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horatiocomehome · 3 years

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In Memoriam

There was a child with a gun, and he was a general, and he sat next to a fire with his army camped around him. Across from him sat another boy, just as young — his bodyguard. Just two boys, barely teenagers, and a fire.

"What if I die?" the general whispered into the flames. "What if you die, or another one of my friends, or—" his voice cracked. "People have died! Because of things I've done! And it'll happen again, I know it will! And this upcoming battle… I'm scared. What if it's us?" Between the two of them, the fire crackled. "What if it's us?"

"Oh, please." Across the fire, his bodyguard stood up. "There's no way we're going to die. The others, maybe, but us? I mean," —he flexed his muscles, impressive only among other teenagers his age— "Just look at me! No one's going to get through to you. And you're the best tactician I've ever met, not to mention an amazing shot."

"Yeah…." the general agreed, hand falling automatically to the gun at his side. "No one's escaping this thing."

"Exactly! Besides, we made a deal. I keep you safe, you win us the war." He picked up his warhammer and, with a flourish, pointed it at the general. "Would you really break that promise?"

The general laughed. It was genuine, though his position lent it a bitter edge. "Nope. You'd better bet this thing is going all the way. Anything to beat the emperor, am I right?"

~~~

Ten years and a few days later and far from the camps of war in more than just distance, two ghosts sat on top of a school building and watched the empty road. It was early morning, but no one had arrived yet.

"Man, what's keeping them all?" The ghost named Art asked. "Did we miss a late start announcement or something?"

The other ghost, named Octavius, though he usually went by Tav, shook his head. "Don't you remember what day it is?"

"Oh." Art's gaze grew distant. "Ten years, huh?"

Tav elbowed him with a mischievous grin. "Ten years since you fucked up your job, am I right?"

Art shoved him back. "Hey, we won the war, didn't we? That promise was null and void!"

"Oh, yeah, sure, technicalities."

The two laughed off the old exchange. Though they brought it up regularly when they felt like bickering, neither much liked talking about the times leading up to their deaths. They were past that now, and it wasn't like they could change anything anyways. Better to just hang around the school and make light of the afterlife. Or at least, that was how it usually went. Art, for whatever reason, was feeling restless.

"Hey… do you want to go out exploring? See what the kids are up to nowadays?"

Tav thought about that a moment. "You know what, why not?" He stretched, floating up from his perch. "It's been a while since we've left the school, after all."

~~~

The last time they'd left the school had been a happier time, though the two hadn't yet met each other. It had been a warm fall day, the emperor's tightening reign a distant worry.

"Hey Tav!" His friend Luc called out. "There you are!"

He waved back and ran to catch up. "Hey! You ready for this break?"

"You bet I am! This week won't know what hit it! Speaking of which, I've got something to show you." Tav arched an eyebrow. "Oh really? Is it just another drawing of your girlfriend?"

Luc sputtered. "What? No! This is something you'll actually like! It's an artefact."

"Oooh, I do like me a good artefact," Tav said. "Do you know what it is?"

"I'm not sure actually! I think it might be some kind of weapon?"

"Well, I guess we'll find out!"

And so they left the school, on the way to the weapon Tav would wield in the coming days. They didn't look back then. Later though, somehow elected most fit to lead their ragtag group of rebels, Tav would long for those days before the school was closed. For those days when all he had to care about was playing with his friends.

~~~

Now, as a ghost, Tav hadn't seen his friends in years, just Art. That was fine with him though. Better to have fun than be reminded of what he was missing, right?

Speaking of fun, he and Art were currently having the time of their lives thwarting the efforts of some jerk from the school and his father as they tried putting away groceries. He giggled as Art set out a bottle of milk in the exact spot it had just been put away from, then when the kid turned around and let out a cry of surprise, Tav scooped flour out of a jar and back into the bag the father had just poured it out of.

Finally, the father set down the groceries he was holding and went over to a stairway leading to the upper floor. "Honey, can you come down and help? These groceries are giving us more trouble than we thought."

A muffled voice replied, then a few seconds later a woman — presumably the mother — walked down the stairs. And Tav froze.

"Hang on a minute," Art said, "is that the figurehead of the rebellion, slayer of the emperor—"

"My best friend," Tav choked out. "Luc."

Art said something else, but Tav didn't hear. Luc had changed so much since he'd last seen her. She looked so old — easily late in her twenties now. It showed in her face, but mostly in the way she held herself. It was like there was some weight on her shoulders pushing her down. It wasn't right. They'd won, hadn't they? So why didn't his friend look happy?

Before he could think more on that, another thought pushed it out of his head. If that man was the kid's father, and he'd called Luc 'Honey' — she had a family? She'd grown up, gotten married — though not to her old girlfriend, apparently — and had a kid.

And he'd just been at the school the whole time. Completely unaware as time kept passing by.

"Tav. Tav!" Art poked him hard on the cheek. "I'm going to go on to the next house. I get it if you need a minute, but don't stay too long, okay?"

Tav nodded. As his friend flew off, he floated down a side hallway himself. It felt too strange seeing Luc older to stay in the room with her. The rest of the house, though, was that same off-putting mix of old and new. Luc's old sword, hung between pictures of a wedding and posing with an adoption certificate. An old stone tablet he and Luc had dug up together, displayed next to a plastic trophy.

And then, in the corner of a library-looking room, a table. On it was a picture of Tav and a picture of Art. The two almost looked like they could be the age of Luc's kid. Between them, two identical medals. A memorial.

