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introductions-are-a-spook · 3 years

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Feedback appreciated!

Maxwell was busy at work in his study. He refused to be confused any longer. Andrew was a suspect, and there was good reason for it. It was high time Maxwell put aside his feelings and started acting like the detective he was.

Throughout the week following their date, Andrew had been seen in several suspicious locations. Apparently he had been walking around near Jennifer McAllen’s manor- the case’s prime suspect- while, oddly enough, being adamantly followed by a black cat.

Later that night Miss McAllen had reported an intruder that fled upon seeing her. Another man, Nikos Antigone, had said he was outright robbed, with force. Odd, ‘Blinker’ didn’t seem the violent type. Neither person had been left the classic note.

Most curiously, Maxwell had received an anonymous yet well written letter, telling him to run away from Andrew and never look back. It had been delivered to his personal mailbox. It isn’t necessarily related to the case, Maxwell thought. Could be a jealous ex-girlfriend.

Wait, jealous of who, him? He was doing it again! Still trying to make him and Andrew out to be something in his mind. Dammit.

There was a sudden knock at the door, startling Maxwell and causing him to drop his pen. His older brother- George's- voice came through the door, asking to come in.

“Oh, now you want permission?” Maxwell snarked at him.

The door opened. “Well, after last week's squirrel incident, I thought you might appreciate the extra privacy.”

“You admitted to having at least one camera in my room that morning. What do you mean, ‘privacy?’”

A second, lighter voice sounded from the doorway, interrupting them both. The second youngest, Casey. “Hey Maxwell! So, Darwin told us you had a second date today? That’s so exciting! Who are they, what do you have planned?”

Maxwell rubbed his eyes, minding the glasses, and huffed. “How did he find out?” he asked in exasperation. “No, it’s none of your business. Now if you all don’t mind-“

“Actually, what time is it? Aren’t you going to be late?”

Maxwell rolled his eyes at Casey and checked his watch. It was almost time, he decided. “Oh, fine, you all win this round,” he said, as he grabbed his coat, wallet, and keys while walking out the door.

~*~

Maxwell drove over to the bakery to find Andrew nowhere in sight. He strode in, where Isabella cleaned up after the last customer and closed up shop.

“Hello Isabella. Is Andrew here?”

“Hello again, Mr. Chapman. Why do you ask?” she gave him a look that could easily have been taken as a smirk.

He snickered. “You of all people should know why.”

She returned a chuckle. “He’s up in his apartment. I think he got a little frantic over his most recent piece.”

“I see,” Maxwell sniffed in amusement, going through the gate that led to the stairs. On the way, he heard the faint plucking of strings, playing the same motif again and again, a little different each time.

There the man sat, holding his violin like a guitar, pizzing away with an austere look on his face. Maxwell covered his smile with a hand and watched, unnoticed, a little longer. The tune was pretty, but it was missing something. And yet, Maxwell may have had just the thing to help.

He cleared his throat, and Andrew jumped up, stammering.

“Oh my god, Maxwell! I’m so sorry, I completely forgot about-”

“Oh shush,” Maxwell spoke, walking over to the upright piano in the corner and running a finger over the keys. “Do you mind if I try something?”

Maxwell noticed that Andrew had not yet looked him in the eye, instead choosing to avert his head. Nevertheless, he nodded, and Maxwell played the theme Andrew had been plucking. A few progression notes and a key change, and the piece was moving forward. He paused. “What do you think?”

“Huh, that was really good! And then maybe this?’ He played the theme, the transition, and the key change, followed by a bridge and then the theme again.

“That does sound nice. Though maybe put the key change toward the end, instead. Like…” He played the whole idea, frowning when he realized it was only half a minute long. “Add a few more phrases, perhaps?”

“Enough to write an entire piece? Well that could take-”

“Not terribly long, if we work together. Besides, this is far more enjoyable than whatever stuffy concert we had planned.” And so the work began. Andrew continued to turn away, and eye contact was still scarce. He had some kind of bandage over the bridge of his nose, but Maxwell couldn’t quite see why. And it was possible that Andrew was catching on to the staring.

So halfway through composing the ninth line, Maxwell leant forward, coarsely taking the man’s chin in his hand. Andrew put his hands up in protest as Maxwell turned his face.

“Good riddance, Andrew, you’ve been avoiding my- oh,” Maxwell stopped short. His tone went from exasperated to concerned in a moment. “Andrew, your nose, it’s broken! Why would you hide this?”

Andrew bashfully pulled away. “It doesn’t matter. I had Isabella look at it, anyway.”

Maxwell huffed. “I'd imagine you’re always terrible at lying under pressure, then. Why did this happen? Who did it?”

“It’s none of your business, quit worrying about it.”

“Andrew, this isn’t like you-“

“What would you know? We barely know each other.”

“Stop it.” Andrew shut up. “Now tell me what happened.”

Andrew took a deep breath and smirked. “Y’know I don’t wanna tell you. Why don’t you use your detective skills and figure it out?”

Maxwell sighed and returned the grin. “Perhaps I will.”

And so the music continued. Maxwell continued to interrogate Andrew about his injury, and had managed to weasel out of him that it had happened four days back. He also mentioned that he was alone when it happened, and Maxwell had a suspicion that there were two perpetrators.

The progress on the music continued, and the two gradually resumed a companionable silence. By nine at night, Andrew had played what he could on the violin, and both took turns on the piano. Still, it wasn’t right. The tune was both bright and whimsical, of which they could only play the first half.

“Perhaps I should mention- We both learned piano for the sake of it, but my true skill lies with the harp. We could arrange it as a duet, but we’d have to do it in my home. It’s simply too much effort to bring it here.”

Andrew laughed. “Show me.”

#writing #my writing #📖 the detective an the crook 🖋#✒️ you write and i’ll read 📖

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walkingshcdow-a · 3 years

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Rudyard and literally anyone

Incorrect Quotes | Accepting!

Vicyard: Just Soulmate Things

Rudyard: Treat spiders the way you want to be treated. Victor: Killed without hesitation. Rudyard: No.

Rudyard: Is something burning? Victor: Just my love for you. Rudyard: Victor, the toaster is on fire.

Rudyard: Let’s watch Sharkboy and Lavagirl. Victor: Okay. Rudyard: And make out during the scary parts. Victor: Th- Victor: The scary parts. Victor: Of Sharkboy and Lavagirl.

Rudyard & Antigone: Just Twin Things

Rudyard: Must be hard not being able to laugh Antigone: I do have a sense of humor you know Rudyard: I’ve never heard you laugh before Antigone: I’ve never heard you say anything funny

Rudyard: Today is a day of running through hurdles. Antigone: Aren’t you supposed to jump OVER hurdles? Rudyard: Whatever. Fear is only something to be afraid of if you let it scare you.

Rudyard: Am I going too far? Antigone: No, no, no. You went too far about seven hours ago. Now you're going to prison.

Rudyard & Georgie: Just Found Family Things

Rudyard: I'm a reverse necromancer. Georgie: Isn't that just killing people? Rudyard: Ah, technicality.

Rudyard: Here's some advice Georgie: I didn't ask for any Rudyard: Too bad. I'm stuck here with my thoughts and you're the only one who talks to me

Rudyard: Do you take constructive criticism? Georgie: I only take cash or credit.

Rudyard & Chapman: Just Rival Things

Rudyard: If there's going to be a big dramatic scene, wait until I get back. Chapman: Of course. I can't flip this table by myself.

Rudyard: Can you keep a secret? Chapman: Do you know anything about my life? Rudyard: No I do not. Good point.

Rudyard: *Walking in to a room* Sorry I’m late... I was... doing things. *Sounds of running footsteps progressively getting louder* Chapman: *Out of breath* HE PUSHED ME DOWN THE FUCKIN’ STAIRS.

Rudyard & The Kids: Just Parenting Things

*The group is getting into the car* Rudyard: I’m driving. Calliope, out of view: Shotgun! James, turning to face Calliope: Aww! But you had it on the way here- Everyone except Calliope: WOAH- Calliope, holding a shotgun: No! I found a shotgun! And I want the front seat! *Pumps gun*

Rudyard: Do you ever want to talk about your emotions, Calliope? Calliope: … No. James: I do! Rudyard: I know, James. James: I’m sad! Rudyard: I know, James.

Rudyard: I love you guys, you're the best thing that's happened to me. Calliope: We're the best thing that's ever happened to you? Rudyard: Yes! James: I'm starting to feel a little sorry for you.

The Trevor-Funns: Just Parenting Things 2.0

Calliope: Dad, I'm sad. Victor: *Holds out arms for a hug* It’s going to be okay. James: Dad, I'm sad. Rudyard, nodding: mood.

Rudyard: Isn’t it weird that we pay money to see other people? Calliope: Plane tickets? James: Concert tickets? Victor: Prostitution? Rudyard, holding his broken frames: Glasses.

Rudyard: Everyone, synchronize your watches. Calliope: I don’t know how to do that. James: I don’t wear a watch. Victor: Time is a construct.

Funn Funerals, Our Version: Just .... A lot tbh

Rudyard: If you bite it and you die, it’s poisonous. If it bites you and you die, it’s venomous. Calliope: What if it bites me and it dies!? James: Then you’re poisonous. Jesus Christ, Calliope, learn to listen. Victor: What if it bites itself and I die? Georgie: That’s voodoo. Antigone: What if it bites me and someone else dies? Calliope: That’s correlation, not causation. Victor: What if we bite each other, and neither of us die? Georgie: That’s kinky. Rudyard: Oh my God.

*Everyone is standing around the broken coffee maker* Rudyard: So. Who broke it? I'm not mad, I just wanna know. Everyone: Calliope: ...I did. I broke it. Rudyard: No. No you didn't. James? James: Don't look at me. Look at Victor. Victor: What?! I didn't break it. James: Huh, that's weird. How'd you even know it was broken? Victor: Because it's sitting right in front of us and it's broken. James: Suspicious. Victor: No, it's not! Georgie: If it matters, probably not, but Antigone was the last one to use it. Antigone: Liar! I don't even drink that crap! Georgie: Oh really? Then what were you doing by the coffee cart earlier? Antigone: I use the wooden stirrers to push back my cuticles. Everyone knows that, Georgie! Calliope: Okay let's not fight. I broke it. Let me pay for it, Dadyard. Rudyard: No! Who broke it!? Everyone: Georgie: Rudyard... James's been awfully quiet. James: rEALLY?! *Everyone starts arguing* Rudyard, being interviewed: I broke it. I burned my hand so I punched it. Rudyard: I predict 10 minutes from now they'll be at each other's throats with warpaint on their faces and a pig head on a stick. Rudyard: Rudyard: Good. It was getting a little chummy around here.

Rudyard: Who the fuck added me to a fucking group chat? Calliope: >:O language James: Yeah watch your fucking language Victor: OKAY WHO TAUGHT JAMES THE FUCK WORD? Georgie: 'The fuck word'. Antigone: Are you stupid? You guys use the f word all the time James: Oh my god she censored it Georgie: Say fuck, Antigone. James: Do it, Auntigone. Say fuck.

