#I think this was the first RKZ I have ever written if I remember correctly

[bowlerhatwearer]

Driving in the Night

TW: Mention of child abuse, TW: Implied Death, TW: Smoking

Characters: Samuel Cottontail, Blaise Owens

Originally written: 11th May 2022

~~~

The first thing he noticed was pain, yeah, that came to no surprise, dying violently and always coming back was after all on his daily orders since he was in his 30s. What followed was the taste of dust and earth, making him snap his red eyes open. General Samuel Cottontail realized that his body was partly buried in the dessert soil, making him spit out the bits that had gotten involuntary into his mouth.

Great, just great, well, despite the pain there was something positive on it, he could feel that all his limbs where still attached to his body and nothing felt broken, so they had regenerated already. With a swift kick he removed some of the earth, before burying himself out of the ground.

His uniform would need a good cleaning after that. Speaking of which, as soon as he had freed himself, he had to assess the situation. Standing up with a grunt, his legs nearly giving up for a moment because of the pain. He looked around, everything was dark and he had a splitting headache. It was night and he couldn’t see a thing. Scratching on his nose, he smelled, less intentional than out of reflex, yet it turned out to be good, or else he wouldn’t have noticed what was in the air.

Smoke, not from a wildfire or a camp cooker, no, smoke infused with nicotine.

Cigar smoke, coming left from him.

Surveying the area closer, he noticed a soft, orange glow, not too distant from his current position, and something already told him he knew who the person was that smoked.

As if an answer to his thought, there was a short cough that soon died away into the night, followed by the sound of someone, taking a pull on their tabaco product.

He knew exactly who that was, and to think that apparently, the only person with him around here was them, disgruntled the general a bit.

Moving down from the dune Sams walk was more an annoyed trampling, his eyes squinting, the stature of the rabbit slightly bowed and his ears down, holding his right arm with his other, because it still felt sore.

When he could start to see the silhouette of the person, they turned around, trough the glow of their cigar the general could see a polite smile forming.

“Ah general, I was honestly wondering-“ their sentence got interrupted by coughing.

“-if my waiting was all for naught, and you might have reappeared somewhere else.”

Breathing in slightly annoyed their eyes fixated on them, his teeth pressed together.

“What are you doing here Owens?”

“Oh, you know, waiting for you to wake up.”

“Waiting for m-, why, for a personal interview? No thanks.”

“To offer you a ride home, but if you would rather like to walk-“

Sam examined the old cat, who was casually leaning against the closed door of their off-road vehicle as they took another pull with relish of their imminent depleted cigar. Given that it was new moon, only the glimmer of the cigar illuminated a bit of light.

Enough to see Blaise Owens face, his white shirt that was stained with a few spots from different liquids and fluids and their purple suspenders they were always wearing. Sam couldn’t remember that he ever saw the washed-up war journalist ever in another piece of clothing.

“…Get in the car.”

Upon the orders of the general, they extinguished their cigar on their vehicle before opening the door for the backseats for Sam. Blaise took the end of their cigar with them into the drivers seat, before throwing it into the vehicles ashtray.

With a bit of effort, the white rabbit pulled himself onto the backseats of the vehicle, not because the entrance was so tall, but rather because his whole body felt exhausted and was still in pain. Especially his left arm felt really sore. At least the seats felt nice and comfortable, he decided it was the best to just lay there and to rest whilst Blaise would be driving.

At least, that where his intention until he noticed, just, how slowly the car was driving, now he knew that Blaise all-terrain vehicle was not, the fastest model, he had witnessed the vehicle in action a few times, but even he knew that it was capable to drive more than, whatever speed they were driving now!

“What’s going on, why are you driving so slowly?”

He demanded, to know an answer, and he really hoped Owens had a good one, right now he wasn’t really in the mood for jokes.

“I would love to general, but I can’t you see, the last…quarrel between you and the Roadkillerz damaged the full beam function of my car, and to our own safety, I have to drive by sight.”

Groaning in disapproval he wished he could smack the wheel out of Owens hands, but he felt too tired and exhausted to even think about driving himself, well, at least he got some more time to recover from his injuries.

“I am also going to send to your HQ and the Roadkillerz the repair bill.”