~~~

A general and his bodyguard lay, hand in bloody hand, sunk down in the mud of the battlefield. The bodyguard pinned to the ground by a spear through his gut, and the general with no energy to go for help.

"Do you think I'll become a ghost? When I die?" The bodyguard rasped.

The general's chest tightened with the certainty of the words. When. Not if. "What do you mean?"

The bodyguard broke into a coughing fit, more blood wrenching itself free of his body. "I just… thought it might be nice. Maybe I could— I could hang out with you some more."

"Yeah. That would be nice." A tear rolled down the general's cheek. His breaths were slower now, as was the beating of his heart. "Maybe I can be a ghost too. And we can leave all of this behind."

#inspired by my general sixgun fics but not neccesarily a canon conclusion to the trilogy #my writing #writers on tumblr #ghost stories #short story #creative writing #from my very own mouth

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adamantiumdragonfly · 4 years

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Part Two

Chicago, Illinois ~ June 6th 1920

The Federal Bureau of Investigation, the organization designed to monitor the borders and the cities of America, was an intimidating group to say the least. To be sure, they commanded a presence but Miriam didn't know how fruitful their investigations were.

Now, it was common knowledge that gangsters and bootleg liquor had taken the country by storm in the midst of their dry sobriety. The FBI should have been handling that. The FBI should have been stopping it.

The war had left many hearts thirsting for a numbing drink and there was always a demand. Though the city was dry, she could almost smell the liquor that oozed from the cracks and shadows of the alleys.

[But Miriam wasn't sure if she was imagining things. She wasn't really sure of anything. Like how she had managed to find her way in the busy Chicago streets to the FBI offices or why she was here at all.

London wasn't her home anymore, that much had been made clear. Neither was the wasteland of mass graves and trenches that had once been Europe. Miriam gripped the letter tighter in her palm, the ink smudging against her sweating palm, the only sign she was nervous.

There had been one person she had known in the war who still spoke to her or had life in their chest. Lawrence White. First hand witness to her path of blood and destruction and now special agent in Chicago. He had sent her a letter, promising a job, a purpose and orders to follow.

"You don't look like a spy,"

Miriam could have stayed in Britain. She could have carved out a new life for herself, built a new family, like the thousands of others who had managed to crawl their way out of the trenches. But that meant being alone. Alone with the ghost of that little girl, little Melinoe, who would have been alive, if Miriam hadn't failed.

Miriam needed an occupation, a purpose. She needed orders to follow. So she had replied to the letter, bought a ticket on the next boat and left.

God, this was a mistake.

The offices were neat but busy. She wasn't sure if anyone had been alerted of her arrival. If Lawson, (as they had nicknamed him), had told the rest of the offices that a British-German would be walking across their doorstep and taking up residence beside them in a desk. That would have been jarring enough. Miriam wasn't sure that if anyone knew of her arrival, they would be aware that she was a woman.

That would have been two strikes against her.

As it turned out, neither seemed to be the problem. There were three other women in the office and a man who's accent betrayed him as Russian. Being a woman and being a foreigner wasn't the problem. It was her age.

"I've had to explain to Washington that your age will not affect your work." Lawson said, after settling Miriam in his office, the stares of the agents nearly burning through the window.

His first words after seeing her in Belgium rang in her ears. "You look different."

"Why should it?" Miriam said. It hadn't to the British government. They had sent her to Cairo, alone, when she was seventeen. Thanks to Ezriel, that is.

"I know of your work and of your ability. These men," Lawson waved a hand at the glass windows that offered a view of the office. Agents were still watching. "They know nothing. You are young, Goldschmidt. That makes you seem inexperienced."

They both knew that wasn't the case. She had fought harder than most, killed more than anyone she had worked with. Enyo wasn't gone, like the rest of the war. She was still present, pushing anything prior to her creation into ghostly memoriam.

"I will endeavor to prove myself to these high standards." Miriam said. She smoothed her new suit, a more stylish cut than she was accustomed to but in a familiar glossy black. like a crow's wing. It was an alteration to her usual ensemble but provided the much needed encompassment. Her accent was more obvious now, here in this country. She had sounded to German in Britain but too British here. Perhaps she would have to alter that part of herself too. "Anything else I need to know before you turn me to the wolves?"

It had been like this during the war. Lawson gave orders and Miriam followed them. The only difference, they were now in America and Miriam wasn't Enyo. She was a field agent and now, she would be released into an unknown country.