Rudyard & Victoria: Just Soulmates Things 2.0

Rudyard: You love me, right, Victoria? Victoria: Normally, I’d say yes without hesitation, but I feel like this is going somewhere and I don’t like it.

Rudyard: Don’t worry, I know exactly what I’m doing. Everything is going to be fine! Victoria: How can you still say that? Rudyard: Because sometimes, when things get tough, denial is all we have.

Rudyard: Okay, truth or dare? Victoria: Truth Rudyard: How many hours have you slept this week? Victoria: Victoria: ...Dare Rudyard: Go to bed. Victoria: I don’t like this game.

#((ask and ye shall receive))#((I'd apologize for the delay but you already know half of the mess that has been my life for the last few hours.))#;;we get the body in the coffin on time | {rudyard funn}#;;crack threads & content | {rudyard funn}#r: there is no heart for me like yours. there is no love for you like mine. | {rudyard x victor}#r: double the funn | {rudyard x antigone}#r: calliope patrol | {rudyard x calliope}#r: love is thicker than blood | {rudyard x james}#r: he's like a deadly jesus | {rudyard x chapman}#((wtf is my Rudyard and Georgie tag?))#((my brain is just like 'can't win 'em all sir'))#((thanks brain))#((also yes I accounted for the fact that the kids call their dads and aunt names that aren't their birth names))#((also also please if you are not one of my RP partners leave this alone))#((it is actually free to stay out of my business whereas pestering me about my roleplays incurs a twenty five dollar fee))

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poorlittleminkmink · 3 years

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Workday Naps

I know it’s late but here’s the blondmementos ficlet I promised I’d post for Sleep Day

Antigone Funn typically prided herself with her ability to work diligently no matter the circumstances. She had always been a hard worker as a child and now that she was fully grown, she’d manifested that same nature in the form of being a workaholic. When Funn Funerals still had plenty of customers, this wasn’t an issue. Antigone was able to spend her days happily working away on whatever body had come through her mortuary door that day. The introduction of a certain outside factor led to this, amongst other routines, being entirely disrupted. That factor was one man.

Eric Chapman.

Yes, when he’d first moved in, Antigone hated him for his looks and his charm and his attention to detail, but she found that she didn’t hate him— not truly. Maybe some minor loathing on the surface, but mostly she found herself wishing to spend time with him.

She wanted to be the object of his affection, similar to Lady Templar, but maybe not so loud about the situation. After all, Chapman was still a business rival. Even if he had been very kind to take Antigone to the circus. And even if he had reached out more to her to get to know her better. They were rivals first, whatever-the-hell-else second. It was infuriatingly complicated, Antigone had discovered after the circus, and while she did enjoy a good puzzle now and then, emotions should not be such a complex jigsaw.

On those rare, rare moments though, when Antigone wasn’t working away at a body or stopping Rudyard’s crazy schemes or keeping the family business afloat, she allowed herself to slip into a softer fantasy.

Today’s particular installment contained being held tenderly by one certain undertaker while he whispered sweet nothings into her hair. His touch was so delicate, as though she were the most precious thing in the world. Antigone could feel herself relaxing in the familiarity of Eric’s arms, practically melting into him. She wished she could stay in this moment forever, just Eric pressing feather-light kisses to her nose and cheeks while she laid blissfully in his arms. She allowed herself to burrow deeper in the warmth he provided, happy to doze off—

“Antigone? Are you down here?”

A voice cut through the mental haze of Antigone’s daydreams and the woman grabbed a scalpel from a nearby tray, swerving to scold whoever had dared to disturb her quiet time.

“Rudyard, what in the name of sanity—“

She’d barely managed to get the sentence out when her gaze met one of gentle blue instead of harsh brown. Oh. Oh. It was Chapman. Chapman. Here. In her mortuary. A bright blush broke out across Antigone’s skin, spreading like a fire as Chapman descended the steps into the mortuary.

“Oh— err, not Rudyard. But he was the one who said you’d be down here.” The blond replied, almost sheepishly despite his never wavering cheeriness.

“Of course he did. Is nothing sacred anymore? Can a woman not enjoy time alone in her mortuary without something or another barging in?” She grumbled out, earning herself an halfway apologetic look from the other.

“Well, I was going to ask if you had any down time…I thought maybe we could grab a cuppa over at my place? I know we aren’t exactly friends—“

“Of course we aren’t friends. We’re rivals, Chapman.” Antigone swiftly reminded him.

“Yes, but I figured, from one mortician to another, maybe we could- I dunno, talk shop?” Chapman gave the lanky woman a charming smile, hopefulness in his tone.

“Why?” Came the suspicious response as the receiver of said smile narrowed her eyes.

“Because I want to get to know you? And we have at least one thing in common and that’s our businesses.” He nearly fumbled with his reasoning, seeming surprised that she’d ask such a thing.

“Right…” A brief pause while the now bemused mortician eyed her companion before continuing flatly. “Caffeine makes my hair turn green.”

“Then a hot chocolate—“

“Can’t have sweets.”

“A decaf?”

“Tastes dreadful.”

“How about a nice book then? Maybe a meal or a movie?”

Another pause. Longer than the last, but more filled with anxiety on the part of the pseudo-Prince Charming in front of a rather dismal Cinderella. She found it almost funny that he was trying so hard to spend time with her, but of course she wouldn’t ever say that. It wasn’t as though she didn’t want to spend time with Chapman, she just found that she tended to be difficult around.

“A movie would be acceptable. Something morbid and foreign if you don’t mind…” Antigone finally answered, biting back a laugh when Chapman seemed to visibly relax.

“I happen to enjoy French films quite a bit, so I have no issue supplying a few of my favorites. Morbid may be harder to fulfill, but we’ll see what I can pull together.” Chapman gave a confident nod, turning his full attention back to the woman across from him.

A light mirrored nod of agreement was all that met his small self-check before Antigone started up the stairs and made her way over to Chapman’s, the proprietor on her heels. She was still plenty suspicious of his intentions for the day, but if she could manage to consume some deliciously depressing cinema on her slow day, she wouldn’t be too upset. Even if it did turn out Chapman was using her for her business secrets, which she’d never tell of course.

Thirty minutes and a minor verbal scuffle later, Antigone Funn found herself seated on a rather fluffy sofa with Chapman beside her and a beautiful French film in front of her. One she hadn’t seen as well. Seems that Chapman’s collection didn’t disappoint.

Deep brown eyes locked to the screen, giving her full attention to the film and occasionally shifting her body to find the most comfortable place on the couch. A few minutes of moving around and muttering to herself and she settled on a comfortably warm spot for her head. Truly, she hadn’t realized that where she had settle in that moment was one Eric Chapman’s chest, nor did she see the gentle look the man had given her before settling back into the sofa himself. He wouldn’t disturb her now, so as not to stir up the particular brand of chaos Funns seemed to be proficient in.

It wasn’t until Antigone’s breathing had settled and she stopped muttering lines of French that Chapman noted that she had fallen asleep. With a light smile on his face, he adjusted his body ever so carefully and allowed himself to drift off to sleep.

If he had been conscious of his decision to wrap Antigone up in his arms, he certainly didn’t let that on. No, he was much more content with having this one minor victory under his belt. One success was enough for him today, no need to overdo it lest he jinx his luck with her. Baby steps were enough for him, just until he was sure of her feelings towards him.

#wooden overcoats #antigone funn #eric chapman #chapgone #blondmementos #queue you know what silence is rudyard #bijou writes!

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tinfoiltemplar · 4 years

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@inthegroundontime

Ten days ago was Rudyard’s nineteenth birthday. It was not a grand affair - why ever would it be? - but this was a birthday he would not soon forget. Pacing on the other side of the mortuary door, he listened for Antigone’s sobs or curses and instead heard an unnerving silence. Every so often, he would knock and ask her how it was going and she would shout back something like, “Don’t rush me, Rudyard!” and he’d go back to pacing.

Ten days ago was Rudyard’s nineteenth birthday. Three days ago was Antigone’s birthday. Today, they were preparing to bury their parents.

The reverend had come by this morning to offer his condolences and go over the particulars with Rudyard.

“It’s just another funeral,” Rudyard had said quite emptily. “But thank you.”

There was so much to do. Financing the burial of both Mr. and Mrs. Funn at once, planning a quiet, efficient service, going over their wills. Usually, there’d be relatives to comfort, but Antigone didn’t want Rudyard’s comfort and Rudyard…

Well, Rudyard had foolishly written to Victor Trevor.

They hadn’t spoken in two years. Even then, they’d only spoken via letter until discovered by James Trevor and fixed with an ultimatum to stop writing. Who knew what Victor was doing with his life these days? He might have been married off, as his father so often threatened. He might have been dead; Rudyard always worried about that. Whatever the case, it had been three days and the telephone hadn’t rung, no letter arrived in the mail. Rudyard never felt more alone. He stared at the ancient wooden floors and wondered how long it would take him to leave a permanent warp in them from pacing. The service was first thing tomorrow morning and Rudyard was prepared to sleep out here, just to feel closer to Antigone - as close as she’d let him be until she stumbled over him on her way to the toilet in the morning. Pathetic, really. There was no one in Piffling Vale that Rudyard wanted to speak to about any of this. Even if there was, there was no one in Piffling Vale who wanted to speak to Rudyard about this or about anything. He turned sharply to walk towards the stairs when, from the other direction, a knock on the main door caught his ear. Rudyard stopped. He didn’t imagine there were any mourners coming to check on them. Perhaps Reverend Wavering had forgotten something? Rudyard marched towards the door. He slicked his hair back and fixed himself with the most professional expression a nineteen-year-old could. Then, flinging the door open wide, Rudyard saw what he never expected to.

Holding a suitcase by the handle and looking very nervous, Victor Trevor waited upon the stoop of Funn Funerals. Rudyard’s breath hitched. Then, without thinking, without trying to take him to task for the last two years of silence, Rudyard threw his arms around Victor and pulled him tightly against his chest. Rudyard buried his face in Victor’s shoulder. Inhaling his familiar scent, he relaxed. He relaxed enough to do something he hadn’t since his parents’ deaths. Rudyard sobbed. It was a strangled, muffled sound against the softness of Victor’s jumper.

It was less about his parents than it was about Victor. He was here. He had come. He’d looked exhausted, slightly trembling on the doorstep. Rudyard would question it later. For now, gratitude rushed from his eyes and he couldn’t cling tightly enough to Victor. If anyone came by and saw such an unseemly display of emotion from Rudyard Funn, they might not have believed it. Rudyard, for one, couldn’t believe his great, good fortune. He didn’t know how long he nestled against Victor - time was irrelevant.

