Writing Challenge: 150 stories. Go.

[Ethan White]

22. Strike

The punch came out of nowhere.

One moment Ethan was on his way to his car, casually carrying a couple of grocery bags (the pantry in their frathouse was almost empty again, no thanks to Jack) and idly whistling to Rihanna’s Hate that I Love You (don’t judge; Graham has been playing it nonstop for the past two days), and the next he’s lying on the cold pavement, coughing blood as the bags flew all over the place. Instinctively his hands went to his jaw to soothe the pain (nothing’s broken at the moment, or so he thinks) as his eyes sought to seek his attacker out. He was only given a split-second to ID his attacker before he felt the man’s feet connect to his ribs, effectively rolling him towards an isolated alleyway, out of the view for the majority of the people going out of the mall.

“What the fuck Lukas,” he grumbled, trying his best to look menacing as he struggled to stand up, using the walls as a support, “Whatever did I do to you?”

“Fag.”

That caught the twenty-year old off guard. While he hasn’t really denied the fluidity of his sexual preferences to anyone, him being sort of a jock (back in high school and even in university) meant that such names weren’t really said to his face on purpose. He was generally well liked – or at least he believed he was – and thus bullying from his peers has never been a problem. And besides, don’t they live in Pilot Ridge, the safe haven for the unwanted?

Homophobia aside though, what bothers the twenty year-old the most was that for the most part, he hasn’t really interacted with the boy as far as he’s concerned. Not directly, at least. He’s met him once or twice, probably introduced some of the friends he’s made in Hammel, but other than an odd ‘hi’ or ‘hello’ along the halls. He didn’t remember seeing him in any of the parties he’s been drunk in, so there’s no way he could’ve hit on the puppeteer (he isn’t even his type, Ethan argues). So really, everything has been, well, boggling, to say the least.

“What is wrong with you? I don’t-” Ethan didn’t even get the chance to finish as Lukas’ fist went in between his ribs, cutting him off and making him scoff out blood for possibly the nth time already.

Normally the boy would still insist on knowing why, but Lukas was rather keen on keeping him mum, the barrage of punches and kicks he’s unleashing allowing only groans of pain and agony to escape from the older boy’s mouth. Ethan did try to fight back, or at least shield himself, but the younger teen’s (from what he can recall) was somewhat of a trained fighter, so evidently his effort was deemed rather futile.

Lucky for Ethan though, despite looking like a man of a few words, Lukas, like most characters on TV or in the movies, tend to blab about the why midway through the beat-up.

“You faggot,” said the boy in between punches, “breaking Andi’s heart like that.” Another kick again. “You cheated on her, with a guy?” If he wasn’t being pummelled to death right now, he would’ve found the sudden rise in the boy’s voice – the sheer disbelief in his tone – would’ve made Ethan laugh so hard. “She chose you over me, and what do you do? You fucker.” The things jealousy could make people do. The anger in his voice was just overwhelming. “Where’s your little boyfriend now you fag? Can’t call him for help, can you?” Oh how Ethan would’ve wanted to say something like, Well actually I can’t call him for anything right now, just to tell him how messed up his situation is really. “You cheated with the wrong girl White.” You don’t say?

The rambling, along with the punches and the kicks, continued on for a few minutes. Unfortunately for Lukas, after that part about messing with the wrong girl, Ethan got virtually nothing. The pain was just too much to bear anyway, with Ethan barely hanging on. Just a few more strikes and he’s fairly sure he’d meet his Maker soon. (He knows he should’ve gone to church with his parents last week).

But surprisingly, such hits didn’t come.

For some reason Lukas just stopped, appeared to look surprised, then bolted out as fast as he came. Suddenly three figures came to be, with one of them almost diving to cradle Ethan in his arms, frantically shaking his aching shoulders, asking him to respond.

“Hey Brax,” he said with a grin before closing his eyes and tucking his head on the boy’s chest.

-xxx-

When Ethan woke up the next, he wasn’t in some cloudy, wispy room nor was he in what he imagined to be a fiery pit. Instead, he was in an undecorated room, dressed in a simple hospital garb and a couple of tubes connected to his wrist. His mom over to his right, sleeping with her head tucked on her arms, while Chris was on the bench adjacent to his own hospital bed. He lifted his arm and gently brushed his mother’s hair, accidentally rousing her from her sleep. “Oh Ethan!” she said, tears welling down her cheeks as she wrapped her arms around her son, careful not to mess up the various slings he had around him.

His mother was still clearly shaken despite him waking up, so Chris had to fill him in the details while their mom went out to tell his dad and Brea the good news. It was apparently Braxton, Jack and Edward who found him lying bloodied near the side of the mall. They were the ones who drove him to the hospital, Edward making sure all possible first aid treatments were done along the way. Jack had the foresight to call Ethan’s parents beforehand, and by the time they arrived at Maddock, a team of ‘special’ doctors were already around to take care of him. Chris said only Edward was around when they – his dad, mom, him and Brea – arrived an hour and a half later, not really knowing why the other two left in what seems to be a hurry.

“The doctors say you’re actually good to go later today,” Chris shrugged as he sat on the bed, “But Mom said you’d be staying for a few more days, just so you’d recover ‘normally’. Think you can get someone to beat me up too? I have this History test coming in a few days and I still don’t know the difference between the French and American Revolutions, barring their languages of course.” It occurred to Ethan that no mention of his attacker was brought up; Chris said the three claimed that they couldn’t identify who it was so they’re actually waiting for him to wake up.

Oddly enough, Ethan didn’t feel like telling them it was Lukas. So he simply went with ‘It was a random mugger. Didn’t get to my wallet though’.

-xxx-

Being hospital bound wasn’t as fun as Chris thought it’d be. With his mother and Chris leaving for their respective classes, Ethan’s only companions were the nurses who occasionally checked on him and the TV he had on his room. But the nurses were far too busy to stay in and chat for more than three minutes, and nothing in TV’s catching his attention, so by midday he simply turned it off and slept.

He was awoken a few hours later by a rowdy bunch of men, howling and laughing as they gathered around his bed. “Flowers? Seriously guys, I’m not dead yet,” grinned Ethan, shaking his head as he placed it, along with the fruit basket, on the side table beside him. Jack gave him a tight squeeze, which made him groan and his other buddies roar in glee. After a few minutes of idle chitchat, they slowly excused themselves, citing anything from homework to ‘that blonde nurse telling him she’d happily give him a full-body check-up’.

“Hey Jack, where’s Brax?” he asked before the boy left. Not that he’s particularly hopeful that the boy would appear. After all they weren’t in speaking terms yet and heaven knows the panic he saw on the boy’s face before he blacked out could’ve just been his delusions.

“The usual, being his pussy self,” shrugged Jack, flashing Ethan his trademark know-it-all grin. Jack then told him about how Brax was just so worried sick in the car, how he kept on yelling at him to drive faster, to Edward to stop the bleeding and wake Ethan up. How he couldn’t sit still while he was in the operating room. How he muttered on and on about killing ‘that bastard Lukas’. “He was like a worried, angry boyfriend. No scratch that, a worried, angry husband.” Which made both of them laugh.

When Ethan asked why they left early, Jack said he had to. He didn’t want to, but Braxton was just too dangerous to be left alone. Braxton suddenly vanished half an hour into the operation, running off god knows where and not answering his phone. It took about an hour for them to locate him in an apartment along the outskirts of town (thank god James was a tracker). They arrived just in time, as it seems, else Lukas would’ve ended in a worse situation than Ethan ever was in.

“He did what?!”

“Yep. And don’t you worry, he barely had a scratch on him. Just a black-eye, that’s all. I’m pretty sure you’d still find it sexy.”

-xxx-

Ethan spent the rest of the day wondering why Braxton would go after Lukas. Sure they were ‘brothers’, but didn’t the younger boy made it clear that he wants nothing to do with him anymore? Didn’t he call him a liar, among other names, and told him to fuck off?

“Hey.” Ethan’s musings were cut off when suddenly the Carson boy appeared on the door of his room. “Can I come in?”

Ethan simply nodded and the boy awkwardly sat on the bench near the far corner of the room. “So, umm, ah, Jack said you’d be out in a day?”

“I could’ve been out today actually, but my mom said I needed to rest.”

“That’s good. How’s your arm doing?”

“Good. Meta-healers are amazing. They’re just putting it in a sling for support.”

“Haha. Nice. Umm, wh-“

“Why’d you go after Lukas? Didn’t you know it was dangerous? You could’ve gotten hurt!” Ethan interrupted, ‘mom-face’ on, tired of their awkward exchange.

“Pfft. Him? He didn’t stand a chance,” scoffed Braxton, standing up, cocky smirk on his face as he carefully walked around the room, hands in his pockets.

“Why then? Why?”

Braxton stayed silent for a few minutes, before he went towards Ethan and sat on his bed. “You,” said the boy simply as he held Ethan’s hand, effectively stunning the older boy and making him blush. And to make the boy even more confused as ever, Braxton suddenly swooped in for a kiss, a quick and surprisingly chaste one at that, before tucking the older boy’s head on his shoulders. “Don’t let anyone fuck you up ever again, you hear me?”