"You aren't being thrown to the wolves," Lawson shook his head as he stood, gesturing for Miriam to do the same. They exited the office, the agents who had been spectating hurriedly returning to their work. He led her, shoes tapping against the marble floor to a desk where a woman sat, sorting through papers.

Office work. She would be doing office work. Lawson had seen her fight and seen her losses and would only give her office work. Miriam's hands balled up into fists, her short nails digging like daggers into her skin.

"Agent Davidson," The woman looked up at the sound of Lawson's voice. She was older than Miriam, much older. Her hair was graying and her lined face. She looked around Sarah's age. Miriam's fists tightened. "This is Miriam Goldschmidt, our new special agent. She'll be working with you."

"Goldschmidt?" Davidson's eyes sparked angrily. Like Ezriel's. Like Sarah's. She wasn't angry because Miriam had failed them. Her fury stemmed from something Miriam couldn't control: her name. "You German?"

"I'm British." Miriam said. Leipzig was a long time ago. London, though she had run away, was the last time she had been free of ghosts. London was her home.

The fire died in Davidson's eyes and she extended a hand. The British and the Americans had fought together. This could be their olive branch, it seemed. "Alaska Davidson."

"A pleasure," Miriam said. "I admit, I was surprised to see another woman."

Alaska nodded. "There are only a few of us and they seem to want us spread out. You and I will be alone in the sea of men." She glanced at Lawson, who had been silent as introductions and allegiances were made. He looked pleased that they were getting along. "Alright, Lawson, you can leave us alone. We won't kill each other."

"Tell me," Miriam said, as he retreated back to his office with only a wink and a smile to say goodbye. "Were you born there?"

"Born where?" Davidson's already lined face wrinkled in confusion.

"Alaska?"

"Oh no." Alaska shook her head, though her face relaxed. "I am from Ohio."

"Are all American women named after states?" Miriam asked. "Should I change my name? To fit in?"

"Lawson failed to mention you were such a wisecrack," Alaska said. She didn't seem upset or annoyed. It was an observation, maybe even a playful joke. Miriam's lips twitched. "You are getting the desk beside me. So I can keep an eye on you." She gestured to the empty table, free of the clutter that was the pattern on every other agent's desk. "You brought anything for your desk?"

Miriam looked down at her empty hands, trying to ignore the weight of the little book against her chest, and shook her head.

"Don't worry, it'll be full soon enough."

"What kind of work will we be doing, Agent Davidson?" Miriam asked. She could feel a gun's smooth metal beneath her palm and the weight of a knife in her grip. Miriam wasn't opposed to a little blood staining her hands. Enyo craved it. She had been sober, like the rest of America, for quite some timee, though her tonic had been a tad more violent.

She needed something she could fight. Something she could put to death. Especially now when Miriam's mind was full of undead memories. Ghostly little girls. Blood that had long since dried, sticking to her fingers.

"Do you know much about the eighteenth amendment?" Alaska asked.

She knew enough. Alcohol was prohibited, not to be sold or served.

"It is the devil's drink, is it not?" She said, something inside her smiling at the look on Alaska's face. Surprise and calculation. Miriam liked being a mystery. While they were trying to figure her out, she had time to fire the defenses.

"You aren't a girl of morals, are you?"

Blood staining her hands. Enyo, laughing.

It was safe for Miriam to say, "No, no one could ever say that."

"So, lying is acceptable?"

" I enjoy it."

Alaska laughed, mistaking her words as another witty crack but there was no shift in Miriam's expression. She hadn't been joking.

"You'll do fine," Alaska decided, though the curiousity didn't leave her gaze. While Miriam sat at her desk and removed her hat, she could feel the watchful eyes on her, trying to solve the puzzle of Miriam Goldschmidt. She wished Agent Davidson would solve it for her. She hadn't yet.

Taglist:

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Historical Notes:

he FBI wasn't actually known as the Federal Bureau of Investigation until the 1930s. It was known simply as the Bureau of Investigation, going through several adjustments until 1935, the name was settled as we know it today: FBI.

Now, there are a few reasons why I chose to keep the name FBI in this story, however inaccurate. One being familiarity. When I say, FBI, you know exactly what I am talking about. Secondly, comprehension. It is easy to understand what being an FBI agent involves, whether it is 2020 or the 1920s.

So, FBI it remains in the world of Lady Blood.

(also, the acronym BOI has been ruined by meme culture and I couldn't take myself seriously while writing it.)

There were three female agents in the Bureau of Investigation in the 1920s, though their time was short-lived. Alaska P. Davidson, (1922 to 1924), Miss Lenore Houston (1924 to 1928), and Mrs. Jessie B. Duckstein (1923 to 1924).

I chose Alaska Davidson for no particular reason, other than to crack a few jokes about her name and I liked the dynamic and power play that her and Miriam had. That's all.

#lady blood #lady blood updates #miriam goldschmidt carroll #agent enyo

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