“You came-!” he murmured. “Victor… Victor, I…”

Regretfully, Rudyard pulled back from the embrace to look Victor in the eyes. The years seemed not to have been sure whether to be kind or unkind to Victor Trevor, who looked both incredibly handsome and incredibly tired. Rudyard traced the side of his face with gentle fingertips. His eyes touched every inch of Victor’s face, gazing fondly. There was absolutely no mistaking him, though. This was the man he’d loved since childhood, here as if by some miracle, when Rudyard needed him most.

“Thank you,” he said, voice hoarse. “Let me… Let me help you with your bags.”

But before reaching for the bags, Rudyard held Victor once more time.

Rudyard had written, and that had been the end of it.

It had been years since James Trevor had threatened them into keeping cutting all contact, and Victor had spent most fo those years wondering how Rudyard was doing, and if he was well, and if he missed Victor quite as much as Victor missed him. But when Rudyard wrote, it really hadn’t mattered. It hadn’t mattered that leaving meant never coming back, or that had no assurances of it working out for him. What had mattered was that Rudyard had written, and he needed someone. He didn’t care if Rudyard wanted a friend or the boy he’d loved before, the thought of the boy Victor had known before sitting alone in that old house trying to plan for his parents' funerals was heartbreaking.

In a better world, he’d be walking down this road with a song in his heart and no mixed feelings about the excitement about the idea of seeing Rudyard after so very long a time apart. In that world, he’d come with birthday presents and cupcakes, and he and the Funn twins might have spent an afternoon in the living room sitting on the floor laughing and listening to records and playing cards. Maybe they’d have a few rounds of Boggle, some when they could count French words for himself and Antigone, and some when they wouldn’t for Rudyard so that they’d all have fun. They could build a fort and make up a skit and listen to the rain (it always seemed to be raining in Piffling, didn’t it?). It would be the kind of day that left them all happy, before the kind of night where Victor fell asleep with Rudyard curled in his arms knowing he was safe and loved and that they’d see each other tomorrow.

But this wasn’t a better world. This was the kind of world where Mr and Mrs.Funn were suddenly dead, and Victor was knocking on their door unsure of exactly what he was going to find on the other side. This was a world where he hadn’t brought any presents or sweets, he didn’t have think that anyone would be excited about Boggle or records or anything else really. Not that he’d blame them.

Rudyard answered the door and Victor had never seen him look so sad or so serious. He was older, of course, but in some ways, he looked younger than he’d ever been before. His dark, somber eyes has something in them like Victor had seen in his siblings when they’d been just old enough to get out of bed in the night and would start to pop up at the edge of beds whispering about nightmares. He looked like he hadn’t been sleeping. Probably hadn’t had enough to eat. Hadn’t had anyone to draw him a hot bath or put clean sheets on his bed and pet his hair or help him sort through papers and put together tributes. The thoughts ached.

Victor was slightly surprised by how quickly Rudyard launched himself into his arms. He closed his own arms around Rudyard tightly despite bruises and shushed him softly, not to encourage him to stop, but to tell him that he heard him and that he was safe and loved and it was alright to stay right there and cry just as long as he wanted to. He turned his face slightly to press a kiss to Rudyard’s temple and began to rock them forward and backward in what he hoped was a soothing motion.

“Of course I came,” Victor whispered, squeezing Rudyard a bit tighter and smiling sadly at someone he’d loved unconditionally for longer than he really understood. Rudyard’s touch was gentle and it caused Victor to close his eyes momentarily and just lean into the innocence of the touch. “Of course I came, Rudyard.”

“You asked.”

#inthegroundontime #//this doesn't need to necessisarily be a thing #but i Victor DID need to respond to it #How to say 'I love you' without saying it

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inthegroundontime · 4 years

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✿ *victor pelting you with flowers symbols*

Random Hugs and Kisses | Accepting!

66. ‘’I thought I’d never see you again” hug

Ten days ago was Rudyard’s nineteenth birthday. Three days ago was Antigone’s birthday. Today, they were preparing to bury their parents.

The reverend had come by this morning to offer his condolences and go over the particulars with Rudyard.

“It’s just another funeral,” Rudyard had said quite emptily. “But thank you.”

Well, Rudyard had foolishly written to Victor Trevor.

“You came-!” he murmured. “Victor... Victor, I...”

“Thank you,” he said, voice hoarse. “Let me... Let me help you with your bags.”

But before reaching for the bags, Rudyard held Victor once more time.

#x. meme response #x. asks #tinfoiltemplar #tw: death #morpheoussilvercreature

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cleverfoxhound-writes · 6 years

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A writing commission for @maki-washu featuring @mellon-collie ‘s dnd character Maxwell Gascoigne and (my dnd OC) Antigone Astmai.

Tagging: @yesitsmejt @mellon-collie

Word Count: 3066

"We've been traveling for how long now? I’m exhausted," the taller man of the group yawned.

"We've been traveling for two days and you haven't done a thing to be tired over,"

"Come on Antigone, we fought devils, hellhounds and whatever else decided to get in our way. Why are you being such a hardass?" Max scoffed.

"Because I was the one that made sure we didn't get lost on our way here," Antigone shot back.

"Children calm down and let's find an Inn, some hot food, drinks and call it a night," The smaller woman sighed.

"A drink sounds perfect right now," Max sighed.

The trio of travelers had just reached a smaller town on their path to the capitol. They had traveled from the dangerous forests of Ulvenwald and continued northeast to avoid the forests. They reached the small and sleepy village of Evercall. The village seemed simple and quiet but even in their weary state, they knew danger slept in the darkness.

The group made their way to what looked to be an Inn, tied up their horses, made themselves comfortable in the tavern and ordered food and drinks.

"You should have seen the look on his face," Max laughed and almost knocked over his drink.

"You're shitting me, after all of that it was his sister and mother working together?" Shine replied with almost as much vigor as the man.

"That sounds super sleaze," Antigone commented.

"I know, I know," Max chuckled. "Believe me I got the hell outta there when I found out. I'm not dealing with that crazy ass shit,"

The man chuckled before he took a long swig of his drink.

"My, My, My old man you have so many adventures involving women," Antigone began.

"If there's a woman in distress it is my duty to help,"

"Unless she's a fucking vampire. You best believe I didn't forget that shit you got us into with that one woman," Zhine began as she slammed her giant mug down on to the table.

"Aw, come on Zhine, she was in distress, I had to help her,” Max replied.

"You didn't have to," Antigone smirked.

"Yeah until she tried to take a bite out of you," Zhine snorted.

"Yeah...that kinda ruined the mood," Max sighed.

"No kidding," Antigone sneered.

"Look, we got rid of the town's problem," Max laughed.

"You’re lucky the pay was good," Zhine sighed.

The trio were on their way to the capitol to decipher a dream that came to them and only when they defeated the man called Siegfried they discovered their dreams were connected to one another. One finished the other while another began another, and it all centered on the unsuspecting item they carried. For now, they would rest for a few days to recover and took smaller jobs from the townspeople.

"Alright, I'm heading to bed. Try not to drink yourselves stupid," Antigone said as she stood up.

"No promises," Zhine replied

"You know what Antig..." Max began.

"What?" Antigone questioned.

"You never drink with us...why is that?" Max questioned. The blonde haired woman took a moment before she answered the man.

"I can't hold my liquor,"

"Well shit. Who knew that our silent little sniper can't hold her liquor," Max chuckled as he watched the woman disappear up the stairs of the Inn and took a drink.

"I figured as much. I've only seen her drink tea every time we've been to a tavern," Zhine added.

"Hmm...the more you know," Max said and leaned back in his chair. Zhine nodded and took another drink.

"Say Zhine...when we get to the capitol...what do you think will happen?" Max asked somberly. Zhine arched an eyebrow as she shifted in her seat, it was unusual for the man to sound so somber.

“I don't know. I'm sure once we get to the capital we'll figure it out," Zhine replied. A sigh came from the man across from her and soon he downed the rest of his drink.

"I guess you're right,"

"Nervous about something?" Zhine questioned. Max hesitated for a moment and replied with shrug.

"Not really, it's just been a while since I've been back,"

"We're not going to be attacked by all of the women you've wooed and stood up are we?" Zhine arched an eyebrow at the man.

"Nah. I'm sure most of them have forgotten me," Max chuckled.

"Mmmhm. There will be that one woman who is obsessed with you and will try to kill Antigone and me just to have you to herself," Zhine said as she tapped her nails on the table.

"That's terrifying, Zhine please," Max chuckled.

"I'm just saying," Zhine shrugged.

"You two will be fine," Max smirked.

"I'll believe it when I see it," Zhine said and downed the rest of her drink.

"Have more faith in me Zhine. You're the only one that does,” Max laughed a bit.

Zhine arched an eyebrow at the man again, he laughed but she knew there was something deeper behind that laughter, a hint of sadness. They didn't know too much about each other's pasts but what she did know is that he had suffered something tragic enough to leave the church and whatever else he had behind.

"I'm sure Antigone does...even if it is minuscule," Zhine replied. Max scoffed.

"Awww does out little hot and cold blondie friend hurt your feelings that much?" Zhine laughed and kicked her little legs.

"Sometimes," Max sighed heavily.

"You drama queen. She believes in you as much as I do," Zhine replied.

"You say that, but I’m sure she’d leave me to die if she had the choice," Max waved off the smaller woman's comment.

"Stop, she won’t and you two would be up shit creek if I got kidnapped. And you two better come to rescue my ass or I’m haunting the both of you," Zhine huffed.

“That’s a terrible thought…how about another drink?” Max suggested as he waved down the barmaid again. The woman smiled and approached the man with her tray, a smile on her lips.

“Hello, again Miss beautiful,”

Zhine sighed as she watched the man casually flirt with the woman, it was going to be a long night.

The next few days, the trio did small jobs for the village people too afraid to venture outside the safety of the village, they gather materials, herbs, rescued fellow villagers that had gotten lost.

Three days had passed since they arrived and today was their last stay in the village, the sun was barely over the horizon as the two women awaited the last member of their crew. Antigone bounced the shared party gold pouch in her hand before she securely placed the pouch in her travel bag.

“At this rate, you two can drink yourselves stupid,” Antigone commented.

“I will test that theory once we reach the capital,” Zhine smirked.

“By all means. We have enough to evenly split if we need to,” Antigone replied and adjusted her hood.

“Trying to run away Antig?” Zhine arched an eyebrow.

“Far from it. I’m stuck with you all until whatever….where’s the old man?” Antigone noticed that the man was missing.

“I went to his room to wake him up and heard something from his room. So I assumed he was awake,” Zhine began.

“You think something happened to him?” Antigone asked. Zhine shrugged.

“He’s an adult…” Zhine trailed off.

“Really Zhine…”Antigone began. Zhine sighed and crossed her arms.

“I’m mad that you’re right about this,” Zhine began as she started for the entrance. At that moment, the said man strolled out of the Inn and over to the two women.

“Morning ladies,” Max smiled.

“And here I was thinking that something may have happened to you,” Zhine began as she watched the man slick his hair back with a smirk.

