mydisenchantedeulogy

[mydisenchantedeulogy]

Art WIP:

Name: Uzumaki Kururi

Love Interest: Madara (they are enemies to lovers).

Fun Facts:

She had a sister named Kirino who was a few months younger than her, but she passed.

She is able to use the nature transformations of wind and water, in addition to the sealing techniques she learned.

She is a Sensor Type.

Her weapons of choice are wire strings, which she attaches to Kunai, though she's been known to use other weapons.

She dislikes movement-constricting clothing and has been known to attack people with the kanzashi in her hair. She can be a bit of a bitch.

Her sister favored braids, so she often wears them in her hair in her memory.

[mydisenchantedeulogy]

Motivation || Bi-Han/Sub-Zero

A/n: This is a continuation of Opposites Attract. Please enjoy.

Warning(s): OC, fighting, mild fear, one-sided flirting, short one-shot.

Short and quick, Ava's chest heaved in exertion. She stood in the center of the training yard, a concrete arena with honeycomb-shaped stones, opposite Kuai Liang. The cool mountain air felt soothing on her heated skin, like a cold compress on her sore, tired muscles. She stared down her opponent, took a deep ragged breath, and then took off in a run toward him. 

Once within range, she leaped on him in an attempt to knock him down with her weight, burying her knees sharply into his chest, but Kuai Liang caught her by the waist. She figured he might not falter as easily as she hoped and brought back her arm, aiming a straight punch at his head. Quickly, he blocked her, much to her dismay. 

His arm around her waist flexed, then grabbing her by the uniform, he yanked her off, grunting in pain as she used his stomach and the momentum to flip back onto her hands, then upright again as fluid as water. Her flexibility was impressive, but Ava was not yet putting her all into the spar like he wanted. Kuai Liang used his magic to ignite the kunai's blade in his hand, then launched the rope dart at her. 

Ava squeaked in response, stepping to the side to avoid it, though barely. The heated blade grazed her harem pants, singeing the cloth. If she had been his enemy, he would not have aimed low. He yanked it back to his hand, but before he could throw it again, she closed the distance. 

Slicing at her, she attempted to disarm him, yanking him down by the arm, but he grabbed her wrist. The two rotated back to back, shaking off the other, but Kuai Liang took her off guard, kneeling to one knee as she came to face him, using the momentum of the swing to knock her off her feet and onto her back. Ava grunted in pain.

She swallowed down the temptation to use her sonic scream and curled her body, wrapping both her legs around the arm holding the kunai, then flipped him off her, hurrying to stand. By the time she was on her feet, so was Kuai Liang. She raised her arm to attack, but he stopped her, raising his hand. 

“That is enough.”

Ava took a deep breath, then eased her stance. 

“You are learning fast, though you still refuse to attack me using your magic,” Kuai Liang furthered. “That is the reason for our session.” 

“Look, I trust you slinging a fire dart at me, but I don't trust me screaming in your ear,” Ava retorted. She paused, tightening her jaw, then opted to confide in him. “I don't want to hurt you, Kuai. The damage is too much of a risk.” 

He crossed his arms, humming. 

“That is an excuse.” 

She supposed it was. Ava snorted. 

“You sound like your brother. He's always stickin’ it to me.” 

At the mention of Bi-Han, Kuai Liang widened his eyes a moment, then awkwardly cleared his throat. Ava raised her brow, then snorted; she realized how bad her statement must have sounded. 

“I didn't mean it like that. I meant that he's always criticizing me, saying I'm making excuses.” 

“I am aware,” Kuai Liang retorted. “It came as a surprise to me that the two of you had become close.”

Close was an overstatement.

“I reckon,” she uttered. “It's a surprise to me too.” 

She honestly had no idea how it started. He made her madder than a wet hen, her Nana would say. She went off, then one thing led to another. It was…thrilling.  

“I will regrettably have to report this session to the Grandmaster,” Kuai Liang mentioned suddenly. 

Ava grunted. “It'd be cooler if you didn't.”

Her pleas were lost to him.

The next time she saw Bi-Han, he stopped her just before she was able to enter the bathhouse. Their exchange was short, but she would never forget his generosity, even if it was given only to benefit himself. 

Before Ava could greet him in a way in which he'd no doubt scold her, he tossed something at her. Caught off guard, she fumbled with it for a moment, then observed in annoyance what she realized was a mask. It was made of steel plates, sleek and painted red, white, and black with a windscreen in the middle. 