(This was originally for 37. Injury but I forgot to reserve it and thus, haha. It still fits right? Also, apologies to Herl, Panda and Mandi – albeit slightly – for the butchering of their babies)

[Sam Caraway]

59. Million

The bottle touches the table with a clack. Malcolm lifts his head when he realises that someone is standing next to him, waiting to take the other seat. He sees the expensive suit first, grey and perfectly tailored, then looks up to meet a pair of very blue eyes: it’s the man from the poker game. He’s placed a bottle of whiskey down between them, and now he produces two shot glasses. One eyebrow is raised in an unspoken question, and Malcolm gives him a wary nod.

The man sits, fills the two glasses, and pushes one over to Malcolm. In an easy, practised motion, he knocks his back in one. Eyes narrowed, Malcolm sips at his own.

He hasn’t been in Vegas for long; but in his experience, it isn’t a positive thing to be sought out by someone you were just playing against. He watches the other man carefully, waiting for some clue as to what he’s here for. Surprisingly, his new drinking buddy doesn’t look at all angered by the amount of money they both lost half an hour ago.

‘So.’ The man is the first to break the silence. He sits back in the chair, regarding Malcolm with curiosity. ‘How’d you do it?’

Malcolm frowns. ‘What?’

‘The switch.’

‘I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘It was the wrong card,’ his companion says in a Southern drawl, tone almost conversational, and Malcolm feels his stomach turn to ice. He opens his mouth to protest but the man cuts him off. ‘The dealer put a card down, but it wasn’t the card he had picked up.’ His voice is soft, and though he sounds casual, there’s an intensity there too.

He’s not going to reply to that, not just yet, so he tries another tack: ‘What’s your name?’

‘Chance.’ Malcolm can’t resist raising an eyebrow, and the man smirks, giving a graceful shrug. ‘I don’t like Charles. I go by Chance most of the time.’

‘Chance?’

The man smiles, takes a sip of his liquor. ‘Up in the north, they like a bit of working-class edge to their names – Mason, Tanner, Taylor…’ he shrugs again. ‘In the south, we like things to be a bit more frivolous.’ He holds out his hand. ‘Chance Grey.’ A little reluctantly, Malcolm shakes his hand and offers his own name – although the nod Chance gives him implies that he had remembered it from the passing mention before the poker game began. There’s a light in those blue eyes, a spark of fun. ‘You haven’t answered my question,’ he reminds Malcolm, tone faintly reproving. ‘What happened to the card?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Malcolm’s impressed at how steady his voice is when he says it, but Chance’s smile just widens.

‘Uh-huh.’ He pours himself another shot, and tops up Malcolm’s glass.

There’s a long pause. Chance seems totally unperturbed by the silence, but it grates on Malcolm’s nerves. ‘Do you work for them?’

‘For who?’

‘The casino.’

Chance smirks. ‘No. I work for myself.’ Malcolm can see it in his eyes – this man is playing at the same game he is: both of them cheat to win. Tilting his head on one side, Chance gives him a thoughtful look. ‘You’re good, you know, but you need to work on your timing.’ The comment takes Malcolm so off-guard that he doesn’t have the wherewithal to ask what Chance is talking about. ‘You get nervous – you do it too early. You need to hold on, wait for the last possible second.’

Malcolm’s mouth is dry. ‘I don’t – ’

‘- Know what I’m talking about, I know.’ The smile is smug now, catlike and charming. ‘Nobody would have seen it unless they were watching every move the dealer made – but that just happens to be my speciality.’ Malcolm can well believe it. ‘I don’t know what it is you actually do, but it works. You just need to trust yourself more.’

‘Why are you here?’ He can feel a rising sense of panic in his chest, knows that this strange man could be very, very dangerous. But he feels like a rabbit trapped in the headlights – he can’t leave his seat before he knows what Chance wants from him.

‘I stopped you from winning the game,’ Chance says.

Malcolm stares at him.

The smile has gone now. ‘That was a stupid move,’ he says, and all trace of humour has vanished from his warm voice. ‘Do you know who the guy in the black suit was? No, of course you don’t.’ There’s scorn in his eyes. ‘You can’t just walk in and make mistakes like that, Sergeant. If anyone in the room could kill you, you don’t try and rig the cards.’

Suddenly, it’s difficult to breathe. ‘You said nobody would have noticed.’

‘Did you see the way he looked at you?’ Malcolm shook his head dumbly. ‘He knew something was going on. You got this look on your face.’

Malcolm swallows hard. ‘Why did you – stop me?’ he asks, risking another glance over at the man opposite him.

The expression on Chance’s face is inscrutable. ‘I’ve seen people piss off that guy before,’ he replies. ‘You’ve got a nice smile. I wouldn’t want to see it on the pavement.’

He can’t quite work out what Chance is saying. ‘So – what did you do?’

‘Nothing you need to know about.’ The smirk is back, but his eyes are hard: don’t ask any more questions, boy. ‘Be more careful, next time.’

He starts getting up to leave – Malcolm reaches up, catches him by the wrist. ‘Wait.’ Chance seats himself once more, and it takes Malcolm a moment to realise that he’s still holding on to him. He lets go, suddenly unsettled. ‘Why are you telling me this?’ he asks after a second, and Chance grins.

‘I overestimated you.’ Chance shrugs. ‘I was going to ask if you’d ever considered working with a partner.’

‘Why?’

‘It’s easier with two people, Sergeant.’

Malcolm frowns. ‘Why are you calling me that?’

‘Ex-military, right?’ Chance only smirks when Malcolm gapes at him. ‘It’s all in the way you carry yourself.’

Nodding slowly, Malcolm looks back down at his drink. ‘Am I that easy to read?’

‘Only by me.’ There’s laughter in Chance’s voice, and Malcolm glances up to give him a quick smile.

‘Look – uh – were you serious about that ‘partner’ thing?’

Chance raises an eyebrow, looks at him with fresh interest. ‘You want to work with me?’

‘Yeah.’ Malcolm swallows again, knows how nervous he sounds. ‘I – I could really use the money…’

There’s a long moment of silence – Chance looks him over, and meets his gaze again with a slight smirk on his face. ‘You do what I say, and you don’t do anything I tell you not to do. The money is a fifty/fifty split.’

There’s only a moment of hesitation before he agrees: ‘Okay.’

Chance gives him a bright, bright smile – his eyes light up, and he offers his hand to Malcolm.

This time, when Malcolm takes it, he smiles back.

[Elaine Tonaya]

71. Altar

May 2013

“Is my hair all right?” Elaine asked, looking in the mirror one last time and frowning nervously.

“It’s fine, Mama.” Morgan came over and gave her a hug around the shoulders, then kissed her cheek. “You look beautiful, just like you always do.”

She patted his cheek. “That’s nice, but you know it’s not really going to be enough to look just like always today. I still want today to be special.”

He frowned. “Even though you’re not getting married in a church?” And then he pulled out the puppy eyes, as though using them today would be more effective than they had been since the marriage was announced six months ago and would cause her to postpone the wedding until they could find a church.

“Morgan, we talked about this. I’m happy, and you don’t really want me having to get a big wedding. This way it can just be us. Family.” She smiled at him again, brushed down her dress one last time, and headed to the door. “Come along, handsome. You have to walk me over to the justice of the peace.”

He came up and took her arm and together they processed to the car. Upon arriving at the courthouse Morgan dashed around to the passenger side, opened the door, and handed her out so they could process inside. If he couldn’t walk her down the aisle, he was at least going to give her a nice wedding walk to the ceremony.

“Step and hold, step and hold,” he murmured under his breath as they walked up the sidewalk. Elaine decided to humor him. After all, he’d even managed to get the wedding march music playing as they went, so it really wasn’t so very awkward.

Inside they saw Cobalt pacing. The lawyer looked up. “What took so long?” he asked, marching over. He was frowning to begin, but when he saw Elaine glowing he couldn’t continue being upset.

“My lovely young prince here decided we should have a nice wedding procession up to the courthouse. And we are really not very late. Only about five minutes.” She hooked her free arm, which was holding a small bouquet of daisies, through Cobalt’s arm. The three members of the bridal party then marched into the office together.

Charlie was wearing a rented suit. Elaine knew that the only suit jacket he owned was a hideous gray-green wool thing that she was slowly persuading him to either donate to charity or burn. She was glad to see that today he had decided to dress up just for her.

He smiled as the bridal procession marched in together. Coming over to Elaine, he tried to take her hand, but neither Cobalt or Morgan were ready to let go quite yet. Instead Charlie just grinned like an idiot and said, “You look gorgeous.”

“So do you,” Elaine said with a smile. “Like a prince.”

“Prince of the penguins, maybe.” He plucked at his tie and frowned for a moment, then straightened up again. Turning to Morgan, then to Cobalt, he bowed and said, “May I please cut in?”

Rolling his eyes at all the sap, Cobalt let go and patted Elaine on her shoulder. He moved into a corner of the room and made himself a shadow umbrella to shield himself from the cuddles. Morgan glared for just a moment more at Charlie, then sighed and turned to his mother.

“And you’re ready for this?” he asked earnestly.

“Absolutely, Firefly. Thanks for taking care of me.” A tear squeezed out of one eye as she turned from Morgan and raised her hand to Charlie, who accepted it with a huge smile.

After the short ceremony and signing of the marriage license, the entire party went to Elaine’s house for the reception. Some of Charlie’s family was there, as well as a few of Elaine’s closer friends who had been invited for the after-party. The new couple went around accepting everyone’s thanks and asking how the food was and if everyone was comfortable. The party lasted for three hours and was full of cake, champagne, kisses, hugs, giant plush teddy bears, and plenty of good wishes.