“Couldn’t pass up a hot bath,” Max replied.

“I’m sure that’s not all you passed up either,” Antigone murmured.

“What was that Antig?” Max asked as he looked at her expectantly.

“It’s Antigone,” Her sharp blue eyes locked on to his green ones.

“So cold, c’mon you call me old man let me have some fun,” Max replied. The woman rolled her eyes at the man and crossed her arms.

“How are everyone’s rations looking?”

“I think we should be good. Antigone said that there should be one more town before we get to the capitol…” Zhine began

“I don’t know how long it’ll take us to get there though. With the weather it can vary,” Antigone spoke up.

“An estimate?” Max asked.

“Two to three days?” Antigone replied. The two nodded and began to check their travel packs for their rations.

“I think we should stock up a bit more just in case,” Max suggested.

“Sounds good to me,” Zhine nodded.

“Let’s meet back here in an hour?”

The trio agreed before they split up and gather what they needed for their travels, after an hour they were on their way out of the village. Just as they reached the village entrance a young boy ran over to them.

“Excuse me sir are you the leader?” the boy asked as he looked up at Max. Max glanced at the other two before he spoke.

“Not entirely. What can I do for you, my boy?” Max asked.

“I have a message from the winds that traveled through the village when you first arrived,” the boy began.

“The winds?” Max questioned.

“What do you mean?” Zhine questioned

“It’s a religion that focuses on nature, using the spirits of nature to tell them what the human eye can’t see or feel,” Antigone spoke up.

“The message…someone is coming for you…something bad. They’ve been following you since you left,” the boy trailed off.

“Since we left?” Max repeated, confused by the cryptic message.

“That doesn’t explain a lot,” Zhine commented.

“Lauden!”

A woman quickly ran up to the boy and began to usher him away from the trio.

“I-I apologize for my son. Please pay no mind to what he says,” the woman began.

“Woah now. Wait a minute,” Max said as he slid from his horse. “Your son was explaining to us what he heard from the winds. Do you know what he’s talking about?”

The woman sighed and introduced herself as Cecelia and explained that the winds had told her and her sons that someone is searching for the trio. Cecelia also mentioned that the man that lived in the manor in the Eastern part of town had disappeared months ago and recently his body was discovered with his head decapitated from his body. The wife of the man had been looking for the killers ever since.

The trio thanked the woman for the information and her warning to take care while on their journey. The first night was uneventful, and as the second night was when they struck.

“Zhine!!” Antigone shouted as she tried to follow after the dark-garbed men that had snatched the gnome only to be stopped by another dark-garbed man.

“Get the hell out of my way!”

“Antigone watch yourself!” Max shouted and blocked a blade by one assailant and narrowly dodged an arrow aimed for his head. The arrow pierced through his hat and flung it from his head.

“My hat!”

A bright light seemed to explode from her hands as she charged the man, the man barely dodged the attack and missed the follow-up attack that came from her. Max impaled one of the men and savagely twist and ripped the sword from the flesh of the assailant. Max sensed the second man behind him and barely dodged the man’s attack. Though he was able to dodge the weapon he was not able to dodge the claws that sliced his side.

“S-shit!” Max cursed as quickly jumped back to avoid counterattacks. A loud whistle echoed through the forest, a signal to retreat and just as fast as they appeared they vanished.

“Fuck!” Antigone cursed as she tried to keep up with their escape path, and failed. She quickly ran back to the man distraught by the ambush and the kidnapping when she noticed that he gingerly held his side.

“Y-you’re injured,” Antigone commented as the man grunted and stumbled a bit. He took a blow for the woman, he used himself as a distraction so that she could land the killing blow to one of the vampires.

“Nope. I’m fine, it’s just a scratch. I’ll be fine we have to rescue Zhine. Who knows what they will do to her,” Max sighed as he slicked back his hair and held his side.

“Old man don’t pull this tough macho man shit on me. I can smell blood on you,” Antigone said as she watched the man retrieve his sword that had fallen from his hands moments ago.

“Didn’t know you were a bloodhound Antig,” Max grunted as he reached for his sword.

Antigone remained silent and fumed with anger at the man, she could clearly see that he held his side. She knew he was injured and yet he continued as if nothing bothered him.

“Those vampires…do you think they’re the ones that Cecelia’s kid was talking about?” Max asked as he turned to face the woman. ”What’s with the frown?”

“Those vampires had the same insignia that Lambert wore on his clothing back at Siegfried’s manor,” Antigone replied.

“Figures, you’re not hurt are you?” Max questioned.

“I’m fine,”

“Can you pick up their trail? Max asked as he winced.

“Yeah,” Antigone replied as the man placed his hat back on to his head.

“Let’s get a move on. We have to save Zhine,” Max said quietly. “These vampires are stronger than I thought they were,”

“Mm…” Antigone knelt to the ground as she began to look for traces of where the vampires retreated.

As the woman searched the area momentarily she disappeared into the brush, Max looked at his hand through the foliage of the forest some of the light from the moon trickled through the brush and gave him enough light to see the crimson liquid that coated his hand.

“They came from Evercall,” Antigone began. He quickly dropped his hand behind his back before she could see the blood.

“How long will it take us to get back to Evercall?” Max questioned.

“We don’t have our horses so…three hours if we push ourselves,”

“Then let’s go. We don’t have much time,” Max said as he started to walk and stopped and turned to Antigone.

“Uh…you should probably lead,”

Antigone nodded as she looked around the forest and began right, Max silently followed after her.

It took the duo two hours to reach the gates of Evercall and an hour to reach the manor.

“Listen, old man,” Antigone began.

“Hm?” Max glanced at the woman as he continued to survey the manor.

“…Max…,” Her words whispered and the tug on his jacket shocked him and caused him to instantly stop.

“You called me—“Max began. She held up an ungloved hand to his mouth, her crystal blue eyes focused on his green ones.

“I…can’t do this alone….I need you to do this with me so please don’t get yourself killed,” The softness and sincerity of her words were foreign to him but welcomed.

“Antigone…you really are a piece of work you know that?” The man chuckled and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“You don’t have to worry. I promise,” Max promised as he looked down at her.

“Let me heal you,” Antigone whispered and placed the palms of her ungloved hands on the man’s wound. “Thank you…Antigone,” Warm flooded the man’s side as the wound on his side began to heal and the pangs of pain ebbed away.

“Let’s go,” Antigone said as she slipped her hands back into her leather gloves.

When the duo reached the inside of the manor, they were greeted by not Lambert’s wife but his sister along with the same dark-garbed men that attacked had them hours ago. The woman held the unconscious gnome woman hostage and was determined to have revenge for the death of her brother with the death of each of them, Zhine would be the first.

The battle was long and torturous and yet they persisted. Through the wounds and afflictions, they suffered the two continued they couldn’t give up they needed to save the woman. If one fell, the other was there to help the other up to continue to push them towards their objective. One by one, the vampires fell until the woman was left, with the last of her strength Antigone aimed her bow and released her last arrow, the arrow hit its mark in the throat of the woman. The female vampire fell to her knees and choked and gagged on her own blood.

“May you burn in hell,” Max growled as he brought down his sword on the woman’s neck. Instantly the woman was dead.

“Antigone you—“Max began as he turned towards the woman who collapsed. A soft groan came from the woman as she pushed herself to her hands and knees. Max quickly checked the unconscious woman and picked her up before he went over to the woman and extended a hand to her.

“We did it,” Antigone exhaled and took his hand.

“We did, you did good Antigone,” Max said as he helped her up. A faint blush spread across the woman’s cheeks as she stood.

“L-Let’s get out of here,” Antigone said and began to wobble out of the grand hall.

“Right behind you,”

“You two are friendlier now…what happened while I was gone?” Zhine sneered.

“I will not hesitate to make you walk Zhine,” Antigone threatened the woman that was situated behind her.

“Oh, so something did happen…did you two kiss? Was he a good kisser?” Zhine asked.

“He’s too old and not my type so I don’t know nor do I care to know,” Antigone replied tiredly.

“I like nice girls and not ones that torment me or call me old,” Max replied as he glared over at the two women. Antigone scoffed as the woman behind her laughed.

“It probably would have been gross…” Zhine commented.

“I’ll have you know I’m very talented with my—“Max began.

“Too much information old man. Please before I vomit,” Antigone gagged.

#Writing Commission #dungeons and dragons #dnd #dnd fic #Maxwell Gascoigne #Antigone Astmai #Zhine Mueller #maki-washu #Foxhound Writes #fanfiction #fanfic #is this really considered fanfic??#CleverFox Writes

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strange-destinations · 7 months

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thanks to everyone who's said nice things about Antigone Will Take The Stairs Today! it means a lot that people are enjoying it. i'm hoping to get a good mark for this one 💜💜

#my art #antigone will take the stairs today

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waterloggedsoliloquy · 3 months

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Arch-Conspirator by Veronica Roth is a science fiction novella that's a retelling of Antigone. Roth's prose has improved since I read Divergent almost 10 years ago, but the way she handles the story of Antigone and its setting is... Odd.

In the story, the kingdom of Thebes is the last bastion of civilization in a post apocalyptic world. In order to prevent genetic bottlenecks in a small population, it's mandatory that citizens 1. have children and 2. do not procreate but instead use preserved sperm and/or eggs from a library of long-gone donors. They've created a faith out of this process, attributing to reincarnation. It's better to pick the genes of a long-dead hero because it means your child will grow up the same, etc.

Antigone's brother dies, and the plot kicks off because King Creon bans his genes from being added to the gene library, and Antigone wants her brother to have a chance at reincarnation. Sure, I guess this is one way to do the plot in a science fiction manner.

It's just that this is used to sidestep the incest entirely.

The crime of Antigone's-- and her siblings'-- birth is not through incest and the degradation and tragedy and horror of the family unit, but because Oedipus and Jocasta have a natural birth-- Oedipus impregnates Jocasta naturally and has 4 children. Because they're the reincarnation of nobody, the children of Oedipus are claimed to not have souls, and this is the reason why so many people believe their family line is broken beyond repair. But like... This doesn't have a real-world counterpart. There's not really any believability in a society that considers genetic relation between siblings as a degradation of the family, let alone as a metaphor of incest.

This would be a cowardly action to begin with-- this is a book for young adults and adults where they say fuck-- but the biggest offender is that they DO allude to incest, somewhere else-- Eurydike's mother recently passed away, and Eurydike wishes she could be reincarnated, but if she used her mother's DNA for a new child that'd be incestuous. So instead of one of the core pillars of conflict in the story, incest is relegated to an offhand comment about a completely speculative fiction element.

This book wants to talk about abuse, about misogyny, and lesbophobia (there's a weird tangent where Antigone observes a lesbian couple at the gene bank, and ismene is gay) about marital violence, about filial piety, but is actually really afraid to, because these topics are scary. Roth's prose may have improved since Divergent but her political literacy very much has not.