“What's this?” 

“A mask,” Bi-Han merely answered. 

Ava sighed. It was on her.

Ask stupid questions, get stupid answers.

“OK, but why?”

“Your magic needs work,” Bi-Han retorted. “You are reluctant to use it. Too consumed by fear. It is a weakness you need to overcome if you are to be of any use to the Lin Kuai.”

He could have been more sympathetic with his words, Ava reckoned. But perhaps this was his way of doing it. She grinned.

“Aw, you do care. That's sweet of you.”

Bi-Han ignored her comment. 

“I asked Sektor to make it. She explained that the plates, when tuned, resonate your voice at different decibels.”

Meaning she had no reason to fear the power of her magic anymore. She could control the output herself. A dial on the side showed the different levels. Ava was a little teary, but she blinked it away, transitioning into a soft smile.  

“If it pleases the Grand Master, I'd like to thank him properly.”

Bi-Han said nothing, brushing past her. He missed the cute pout that Ava made.

Such a tease.

 A few meters behind her, he halted.

“Focus on your training, then you can offer your gratitude.”

Ava smiled widely. A surge of energy shot through her. She found her second wind, it seemed. Perhaps Kuai Liang would be up for a rematch. The sooner she mastered her magic, the better. 

[mydisenchantedeulogy]

Art WIP:

It's just my silly style with Baby Saja.

This was based on a reader insert that I'm writing where he says:

"That's a shame. I was just thinking I would love for you to obsess over me."

[mydisenchantedeulogy]

Upcoming Fic Snippet

(Context: Hana is Zoey's older sister. She is the designer of the majority of Huntrix's costumes. I'm debating whether to make this a soulmate fic or not. Please let me know in the comments your thoughts. Please and thank you).

Something caught her attention, leading Hana to make a face. She could hardly believe it. Picking up the paper-based cup with the familiar face on it, she showed it to Baby. He was on the cover, which he did not seem interested in. 

“One song and they already have your face on Ramyeon.” 

It took what felt like forever for Huntrix to land the ramyeon deal. Zoey was extremely thrilled, Hana recalled, calling her weeks before the product hit the shelves. Eomma (mom) and Appa (dad) bought at least two cases; they played the role of supportive parents well, given Zoey's success.

Hana glanced again at the cute, exaggerated image of Baby Saja on the cover, then set it back on the shelf, opting for the milder-flavored ramyeon. 

“Is Jinu more your taste?” Baby asked, curious. 

Hana rolled her eyes. 

“Buldak is way too spicy. I can't eat it.”

“Maeb-jjir-i (spicy nerd),” Baby teased. 

It was not her fault that she was sensitive to spice. Coming from America she had not had a lot of Korean cuisine. It was not until she moved to South Korea did she learn how different the two countries were when it came to cooking methods. Ambling toward the counter, Baby caught up to her, Buldak cup in hand.  

“You didn't answer the question.”

Hana knitted her brows, then asked, “About Jinu? Are you serious?”

Baby narrowed his eyes, leading her to sigh. 

“He's…attractive – you all are – but not my type.”

The sly look Baby gave her made her stomach tighten. He was a sadist; he knew she liked him. It was obvious the moment she heard him rap; his deep misleading voice drew her like a moth to flame. 

“Just put your ramyeon on the counter before I retract my offer,” Hana huffed. Her face felt like it was melting. 

[mydisenchantedeulogy]

Rumi: I don't know how to say this, but...

Mira: You’re trending right now.

Trending? You frown. How are you trending?

You: Did I do something again?

Zoey (raising a brow): Again?

Rumi hands you her phone.

Rumi: Not you.

On the screen is an image of Baby of the Saja Boys. He's dressed similarly to you. One hand is holding a bouquet of flowers representing love and affection, while the other hand is making a heart with his fingers. The caption reads your name followed by, "Be mine."

You: Is he asking me out on social media?

Zoey: The signs point to yes.

Mira: A publicity stunt. That's wickedly clever.

How are you to reply to this?

(I could see Mira, Zoey, and Rumi being done the same, and even though they'd reply back sweetly, they'd all be secretly flipping them off, except for Zoey, who would be thrilled).

[mydisenchantedeulogy]

Higgs (handing you a case): I got something real special made for you, darling.