Holding his head, he just gave a quick nod in annoyance, yeah, yeah, whatever. Gosh darn it his head hurt like as if he had gotten under a steamroller again. It felt like as if thousands of tiny hot needles were stabbed into his brain.

“Argh, what happened yesterday, or today or whatever!”

Opening his eyes he could see, how Blaise Owens was adjusting the driving mirror in an angle, that they were able to see Sam.

“Hmm, there was something, something about a new super weapon of yours, something something world domination plan…something something Bruno and Cupid trying to stop it and something something the whole thing exploding and crushing on top of you.”

Yes, now he remembered, at least bits and pieces, probably also what remained of him when the destroyed machine fell down on him.

“Great, just great, all the funding blown to nothing.”

“Ah, chin up general, maybe next time.”

“Whatever.”

Laying back onto the soft fabric he closed his eyes, he just wanting to sleep through the whole drive as his bones still ached, when suddenly he could something, foreign, paper like, touching his hand. Grasping it without another thought he pulled it closer to him, a small brown paper bag with content.

“Oh, looks like you have found my lunch, suit yourself if you want it general.”

He didn’t really feel like eating right now, putting it aside, his curiosity still got the better of him.

“What’s in it? Granola bars, sheet iron or water purification tablets maybe?”

“Well, no, a ham and cheese sandwich, a bottle of iced tea and a chocolate bar.”

At least it sounded better than what they got back then in the army. A slight shudder ran down his back when he thought about the emergency rations.

“What kind of…chocolate?”

“Standard milk chocolate, I think.”

That didn’t sound so bad, maybe later, he would take at least the chocolate bar.

“Alas, they didn’t had any white chocolate in store when I bought the lunch.”

“White chocolate, Hah! That’s not real chocolate!”

“Maybe, but it’s the only one they make with crisps.”

Huddling up to find a comfortable position, Sam did not see how Blaise was fishing another cigar out of their pocket, before lightening it with the vehicles cigarette lighter.

“So, General, I was thinking and meant to ask-“

Oh no, he was not in the mood for small talk right now, especially not with Blaise Owens, the old war journalist who just couldn’t retire. They would probably ask him some questions about, whatever had transpired during the confrontation with that jackalope Bruno and his plush dog friend Cupid.

“Good, then keep thinking, I’m not in the mood! Just, listen to some radio or whatever.”

“Alright, alright.”

The purple eyes of the cat focused for a moment at the car radio, twisting the knob for the frequency, however, no matter how hard they tried, instead of any music, or a voice there was only static, until-

“Well, at least there is one channel, let’s see what they got.”

“-after a short break, we will be right back to you dear listeners, to our program about the history of washing machine drums, part eight of sixteen!”

“Doesn’t that just sound lovely gen-“

“Just turn the stupid thing off!”

Without another word all grew silent, only interrupted by the rumbling of the car engine or when Blaise was driving on bumpy terrain. Even if he wanted to appreciate it, he couldn’t, for now that he was all alone, so was he with his thoughts, and they began to creep forward trough his mind, something he tried to avoid at all costs. Taking a deep breath, before releasing the air through his nose it appeared he had no other choice than to talk with, Blaise Owens.

He dreaded the thought.

“What was it you wanted to ask me, just, make it quick.”

Taking another pull from their cigar, Sam could see how the cat took a quick glance at the driving mirror, before breathing out, together with smoke, which quickly escaped through the gab of the slightly opened car window.

“I wanted to ask you about the military.”

Hah, he knew it!

“You already know how it works there so-“

“Oh, not the Wrath, I meant the military, the uhm army, the government.”

Taking a sharp breath, he really wasn’t interested to whatever the old cat wanted to ask, but Sam felt as if it was already too late to turn back now.

“What do you want to know…”

“You are a four-star, that’s the rank of, a General, right?”

“I’m not called General Cottontail for nothing Owens.”

“Right, so…wow.”

His ears perked up by the sound of, was that admiration in the sound of them? Because it really sounded so.

“That means you were in the army for quite a while. A four-star general, that must be a great accomplishment.”

Yes, that definitely sounded like admiration to him, honest one too, well, it had been a while since he heard some, the rabbit could feel how pride was unfolding trough his whole body, from his little toe to the tip of his ears.