For most of the evening Cobalt found a lawn chair in the corner of the garden and sat glowering at anyone who came by. It wasn’t that he really disapproved of the marriage anymore—Charlie wasn’t that bad a guy, and at least Elaine was happy—but he couldn’t stand all the affection that was going around.

“Weddings,” he decided after his third (reluctant) glass of champagne, “are for pansies.” And that for some reason struck him as funny, and he fell asleep laughing.

[Ethan White]

95. Nomination
(Thanks to Herl for letting me borrow his idea for this particular prompt. ;D)

“Hey B, your girlfriend around?” asked Jack as he went down the stairs, pen and clipboard in hand, “She still hasn’t signed Mr. Burns’ nomination man.”

The younger boy merely groaned, rolling his eyes and huffing. “How am I supposed to know? Haven’t you learned how to use those things they call ‘cellphones’ yet Grandpa?” answered Braxton without even turning to the blonde.

“Wait what now?” interrupted an extremely surprised Edward, eyes wide and rapidly blinking as if he’s just seen a ghost, “Can you say that again Jack? Braxton? A girlfriend?”

“Now that you’ve mentioned it, she’s more of a wife than a girlfriend actually, ain’t she B?” Braxton simply replied by flipping the bird from behind the couch and increasing the volume of the TV screen by about five bars. “I mean, she wakes B up on time for his classes, nags him to do his work and actually read ahead, cooks his meals and makes sure that B has clean underwear for every day of the week. I hear she even warms up B’s bed every night ‘cause the brat’s picky like that,” explained Jack with a hearty laugh as he gave the obviously annoyed younger boy a rough hair rustle.

“Bloody…who is she? How come this is the first time I’ve heard about her?” asked the bewildered Brit, “I mean seriously, who could’ve ever thought that K-Sig’s resident whore can be monogamous?”

“Who said anything about being monogamous?” Braxton shot the two a glare before turning back to his TV show and amping the volume up a few more bars. “You see, B here has her so into him that he can practically sleep with every girl on the planet and she won’t care as long as he comes back home to her.”

Telling himself that, well, enough is enough, the younger boy finally stood up, gave Jack a punch on the arm and stormed out of the living room and into their individual quarters. “I’ll just catch this in my room, thank you very much.”

“Oh come on Brax, what’s so wrong about me learning about your dirty little secret?” taunted Edward, snickering with Jack as the boy went out of their view.

“What dirty little secret?” asked Ethan as he entered the house, giving the two a look that says he knows they’re up to something. He didn’t get the chance to ask the two what it is though, as Jack jumped up from the couch almost immediately and handed his clipboard to him. “Speak of the devil,” said the blonde, “You still haven’t signed Mr. Burns’ nomination man.”

“Nomination for what exactly?”

“Professor of the Year award or some award the Faculty of Science gives to supposedly exceptional professors. Don’t ask me why, Jones told me the guy’s a K-Sig so we should just support him,” answered Jack as he casually grabbed the coffee cup from the younger boy’s hand and took a sip. “Blergh. Too bitter. Needs more sugar. And a hint of nutmeg wouldn’t hurt.”

“He’s a brother? Dude, he gave me a B-minus for Earth and Ocean Sciences last term,” teased Ethan as he briefly read through the other signatures and wrote his name on one of the blanks. “Here princess, have fun.” Jack looked at Ethan’s signature a few times, as if checking to see if it’s real or not, then gave the boy a bonk on the head as he went out. “I’m going out to the street to charm more signatures. Thanks guys, really appreciate it.”

“Ethan….White…” muttered Edward as soon as the door slammed shut, giving the brunette a look of shock, awe and complete amusement.

“You ok Ed? Did I do anything wrong?”

“You! And Braxton!” answered Edward, almost shouting.

“Huh?”

“My god why haven’t you’ve told me before!” He pulled Ethan into a hug and gave him several taps on the back. “You’re getting that ass?” He said as he pointed up the stairs. “That cute, tight, upwards-facing ass that performs a freaking rain dance every time he walks. I thought we’re buddies man.”

Ethan pulled away for a bit, incredibly lost (and just a tad bit scared). “Say what now?”

“You and Braxton. You’re like, boyfriends now right?” Edward said with a wink.

Not really knowing what the right answer is to the boy’s question (or was it a statement?), he simply blushed and gulped. Loudly. “How’d-“

“Jack said you were his ‘girlfriend’,” assured Ed, complete with air-quotes.

At the mention of ‘Jack’ (and the usage of air-quotes on the ‘girlfriend’ part) calmed the brunette down. “Ahh that,” he chuckled, shaking his head slightly and giving the man a sad smile, “You haven’t heard of that one before?”

He gave the older man one last wave before climbing up the stairs and going to his room.

“Brought me my muffin?” asked Braxton, lying on the bed on his stomach carelessly, eyes fixed firmly on the TV set in front of him.

“They ran out of banana muffins, sorry.” Ethan closed the door behind him and sat beside Braxton, handing him a small paper bag. “I bought you a couple of bagels. It’s not the same, but it’s either that or those cranberry scones you hate so much.” Braxton reluctantly opened the bag and gave a disgusted look to its contents, but still grabbed a bagel and began chomping down on it a few seconds later.

“So I was asked a very curious question earlier…” Ethan trailed off as he straightened himself, clearing his throat and taking a few deep breaths. He was expectingwishing Brax would ask him what, but since the boy seems a little too into his bagel, well, he just decided to continue. “Edward wanted to know if we’re boyfriends. Like, real actual boyfriends.”

“Ha!” exclaimed the younger boy with a fake laugh, “Seriously? That’s crazy.”

“Oh, right.” If Braxton took his eyes off the boob tube for a few seconds and bothered to look behind at Ethan, he would’ve seen the slight disappointment creeping on the boy’s face. “…Crazy.”

Ethan sat silent for a while, dejectedly looking at the patterns on Braxton’s bed sheets. “Oh, umm, Brax? You know what day it is today?”

“Is that even a question?” For the first time in their conversation the boy finally turned around and faced Ethan, happily smiling from ear to ear. “I’ve been waiting for this day for far too long.”

“Really?” Ethan’s face brightened for a bit, hands curling into fists as he leaned in closer to Braxton just slightly.

“Of course.” The boy gave Ethan one last smile then turned back to the TV. “Today’s the rerun of the last episode of Girls Next Door with unseen moments.” Upon hearing that, Ethan’s smile went away as quickly as it appeared. “I don’t know how I’ll be able to survive without it after this,” added the Carson boy, lazily throwing the empty bagel bag towards Ethan.

In times like these, Ethan would normally just tell himself that, well, it’s not that big of an issue so he’d just have to let it go. Not worth making a fuss over, especially since this is Braxton he’s talking to. But for some reason, his brief exchange with Jack and Edward just a little while earlier did something to him.

“I…” he said, hesitation evident in his voice. He had to clear his throat up a few more times before he could’ve continued, “Today marks the sixth month since you’ve rescued me from Lukas. Or at least almost beat that guy to death for me.” He looked at his fingers for a bit, idly fiddling with them, before turning to Braxton and waiting for a reaction. He found himself facing the younger boy straight in the eye but without even a trace of worry or confusion in his eyes.

“Oh really?” Braxton just stared at him for a few seconds, face devoid of emotion, then shrugged and turned back to his TV, “Ok then.”

“I was going to say it’s our sixth monthsary,” Ethan continued, feeling a bit betrayed that Brax seemed so cold about it, “But that would imply we’re together, and that is, as you say, ‘crazy’.”

Not really knowing what to say, Braxton simply grinned and shrugged. “Sure.”

“Why?” Apparently the older brunette’s tirade wasn’t over just yet, and not satisfied with sharing Braxton’s attention with the TV, he went over the screen and turned it off, standing in front of it with his arms crossed. “We did stop hooking up with other girls six months ago, so it’s pretty much monogamous, isn’t it?”

“Not true,” grumbled Braxton after trying to turn the TV back on to no avail, “I hooked up with this Jenny girl just yesterday.”

“Oh please,” answered Ethan, rolling his eyes, “I know how you look like after having sex, not to mention I had a front row seat after this supposed hookup. Guess what, you look perfectly well rested.”

“Fine,” admitted the Carson boy, “It was only a blowjob; I may have exaggerated it.”

Ethan merely gave him an unamused look.

“Sheesh. Must you be so critical. Yeah she tried to, but she sucked at it.”

“Wasn’t as good as me, wasn’t she?” asked Ethan with a smirk.

“Way worse.”

“See?” the older boy said nervously, “We’re pretty much monogamous, so…”

“So?”

“I mean like.” In an effort to hide his growing anxiety about the whole situation (it felt awkward yet just right all at the same time), Ethan’s smile grew wider and wider. “I’ve been meaning to ask. If we’re not ‘boyfriends’ ‘cause that’s ‘crazy’, then what are we?”

“What do you mean what are we?” Braxton suddenly asked, as if it’s the stupidest thing Ethan had ever said. “We’re friends.”

“We’re not just friends.”

Braxton merely groaned and rolled his eyes. “No. You’re my best friend…who helps me get off occasionally.”

“Every day, twice a day,” Ethan corrected.