You: It's not a bomb, is it?

Higgs (chuckles): Now why would I want to blow up the only person in the great wide world that tolerates me? Go on, open it.

You hesitantly take the case from Higgs, opening it to see a dildo inside, resting on a plush cushion.

You: What in the hell is this?

Higgs: It's me, darling. Well...a little piece of me to keep you company on those lonely cold nights.

You: You're in great need of some therapy.

Higgs merely laughs.

[mydisenchantedeulogy]

Criminal [Chapter Four] Ebb and Flow [Terrence Lacroix | Peter]

Warning(s): oc, vampire, Frank's language, death, blood and gore, flirting, kidnapping, tension, suspicion, Peter speaks French, long chapter, follows the movie with extra scenes.

No Minors Allowed!

Liore was not certain how long she had been asleep before she was awoken by a sudden piercing scream. She sat up straight, fear racing through every inch of her body, and darted her eyes across the room. She was alone, right where she had lain down. It took her a moment to process what was happening, but she was certain she had heard Sammy screaming. As she sat up on the edge of the couch, trying to shake the tired haze from her head, Peter rushed in.

"Did you hear that too?" He asked. A dick was drawn in marker on his face; the head positioned comically near the corner of his mouth.

"Yeah...I think."

Liore had nearly forgotten that she was irritated with him. She stood, staggering a bit, then followed Peter into the kitchen. When entering, the scent of vomit and iron permeated her nose. She saw Sammy leaning over the sink, throwing up the contents of her stomach, then she saw Dean; a headless body posed in a lax position at the table. Her eyes widened and her stomach churned.

"What? What happened?" Peter asked, both confused and taken aback.

Sammy turned, leaning against the sink weakly. She uttered quietly, "His head fell off. I don't know."

That much was obvious. It had not just fallen off though; it had been torn off. The skin around the cut was rigid and red.

"Why do you have a dick on your face?" Sammy suddenly asked, confused.

Peter knitted his brows.

"What?"

"Just go get them," Sammy ordered, changing topics on a whim. When Peter did not react fast enough, she lost her composure, raising her voice. "Go get them!"

Peter hastily left the room; his heavy footsteps receded down the hall. Swallowing hard, Liore could not shake the image of blood in her head. The scent was strong, despite the lack of it pouring from his neck; drained, she reckoned, a common M.O. she had witnessed before. She tried not to stare, but like a car crash, she could not look away.

"I need some air."

"Yeah, sure. Leave me alone here with the headless dead guy," Sammy muttered sarcastically.

Liore ignored her and left the room, standing just outside the door. She took an uneasy breath. No matter how hard she tried, she could not get the graphics of the crime scene out of her head. Her nails dug into the soft flesh of her palms; a ravenous hunger filled her.

Breathe, girl, breathe.

A moment later, several footsteps paced down the hall toward her. Liore ignored the contractions in her stomach and watched as the Rats poured in one by one. She heard gasps and swear words echo around the kitchen, then silence. For a moment there was nothing, as though each of them were trying to process what had happened. Then Frank broke the silence.

"What the fuck were you doing down here, anyway?"

"I couldn't sleep. I heard something," Sammy answered quietly.

Liore leaned her head against the frame of the door, listening in. She bounced her leg, riled.

"What, you just had to come and check it out, huh?" Frank asked.

Sammy inhaled sharply. "You think I could do that?"

Liore imagined her pointing at Dean's headless body as if to say, "Little old me, really?" She was not lying. Joey said it best, she did not like to get her hands dirty.

"Be honest," the medic began. "What does that look like to you?"

"It looks like a fucking wild animal ripped him apart," Frank answered. "But what do I know. I'm not the expert here. Why don't you ask, the nut case."

Liore snorted. Who hurt him?

"I'm a cleaner, not a forensic scientist. But... I can tell you no human could do that. The muscles are torn; arteries pulled taut until they snapped apart like rubber bands." Liore chewed her bottom lip. "And then there is not nearly enough blood. Like he was drained. I've only seen something like this a few times."

"No. No. No. I'm not fu... We're not fucking going there," Frank argued.

He, too, must have thought the same thing. Rickles swore beneath his breath.

"Why are you all acting so weird?" Sammy asked. Her tone was panicked and scared.

"There are stories about Lazaar's hit man," Joey answered.