On top of that, the book gets 33 pages of preamble before Polynikes and Eteocles actually kill each other. The play of Antigone starts with those two already dead in the field. I cannot stress this enough, we have PLACES TO BE. The story should not start a THIRD of the way into the book. it's also a matter of personal distaste but i dislike the fact that chapters are written from the perspectives of different characters. i dont actually care about ismene's inner monologue, or to watch the siblings talk at a cafe. Why does Eurydike have a POV chapter before the "play" even starts??? Her entire role is one of futile passivity. She has no relevance until the point of no return. She has 4 lines of dialogue, a fact several better adaptions comment on and explore (Antigonick and Antigone Will Take The Stairs Today) and her presence this early in the area adds nothing.

Antigone's anger feels toothless and performative no matter how many f-bombs she drops. The narrative is unfocused and meandering and is overinvested in justifying its science fiction premise. Despite the attempt to characterize them in a story that doesn't need it, Polynikes and Eteocles and Ismene feel flat.

It's a bad adaption of Antigone that's fundamentally inequipped to deal with the source material and elects to disrespect the care it requires and the emotional core of the original work, and this just makes it, in general, a bad book.

#cecil drawls #one star reviewers on goodreads write like they want the author to kill themselves #incest cw #antigone

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welcometophu · 7 years

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Not Your Destiny: Chapter 8

Marked Book 1: Not Your Destiny

Chapter 8

[ Previous | First | Next ]

Ángel wakes up to the feeling of something poking him in the back, while a warm body lies on top of him, pressing him into a too-thin, too-hard mattress. He shifts, and Gabi groans, patting his chest.

“Don’t move,” she mumbles. “You’re softer than Luca’s couch.”

“Why am I on Luca’s couch?” While the couch has been pulled out as a bed, it doesn’t look as if anyone bothered to make it up. Ángel is wrapped with Gabi in a pair of blankets, with a pillow shoved under Ángel’s head. Gabi’s head is tucked against his chest, and she presses her hand against his chest again when he tries to roll away.

“We all came to one place after last night,” Gabi mumbles, patting him gently as soon as he stops trying to move. “You and Tanner and Hayley were totally smashed. Sam was kind of gone, too. Zita went home after; Danny would’ve killed her if she stayed out. But everyone else pretty much stayed here.”

“Luca’s place,” Ángel clarifies.

Gabi is silent, then makes a noise that sounds like no.

“Not Luca’s place,” Ángel tries again.

“’S’complicated,” Gabi mumbles. “It’s a really big place. But this is Luca’s couch.” She grabs the blanket, pulls it up over both of their heads. “It’s a shitty couch, but we should just keep sleeping. Easier than walking to my room.”

“You have a room and we’re… here. Did we…?” Ángel sits up, spills Gabi off to one side. He’s still wearing his jeans and his shirt, everything but his shoes. Gabi’s in sweats and a different shirt than he remembers.

“Fuck, no.” Gabi sits up, pushes her hair out of her eyes. “Ángel, I wouldn’t have sex with a guy so drunk he couldn’t think straight. Or not-straight. You may have waxed poetic about some guy’s ass last night, I don’t even know who. I sat on you to make sure you didn’t do something you’d regret. Besides. You kept saying you didn’t want to sleep alone, and Hayley and Tanner took one of the guest rooms.”

No, no, it’s okay, you guys go sleep together. I mean sleep. Just don’t. Please? I mean, I can’t tell you no, but really, maybe not tonight? It’s only been like a day, and Hayley, you’re better than that.

His own voice echoes in his head, and he winces at the memory of leaning on Tanner’s shoulder, lecturing them both. “Fuck, I was kind of an ass.”

“Kind of,” Gabi agrees. “But I don’t think they hate you. They were both pretty much plastered, too.”

Ángel falls back against the pillow, groans when the spring digs into his back just above his kidney. He closes his eyes, presses the heels of his hands against his eye sockets. “I can’t remember half of last night. After I started dancing again. After I told you guys about the soulmark ritual.” He groans again, long and loud. “And fuck me, why did I start telling you guys all my personal shit, anyway? It’s not like you care.”

Gabi rests a hand on his shoulder. “We care. Sort of. I mean, we’re stuck with you for another month, right? And you’re almost family for Maritsa and Cleto, which makes you our family once removed. Also, you should be warned for next time that Zita plus alcohol is a really potent combination for spilling your guts. You are not the first to fall prey to that. Danny won’t drink with her, and they’re married.”

Ángel opens his eyes slowly, rubs the sleep from them.

Then stops.

Because fuck.

There’s ink on his wrist: a sleek spotted cat with tufted ears and chin, poised to pounce, with a simple circle behind it. The skin around is slightly red, the color faded as if it burned into being hours before.

“What…? Oh.” Gabi leans in, sniffs at his wrist. “Yeah. It’s done now.”

He grabs her hands, twists them both. “It can’t be you. We touched—”

“Several times and it was still clouded when we talked last night, yes,” she says. “It’s not me. Hey.” She reaches for his face, cups his cheeks carefully. Her fingers are to the side of his eyes, blocking out the light so all he can see is her. “It’s okay, Ángel. You’re going to be fine. Whoever it is, they’re marked too, right? How hard can it be to figure out who got a surprise tattoo last night?”

“Unless they were drunk and think they got a real one,” Ángel says. His chest is too tight, and his hand curls into his shirt, twisting it above his heart. “They have no idea. I don’t know who it is. I touched someone last night, and it’s—they’re… fuck. I don’t know.”

“Breathe.” Gabi says, and Ángel does his best.

His skin itches, and his wrist aches like burning now that he’s seen the mark. He’s wide awake now, heart hammering, and he feels like his bladder is going to burst if he doesn’t move soon. “I need to go,” he says, and she lets him go, pulls backward to give him room.

He gets his feet on the floor, and the room spins, head pounding as he makes it upright. He grips the side of the couch for a moment, then takes a step. He stops, turns back. “Bathroom?”

Gabi points at a door on one side of the room, while the door on the other side opens. Ángel just reaches the door she pointed to when he hears Luca ask, “Is Ángel all right?” and Gabi’s whispered response.

No footsteps follow him, and that’s fine. Good.

The door opens into a hall, and Gabi yells, “Left!” so he turns in that direction. One door stands slightly open, and he hurries to it, thinking that has to be it. He shoves it further open, stopping when it smacks into someone.

Yes, it’s the bathroom.

Sam and Max are in it, one in boxers and the other in sweats, lips locked as they lean against the counter. Sam grunts at the impact from the door, and Max blinks at Ángel, pupils large and black.

“Bathroom,” Ángel manages to say, his throat tight.

Max tugs at Sam and they both squeeze through the open door, leaving Ángel just enough room to get past them and in, slamming the door behind them. He falls to his knees in front of the toilet, waits.

His stomach roils, but doesn’t empty, despite the ache behind his eyes. He closes his eyes, lowers his forehead to touch the lip, groans quietly.

“You okay in there?” Sam calls out.

“I’m not dying,” Ángel replies, even though he feels like his heart is pounding so hard they must all be able to hear it. Maybe some of them can hear it. Clan. He hasn’t confirmed it, but Gabi keeps smelling him. They have to be Clan. Right? But Clan and Mages. The Mollicones and Maritsa and Cleto.

It doesn’t make sense in his head.

Nothing makes sense.

A knock at the door. “Do you need me to get you some water?” Sam asks. “You’re probably dehydrated. You had a good time last night.”

“Heard you did, too,” Ángel mutters. “Probably better than I did after we left Antigone.” He draws in a breath, relieved that it comes more easily this time. He lets it out slowly, pushes himself to his feet. “I’m okay. I’ll go to the kitchen after this.” He pauses. “If you tell me where the kitchen is.”

“Stairs are at the end of the hall. Go down, and to the back of the house. You can’t possibly miss it.” A soft rap against the door. “And if you need something, yell. There are enough of us here. We take care of each other.”

Ángel laughs dryly. He’s pretty sure no one can take care of this.

He takes care of business, now that his stomach is no longer roiling, and washes his hands. He tries not to look at his wrist, but the ink catches his eyes every time he glances down. When he exits the bathroom, Sam and Max are gone, but Gabi and Luca are hovering in the door to Luca’s room.

Ángel crosses his arms as he walks back to them.

“It’s going to be colder today than yesterday,” Luca says, nodding at Ángel’s short sleeves. “Want a hoodie?”

Maybe asshole isn’t the right word for Luca. Maybe savior, at least right now, although Ángel suspects he’ll be back to asshole later. Ángel nods, takes the soft grey Tampa Bay hoodie that Luca offers. Luca must have arms like an ape, because the thing is too long, covering Ángel’s wrists easily, and he takes another shuddering breath once they’re hidden.

Luca holds up his hands, wrists toward Ángel. Both are blank, and Ángel nods.

“Thanks.”

“Anything to make you stop stinking,” Luca says.

“I just don’t know how I missed it. When it happened to Hayley, she jumped like something bit her. She didn’t see it happen, she felt it.”

“You weren’t exactly feeling much after the amount of beer you had in you last night,” Gabi says dryly. “You should probably start the morning with some painkillers and a lot of water, or you’re going to be miserable at the garage.”

“We leave in thirty,” Luca adds, and that’s another small punch to the gut.

“Right.” Ángel’s still wearing yesterday’s clothes. He smells a little like beer, and he’s feeling that headache coming on. And every time he looks down, he knows that his wrist is there and he’s going to see some damned cat that means something to someone else and he doesn’t know what.

And the worst of it is, he doesn’t know what would show up to signify himself, either, so he doesn’t know what to look for. If he even had any idea where to look.

He wavers, uncertain. He tugs on the sleeves, pulling them over his wrists, curling his hands inside. “Sam said the kitchen’s downstairs?” he asks, because he just needs to get away.

“Yeah, Tony’s been up for an hour already, so there’s probably food out. He does that when Sam and Max crash here,” Luca says. “It’s easier than letting them go through the cabinets. Gives us some more control over what they eat.”

“They don’t live here.”

Gabi snorts. “God, no. They have an apartment. So do Maritsa and Cleto, although honestly, they stay here half the time because this place is better, so they might as well kick in for rent. Zita lives with Danny in the suburbs. Me, Tony, and Luca all share this place, and we’ve got three guest rooms, too. Big rooms, but it’d be better if we had en suite bathrooms. I have to share with Luca and whoever’s in the guest space on this floor.”

“It’s a huge house for the area,” Luca admits. He grabs his leather jacket, shrugs into it. “I’m going out for a bit. You should eat. Shower if you want, there are towels in the closet inside the bathroom. No one will mind if you use something. But you’ve only got twenty-five minutes now, unless Tony says he doesn’t mind if we’re late.”

“I’ll ride in with Tony, give you a few extra minutes. You need to drop Tanner and Hayley off anyway,” Gabi reminds him.

Because Tanner and Hayley are here as well. Somewhere.