“Why thank you, at least there is someone out there who can see that, I worked fair and square to be promoted into this rank.”

As if out of instinct he brushed over the ribbons that where on his uniform, all of them, showing one of the accomplishments he got through his years in the army.

“Wow, really, just, wow, to have such a goal, set in your life. Knowing what you want, wanting to be a general.”

His eyes that he had comfortably closes snapped open, there was something that didn’t set right with what Owens just had said, no, not how they said it, that was fairly, impressed, but the wording, it sounded, strange.

“Care to explain, what you mean with that?”

Their hands turned the wheel slightly to the left, before driving straight ahead again, using the moment to look into the driving mirror at the general again.

“I mean-“

There was a slight hesitation in their voice, before continuing.

“-you worked hard to get the rank of a four-star general because YOU wanted it, right?”

Raising his head, he almost fell back on the seat when trying to look at Blaise, who already went back to concentrate on the road. What sort of question what that supposed to be? He always wanted to be a general! That was his wish and decision, a dream come true. Right. Right?

Something, small was going through the generals head, yet, before it was able to expand, grow, to cause anything, it died as little as it had begun to emerge, safely scooped up and thrown behind his mental wall.

“Of course, I did! Was there anything that made you doubt that?!”

“Not at all general-“their voice sounded more, cautious.

“- I was just thinking.”

“Then think of something else.”

The quiet Sam wishes for is short lived, the silence of Owens speaks volumes to him, the old journalist is already thinking of another question and Sams mind was already working like an typewriter in overdrive, to prepare himself for whatever they would ask.

“Where you the first one from you family joining the army, general?”

Only for a short moment, he looked down at the vehicles floor.

“No, there was also my father…”

They must have felt the bitterness, the cold and slightly hollow sound of his voice. Only giving a short response, the realization this might be a touchy subject.

“Oh...”

There is some rumbling and vibration he can feel, the terrain must get more uneven with more stones on the road, if there even is one.

“In my family, there was no one who joined the army, or got enlisted as far as I know. Not even my father, but he was a happy man, like my mother, of course, that all changed when…when my brother died, but ah well that was a long time ago and water under the bridge.”

There is a short laugh from Blaise after having finished that sentence, or perhaps, it is more of a giggle, Sam isn’t sure, but it damn well does sound, strange, yet, despite thinking about it, he couldn’t say why. As if something was just simply, amiss.

“Did they love you?”

The first thing he feels is shocked, then confusion and followed by questions that began to form in his head. Why did he just ask that? Sam finds himself in the situation, that both of his hands are over his mouth, as if trying to suffocate, or perhaps punish him for even daring, to say this string of words and to make sure such a question would never again leave his mouth. He can feel how his whole-body shudders.

“I think they did, sure they were concerned, with me being a journalist, always on the front and heat of war, but as you know it, no risk, no fun. But it was nice, my childhood, mother, and father, they never bend a hair of my fur or that of my siblings you know?”

Liar, the word forms in his brain, either that or Blaise Owens thought back of his childhood with rose tinted glasses.

“Are you saying that to yourself before you go to bed Owens?”

“It’s true, really.”

For a moment there is silence, their cigar already at its half-life, with the hot ash always landing into the vehicle’s ashtray. Blaise takes another pull of their cigar, there is a short cough, before saying what they wanted to say.

“My parents, I think they, never wanted us to have it like them, you know, corporal punishment. But well, look at me, hit not once and still got himself captured and put in a forced labour camp.”

There is that laugh again, that strange laugh, forced labour, how could they laugh about such a thing? Something that had happened to them? But the questions remained unanswered, swallowed up by other thoughts and Blaise Owens already talking again.

“Perhaps, it wouldn’t have been like that if my father-“

They stop, Sam can see, concentrating at the rear-view mirror how he partly saw, that the old cats smile vanishes and is replaced by a stoic and neutral expression.

“-it’s in the past now.”

All that remained from what Sam just witnessed in mere seconds, was one thought in the generals’ head as he rolled his eyes.

“No wonder you turned out this way.”

Instead of what he thought, something else formed in his mouth, as if he had to object in what Blaise had said earlier, as if Sam had to be right, no matter how wrong it would sound.

“Well, my father hit me, and I turned out alright.”