Regularly.”

“And is good at doing so.”

“And is great at doing so. There. Anything else we need to talk about?” Braxton titled his head to the side and made an attempt at a puppy face. “Can I watch TV now?”

“Do you like me?”

“Ugh. Seriously?” Braxton sighed, scratching the back of his neck and massaging his forehead for a bit. “I love you dude. You’re my brother.” With the puppy face not working earlier, he turned it into an obnoxious grin. “TV now?”

“I...” replied Ethan, walking over and sitting right in front of the bed, toying with the other boy’s fingers to hide his slight blush, “…I love you too.”

“O…k…” Braxton simply let the older boy play with his fingers, but he did give him an incredulous look. “What’re you doing?”

Ethan stayed silent for a while before turning to Braxton, giving him a smile and jumping onto the bed. “Know what, never mind,” he answered as he jumped over Braxton’s back and wrapped his arms around the boy, resting his head on his shoulders, “The Girls Next Door unseen moments had probably started already. You wouldn’t want to miss watching it for the sixtieth time already.”

“Actually,” Braxton said as he turned the TV on, grabbing one of Ethan’s hands and lacing their fingers together, “It’s just the thirty-sixth.” He held it close to his mouth and gave it a quick kiss, blushing slightly, “But hey, who’s counting?”

[Josef Muller]

77. Babied

Josef hadn’t ever understood the phrase “coldly furious.” They were two words that had never gone together in his head. This was partly because he’d never been furious. He’d never felt the kind of anger that encouraged your blood to boil, your eyes to see everything in a veil of red, and fill you with so much emotion that you could hardly think straight. Josef had managed well enough in his life without feeling that much emotion.

Today was the exception. Today, Josef could understand every poem, every story, every piece of art that had described rage. He could understand being icily angry—the kind of angry that didn’t make you hit something but plot their death in what seemed like a perfectly reasonable and logical fashion.

He could also understand the urge to cry. But that was something he hadn’t done since he was four years old. He didn’t want to start now. Moving was good. Moving was the key. He’d walked—or really, strode with great purpose and had waited for people to get out of the way—all the way from the office building to their apartment. Three miles, and he’d hardly even noticed. Didn’t know what had happened. But that was all right, because at least he wasn’t staying still. He took the stairs two at a time up the five flights—and that was going to hurt like hell tomorrow, and he wished he could say he cared—unlocked the door to the apartment, and paused. He could hear feet on the stairs behind him. His lips twisted into a grin that would’ve been more at home on a skeleton, and he stepped inside and quite calmly shut and locked the door behind him.

Lessee. Packing. Packing was definitely a good thing. With an ease of movement that comes with purpose, he went into the bedroom, fetched the largest duffel he had—he’d sold all his luggage when he’d stopped travelling because it took up too much space—and began putting clothes in it with great care. He wouldn’t want them wrinkled.

He could hear someone pounding on the door. He ignored it and returned to the drawer to fetch more items.

“Josef! C’mon, Josef, open the door!”

Oh, good, he was back. And had probably forgotten his key. Josef had told him several times that he kept it above the door—which only William could reach without a step stool, being 6’5” and having longer arms than Josef—but William preferred a more personal kind of service. Interestingly enough, today Josef wasn’t feeling inclined to provide it for him. He would have to open the door eventually, though. He reflected this mechanically as he put more shirts into the duffel, pressing down on them so it would all fit. Perhaps he could just take the fire escape. Or he could just jump out the window. It always seemed to work for the hero of a story.

“Josef, we need to talk!”

Then again, if there wasn’t some conveniently placed awning or something, he’d make a quite ugly splat on the pavement, and that would bother William, who always liked things just so. And God forbid William was ever upset.

“Josef!” The tone was part nervous laughter and part desperate pleading. “You’re not just going to make me stand out here all night, are you?”

Actually, he liked that thought better. There were bound to be headphones around here somewhere that could block him out. William could sit there wailing at the doorstep for all he cared.

“Please?”

Josef paused half-way through zipping up the bag and looked at the door. His hands curled into the fabric, then released it as he let out a slow breath. He straightened, then crossed over to the entry door and opened it. William was standing there, dark eyes bright and pleading, and his blonde hair knocked astray.

“Josef, thank God!” William exclaimed. “Look, I can exp—”

He didn’t get past that. Josef wasn’t sure what happened, but something more primal had welled up, and the door had slammed shut, seemingly all on its own.

But unfortunately, not all alone, because there was a crunch, and Josef found himself staring at a set of normally nice fingers that were currently turning purple from blood deprivation.

Damn it all to hell. This was the last thing he needed. He yanked open the door, grabbed the swaying and pale William’s shoulder, and tugged him into the room and down into a chair before the blonde could even get out the word “ow.” William just stared at him. He’d give him credit for this, Josef decided, William was no wuss when it came to pain. Josef would estimate three broken fingers at least. Great.

His soon-to-be-ex was still trying to talk, too. Josef did his best to ignore it as he went into the kitchen. He first made a phone call, then fetched the supply of bandages he kept there. After a moment, he fetched some ice and with great satisfaction snapped some fancy wooden chopsticks that William had bought in half. They should do for splints.

“Look, can’t I get a word in edgewise?” William demanded, clearly exasperated around the pain, as Josef knelt in front of him and took the hand to examine it. “I’m trying to—ah! Joe, that hurts!”

He wished it hurt him more. Sort of.

“It’s Josef,” he said without looking up. “Yo-zef. Not Joe.”

He could practically hear the confusion on William’s face just from his voice. “You never minded before—”

“I never minded until you began saying it to me like I was a five year old.” The bones needed to be set. Josef took great pleasure in the cracking noise they made as he yanked them back into place and tried to ignore the muffled choking noise that came from William.

“I’m so sorry,” Josef said without any hint of apology in his voice. “I should’ve given you some painkillers first. My bad.” And he set to splinting and wrapping the fingers. William was approximately the color of chalk—the green kind, to be specific—but he tried again.

“Joe—Josef, what you saw in my office—it’s not what you think—”

“Then my eyes must be getting really bad, Will, or you must think I’m as dumb as a post, because I don’t think anyone above the age of ten could have missed what that was. Unless your lovely secretary was just, oh, let’s see—tying your shoe?” He yanked the bandages tight around the splint and listened to the yelp. “Mm, too tight?”

“Aaaaaaah…” William swayed, but rallied yet again. “It was just—a one time thing. You know that I—that we—well, we’ve been having—”

“If you say problems, I’m going to take one of these expensive vases and hit you over the head with it and I will go skipping and singing to prison. Are we clear?” Josef didn’t look up from his task. His voice was mild, as if discussing the weather. William hesitated, then faltered.

“I’m sorry.”

Now Josef did look up. His mouth was tight, and he rose to his feet. “I don’t want to hear it. I called the police. They should be here with an ambulance any minute.”

“You couldn’t give me a ride?”

“I don’t trust me in my current state. Do you?”

William looked down at his fingers and said nothing on the subject. Josef had turned to grab his stuff from the bedroom when the blonde man said, “I mean, it’s not like you haven’t—” He trailed off when Josef stopped dead. “You never…?”

“No,” the shorter man said flatly. “And the fact that you think I did makes me sick, William. Is that how you think I—is that how you think people--?” He stopped, inhaled, then shook his head. “I think it’s best that we stay in silence until the ambulance arrives.”

They did. And luckily for them both, the ambulance was prompt. The police arrived first. They kept William separate from Josef and quizzed him closely. Josef could hear the word “assault” come up, and some looks were cast at him. But William shook his head—once, twice, emphatic, and they gave up. The paramedics came and took him away, and one approached him.

“Are you next of kin? Partner?” Josef gave him a look, then shrugged.

“Not for long.”

[Brendan James]

11. Highlight

Brendan crashed into consciousness after having a particularly dreamless sleep. Things felt as if they were amplified. The sun glaring through the windows felt as if there was a fire directly in front of his face. And his head! The only thing that it could be compared to was a TV channel that was purely that indescribable snow static. With the volume turned all the way up. His ears were ringing with an incessant, horrible buzzing sound. The backs of his eyes felt as if they’d been clawed to hell. And all of this only meant one thing.

Hangover.

With a quiet grumble, he rolled over to the other side of the bed, pulling the covers over his face. Perhaps if he didn’t feel like this he would’ve noticed that rolling over he should’ve rolled promptly into Vin. But he didn’t. He was too busy wishing death upon himself. And he remembered, like he often did after a night of heavy drinking, that he was no longer a young man and could no longer drink like he used to. Not that it ever mattered or stopped him. Beside, Vin made him feel even younger than he often felt.

He heard the door of the bedroom slowly creak open. But the creaks sounded as if somebody were holding a megaphone up to the door-jam. And with a whimper, Brendan pulled the comfort tighter around his head to keep the noise out. Then he heard something being set down on the nightstand. And then a weight brought down the other side of the bed. Only slightly though.

“Brendan, you’re gonna be late for work.” He heard Vin’s voice, hovering above him. And with another whimper, the older man threw the comforter back. The light took on a new kind of offensive brightness. It was horrifying. And if he had the energy to be more dramatic, he would’ve screamed out that he was going blind. At least he had the energy to think it.