Ángel gestures down the hall to the stairs he can see. “I’m just going to….” He fails to finish the sentence, but Gabi nods as if he did. He doesn’t wait for either of them to reply before he walks away.

The stairs at the end of the hall go both up and down. Ángel can hear footsteps on the floor above, plus he spots a small landing only a few stairs up, and another door there. Maybe a space over the garage.

It’s none of his business. This isn’t his house, and it’s probably the only time he’ll be in it.

He really doesn’t care how big it is, doesn’t wonder where that door leads and why there are so damned many rooms.

Still, he walks up the few stairs to the landing, pauses looking out through the window, his hand on top of the low bookcase. He’s somewhere on the outskirts; he doesn’t really recognize the area, but there are other houses, mostly low and close together aside from this one. It has a yard, and with three floors he already knows it towers over most homes. With the bright grass outside, and the wrought iron fence he can see in the distance, he wonders exactly how much this house and land cost.

And how the hell three people under thirty afforded it.

The idea that Mollicone’s is a mob front drifts back into mind, and Ángel tries to ignore it. He knows it’s not true and it’s honestly a horrible stereotype, but he also knows there’s money coming from somewhere.

His fingers trail over the wood, knocking into a small statue that is on top of the bookcase. Ángel crouches down to take a closer look, snickers when he realizes that it’s a cheap ceramic knockoff of Michelangelo’s David. When he lifts it, the words Florence 2001 are written in awkwardly formed letters on the bottom. He sets it back down carefully, not wanting to destroy something that’s so obviously a keepsake from childhood.

He rocks back on his heels, lets his fingers drift over the spines of the books lining the two shelves of the case. All hardcovers, all old, and all well-read. He’s pretty sure some of them are older than he is, including a copy of a children’s book that’s so tattered that he’s afraid the binding would rip if he tried to pull it out. Still, he wonders what a book about a little girl named April and her kittens is doing here, alongside girl detectives and boy wizards, and not a few classics written long before anyone in this house was born.

The sound of laughter drifts up the stairs, and Ángel turns to go back down before he’s made a conscious decision to do so. He follows the murmur of Hayley’s voice, finds the kitchen just as Tanner bends down to lightly press a kiss to her lips. Hayley leans back against the long island, her hands framing Tanner’s face. His hands are on the marble, his body language cautiously staying out of her space except for where their lips touch. Sparks dance from her fingertips, lighting the tips of his hair.

Ángel coughs, and they break apart. A flush suffuses Hayley’s cheeks, but Tanner just grins.

“Dude, look at all the food. Real food.” Tanner gestures at the long, heavy oak table on one side of the huge kitchen. There are enough chairs to seat a dozen people, but no one is there currently. Plates line the table with bacon, eggs, fruit, bagels, along with two boxes of cereal and a carton of milk. It’s obvious that most of it has already been dug into, but there’s still plenty left.

Hayley reaches up, tucks her hair behind her ear then twists the strand around her fingertip. “Tony was down earlier, said he does this after nights like last night. He called us Gabi’s strays. Or Sam’s strays. I don’t know which, he kept changing it. He’s really cute, isn’t he? Tony, I mean, although Sam’s really kind of hot, too, and he and Max are so very hot together. Luca’s cute, too, and Gabi’s adorable, and did I hear that you slept with her last night?”

“Slept,” Ángel replies curtly, arms crossed, trying not to tug the wrists of Luca’s hoodie down. “I apparently used her like a teddy bear, or she used me as a mattress or something. And she’s kind of an asshole, and so’s Luca, but I like them. And I don’t really care how hot anyone is, I’m not looking.”

He’s not looking at anyone here, anyway. He’s touched them all before, he knows it’s not them. It can’t be any of them. Which means it’s someone anonymous out there… and… fuck. His chest tightens and he swallows hard, pressing his hand against his temple. The headache is starting to bloom, and he feels like he deserves every aching thud behind his eyes.

“Eat.” Tanner gets his hands on Ángel’s shoulders, nudges him toward the table. “Drink plenty of water or OJ or something, and you’ll be fine.”

Ángel picks up the pitcher of orange juice, heavily pulped and apparently freshly squeezed. His stomach turns.

He quietly puts a plate together of orange slices, a half a dry bagel, and grabs a bottle of water. He pushes Tanner’s hand away when Tanner tries to offer eggs for protein. “If I eat eggs right now, I’m going to puke,” Ángel mutters, and Tanner steps back.

“Are you okay?” Hayley asks softly, and her sparks prick along his spine when she touches the nape of his neck.

Ángel shakes his head quickly, regrets the motion immediately after. “Not really. I’m just going to go—” He trails off, not really sure where to go, but there’s a door on one side of the kitchen and he can see the sun streaming in through the window on it. He gestures with his plate. “There. I’m going out there.”

“Is it us?” Hayley asks, and Ángel turns so quickly that she has to grab his plate before it hits her.

He stops and they stand there, her hands curled around the edges of his plate before he pulls it back slowly. “It’s not you,” he says, and it’s only a minor lie. It’s them, and that kiss he just saw, and the fresh mark on the inside of his wrist that makes his arm feel heavy. It’s everything from the last few days and weeks. “I just need air.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Hayley says softly.

“I want you guys to give it a chance,” Ángel responds, and that much is true. Very true. He doesn’t want to distract them. He just… he just needs to breathe.

Footsteps, and Ángel’s attention shifts to the entrance to the kitchen. Tony stands there, brows drawn together in a deep frown. Tony’s gaze skips across Hayley, comes to rest on Ángel. Tony stares at him for a long second before his eyes drop, skimming over Ángel from head to toe. The corner of Tony’s lip curls slightly, and Ángel tugs on the sleeves of Luca’s shirt.

Tony crosses his arms, thumbs peeking out from the holes in his long sleeves. “Hayley. Tanner. Luca’s dropping you off. Ángel, Gabi and I will open the shop. Ride in with Luca.”

“I was going to.” Ángel gestures with his plate at the door to the outside. “Right now I’m just going to eat. Out there.” He licks his lips, inhales roughly and twists to force himself to turn away.

“Dude,” Tanner says softly as Ángel touches the door knob.

“I’m fine,” Ángel repeats, voice low, not giving him a chance to say anything else before he escapes, the door slamming shut behind him.

It’s definitely chilly outside, cold enough that he’s glad he’s wearing a hoodie, although compared to the temperature he left behind in New York, it’s balmy. Ángel sinks to sits on the step, sets the plate down with a clunk beside himself. He knows he needs to eat, but his stomach is churning, and the idea of putting anything in it does not appeal.

He needs to know more about the mark.

He fishes his phone out of his pocket, swipes to unlock it, and stops before opening the browser. There are three unread messages that must have come in sometime late in the night.

That’s okay, but next time let me know earlier.

I know you’re an adult, but still.

I worry.

Papi. And Ángel never went home.

He scrolls back in the conversation, finds the start of it.

Papi, heading to Antigone with the people from work. Tanner is bringing Hayley. They will bring me home.

Ángel remembers sending the original text from Luca’s car on the way to the restaurant. When Papi hadn’t replied immediately, Ángel had switched his phone to silent and forgotten about it, until later. Much later apparently, after Papi sent a text Ángel doesn’t remember reading at midnight: Ángel, where are you?

At least it looks like he replied to let Papi know that he was staying at Luca’s. He must’ve passed out before the new messages came in. He quickly types out a message for the morning.

I know, and I’m sorry. I was drinking, and Luca was our DD, and everything’s fine, except I’m hungover and going to work now. We’ll drop off Tanner and Hayley with his truck so he can bring her home.

Ángel presses send and shoves the phone in his pocket, leaving the sound off. Papi won’t be thrilled, but at least he knows they’re all alive, and that’s what’s important right now.

He presses the tips of his fingers to the bridge of his nose, tries to stave off the headache that is blooming rapidly. He’s hungover. He’s marked with ink he doesn’t understand, and he has no idea who he touched. And right now, he feels like shit. He twists open the bottle of water he carried out. He’s pretty sure that there isn’t much that’s going to help right now, but at least he’ll be hydrated.

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#welcome to phu #welcometophu #not your destiny #phu marked #marked

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strawberry--sunrise · 7 years

Text

Shadow Girls

Alright, so here we go: Switching automatically from the shortest part, to the longest. But honestly, this is my favorite part. Half of it is cute and very satisfying to write, and the latter half is violent, dark, and wow, also so very satisfying to get to write. One more step until the girls come out of the woodwork, dragging the monsters out by their feet.

Part One: Roots // Part Two: Stamen // Part Three: Stem

Part Four: Pistil

I was far from diplomatic fashion, but I would have to do without my armor. I crawled over the fence, sprinting through the dewy grass. I nodded at Thomas, who lingered beneath a tree.

“Late night for a walk,” I said.

“You forgot, didn’t you?” he asked. I blinked, confused at his meaning. He saw it on my face, and smiled. “I said that I’d call for you on Monday. You mentioned that you liked evening strolls in the garden. I’m glad that our timing aligned, because if Poppy came back without you, I’d have had to knock on the door myself. And that’s not as romantic.”

“I’m…really not supposed to be out at the moment,” I confessed, scratching the side of my head. “I should get back. I just wanted to make sure Poppy was okay.”

Thomas knelt down and ruffled Poppy’s collar. “Hana? I have something I need to tell you. But I’m still nervous. It’s hard, now that you’re right in front of me.”

I stared at Thomas, watching the anxious curve of his spine. His fingers dug into Poppy’s fur in less of a playful gesture. He was scared.

People didn’t call someone to an abandoned park at midnight for flirting.

“Tell me,” I said, kneeling beside him.

“…You said you wanted me?” Thomas confirmed. “Well, it’s ironic, because I want you. I want your long, pretty hair. Your big eyes. Your figure, your grace, your bravery. I want to feel as beautiful as you look. I want to be beautiful.” Thomas blew out a breath. “I can’t kiss you again. Not until I’m honest with you. I’m not…a boy.”

My lips parted before I knew what I wanted to say. I hadn’t anticipated this kind of confession. Time ticked between us. “You’re…a girl?” I finally said. Thomas managed a small, frantic nod. “A girl. Okay.”

“Okay?” Thomas squeaked.

“Yeah,” I breathed. “It’s fine.”

“That’s–” Thomas dropped her shoulders. They were shaking. “I’m glad. It’s horrible of me to say, but I knew I could trust you. Even if you hated me; even if you told the town.”

My own words echoed back at me. “Because no one will believe a Liftgate.”

“And I figured–” Thomas shook her head, a trembling entering her voice. “This is terrible. But I know why you kissed me. Tried to butter me up. Not because you liked me–”

That part was still debatable.

“–but because you wanted to know what I knew. You’ve been sniffing me out? I’ve been looking at you, too.” Thomas laid a hand on Poppy’s head. “You think my father’s committed a crime. Your father actually has. And I think both are connected.”

That got my attention. “How so?” I asked.

“You didn’t come to school today,” Thomas said. It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah,” I muttered. “Got myself grounded.”