Rather the focused yet firm sentence he wanted to say to Owens, it sounded more like a blurt as if an automatic response, a defence against what had earlier been said.

Quiet and darkness, was all he was met with, but then his ears caught something, a small sound, at first the albino rabbit thought it was humming, yet, it becomes more clear, it sounded rather like as if Blaise Owens was thinking, contemplating, yes reflecting about what he just had said.

“What?”

The message was clear, but Blaise remained quiet for the moment, at first he thought that maybe the washed-up cat did not hear him, but then it was clear to him, he was probably still thinking, or maybe they thought their answer would perhaps upset him. He could feel how his teeth grinded against each other. That journalist would drive him mad with how they acted. That’s why their company, was in Sams opinion, often unwanted, but would anyone listen to him, no.

“Well, spit, it, out.”

There is for a moment, a sigh in the air, before Blaise closes their purple eyes for a second.

“Isn’t that just a cycle? Your father hits you, because he was hit, and thinks it was right. So, you think, because your father hit you, because HE was hit, it is alright to hit others, and that your father was in the right to hit you. Isn’t that what causes a never-ending and repeating cycle? Would you hit a defenceless person general?”

Both words, “hit” and “defenceless” echo in his ears for a while, but instead of fading away, it felt like as if they grew stronger in his ears. A defenceless person, weak, unprotected, wasn’t he that once? Was he threated right? Did he, threat people right?

The bump in the road that makes the vehicle shakes comes to his favour, shaking his head he can get the sticky words of Blaise sentence, out of his head, freeing himself from it before it causes anything.

He says nothing anymore, the mood for talking was, for the moment at least, gone, he feels tired and exhausted, now more than ever, only mumbling something, into the seat, not meant for Blaise to be heard. Looking away from the old cat so they wouldn’t be able to see his expression.

“It was for the best…. probably.”

Closing his eyes, he just wished they would be there soon, but with how dark it was he was unable to see anything familiar on the outside, that could give him a hint how long it would be, until they would have reached the base. If only he could get some sleep.

The grumbling of his stomach thwarted that thought, he tried to ignore it. Oh no he wasn’t hungry, not at all. But the more the general told himself that lie, the hungrier he felt. Despite his best efforts to fall asleep, it was no use, his stomach just grew louder with every moment. Resigning he pulled the packed lunch closer to himself, sitting up, scratching his head before opening the small brown paper bag Blaise had offered him earlier.

Like they had said, a ham and cheese sandwich, a bottle of iced tea and a chocolate bar.

Removing the wrapper from the filled bread, he noticed how the sandwich was a bit soggy, but edible as he noticed when he took a bite. It wasn’t so bad, it tasted actually really good, sure it was just a plain sandwich, but the mix or salt and pepper was just right, and there was neither too little nor too much mayonnaise between the slices of bread that could leave a smudge on his clothing. Whoever made that sandwich, was also not stingy with the amount cheese and ham slices they put in there, neither were they sliced too thin or thick.

Drinking from the iced tea, Sam had to admit that he was hungrier, than he had thought, maybe before the attack, he hadn’t had a chance to take a bite, he couldn’t really remember the details anymore.

Now all that was left was the milk chocolate bar who he, perhaps a bit impatiently opened, ignoring the few small chocolate pieces that fell on his uniform, as he bit into the bar with relish. The sweet chocolate was a firework for his tastebuds. Before he noticed it, the chocolate bar was already gone, only the ripped apart wrapper being a witness that there was any candy in that packeted lunch once.

He had to admit that he felt better now, also not as tired as before, maybe all he really needed was only a quick lunch break. There was, a little glimmer in his mind that told him, to say something to Blaise, a gesture of gratitude, yet, before he could let it enlighten him, or cast it aside the old cat was already reaching out to say something.

“I have been thinking about your career and, I would like to say, it really is impressive. Years of, I assume it was military school, or academy perhaps. I don’t think I would have been able to pull through it, all I managed was university. But you, all those exams, theoretical and practical. The responsibilities and stamina you had, to go through all of that, incredible.”

His ears went up in full attention. There it was again, that feeling of pride, how warmly it spread tough him. Yes, he, Samuel Cottontail, did all of that, sure there where its ups and downs, but he, yes, he managed to accomplish all of that at the end. He-

“You must have had a great instructor, who must have seen all of that potential.”