"Can we not do this, please?" Frank pleaded.

There was that fear again, seeping through the seams of his poorly stitched guard. He was not as altogether as he pretended to be.

"Valdez."

The name hit like a truck.

"I heard a story once," Rickles began. "Three of Lazaar's top guys got pinched a few years ago. The FBI flipped 'em. Night before the trial, they were all holed up on the top floor of a hotel. A dozen agents in the next room and two on the door.

"Next morning, FBI goes into the room. All they bodies are ripped apart. Limbs...and organs missing. Decapitations. That's his signature. Valdez. He's a fucking animal."

Rickles took a moment, then continued. "And there was no way in and out of that room except for the front door or the 23rd-story window. So how'd he do it?"

"Bullshit," Sammy blurted out in disbelief.

Frank retorted, quick as a whip, "It's not fucking bullshit. That's not the first time I heard that story."

Liore could say the same. It was a widely known story in her line of work, one she was thankful that she did not have to erase.

"We'd better check on the girl," Joey suggested.

Frank agreed. "Take ten, then we all go together."

Each of them poured out of the kitchen, going their separate ways; some to think and some to decompress, Liore assumed. She did not blame them after the scene they had just witnessed. Dean's body was left in the kitchen for the time being; she would get rid of it later. Following behind Sammy to the bar, a large hand took hold of her arm, turning her around. She met Peter's curious eyes.

"Are we, uh, OK?"

"Right now, not so much," Liore admitted. She reached for her locket, turning her head, then sighed sharply. “A lot is going on right now, Peter. We don't have time to play 'forgive and forget' with one another."

Her mistake was not walking away. Liore turned her eyes to him, noting the look of rejection in his own. She would have taken pity on him, if not for the dick on his face. A grin tugged at her lips.

"Come with me."

Liore led him to the nearest bathroom, a powder room with only a sink and a toilet. As she searched for a clean cloth, he looked at his face in the hazy mirror, knitting his brows.

"Someone drew a dick on my face."

Liore snorted. He probably would have worn it all night if someone had not shown him. Wetting a cloth with warm water and a dab of scented soap, she hopped onto the edge of the sink basin and directed him between her legs; her knees rested against his sides. Peter squirmed a bit, eyes locked on her.

"Be still."

Peter listened, to her delight. Liore held his jaw as she focused on cleaning the crude drawing from his skin. It came off rather easily, though his cheek was a bit red.

"I like your eyes. They aren't the same color," Peter said quietly.

"Heterochromia," Liore enlightened.

Her left eye was pure green, while the other was blue-green. It was a subtle difference, honestly. Once the drawing was gone, Liore tilted her head to the side so that he could see behind her in the mirror.

"Beau, non (handsome, yeah)?"

Peter widened his eyes in surprise, smiling.

"You speak French?"

"Yeah. I told you, I picked up a few things over the years," Liore reminded him.

Peter eyed her a moment, smile slowly fading, then leaned down and kissed her lips. She turned her head, sighing.

"You shouldn't do that."

"Why?" Asked Peter. "I thought you liked me."

She did, but it was complicated.

"You don't know me, dear." And I don't know you.

While Peter was kind, he was also selfish. A man who would suggest killing a kid to save himself, but also did not want her to be mad at him. He was a strange man. It was like he wanted to atone, but could not shake the person he had become.

"That's okay," he muttered.

No. No, it wasn't. Liore should have pushed him aside; she should have shut down this cat and mouse game and walked away, but the moment his warm lips brushed her ear, she hummed.

"Vous aimez ca, oui (you like that, yeah)?"

Her stomach fluttered. She did, but she also hated how weak his voice made her. Liore was always weak to men like Peter; men with the means to handle her properly. She moaned softly as a warm wet sensation traced the length of her ear. Balling up the fabric of his shirt into her hands, she leaned against his chest, listening to the thump of his racing heart. He was addictive. Would it be wrong for her to taste him? She trembled in his arms at the thought. There was not nearly enough time to appreciate this.

Peter took her by the hips and pulled her to the edge of the sink, flush against her body. A pleasurable sensation, warm as fire water traveled through her from groin to stomach. Liore did not expect to give herself to him, but she damn well would have, had they more time.

"Pete! Jules! You down there?" Asked Rickles. His voice sounded close.

Liore sighed deeply, then pushed against Peter's chest until they were separated.