When he finally opened his eyes, he found Vin biting his bottom lip. And the boy’s face seemed… Well it was kind of scrunched. He thought that his boyfriend was concerned for him. “Don’t worry. I’m fine babe. I just feel like shit.” Looking to at the small table next to the bed, he noticed that Vin had brought him water and aspirin. “Thanks”, he said as he reached over, taking the aspiring and draining the glass of its liquid contents. It was then that he noticed the time. Normally, he’d already left by now. “Damn, I’m not gonna have time to eat.”

“Don’t worry. I micro-waved some of the frozen pancakes for you.” His hangover food. Awesome. “You’re so good to me.” He said kind of groggily. “I wonder if I have time to shower.” He said trying to think out loud. Nothing felt better than a nice warm shower when one was hungover. Not to him at least. “NO!” Vin shouted, making Bren wince away from him and kick the boy. Bren’s ears having been offended had forced a look of disdain onto his face, directed at Vin. “Sorry. I mean… No. You’re already so late. I’ll put the pancakes in a bag for you. You can eat on the go.”

The older man supposed Vin was right. Sure, Brendan always left unnecessarily early for work. But he was never late. Today though he’d be cutting it close. “Alright. I just need to get dressed and brush my teeth.” “No. You can’t. Brush your teeth that is.” “Why not?” “Uh…. Oh! I knocked it into the toilet this morning.” “Fine, I’ll use yours.” “Ew no you won’t.” “Ew? Really? We’ve suc-” “Not the point. Can’t use mine. I have gum. You can have that.”

Brendan was used to Vin being peculiar sometimes. So he wasn’t too worried at Vin being a complete loon at the moment. And he didn’t have the energy to try to figure as to why. Nor did he have the energy to argue with Vin to get him to let Bren use the toothbrush. So as gross as it was, he’d settle for gum.

Leaving their home, dressed and with a baggy of pancakes in hand, Bren slipped a pair of sunglass on dull the insulting sunlight. The car ride to the theater had been a silent one. The set designer had turned off the radio immediately. And for the entirety of the ride had kept his head rested against the window, the coolness of it soothing his aching head somewhat.

When he finally arrived at work, right on time, he looked just as much like death. But he was meeting Eugene. And the theater was nice and dark. One of the perks if you asked Brendan right then. But the lobby not so much in the darkness department. And that was where he spotted Eugene. Without looking up from what was in his hand, the theater owner called out, “Hey man. I was beginning to worry. You weren’t your usually half an hour early.” Half an hour was a little extreme. But it was all in good jest. “Yeah… Well the boyfriend wanted a little early morning action. And I just can’t tell that man no.” He smiled when the boss man blushed a little at how easily Bren discussed his sex like and finally looked up at him.

“Anyw-” Eugene cut off mid word. His eyes grew wide and an enormous smile spread across his face. Brendan was worried he was having a fit. “What? What’s wrong with you?” But the only response he received was a monstrous guffaw. It was possibly the most confusing sight Bren had ever witnessed. And he took off his glasses, thinking that perhaps he would then be able to see what it was. But nothing changed, except that things were brighter now making him squint.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” And while the man grabbed at his sides, that Brendan could only assume were beginning to ache from his laughter, his face turned red. “Seriously. Do you need a doctor or something?” Brendan was actually growing concerned now and he took steps to be beside him. Through his howling, Eugene managed to spit out, “Your hair!” Quickly his hand flew to his head. When he felt nothing, he stared a moment longer at Eugene, then ran off to the bathroom.

And the mirror in front of him showed Brendan something awful. It was a train wreck! Horrible! His beautiful hair! What had happened?! The only thing he could do was stare at his reflection, jaw hanging slack. “I’m gonna kill him.” He muttered, shaking his head.

Obviously, it was Vin’s fault that Brendan’s hair was littered with random blonde highlights.

[Angela Chambers]

13. Assembly

Yes, Angie had had the option to come to this before now. It probably would’ve been better if she done that. At the very least, it would’ve prepared her for what this… assembly would be like. But now that she was going to be a senior, she had to face the music so to speak.

Not a lot had changed, but then again it seemed like everything had. Sure, she was still quiet. And she probably had fewer friends than what might be considered normal. But being in public though, it didn’t fill her with the overwhelming anxiety that it had used to. More importantly, Dr. Neville had helped in a much greater way. He’d helped her come to terms with who and what she was and what her parents had done. She still met with from time to time, when she really needed somebody to talk to.

It might have been foolish, but the amount of time she’d spent with him in the last four years and with all the ways he’d helped Angie, the girl had come to think of him… Definitely as a mentor and almost as if he was the father she’d never had.

When first going to him, she’d resented the fact that she had to meet with him at all. She’d been stubborn and quiet and unwilling to talk. But somewhere down the line that had all changed. And she began to talk to him freely about everything under the sun. She had spoken to him when a hatred for her parents had set in. She had talked about how much she adored Officer Ryans, the one who took her away for her home. And, it had taken her awhile after the fact, but she’d even told him about her first kiss.

But she had felt awkward about it all the while. The fact that she still told him about it though spoke wonders to just how much improvement she’d made though. With Dr. Neville’s help of course.

Despite all of this though, the thought of having to sit through an assembly, that he was in charge of, all about sex… The subject itself wasn’t something the young girl was yet comfortable with at all. It could be described as a kind of fear she supposed. Though, that was probably an understatement.

The awkwardness of it actually made her think she could possibly pass out. And her face had been burning a bright pink most of the day. But now that the moment had finally arrived, her face had darkened to a tomato. She actually showed up a few minutes earlier than she normally would have. It might make it seem like Angie was eager, but really she just wanted to be sure she would be able to get a seat in the far back corner where she could easily hide and pretend she were somewhere else.

Just about every seat was filled. And she knew it would only be a minute or two before Dr. Neville started. The young blonde girl slide as far down in her seat as she possibly could, trying to hide her face and even her existence.

When she heard the Doctor’s voice call out a greeting to everybody there, Angie resorted to an old trick of hers when first having session with him. Lalalalalalala, not here, not here, I’m not heeeere, she thought to herself. And she’d continue it until the very end of, what she’d forever call, the Horribly Awkward Assembly. HAA, for short.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

#94 – Devout

Church was worse than school. School had ended for the summer, providing him with a break, but church was endless. Every week, every Sunday morning, bright and early, Sean found himself in a pew seated between his sister and his father. The priest was kindhearted and wise, and his sermons were usually interesting, filled with stories and hymns and encouragement for everyone in attendance to better himself or herself.

Sean hadn’t been able to concentrate on the sermons in so long.

Going to church was like being a washcloth. Sean always felt so dirty after going to services; he could hardly stand it.

He was sure he was going to Hell for feeling that way.

Mister Forsythe was cheating on his wife; he had an affair with Missus Ghirardelli, whose husband owned the specialty grocery store in town. His wife didn’t know, and neither did Mister Ghirardelli.

Mister O’Malley hit his wife when he drank too much. Misses O’Malley had just had a miscarriage, and it might have been intentional. Sean wasn’t sure how that was possible, and he didn’t want to ask his father, who would know.

Abigail Murphy had kissed another girl and gotten to second base.

Ted McKinley cheated on his taxes; there was a second set of books hidden in the wall safe in his basement.

The Prendergast twins were dating the same girl, Stacy Jorgenson; she was Methodist.

Thomas Daly didn’t believe in God, but he received communion anyway.

Some of the ex-altar boys touched themselves at night; some others looked at pornography. Most of the teenagers had snuck into R-rated movies before. Some had run out on checks when going out to diners by themselves; a couple of them had even “borrowed” family cars without permission to go joyriding.

Bethany Clancy fantasized about killing herself; sometimes she cut her arms with the razor she used for shaving her legs.

Only two people in the entire congregation knew this, knew all of it; every person had his or her own burden, but only Sean and Father Benedict knew everyone else’s secrets. Father Benedict was a wise, compassionate man of the cloth; he was ordained. Sean Neville was twelve, and he felt like every trip to church was dragging him down, making it a little harder to get through the rest of the week.

Father Benedict could offer salvation to others; he could absolve them of their sins after confession. Sean could only carry these secrets around in his head, not sure how he knew them, and pretending that he didn’t.

His parents wanted to host their annual neighborhood barbecue this summer, and they wanted to invite most of the people from church. The Forsyth’s and the Ghirardelli’s and the McKinley’s and the Clancy’s and the Daly’s and the Murphy’s...all of them.

More than anything, Sean wanted to break his leg so he would have a good excuse not to be there for the barbecue. But if he did that, his parents wouldn’t be able to host it at all, and he didn’t want to take that away from them.

Also, he didn’t think he could break his own leg; just thinking of riding his bicycle down the hill behind the school made him wince in pain. Still, being surrounded by all of this sin in church was bad enough; he didn’t think he could handle it at home. Home was supposed to be safe.

After the sermon and after receiving communion, Sean went with his father to give confession; he was old enough. Kathleen had only started doing communion some months ago, and she usually did confession every other week; that was what most of the younger kids did. But Sean was twelve, old enough for weekly confession.

“Bless me Father for I have sinned. It’s been one week since my last confession, and in that time, I’ve lied to my parents about a half dozen times.”

“Whatever about, my son?” Father Benedict sounded surprised, even though he wasn’t supposed to show emotion; Sean understood why. He never lied to his parents, and everyone knew that; he was such a good boy.

“They ask me if I’m all right, and I say that I am.”