“So you haven’t heard about Sophia.”

I stared at Thomas, waiting for her to go on. She rubbed the back of her neck. “She’s… she’s missing. Since Thursday. Her parents thought she was staying with friends, but when she hadn’t come home…” Thomas sighed. “Hana, I need your help.”

“With what?” I asked, barely grasping the news. It was just as we’d feared. The perpetrator had bled through the county lines.

Thomas shook her head. “We shouldn’t talk anymore about this. Not here.”

“Hell of a cliffhanger,” I said, crossing my arms. I considered my options. “You said you trusted me just now?”

“With my biggest secret? Yeah.” Thomas’ eyes grew wet, a laugh escaping her chest. “I must be near insane, but I’m relieved I told you. So yes. I do.”

“Then come with me,” I said, taking Thomas by the hand. “Send Poppy home. And one more thing. If you’re a girl, do you have a better name for me to use?”

Thomas’ eyes lit up in the darkness, face splitting into a wide smile. “Promise you won’t make fun of me?”

“Never,” I said, pulling her to her feet.

“Zuli,” she said. “Call me Zuli.”

“That’s a beautiful name,” I assured her, leading her down the street.

I felt the question buzzing on Zuli’s lips as we stopped outside the darkened storefront. She likely had never been to Antigone before, or even heard of it. Her family had moved counties before it was built. I pressed the doorbell, listening as it rang through to the apartment above. A light switched on, and a darkened face gave us a quick glance from the window. I gave a wave. The figure turned and, not long after, emerged from the stairs to the main floor. I watched through the windows as Ruth approached, wrapped up in a warm robe.

She opened the door, face unmade and wig off. Her painted nails rubbed at some of the stubble on her chin, looking me over. “Good evening, Hana. I trust you’re well?”

“Hello Ruth,” I said, putting on a smile. “That I am.” Zuli glanced between me and Ruth so fast, I thought she might get whiplash. Ruth leaned against the doorjamb, deciding to play with me.

“A bit of late night for you youngsters, huh?”

“I prefer to think of it as getting an early start on the morning.”

“Then I should get some coffee going, like any good host.”

Ruth turned, and I motioned Zuli to follow. We went through the shop, taking the often-locked stairwell into Ruth’s personal living space. I had been here several times, but Zuli gaped at the posters of beautiful women, and the feather boas draped across mirrors. She blushed at the artwork of men embracing and women kissing.

Ruth lit a candle, the room filling with the sweet scent of roses. I might have objected, if not for Zuli’s look of wonder. She had found Ruth’s glamorous vanity, littered with make up, jewelry, and carefully brushed wigs. I led her to the kitchen table with a gentle hand, sitting her down. Her eyes went straight to the picture of Ruth on the wall, done up in gold and silver, surrounded by laughing faces.

“Can I get you anything special?” Ruth asked, drawing Zuli’s attention. The older woman set down a bowl of sugar, and looked straight at Zuli. Realization lit her eyes. “I haven’t even asked your name! What kind of host am I? I’m so sorry little miss, you are…”

Zuli flinched, eyes wide as saucers. She looked over to me, frantic and in disbelief. I just nodded, wondering if I shouldn’t have left this as a surprise. Poor Zuli looked ready to drop.

“Zuli? I–I’m…a girl!” Zuli tried.

“Well, of course you are,” Ruth said, bringing out the pot of coffee. “Hana knows the rules. Only women at my shop. This is a safe space for us.”

I watched for Zuli’s reaction, indulgent. To my horror, she started to cry. She hiccupped and sobbed, burying her face in her hands. Ruth, undeterred, patted Zuli’s shoulder and shushed her tears.

“Now, now, that’s quite alright,” Ruth said.

I fidgeted in my seat, wondering if I shouldn’t have interfered. If I had overstepped my boundaries, again. Then Zuli raised her face and, in spite of the tears, it had the biggest expression of relief on it.

“I’m not alone?” she mumbled, hopeful.

Ruth, in a rare moment, lost her whimsical, lighthearted nature. She gripped Zuli’s arm, demeanor turning serious and grave. “Never,” she promised. “Sometimes we’re hard to find, but your sisters are always somewhere waiting for you.” Zuli cried some more at that, but Ruth returned to her smile. She glanced at her room, then back at Zuli. “Would you like me to doll you up a bit?”

I poured myself a cup of coffee as Zuli practically ran to the vanity chair.

“Now, try not to cry again. It’d be a sin to ruin your make up.” Ruth bit her lip, standing back a bit. “Better yet, let’s not jinx it.” She whipped two sheets out of her closet, draping one over the vanity, then heading to the next room. Zuli got up from her chair and glanced at me, questioning.

I kept my face straight, refusing to give away the truth. Zuli’s handsome features had been morphed into something beautiful. Her eyes, wide and black-lined, blinked long, delicate lashes. Her lips, pink and glossy, twisted and pursed, anxious. I wished I could tell her how much I admired Ruth’s hand. She had pushed Zuli’s hair back from her high forehead, revealing lovely, shadowed temples.

“You’re a tad taller than me, but we should be able to make this work,” Ruth said, re-entering the room. She drew down clothes from the top shelf of the closet, shaking out the dust.

“Everyone is a tad taller than you,” I reminded Ruth.

She shot me a look before handing Zuli a pile of gauzy garments. “No peeking, now. We’ll have you looking like a regular black widow in no time.”

Zuli shifted, hugging the fabric closer with a dreamlike gaze. Eventually she turned where Ruth directed, shutting the bathroom door.

Ruth stood beside me as Zuli went to get changed. “Are you still doing your detective work?” she asked.

“Barely,” I said, sulking. “My parents threw out all my things. They know I’ve been ghost writing to area newspapers. They don’t have the highest opinion of reporters, at the moment. And truthfully, neither do I.”

“Do they know about the Lotus Division?”

I glanced over at Ruth’s wicked smile. “Even Sophia doesn’t know I write for them, and she’s the damn editor-in-chief.”

“You play so coy,” Ruth chuckled, “but you’re more invested than anyone else.” I didn’t say anything to that. Ruth changed the subject. “And how did the search go?”

“We didn’t find anything. I don’t know if that’s good or bad,” I confessed. “But I made it back home by the skin of my teeth.” The doorknob twisted open. “I don’t think my parents would be able to handle the thought of me becoming a detective, either. They want a model wife, for a model husband.”

“Well, I would wish them the best, if they weren’t trying to gain blood from a stone.”

Ruth was in fine form today.

I opened my mouth to reply, and lost my train of thought in an instant. Zuli stepped out in a bold, purple, floral print shirt. The neckline plunged dangerously low, her hips cinched with a silver belt. Tight, shiny, pants ended in a bootcut. Ruth let out a happy sound.

“You went with the most daring! A girl after my own heart. Let’s get some jewelry on you.”

Zuli, still bashful, stepped toward Ruth as she donned bracelets on her wrists. She slipped rings over her fingers, and strung a low-hanging silver chain around her neck. Ruth grinned as she added the final touch: A well-teased, brunette wig. The curly hair went down past Zuli’s shoulders, soft and sprayed with glitter. Zuli turned to me, made of starlight and magic.

“Am I…okay?” she asked, earnest.

I swallowed, unsure what to say. “You are–certainly more than that. Much more.”

A relieved smile broke over Zuli’s face. She looked back to Ruth. “Can I see now?”

Ruth ripped the sheet off of the mirror in a flourish, knocking over a bottle of perfume. “Voila!”

Zuli gasped, then went still. In a slow movement, she raised her hand, then flinched as the girl in the mirror did the same. Her eyes misted then, remembering Ruth’s orders, set her jaw.

“That’s me?” she confirmed.

“Tried and true, 100% you,” Ruth sang, rummaging in a drawer. “And one more thing. Hana, could you grab the pink bottle next to Zuli?”

I moved without wondering why Zuli couldn’t grab it. I wanted to be closer to her.

Ruth turned, and Zuli and I blinked at a sudden flash of light. Ruth smiled as, our attention caught, she unleashed another flash.

“Pictures are important,” Ruth said, the Polaroids slipping out of the camera. “Even when the make up wears off; even when you have to go home…” Ruth held out our pictures, one for each of us. “You can always remember just how beautiful you are. You are you. And someday, things will be okay.”

Zuli choked back a sob, accepting the slowly-materializing image with a shaky hand. “So far,” she said thickly, “today has been the most okay day ever.”

I took my own photo, staring at the women, their faces and bodies gradually coming out of the inky darkness. “Thank you, Ruth,” I said.

“My pleasure,” Ruth nodded. “Now, we can’t have you all done up, and nowhere to go. Hana, your emergency club outfit is still around here?”

“You know it,” I said, as Zuli cried: “What?”

“Then put on your thigh highs, and I’ll put on my cat eyes; let’s boogie!” Ruth crowed.

In a matter of half an hour, Ruth and I were covered in glitz and hairspray. My minidress provided little protection to my bare thighs, but I hadn’t felt so free in ages. I grinned at Zuli, tucked beside me in the backseat as Ruth raced down the highway. Music blasted from the radio, Ruth screaming along, and beating on the steering wheel. My hand crept across the leather seat, lacing my fingers through Zuli’s.

She flushed, looking down at our hands. She asked me a question, but I couldn’t hear it over the music. She raised her voice, overpowering the instrumental.

“You said you’re grounded.”

I rolled my eyes, then brushed my lips against Zuli’s ear, who stiffened. “The jig is up. I’m not a good daughter. I might as well start being myself, if I can’t force myself to be anyone else.”

Zuli stared at me so long that I thought, perhaps, she hadn’t heard me. Then her grip on my hand tightened, and she pressed a kiss to my forehead.

“You’re perfect the way you are. And I still want to be like you,” she assured me.

My chest swelled at the kind words, my throat stopped up by the emotion. It felt strange to be told I was enough. I looked in Zuli’s eyes, near invisible in the darkness, wondering if I could afford to believe it once the dawn hit.

Ruth pulled up a few blocks away from the club. We walked, the night air brisk, into a short line outside a booming building. The bouncer frowned as we approached, numbing the small talk.

“Ruth,” he greeted.

“Samuel,” she replied.

“I know you,” he said, shaking his head, “but I don’t know these kids.”

“You think I would take children to such a salacious venue?” Ruth gasped.

“In a heartbeat,” Samuel said, grave. He squinted at Zuli. “Maybe I believe she’s old enough–” Zuli beamed at the pronoun. He turned his face to me. “–but ah, I’m sure I know you now.” He stuck a finger at me. “She is trouble, accordin’ to the papers.”

“Trouble is the spice of life,” Ruth said, waving her hand in the air.

“Trouble doesn’t sign my paychecks,” Samuel grumbled.

“Well, would you rather I leave her in the car, where any old Boogey Man could grab her?” Ruth shot back. Her glare grew frosty. “If you’ve been reading the papers, you know we’ve got a bad one in these streets. Can you keep that on your conscience? Or is the money good enough for a slick therapist?”