It was gone, all gone, from one moment to another, the warmth had left his body, a little bit remained, that’s the one he felt personally, how this small rest left, before it felt all cold. The word “instructor” brings back memories that he wished internally that they wouldn’t resurface. Automatically he touches the one ear, with the striking injury, the appearance of the injury, there was no coincidence that it looked like as if someone had bitten a large chunk out of his ear. Upon touching it, he looked away, out of the window, in the never-ending darkness that was everywhere around the car.

“Yeah…”

His voice sounds hoarse and pained yet is too quiet for Blaise Owens to hear, perhaps then, they would have not continued to speak.

“I once had to do research for a paper that I needed for university, reading, and informing myself about drill instructors, or sergeants, I don’t know the specific term. I had to go through a lot of newspaper articles and archived data. I found out a lot, lots of interesting stuff, but also something, well painful-“

Throwing out their cigar end, they look back at Sam, directly with their purple eyes that meet his red ones, as if the colour in Blaise eyes was glowing.

“I looked up the number of drill sergeants who mistreated and bullied the soldiers that were subjected to them, but not only them, but also the numbers of soldiers who, took their revenge on said drill sergeants. Soldiers who injured their instructors out of revenge, sometimes even, killing them. I thought it would only be a small number, but it was, higher than I had thought.”

He does not respond, cannot respond, this all feels too, familiar, hits closer to home than what he had wished for. How? How was that possible? How could they have known? No, that was all a coincidence, a bad coincidence, was it? There was no explanation how Blaise Owens-

The words about injuring and sometimes even killing them, for a moment he does not think about himself and his past, but rather about a private he once knew very well, how he had threatened that private, if things would have been different, would have Jude Val-

“Well, you know what I think about that honestly. I don’t have any hard feelings against them. Look, if you had been abused by a person you trust, you want to satisfy, can you really blame those who got mistreated that they snap? I feel sorry for them…I mean haha, look at me, I have never killed anybody in my life, but if I would have done it, maybe I wouldn’t have had to spend five years of my life in a forced labour camp!”

They laugh again, that strange, foreign laugh that just didn’t fit, yet they laughed about what apparently was their own misery. Or maybe they were laughing about his. How odd, Blaise Owens wording was, was it really all coincidence? Even if a part of Samuel Cottontails mind protested, the gears where already locked and began to twist and turn, he could feel how not wrath, but red-hot wrath was going through him. Just the way they talked, as if they knew what they were talking about.

As if they knew what he had to go through! The small part that would have loved to tell him, that he has it all wrong, was thrown away, back behind the mental wall. Maybe the whole packed lunch thing was just some distraction to make him weak and vulnerable, a chance for Blaise Owens, that old and washed-up journalist, to strike.

It felt like as if his whole body was an angry teakettle, and every moment steam would whistle out of his ears.

“You, know, NOTHING!”

How odd, it appears in his mind, that sounded almost familiar, like a Deja-vu.

For a short moment the shout causes Blaise to be unconcentrated, Sam could see how their fur is bristling for a moment as they take control of the wheel again, they let go only for a what must have been a second.

“Sam, I can assu-“

“That’s general to you! You listen to me! You can’t obviously know what I have been going-“

“We’re here general.”

Before another word leaves his mouth, all his attention is brought to the illuminated gate, yes, these where clearly the secure, full metal doors of the wrath base. Some of the soldiers would held night watch if they didn’t fell asleep again, so getting in would not be a problem.

Reaching for the handle to open the door, it gets already opened for him from the outside by Blaise, who stands there, stiff, appearing unmoved from the few loud words he had said to them. They probably waited for him to say something so Sam reasoned with himself.

“Whilst it wasn’t a ride, as I am usually accustomed to, neither where the topics of conversation mind you. I have to say I have been chauffeured worse. Good night!”

Their voice in response is tired, a bit raspy, yet the cat still manages to give a weak smile before putting another cigar into their mouth.

“Always and anytime, general.”

#Bowlers old Stories #Bowlers old fanfictions #Blaise Owens RKZ #Owens Family RKZ #I think this was the first RKZ I have ever written if I remember correctly #tw: child abuse #tw: implied death #TW: Smoking