“But you aren’t? What troubles you?”

“Well, I’ve been wondering...what happens to sins that have been absolved?”

“Once absolved, the sins cease to be, and thus they no longer stain the soul.”

“But the sins still happened.”

“Yes, but they have been forgiven. The soul is lightened, no longer weighed down.”

“Where do the sins go?”

“Jesus takes them unto himself, and he makes all right again. I serve as his conduit, his intermediary; and that is what confession is for. You know that, son.”

Sean had sat through cataclysm class, but he wasn’t interested in metaphysics. He wanted concrete answers. “But they don’t stain you because you listen?” He knew better than to ask whether they stained Jesus; that was an absurd notion.

“No, because they aren’t mine.”

That wasn’t what Sean wanted to hear, but he had known, in that way he knew so much recently, that Father Benedict would say that to him anyway. So at least he wasn’t surprised, even if he was a little disappointed by the lack of camaraderie, even in this. He didn’t like feeling so isolated and alone; he didn’t like feeling bogged down by everything. He whispered, “I’m sorry for lying to my parents.”

“I know, my son, and you can do six Hail Marys, one for each lie. And I think you should talk to your parents about whatever is bothering you.”

“I can try, Father.”

That was his seventh lie this week.

[Avinea Jale]

40. Let Go

Jennifer looked at the house she lived in. Soon she would move and she knew it was all coming apart. She had a feeling that she could never come back. She had a feeling whoever moved in wouldn’t know the ins and outs. They wouldn’t know the sentimental value that the third stair on the staircase had. They wouldn’t know what the door panel in the front door meant, to not only her, but to Adam as well. It was going to be the factor for their children. They would measure how they would grow in their lives. It would stay in that house, no that home until they moved out. Even then it would be a legacy left behind.

She found it hard to look as she walked out the red door. Adam had insisted on painting to yellow, to let him know the house was his. It was not likely he would forget anytime soon, but she and he had fun painting that door. No matter what she knew that the door wouldn’t be the same. The new owners were planning on repainting it as soon as possible, to show the changes, to make their own memories.

Ah there was the stone walkway underneath her. The walkway Adam had worked so hard to put in, spending two whole days of his precious down time on it. She remembered the way he looked up at her with a smile when she came out in lemonade, to relive him of thirst under the overbearing heat the sun was beating down on him. She remembered how he had swept her up into a kiss, almost magical as she squealed with joy.

When he spun her around, lifting her up off her feet she couldn’t keep the smile off of her face. Her hand clenched the duffel carrying all of her clothes. The other things were being sold. She had all she needed, pictures of them together, clothes, and money. She would be checking into the hotel tonight.

Before it was too hard to let go.

[Avinea Jale]

67.Reasonable

“Avinea be reasonable.”

Sighing Avi shook her head and took off. Why must those words always come back to haunt her? It wasn’t supposed to be this way. She was supposed to get what she wanted, no doubt about it. Those words were always said to her, or about her.

Reasonable.

What was so good about it? All she could tell was that it was a bending of the will. That she would not do. To stay true to her was the most important thing. No matter what she supposed that she would always have her will. It really didn’t matter if she didn’t get her way as long as she was right. It wasn’t that she was the most... easy going; no in fact it was just the opposite. She was stubborn. Obstinate. Completely crazy.

That was the thing though. She liked being stubborn, liked being obstinate. She relished the fact she was called crazy. It made life more fun. After all what was life if it wasn’t fun. Boring. No Avi much rather be called crazy, obstinate, and stubborn then be reasonable.

Besides, who was to argue what exactly was reasonable and what was not. How was she so unreasonable? All she wanted was her way. All she wanted was her thoughts to be heard. For her it was the fact that those surrounding her wanted her to change and wanted her to bend her will that she despised.

Year’s later sitting at her desk Avi had to give a smile. She had gotten this far by being exactly the opposite of reasonable. She was able to help those who needed it and could always argue her way in the courtroom. She had an excellent winning rate on cases. She was highly sought after in the world of law. Most of all she had fun.

Why should she be reasonable?

[Dr. Sean Neville]

#65 – Hush

Joshua Bernstein was a talker. His parents used pleasant euphemisms like “gregarious” or “enthusiastic” or “very friendly,” and they both made excuses for his behavior, although his mother led the charge there. As the most extroverted member of the Bernstein clan, she saw nothing wrong with her second son’s behavior, even if she had to deal with the occasional call from the school because Josh had interrupted class.

He had seemingly boundless energy; the more people he talked to, the more energized he was. He was so keyed up after class or after hanging out with his friends, instead of being tired.

And there was always something on his mind, something he found it necessary to share.

“Wasn’t Senator Kennedy’s speech great? I think he’s the brightest mind of this decade.”

“We need to cut back on our nuclear stockpiles; it’s harmful for everyone both domestically and internationally, and it’s bad for the environment. Who needs enough nuclear weapons to blow up the world a hundred times anyway?”

“It’s stupid that girls are expected to like pink just because they’re girls. They can do anything that boys can do, and we shouldn’t make things girly to try to marginalize them from more important things. Look at Bekkah, what if her parents had decided she shouldn’t do math because she’s a girl? It’s a stupid, sexist, backwards way to think.”

Nobody was safe from his conversations, if one could call them conversations; typically, conversations required back-and-forth, but that had never been necessary for Josh. He didn’t notice when his conversation partners were silent, because he was so busy regaling them with his opinions, and he was just so sure that they agreed with him.

Conversations with himself were common. Although, he was quick to clarify that he never talked to himself; he was always talking to another person, even if that other person was unable to get a word in edgewise.

Besides, only crazy, lonely people talked to themselves, and Josh had never lacked for friends. He had friends everywhere he went: friends at school, friends at synagogue, friends in his neighborhood and in his apartment building, friends at the park, friends at the beach, friends at the library, friends on the subway and the bus...friends everywhere. There were always so many people to talk to.

College had proved to not even provide a setback to him. While Bekkah had chosen to go to college all the way in California, and Donald had also chosen to go to a different school, NYU didn’t prove lonely. Josh immediately made friends with his roommate, which was nice because that meant he always had someone to eat with at the dining hall. He was talkative and friendly with the other boys in his dormitory, and he immediately found his place with a study group in some of his intro classes.

Even better, Josh happened upon an upperclassman, a senior named Greg, collecting signatures for a petition. The blond, older boy had been sympathetic to Josh’s rants, and he had even responded with one of his own. That had been followed by an invitation to come to a meeting with some of Greg’s friends, upperclassmen all of them. The invitation to meet new people, new socially-aware people who would be his friends, was too enticing for Josh to refuse. Not that he had ever turned down an invitation to meet new people.

The first meeting, he’d been introduced to Sean Neville, and there was just something about the older boy that caught Josh’s attention. He just had to impress Sean, and that tended to involve talking to show how much he knew. So even though he was the new person at the meeting, he talked and talked about his experiences going to protests with his mother and his siblings.

After the first meeting, he relaxed a little bit and he even moved on to listening so that he could find out what Sean liked to talk about. And then he would go back to his room or to the library to read as much about those topics so that he would appear knowledgeable.

Like how after he found out that Sean liked Kurt Vonnegut books, he went home and borrowed several from his father’s personal library. And then he stayed up all night reading Breakfast of Champions and Cat’s Cradle just so that he could talk to the older boy about all of his favorite parts. And then he did so and didn’t give Sean much of an opportunity to give his own comments. Josh felt bad for that, but he’d so badly wanted to impress Sean.

Although it never seemed to work; instead, Josh found himself tripping over his words. Or drinking too much at one party because Greg said that would help him fit in. He had vague memories of stammering about music to Sean in between cups of beer. And then he’d vomited all over himself and blacked out. For all he knew, he might have kept talking during the blackout period, but he couldn’t remember what he’d said.

That was probably for the best.

The enthusiastic freshman had about given up his hopes of impressing Sean, although he still talked to cover up his nervousness. At one party, the two of them were standing by the refreshment table, talking about plans for winter break. Or, Josh had been talking about visiting his grandparents for winter break, while the music was loud in both young men’s ears. Josh raised his voice to be better heard.

Then, he felt arms slip around his back, and Sean was close, so very close to him. A moment later, Sean’s lips were pressed against his, kissing him deeply.

And for the first time in his life, Josh was rendered speechless.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

#118 – Enthrall

The club was the perfect place to meet people. The lights were dim, the music was loud albeit a little repetitive, but he was able to tune it out. It served as an excellent distraction. The drinks were cheap enough; he couldn’t speak to quality, since he never actually drank them. But buying one at the beginning of the evening to use as cover – or buying another one or two when trying to win someone over – proved cheap enough. Certainly worth the money since he rarely went home alone.

And it was safer and more secure than trying to meet people elsewhere; people tended to be cleaner here and healthier, rather than those he might pick up in alleys. Who knew where they had been?

Young professionals made up most of the clientele at this particular club, and Joshua Bernstein blended in among them, particularly with his youthful appearance and his penchant for expensive designer suits.

He sat on the corner stool of the bar, which gave him the best view in the entire club. He could see the door from where he was perched, as well as the dance floor and the others who approached the bar. While he’d had his eye on a brown-haired man, but he was with a blonde woman, and they left together. Joshua didn’t try to approach couples, because that tended to needlessly complicate the process, and also occasionally interfered with his goals. After all, single people were more easily convinced to come home with him than couples were, or groups.