"Times up, Big Guy."

Peter searched her face. His own was flushed.

"Later, yeah?"

He was cute. Liore grinned. She could promise nothing. With a soft assuring kiss on the lips, she reluctantly nudged him away from her and leapt down from the sink. She passed Rickles in the hallway, smiling at him. The knowing look on his face said everything.

At the base of the stairs, the seven convened. Frank led them up the stairs, standard issue Glock drawn.

"All right, let's game this out," he said as he checked each and every corner. "If Valdez or anyone else is in here, that means Lambert gave us up. And I don't buy that."

"Or Lazaar got to him and beat our location out of him," Joey proposed.

That was one possible option. Liore tilted her head thoughtfully.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Frank halted at the top of the stairs and shot a glare at her. "Lambert is a meticulous motherfucker. He's very, very careful."

"Don't sprain your neck sucking his dick," Liore muttered.

Rickles snorted and peeked over his shoulder at her. Each of them reached the top floor as Joey and Frank continued to argue.

"If he gave us up, that means either one of us did it...or Valdez is in here and he did it," Frank stated.

Then Joey added something that Liore was sure raised the suspicion to a new level.

"Or one of us is Valdez."

"I, for one, would like to revisit the cut and run idea," Rickles mentioned.

Liore did not blame him. She was certain none of them were Valdez, however. None of them had the animal instinct to viciously rip a man's head off. Frank and Joey continued down the hall.

"Yeah, but...Wrinkles, now that Dean is dead, we have a bigger share." Peter raised his brows as though he had just said the smartest thing in the world.

Sammy gasped in disbelief.

"You're welcome to my share, Pete. You could be the richest headless man in America," Rickles retorted. He followed them.

Liore was next, but before she did, she patted Peter on the shoulder as if to say, "Good luck with that, darling".

Near the end of the hall, the room before the last, Frank cracked open the door and peeked inside. A moment later, he shut it.

"She's fine."

"Just because she's still in there doesn't mean that Valdez is not here," Rickles stated. He paused a moment, shoulders tense. "I'm out. You coming?"

Frank scoffed. Funny, because a moment ago, he was the one who was desperate to leave. Shaking his head in disbelief, Rickles quickly turned.

"Suit yourself."

He spared Liore no look as he stormed down the stairs. She and Peter were the only two who did not try to stop him; the former saw no point in it. Standing on the middle stair, she watched him pace across the foyer and swing open the entrance doors. A cast iron gate blocked him from proceeding forward.

"Where the fuck did that come from?" Peter asked.

Rickles strained to open the gate, yanking on it a few times before Peter decided to intervene. He stood at the bottom of the staircase and squared his shoulders.

"Wrinkles. Stand back."

Liore widened her eyes. He was not about to do what she thought he was about to do, was he?

"Peter, darling. That's cast iron."

But he did not listen. With a yell, he lunged forward and rammed his shoulder into the gate, but as Liore had warned him, cast iron was as durable as it looked. Poor Peter did not stop there. He stood straight and slammed his hands against it, then turned to face the others.

"It's locked."

Liore shook her head. Then suddenly a loud thud echoed from somewhere in the house. An indistinct muttering followed like the sound of old unlubricated gears turning within the walls. Metal shutters rose over the windows, clicking into place.

"Uh...what the fuck is happening?" Sammy asked.

"I think that, uh, trying the door, it, uh...it-it triggered it or something," Peter answered, clearly shaken.

Liore frowned, muttering, "The house locked us in."

In a panic, Rickles picked up the nearest chair to him and tossed it against the wall with an angry shout. It fell apart, sending broken pieces and splinters of wood to the floor.

"This whole thing is a trap," Joey mentioned in realization.

Suddenly as though something came to mind, Rickles cursed and raced up the stairs, brushing past Liore.

"Wrinkles! Where's...? Hey. Where's Wrinkles going?" Peter asked.

Frank raised his gun, pointing to the ceiling.

"If this is Valdez, maybe he checked on the girl and left her there to throw us off."

"I'll see what I can find out," Joey stated.

She withdrew from the room, leaving Liore alone with Frank, Sammy, and Peter. Unbeknownst to her, an idea had been planted, one that was going to instill chaos the moment Joey returned.

In the meantime, Liore ambled down the stairs and stood in front of the gate. She ran a finger over the cold metal, sighing. A warm hand touched her shoulder, turning her attention to Peter.

