in a fight, except no one had knives and he was the only one with a gun. 

“D-did you two get into a bite fight?” Bite fight, Sam thought that was clever. Yoo-ara and the other woman did not, however, both groaning at his despicable wordplay, one after the other. “Jesus fucking Christ, Sam. Just shoot her already.” 

Sam’s dark brown eyes shifted between the woman he knew and the woman he did not. The first woman looked exasperated, as if she was already done with all this. Hard to blame her. After all, as Sam had just found out not too long ago, Yoo-ara was born for this moment, raised to end the monster that hid within their town. The other woman didn’t look any different. Like Yoo-ara, she seemed like she was over this whole thing as well. Sam was quite familiar with that reaction in his presence, even as he slowly pointed his gun at her and took her life in one effortless shot.

“Wow,” Yoo-ara couldn’t believe her eyes, as the other woman fell back on the snowy ground, as the smoke from Sam’s gun wafted into the cold morning air, as Sam himself admired his impressive work under the early sunlight. It was his best so far, at least compared to his previous attempts to fire his gun after his father died. Seemed to him that he was finally back in top shape, all thanks to some much-needed re-training. “She really taught you well.” A rare praise escaped from the assistant/priestess’ lips, but before Sam could celebrate past a quick smirk, Yoo-ara was already moving towards the still-warm body of the monster woman they had just put down. “Now help me dump her corpse into the well.”

Whatever the bulgasal was, Sam only retained the bits and pieces of information Yoo-ara and her family had generously given him. There was something about a blood pact, direct sunlight, and immortality, which meant that the creature would—more or less—not die, which meant that Yoo-ara had to get creative with solving the problem that was the creature, which meant in the end that her solution was dumping the creature’s weakened body into an unused well that she would seal and have her descendants guard for all time.

“Wait, why not you?” Sam frowned after they were done sealing the well, the loud thud of the body after it hit the floor of the deep well earlier having not even bothered him anymore.

“What?” Yoo-ara just glared at him, as if he had said something offensive. Maybe she knew what he was getting at but wanted to hear it directly from him. Legalities of her reaction and all that.

“I mean,” Sam checked his gun for the number of bullets left as well as making sure it was safe to holster before putting it away. Safe gun control and all that. He turned to Yoo-ara to continue his train of thought, running briefly his right thumb over his tongue before using that same thumb to wipe the blood off Yoo-ara’s cheek. “Why not start guarding this well for all time? Why would your descendants have to do it after you?”

Yoo-ara just stared at him, disgusted. She didn’t even realize what he was doing with his thumb until it was too late, until he had almost cleared the dried-up blood of the monster woman from her cheek. She was more disgusted at what he was saying. Slapping his hand away, she scoffed out loud, turning her back to him and began to walk away. “I’m the only one who knows how to manage your schedule, Sam. Do you really want to lose me so quickly? You wouldn’t survive without me. You barely survived during my holiday.”

Sam wanted to argue but there was no argument he could come up with that would counter Yoo-ara’s point. Instead, he just shook his head and followed her lead. “You know, that holiday of yours, HR is still fuming about how long it was. I mean, my holidays are shorter and I’m your boss.”

“Yeah? Well, your dick is also shorter and I’m your best girl.”

♜♖♜

Downtown, White Crest. The following week.

Despite the numerous threats of death from a creature he didn’t even know what exactly, Sam still felt that that vacation in South Korea was much better than coming back home to White Crest. Then again, the end of every vacation always felt terrible. Perhaps, it’s because of the inevitable return to normalcy, to everyday routines engineered to make more money to spend on bills and other useless crap, to meaningless drudgery as conformance to this universal illusion of purpose and design. Sam was tired and lonely, and despite his sometimes hilarious banter with Yoo-ara and their team, he kept his distance, definitely not showing any one of them his dick. HR wouldn’t like that.

The Jackson Manor downtown was nothing special. It was a stereotypical old house, owned by an old family, one that not even ambitious ruffians cared to rob thanks to a combination of dark rumors and the fact that it looked like a terrifying haunted house. It was also in between two properties that were never without an occupant, one rumored to be owned by a dangerous mobster, the other rumored to be owned by a family of assassins, both just good neighbors to the Jacksons, though Sam would never forget how they turned a blind eye to his and his sister’s tragic predicament way back then. Still, they both promised to keep his empty house safe while he was gone, so there was at least that.

Sam heaved a sigh as he dragged himself inside, closing the massive door behind him and flicking a nearby switch to illuminate the living room. There was not enough light, however, and the rest of the house welcomed him with darkness and emptiness and sadness. “Hello, my old friends.”

With a yawn, he entered his own room, lazily abandoning his massive suitcase beside the door frame, as he began to change clothes. Yoo-ara gave him new ones to acclimate to her country, but they made him feel out of place back in town. As he took off his coat and began to take off the top within, he caught sight of something in the mirror. He ignored it the first time but the second? There was no ignoring the clear visage of his late father. “Hello, Sam.”

Sam screamed as he turned around to find the ghostly figure of his old man grinning at him from ear to ear, arms extended to either side as if preparing for a welcoming embrace, which he would never receive. Not in a million years. Sam grabbed the coat Yoo-ara gave him and threw it at the ghost, not even realizing that it just passed through the specter, before pushing past his father, still not realizing he actually just ran through the ghost, and rushed out of his room like a gambling man pursued by the hounds of hell. “Fuck! What the fuck is going on? Get away from me, you piece of shit!”

“Piece of shit?” Sam’s father’s ghost was not amused. Following his terrified son, nonchalantly passing through solid objects including walls and tables, the older Jackson scoffed and shook his head. “I’m the piece of shit? Need I remind you, son,” he made sure the venom in that last word was apparent, even as he ignored The Works of Edgar Allan Poe that Sam just threw through his ghostly head. “That it was your fault I died!” Sam threw a small vase next but it just passed through his chest and broke against the marble floor. “I’m just glad my mistake was finally able to grow some balls.”

Sam had turned around, his back to the ghost, just in time to hear that last sentence, and it was not anything he appreciated hearing from anyone. Something in Sam broke, and without missing a beat, he took out his gun from its holster, spun on his heels, and fired a shot straight between his late father’s eyes. Sam smirked when he confirmed how precise his shot was but not for long. Like his father, that smirk was not long-lived, and so was his obliviousness. 

Standing in place for what felt like an eternity, Sam watched with wide eyes the ghost of his father as it turned around to also admire the same single shot that Sam fired, that passed through the area in between its eyes, that ended up in between the eyes of the older Jackson’s portrait, a clear headshot. Both the ghost and the portrait wore the same sinister grin as the former turned back his attention to the only living person in that house, the same unmistakable grin from Sam’s memories and nightmares. “Nice shot, Sam. Welcome home.” 

[END]

#wickedswriting #❖《 ⋯ ♖ solo ♜ ⋯ 》❖ #❖《 ⋯ ♖ sweet home ♜ ⋯ 》❖ #parental death tw #❖《 ⋯ ♖ s4. fractures ♜ ⋯ 》❖