A petite brunette settled in the middle of the bar; she had come alone. She took out a cigarette and lit up; that was yet another reason that the club was so popular, they didn’t care about smoking indoors. The cigarette smoke didn’t bother Joshua, although it did occasionally cause health problems in those who smoked. Still, she seemed young, so he doubted that would have a long effect on her blood flow. If it did, he could deal with it.

She ordered a martini, and Joshua made eye contact with the bartender, signaling that he would pay for her drink. The bartender nodded his acknowledgment, and fixed the drink. When the bartender brought it out, Joshua moved from his perch to settle on the stool next to her. “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“Not at all,” the brunette replied, turning to look at him. She gave him a once-over, and Joshua knew that she was appraising him. He knew that she couldn’t see as well in the dark as he could, which was his advantage; he was also confident in his appearance.

“I haven’t seen you before, Miss...” Joshua gestured vaguely, indicating that he wanted her name.

“Adams. Janice Adams,” she replied. “And you would be?”

“Joshua.” He smiled at her, pearly whites glinting in the club lights. “Are you new in town?”

“Yes,” Janice replied with a smile. “I got a new job, but I had to move for it.”

“And what do you do?” Joshua asked, turning his full attention on her. He was quite good at showing interest in whatever anyone said to him.

“I’m a lawyer. The newest associate at Paul, Weiss.”

Joshua’s eyes glimmered with faux-admiration, and he smiled at her. He recognized the name; they were an expensive law firm, after all, and quite famous. For her to have been hired as an associate was quite the accomplishment.

It also meant that she might be in the mood for a celebration, which would make her an easy target. More so that she was new in town and didn’t know anyone; that meant she was lonely. “You must be very intelligent, Janice,” Joshua said, allowing his accent to shine through just a bit. “It’s an attractive quality in a woman.”

Janice quirked an eyebrow at him. “Is that a come-on?”

Joshua’s smile widened, and he turned to face her fully. Blue eyes stared into blue eyes, and he focused, just a bit to work his magic, willing her to relax and become just a bit more compliant. “Would you like it to be?”

The air between them sparked, and she didn’t immediately relax; she was a strong-willed one. That made for difficult hunting, but was always worth the challenge. Joshua kept his gaze on her and reached out to touch her hand. That seemed to do it, because she then smiled. “Actually, I would.”

Joshua smiled wider, although he was careful not to bare too many of his teeth. “Then it is.”

“So, Joshua, do you live around here?”

“Not too far.” He stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. “Only a few blocks away.”

“Do you live alone?”

“Yes.” Not that he cared about being honest, but that was honest for his private apartment, as opposed to the chambers he had at his coven’s building. “Would you like to come with me?”

“Can I finish my drink?” Janice hefted the martini with her free hand.

“You can do anything you wish.” Those words earned another smile.

**************************

When she had finished her drink, Joshua led her out of the club and wrapped one arm around her shoulders. It was a little difficult, because she was so small, but he managed to do so without losing his balance or his air of dignity. They passed through the night crowds of those people out to enjoy the evening at clubs and bars all around; the air was clear, and the moon was bright. The nearby alleys were also alive with nightly activities; drugs and solicitation and all of the unsavory aspects inherent in living in a city.

Soon enough, they reached his apartment, and Joshua let them in. He led her to the sofa in the main room, and he went to draw the blinds, ostensibly to give them privacy and to allow her to “get a little more comfortable.”

With that, he settled beside her on the sofa, scooted close to her, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. However, the arm went from comforting to restrictive almost immediately. He brought his mouth to her neck, kissing at first, but then he bared his fangs. She struggled for only a moment, before the venom in his fangs caused her to stop and become still.

Her blood was sweet.

Then, there was a crash in the kitchen, the sound of shattering glass, and the thud of something hitting the floor.

Joshua jerked his head back in surprise, just in time to see the tall figure of someone carrying a crossbow. Hunters...He must have been spotted either at the club or on the street and been followed. The vampire immediately jerked back, tossing Janice to one end of the sofa.

The hunter narrowed his eyes at him. Joshua raised his hands in defense, and then he squinted. “Liebling? You came back from Boston early.”

“I think the banshees gave me tinnitus,” the hunter replied, not lowering his crossbow. He looked between Joshua and the woman on the other end of the sofa, before his eyes settled on the vampire again. “Where did you find her?”

“Why would I tell you my hunting grounds? You don’t tell me yours.”

“Because I’ll blow your heard off if you don’t.” The hardened look in the hunter’s eyes conveyed that this wasn’t an idle threat.

Joshua took a moment to consider that, all the while the hunter’s eyes remained on his. Briefly, Joshua considered trying to use his gaze on the human, but he’d learned the folly of that the first time they had met. Finally, he sighed in resignation and answered, “The club on 18th.”

“You’re going to bring her back.”

“You cannot be serious,” Joshua declared, although the hunter’s expression remained hardened. Apparently he was serious. “That might get me caught by someone more zealous than you are.”

The hunter inhaled sharply through his nose and looked around the room. Unfortunately, Joshua had a valid point there. And while he was sure the vampire could handle himself with police who thought this might be a kidnapping, other hunters were another story. “Then I’ll bring her back.”

“What if someone asks where you found her?”

“I’ll lie. If you promise to stop doing this.”

“So my choices are to starve or risk being killed by one of your compatriots?”

“There are thousands of fetishists in this city. Stick to them.” The hunter finally slung his crossbow back across his shoulders and crossed the room, bending to scoop the woman into his arms gingerly. “We’ll discuss our arrangement when I get back.”

“And what am I supposed to do for food tonight?”

The hunter shrugged, careful to not dislodge the woman while doing so. “That isn’t my problem.”

“And my kitchen window?” The vampire asked, somewhat dismayed.

“We’ll talk about it when I get back.” With that, the hunter walked to the front door, still carrying the woman, and he disappeared from the vampire’s line of vision.

Joshua was disappointed.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

#126 – Participate

One might think that living in a house where the authority figures never yelled or raised their voices would be fun, but it was actually very frustrating. It wasn’t as though his “legal guardian” was without recourse when he acted out; he just went about it in a quieter, less explosive manner. Sometimes he masked it with humor, but that was easy enough to see through, particularly if one knew what to look for; he knew what to look for.

As much as Cobalt hated the lectures and the talks, he hated the look of quiet disappointment in the telepath’s eyes even more. That look could make him feel like the worst person in the world.

“When did you plan on telling me?” Sean asked, as he came to sit beside Cobalt on the sofa. The short, gangly teenager slid down to the other side and kept his eyes focused on the television set; he wasn’t paying attention to what was happening, but it seemed a good distraction.

When no response was forthcoming, the telepath tilted his head slightly to the side. “So we’re going to play this game, are we?”

“What game?” the shadow manipulator asked. He turned to look at Sean, although only briefly.

“The game where you pretend not to know what I’m talking about.” The telepath’s lip twitched in what could be amusement but could also easily be disappointment.

“I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” Cobalt said, although he didn’t make eye contact with the telepath. In his experience, it was easier for the older man to know when he was lying when they made eye contact. Even if that wasn’t how telepathy worked at all.

“Parent-teacher night,” Sean replied, apparently taking the teenager’s protests at face value. Otherwise, he was just prompting Cobalt to confess to his actions and motivations eventually. “Were you hoping to keep it a secret forever? Or just until after it had passed?”

“I don’t see what the big deal is,” Cobalt said, still not turning around to face the telepath. “It’s just a stupid conference, and you have better things to do anyway. Nobody really wants to go to it, not even the teachers.”

“For starters, it’s a little insulting to both of us that you try to hide these things from me because of the telepathy,” Sean replied. When it became apparent that they were going to have this conversation without any visual connections, at least on the shadow manipulator’s part, he moved from the sofa into the kitchen. “And second, you’re wrong. I want to go.”

That earned a surprised and somewhat horrified look from the teenager. “Why?”

“Because your education is important to me, and you’re important to me, and I want to meet your teachers and make sure that your needs are being met.” The telepath was now rummaging through the refrigerator and pulling out salad fixings.

Being told that he was important to anyone was still something relatively new and uncomfortable for Cobalt, and he didn’t react to it with gratitude. He found it easier to pretend that such sentiments hadn’t been expressed at all, although he stored them all in his memory. Each and every moment helped to nudge Sean from not safe to safe.

That didn’t mean he was above protesting the parts he wasn’t ignoring. “It’s fine, I told you they put me in the advanced classes for history and English.”

“I know. And I’m going to meet your teachers.” The salad fixings were now on the counter, and Sean washed the head of lettuce before beginning to tear it and place it in a bowl that was too small to be used as a serving bowl. After the lettuce came some tomatoes, cucumber, and peppers, all chopped deftly with a knife.

“But it’s in a couple of hours...” the teenager protested, realizing that he was out of other ammunition.

“That’s time enough for me to shower, change, and get over to the school,” the telepath responded. With the salad made, he put the bowl in the refrigerator. “I’ll leave you money so you can order a pizza.”

Cobalt stared at the telepath across the room. “I lied to you about this and you’re leaving me money for pizza?”

“I don’t have time to cook,” Sean said with a slight shrug. “And refusing to feed you because you did something mildly disappointing is child abuse.” With that, Sean walked into the living room again and picked up the telephone.