"You Ok?"

"As one would be in a situation like this," Liore answered. She turned and leaned her back against the iron bars; they groaned in protest. "I don't look like it, but I'm nervous. Plans that go out of control are hard to prepare for."

She wanted things to go right; she needed them to.

"We'll figure it out...together," Peter promised.

Liore smiled, actually smiled. She wished that were true.

"Care for a game of pool while we wait?" She leaned in close to his ear, whispering. "I'll go easy on you. Scout's honor."

Peter smiled widely.

The two moved into the entertainment room and for the next ten minutes played. There was not much to discuss between them; nothing either of them could say to one another. The game was a mere distraction, sprinkled with playful banter and flirting. Since finding out that Liore liked his voice, Peter seemed to take delight in teasing her, saying in French things that made her stomach tighten. She hated to admit it, but she was on cloud 9.

"Puis-je t'embrasser à nouveau (can I kiss you again)?" Peter asked.

Liore glanced up at him from her position at the table, amid a shot. She should not indulge him, but she could not help it. Being around him was the most fun she had in a long time.

"Is that all you want to do with me, Peter?"

His face flustered, spreading to the tip of his ears. She considered pushing him further, toying with him a bit more, but their fun had once again come to an end. Sammy came into the room, stiff as a board. A moment later, Joey followed, gun aimed at her. Liore was weary. What happened up there?

"Don't point that at Sammy, Joey," Peter warned.

Joey turned the gun on him.

"Seen Frank?"

No sooner had she asked, Frank came out of the bathroom muttering about towels. The gun turned on him, making him jerk to a halt and raise his hands.

"Oh. Hey, Joey. What's going on?"

"Why did you do it?" Joey asked.

Frank raised a brow. He was truly confused, Liore noted. She was too.

"Do what?"

"Bring us here to kill us," Joey answered.

Frank glanced at Sammy, then at Liore and Peter.

"Don't do it, Peter!"

That bitch. His plan to distract Joey worked in his favor. She aimed her gun at Peter, who widened his eyes. While she had her attention on him, Frank pulled the Glock from the holster on his side and aimed it at her. Liore was not sure why, but the action irritated her.

"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about, but you don't sound very calm right now, Little Miss Paranoid, so forgive the precaution," Frank snapped. "You guys know what the fuck she's talking about?"

Peter hummed.

"I think she thinks that you brought us here to kill us."

"Wow. Fantastic insight, Peter," Frank retorted.

Liore clutched the pool stick tightly in her hand.

"I'm not sure, but I'm all for her shooting you."

Frank shot her a glare, then turned his attention back to Joey.

"Care to share what's on your mind, Joey?"

"You're Valdez," Joey declared. "You told the girl, you killed Dean, and you just killed Rickles."

There was a lot to take in there. What sort of fuckery was going on?

"Mr. Wrinkles is dead?" Asked Peter.

"I didn't tell the girl shit," Frank argued.

Joey obviously did not believe him, but Liore did, much to her annoyance.

"Wow. You got a lot going on up there, junkie, but your brain's not quite putting it together, huh?" Frank grinned. "You let a little girl get inside your head? You're not as smart as you think you are.

"The girl, though, she's fucking inspired, turning us against each other like this."

"I believe her," Joey admitted.

Frank hummed, then clicked his tongue. He glanced between Peter, Sammy, and Liore.

"Well, I hate to say it, but I think we're gonna have to get rough with her."

That was a mistake. Her nails bit into her palm as Liore clutched her hand. Hurting Abigail was not in the plans.

"I'll do it," Peter uttered.

He set the pool cue down on the table, eyes darting to Liore, who shot him a heated look. She did not understand him. One minute he was warm, then the next cold. Did he feel like he had to follow every order given to him, no matter how immoral? Averting his eyes to the floor in regret, Peter moved toward the door.

"Don't take another fucking step, Peter," Joey ordered.

He halted, a frown on his face.

"It, uh...it's my job, Joey."

"Yeah, except you have a choice here," Liore stated.

Peter did not even look at her.

"Je ne (I don't)."

"Look, I just want to get to the bottom of this, you know?" Frank grinned. "My team is dropping like flies, and...well, our guest has besmirched my good name, and I take that personally, you know?"