“Call her a cab,” Samuel replied.

I rummaged through the purse I kept in Ruth’s closet, while the two adults argued. A minute later, I stepped forward, taking in Samuel’s face. He wasn’t much older than me, despite his concerns. I stuck out my hand and raised my chin.

“Hana Liftgate,” I said. He stared down at my waiting gesture, a question in his eyes. “You won’t even accept an introduction?” I asked.

“What’s your game?” he replied, wary.

“Take my hand,” I said, “and why don’t I tell you?”

His large hand delicately encased mine, rough and powerful. I clutched his grip, pulling him closer and rising to my toes. I brought my free hand to cup his ear, whispering my message only to him.

“If you let me in now, I’ll be delighted to show you how much of a bad girl I am later.”

I dropped down, pressing my chest against his and squeezing his arm. I looked at him through my eyelashes, smiling, reworking the same tactic I had used on Zuli. I spoke in an exaggerated fashion, drawing his eye to my red-painted lips.

“I could use a strong fellow to fend off a Boogey Man for me. As well as do a couple of…other things.”

I rescinded my grip, passing off a small piece of paper. He glanced down at his own hand, baffled, then nodded. “I–” He cleared his throat, deepening his voice. “I guess I can make an exception, then. You’re less of a shrew than the papers called you.”

“And I’m a lot more than anything anyone can even put into print,” I promised, winking. “See you later, Sammy.”

Pink-faced, he moved to let us through. Zuli clinged to my arm in an instant, as we entered the cool, people-clogged building.

“What did you do?” Zuli asked, voice tinged with worry.

“I gave him the number of public works,” I assured her.

Ruth danced in ahead of us, all glamor and bangles, the brightest star in the galaxy. She conquered her size with platform shoes, her brash personality drawing in the room. Zuli and I watched as she laid claim to the dance floor, twirling under the silver lights like that had been put there for her. The DJ raised a hand, and that was all we saw before the crowd swallowed her up, eager to be in the presence of a space goddess.

Zuli and I danced on the fringes, singing along to the songs we knew. We moved with strangers, bumped bodies with drunk patrons, and laughed at the unfamiliar. Zuli took in all the wild, lavishly dressed people, half of them not unlike herself. For the first time, I caught confidence on her face. She shone with pride, dotted by flashing lights and swells of smoke. She stood up straight, with her shoulders back, in command of herself.

In that moment, she was everything I wanted to be.

After an hour, Zuli excused herself to grab some water from the bar. The tide of the dance floor pushed me closer to the bathrooms, were people lingered for a smoke, or a quiet place to talk. I saw a familiar face, who did a good job of blending in. I turned my gaze, wondering how long he had been following me.

Another man stood out, less done up than his counterparts, and woefully drunk. His female companion turned from him in disinterest, walking towards the heart of the club.

He shrugged off the rejection, the poor bastard, and eyed the rest of the room.

His gaze landed on me and, through the ill-placed wig and fake glasses, I recognized him.

He was on me in what felt like an instant, stinking of cologne and smoke. Whiskey spiced the air between us as he introduced himself. I didn’t listen to the fake name, my nerves singing with fear.

Woole. Governor Woole.

And through the heady excitement of the night, the beginning came rushing back.

“You think my father’s committed a crime.”

“You haven’t heard about Sophia.”

“Hana, I need your help.”

His hands roamed my body, too hot and too fast. Sweet words rolled off his tongue, even as his eyes darkened. He was too strong, pulling me away, back towards the alley exit.

I stumbled forward, face blank. My brain was screaming, but my body wasn’t moving.

Should I stay; should I be safe?

Should I go; should I look for the truth?

How far could I go? How long could I court the monsters, before they wanted me to stay?

Still caught in the tide, I watched as twin fists appeared on either side of the governor’s neck. Pulled between them was a length of silver chain. In a firm tug, the governor went tumbling back, releasing me to grab at the metal. Zuli, her face resolute, cinched the necklace she had been wearing tighter.

“Hands off,” she growled, voice higher than usual. “Get your kicks somewhere else.”

“Let go, you bitch!” the governor spat, face red and sweating.

“Promise you’ll leave my friend alone?”

“Zuli!” I shouted, finding my voice.

The chain slipped from her grasp, freeing her victim. She put her hands on her hips, watching the governor press his hand to his neck and totter away. She glared, not taking her eyes off of him until he left the building.

“Zuli!” I gasped, grabbing her arm. She looked down at me, eyes bright and smile wide. “Are you insane? What if he recognizes you?”

“He’s so drunk, he thinks he just got attacked by three queens instead of one,” Zuli laughed, breathless. The mirth faded from her face as the high wore off. “Come here.” She brought me into the bathrooms, where the lighting made it easier for her to look me over. “Did he hurt you?” she asked, gentle.

I shook my head. “No.”

“Oh Hana, what were you thinking?” she asked, taking my face in her hands. “He’s a dangerous man. I should’ve told you.”

I pressed my hand over hers. “I know what you wanted to tell me,” I said, not breaking eye contact. “And I believe you. Will you let me prove it?”

Zuli searched my face, the pulsing music muffled around us, as a certain silence stretched between the girls in the mirror.

I didn’t tell Ruth what happened. She was on her way to the car, slightly tipsy, when I turned around to talk to Samuel.

“There’s a man who’s going to leave,” I told him, “in a plaid shirt and hat. Will you tell him that I saw him, and he’s on the right track?”

Samuel cocked his head, trying to make sense of the cryptic message. “That’s all?”

I rubbed my arm, lowering my head. “There was also a guy who… I’m sorry, I wanted to come get you, but I was so scared…” I took a big breath, gathering my courage. “He tried to hurt me. Red pants, kind of overweight, thick glasses, and smoking? He was really drunk, and if it wasn’t for my friend…”

“Yeah, I know him. He’s a regular.” Samuel’s eyes were steely. “But never. Again,” he spat, voice gravelly. He laid caring eyes on me. “Are you alright now?”

“Yes,” I said, excusing myself. “Thank you.”

I skipped back to the group, a twinge of regret in my heart. Samuel deserved a good girl.

I hoped he would find her soon.

Ruth dropped me off at my house at near four in the morning. I had changed back into my night clothes on the way over, Zuli respectfully turning her head. We scrubbed and sprayed the club away the best we could, even as Zuli drew her thumb across a cheek full of glitter.

“Don’t suppose they’ll believe their daughter is simply full of stardust?” I joked.

“I would,” Zuli said, shrugging.

“Maybe full of shit,” Ruth offered from the driver’s seat. I kicked the back of it.

“Good night, everyone,” I said, standing outside the vehicle. I bowed with a flourish. “May we meet another time.”

“I’ll see your dramatic ass tomorrow after school,” Ruth said. “Zuli, you’re sleeping over. Get the door?”

Zuli waved goodbye as she pulled the door shut. I watched the pair pull away, then padded across the lawn, to the back door. I opened it with the spare key, stepping into the mudroom with all the presence of a ghost, wondering if I could get an early breakfast.

Not quick enough, I saw my father’s silhouette in the corner.

“Hello, Hana.”

His hand was on my throat before I could react, squeezing with only enough force to silence me. I dropped the act I kept for him, shock coursing through my system as the air drained from my lungs. His face didn’t break expression, voice carrying on in the same tone.

“You’re going to start acting right. You think because of this little spat I’m having with the state, you can go and be a tramp? A start up? That you can go off and undo decades of a good reputation in this town?” His free hand cracked across my cheek, pain bursting across my senses. “You are a little girl, and you have no idea what’s going on. Stop trying to nose your way in.”

“Is this,” I gasped, clawing at his wrist, “how a girl keeps her good reputation?”

He threw me to the floor, my head knocking against the wood. He kicked the section of wall next to me, seething voice filling the closed space. “A girl like you lives off of the reputation of men like me. So wisen up and start serving your greater good, or you’ll never know anything better than this.”

I coughed, propping myself up on my elbow. My hair fell in front of my face, blocking the demon in front of me. “I guess you don’t care about not leaving marks anymore.”

He grabbed me by the scalp, hauling me to my feet. “You think you’re tough?” he screamed, spit flying. He punched my torso; my chest, my gut. I brought my arms up in defense, stomping my foot over his. I swung my knee up, catching him in the groin. He dropped me and I grabbed at his belt loop. I ran through the house, to the only door with a lock on it.

He stopped just outside his study, panting and cursing under his breath. I gripped the keys I’d picked tighter in my palm, the metal threatening to cut. When he realized my deception, he hit the wood with all his weight, making the frame shake.

“You can’t stay in there forever!” he shouted. “I’ll get the damn saw!”

I didn’t say anything to that. Mostly because I hadn’t considered the possibility. I glanced at the window. I wasn’t looking forward to escaping that way twice. Especially not with what felt like bruised ribs.

I laid down while my father ranted, eventually leaving to tear things apart in the house. Vases shattered. Knick knacks broke. The dog barked, while my mother screamed back and forth with her husband. I curled up and tried to ignore them.

I passed out on the carpet, to haphazard dreams of blood and dirt. A circle of girls pressed their foreheads to the forest floor, the mud and mushrooms swallowing their heads. The moon was a disco ball, lighting up a macabre ritual. They tilted themselves up, straight up, feet pointed to the clouds. They became the trees, branches erupting from the skin of their legs and thighs. Their trunks became mold-covered and grown over as the seasons raced by. They rotted and went to ruin, forgotten by the world. But as I laid my ear against the mossy roots, I heard women whispering to each other about the sky.

Then the dream shifted. The evening fell to smoke and fire. Screaming and silver. The sky was blood, and I was covered in it. I saw a face that I knew, decomposing and being replaced by wildflowers. And I watched my mother tend the garden it created as my father loomed, his hands covered in black powder.

Lightning cracked across the sky, startling me awake.

I sat up, the bright color of fall morning in full swing disconcerting. I stood, wobbling over to my father’s desk. I used the grey key to open the locked drawer, pulling out yellowed articles with our name on it. They were dated from a the end of a golden era, shifting from when we were revered, to pitied. Then, reviled.

My brother’s face, now removed from the house, stood out: Eternally youthful; the prime target of tragedy. An angry bulletin about work safety accompanied his obituary. His body had been crushed by rocks, on a midnight shift in the mines. They were never able to recover him for a proper burial. All they had for confirmation of his identity were fading cries for help, and his frantic father, who had called the accident in.

I was at home when it happened. I stayed in the living room while my mother fled, leaving the phone off the cradle, to go hear her son’s voice once more.

The newspaper said that the mines collapsed with such a boom that it echoed, like a gunshot.

The funny thing was, in my nightmares, the gunshot always came first.

You made it to the end!!! Wild ride, huh?

See you next week!

#shadow girls #1970s #mystery #writeblr #i'm starting to consider this prep for nano #sorry about the violence in this one #there's gonna be more #can't put a gun in the room and not use it #whoops was that a spoiler?#( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

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