Cobalt furrowed his brow. “Who are you calling?”

“Josh.”

“You’re going to break plans over this?”

“No.” That was followed by a chuckle. The telepath dialed the number for the NYU newspaper office. When someone picked up, he said, “I’m looking for Josh Bernstein. Tell him it’s Sean.”

Cobalt sat there in silence, watching the telepath and listening in. “Hey. I’m going to a parent-teacher conference at Cobalt’s high school, do you want to come along?” Sean grinned, which meant that the answer was yes. “Great. I’ll meet you at the activity center in an hour; I’ll bring one of your suits so you can change. See you then.”

“You’re bringing Josh?” Cobalt asked, both confused and a little horrified.

“Most of the other parents will have their spouses, now won’t they?” Sean asked, flashing Cobalt a smile before he disappeared into his bedroom to change. “Be sure to do your homework while we’re out.”

The door shut, leaving Cobalt alone in the living room. He sighed and looked back at the television set, although he couldn’t concentrate. Instead, he kept imagining everything that could go wrong with the telepath, and now Josh, meeting all of his teachers for a conference.

But there was nothing he could do about it.

[Ginny Campbell]

79. Quick Draw

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The building was delapidated, the wood termite-infested and near to falling apart. One of the double doors, only half the height of a man, was hanging off its hinges. The crimson paint on both was peeling, showing the wood beneath in patches.

The sign was the only bright spot amid this disrepair, colors vibrant and glistening with a not-quite-damp sheen that said it had been newly painted. The words Arcade Saloon were printed neatly in what was probably a stenciled font.

Captain Ginny Campbell peered up at the sign, then into the dingy, smoke lit interior. It looked typical enough, with a poker table in one corner and men and women milling about drinking and smoking. A few impromptu card games were going on away from the poker table; nothing too unusual.

Behind her Estelle wiped her hands nervously along the sides of her pants. "Are you sure this is safe?" She whispered out of the corner of her mouth. "We aren't exactly unknowns here..."

Ginny shrugged slightly. "Can't help it. It's either that or twiddle our thumbs while Keystone buys supplies."

It had been an unfortunate accident that saw the entire crew of The Queen Mab stranded in California. Well, maybe not an accident, exactly; Ginny suspected LaRousse had something to do with it, what with the long and rather flowery telegram he'd sent them. Something about eternal curses after L.C. had tried to attack his little oriental plaything. Not that Ginny was concerned; she'd endured curses before. But it was somewhat inconvenient when there was treasure to go after.

Still, the fact remained that The Queen Mab had sputtered out of control off the coast of California, and they had been forced to make an emergency landing. And they needed supplies for repairs, and so that was that. Ginny had sent Jean with Mia, to make sure the tiny mechanic didn't get into any trouble while they were there.

The two young women pushed their way into the saloon, Ginny sauntering ahead of her cook. She gave the barest of nods to the locals before flopping down at the bar, leaning into the counter with a smile. "Afternoon." She greeted the bartender, "We're a mite thirsty. Got any Mule Skinner?"

"Cactus wine," Estelle piped up as the bartender turned to her.
The drinks were served quickly, and Ginny knocked hers back almost as fast as it was handed to her. Estelle sipped at hers, almost lazily, until a tall young man came up to her, hat pulled down over his face.

"Scuse me," He tapped Estelle's shoulder with the butt of his gun before motioning meaningfully at her drink, "We don't take with none of them hifalutin' foreign ways 'round here." He nodded at the bartender, who dutifully poured a fifth of the 100 proof that passed as the house beverage, sliding it over to the man with a polite nod.

"This is for your own good, now." He began, pressing the drink into Estelle's hand when there was a loud bang and the air around them turned black with gunpowder.

Before the air could clear Ginny grabbed Estelle by the arm, tugging her through the crowds and out into the bright sunlight.

"Guess we'd better tell Keystone to step on those repairs," She remarked, raising an eyebrow at Estelle meaningfully.

The cook gave her captain a sheepish smile as she slid her pistol back into its holster. "Sorry. I don't like taking orders from anyone but you."

Ginny rolled her eyes before patting Estelle fondly on the shoulder. "Can't argue with that kind of loyalty. But remind me next time you mention trouble that means you're gonna be skittish with that gun."

"I said I was sorry..." Estelle mumbled, but Ginny held up one hand. "It's okay. Let's just get out of here before they come after us."

She sidled up beside a pair of horses tied up outside the salon, casually slicing through the ropes keeping them near and tossed one bridle to Estelle, who caught it neatly and vaulted onto the animal's back. Ginny followed suit, pressing her booted feet into the horse's side, and the two women took off across the hot sand while Estelle laughed.

"Aye, aye, cap'n."

[Ginny Campbell]

81. Timely

The Queen Mab's run of ill fortune continued.

Ginny and Estelle had returned to their craft only to find that it had been surrounded by the authorities. Sheriff Weaver and his men were grimly circling the area on horseback, guns at the ready, and the two women had quite a time outrunning the men Weaver sent after them.

They had eventually crossed paths with a steam train, and the two women had jumped from the horses into a car full of coal.

"D'you think Mia and Jean are safe?" Estelle whispered worriedly.

"Dunno." Ginny admitted, her expression belying the worry she felt for her comrades.

Estelle sighed and rested her head against the coal, closing her eyes, allowing the rumble of the train to lull her to sleep. Ginny narrowed her eyes to slits and nestled into the coal, but worry kept her up through the night.

Estelle awoke to Ginny tugging urgently on her hand. "Psst, psst, Flores, wake up."

The cook mumbled a complaint, blinking blearily at the other woman. "Whaat? Still tired."

"Time to go. It's not safe to stay in one place too long." The pirate captain leaned over the edge of the car, eyeing the sloping hills below them. "When I say three, we'll both jump, okay? One....two....three!"

The two women leaped out of the car, tumbling roughly down the hill. Ginny stood, dusting herself off, then held out one hand to her companion, helping the dark-haired woman to her feet.

They were no longer in the desert; all around them was waving wheat like golden waves. "Better figure out where we are," Ginny sighed, staring critically up at the sky. "Too bad we couldn't bring any money with us. Come on."

The two women trekked their way along the great rail road tracks, theorizing that civilization was likely to be close to the train rather than too far away from it. By midday their feet and backs were sore, and their stomachs grumbled demandingly. Estelle wanted to shoot at a flock of geese shrieking over head, but Ginny wanted to save their bullets.

They weren't in danger of starvation quite yet.

Presently they came upon a settlement, filled with laborers going about their business, miners and barbers and traders, all with dark hair and small frames.

"Looks like we found Chinatown," Ginny exclaimed, picking up the pace with relief. The Chinese were held with contempt by much of the American population, but there was no doubt that they were efficient workers, and fair to others even when they weren't treated fairly in return.

They would help Ginny and Estelle find allies again, perhaps even give them advice on how to get past Sheriff Weaver.

"You!"

The angry shout caused the two to stop in their tracks, hands shooting to the weapons at their sides.

A short youth stepped from behind a wagon, waving a pistol angrily at them. "I recognize you. You're on every Wanted poster for miles around."

So much for help.

"Ah...well..." Ginny began, smoothing her expression into a glib smile, hoping to disarm him with charm. "The law and I have had a bit of a misunderstand---"

"You're the one what shot Evan. We had to amputate his arm this morning." The youth continued.

Ginny's face turned blank. "Pardon?"

"Don't act like you don't know! He said you were there! Yesterday, you shot him in the arm!"

A grim faced, tall man loped up behind the youth, one arm wrapped tightly in bandages, hat pulled down over his face.

"You sure got here fast," Ginny commented, trying not to show either surprise or frustration at the appearance of the man from the saloon. "Specially for a guy just got shot."

"His brother is the fastest horse rider in the country." The youth boasted, still glaring at them.

The one he had named Evan nodded slowly, he's one hand massaging his stump gently. It was difficult to tell what he thought. That was dangerous.

Ginny considered shooting him again, this time more accurately, but there were too many people about and no horses for them to steal this time, not without shooting the Chinese youth, too. She didn't really like randomly shooting people.

A sudden, unexpected hissing flew past her head, and then the two men were pinned against the wagon with suspiciously familiar blades.

"Well stop standing there and gaping." An equally familiary voice drawled, and a slender blonde woman in a corset and knee high boots dropped nimbly to the ground before them, "Get up, I'll take care of these two and catch up with you later."

She motioned upward, and Ginny spotted a rope ladder waving just overhead. "Got it. Thanks, see you in a bit."

She jumped upwards, catching the bottom rung in both hands and pulling herself upward. Estelle followed suit, and soon the two were in a small, very cozy airship. It wasn't anywhere near the size of The Queen Mab or any other ship Ginny had ever been in before. It was more personal; almost too small for a full crew.

Another blonde woman was at the helm, dressed extravegantly in bustle skirt and ribbons. "Welcome aboard The Titania." She smiled, lifting one hand from the wheel to wave at them, the informal gesture in direct contrast to her clothing choices. "I'm Mademoiselle Lilien."

"Captain Ginny Campbell of The Queen Mab," Ginny replied, inclining her head.

"Estelle Flores, same."

Ginny peered down at the swiftly receding encampent, remarking, "I hope L.C. is all right down there. I have to say, your arrival was quite timely."

Madamoiselle Lilien smiled slightly.