He nodded toward Peter, who took off in a run toward the stairs. Not caring whether or not Frank might shoot her, Liore tightened her jaw and then chased after him. By the time she got to the bedroom, he had a gun drawn on her. Abigail was pressed as far as possible against the headboard, in fear of what he might do to her.

"Peter, don't."

"I'm sorry," Peter uttered.

Liore honestly believed him. She could hear the regret in his voice. Raising the pool stick in defense, she intended to smack him with it, but before the situation escalated that far, Joey rushed in disarmed Peter, snapping his arm behind his back and pressing his face into the mattress. He groaned in protest.

"Joey, what's happening?" Abigail asked in shock and confusion.

Liore met her eyes. A pang of grief washed over her. She reached for the locket around her neck.

"Just sorting something out," Joey retorted, answering her question.

"I'm just trying to do my job," Peter tried to argue.

What sort of job was shooting a kid? What did Lambert hire him to do? At that moment Frank burst in the door, gun aimed at Joey. He side-eyed Liore as if he were warning her, then focused his attention completely on Joey.

"Fucking put it down. I'd really prefer not to have to fucking shoot you."

"What is he talking about?" Abigail asked. Her eyes turned to Liore again, and a look of familiarity grew in them.

"He's lost his shit. Forsaken the rules."

Joey ordered Peter to get up, and he did, holding his shoulder in pain. The gun was level with his face.

"Frank, just shoot her. She's not gonna kill me."

Joey clicked back the hammer and the look on Peter's face went from certainty to shock.

"I might be wrong, Frank."

Liore had respect for Joey. She seemed determined to keep Abigail safe and follow the rules. Perhaps they were being tested. The moment Abigail spoke up, she was certain.

"Joey, I'm scared."

"Fucking put it down," Frank threatened. "I'm not fucking around here."

"You promised, Joey," reminded Abigail.

The tension brewing was intense. Liore trembled from nerves as she watched. What were they going to do? How was it going to end?

"I'm doing my best here, Abigail," Joey assured her.

"Please point that somewhere else," Peter pleaded.

Back and forth the three argued. Like a rubber band on the verge of snapping the tension rose to all new heights. Liore could hardly take it. Her nails left indents in the wood of the stick. Then suddenly all hell broke loose. She should have noticed that Abigail had gone quiet; she should have seen her break the bones of her hand to free herself from the cuffs. But she was fixated on the others, on the edge of her seat as though she were watching a late-night TV drama.

Sammy was the one who tore her away, screaming at them to gain their attention.

Liore then noticed Abigail, standing on the bed. She positioned herself en pointe with her arms concealing her face, then, to her shock, revealed herself with a loud, horrifying shriek.

Her eyes were a shade of pale blue that seemed to pop, and her teeth were shark-like, primal in appearance. Loire stood captivated for a moment until Abigail leapt onto Peter's back. He struggled to remove her, but before she sank her fangs into him, a gunshot to the head stopped her cold, painting the wall with thick black blood.

Liore groaned, covering her ears in pain. Was Frank out of his mind? Her ears rang a moment, then slowly cleared. She watched Abigail sit up, wound to her forehead. The bullet did nothing to stop her. Sammy was the first to flee. Peter comically drew a cross on his chest, then nearly ran into Liore as he tried to run. Taking her by the arm, he dragged her out of the room and down the hall.

The last thing Liore heard before everything went silent was a loud shriek followed by the sound of a clip emptying into what she assumed was Abigail.

[mydisenchantedeulogy]

Rough Draft Snippets:

(Leaning toward Obsession for the title).

I do not speak Korean, so I apologize for the messy translations. I promise, I mean no offense.

[mydisenchantedeulogy]

I started up KPop Demon Hunters after it kept blowing up my dash, and I have to admit, I'm hooked, especially on Baby. I definitely want to write a one-shot for him. The first idea I have is for the female reader to be Zoey's sibling, and Baby fakes interest in her in order to uncover weakness on Huntrix.

The other idea is an AU one-shot where Gwi-Ma wins and Baby chooses a soul to keep for himself, a female reader who runs a fan website for him in her free time before the Idol Concert.

I appreciate the votes.

[mydisenchantedeulogy]

WIP Wednesday

Fandom: Abigail

Pairing: Peter X OFC

[mydisenchantedeulogy]

Criminal [Chapter Three] Indecisive [Terrence Lacroix | Peter]

Warning(s): OC, the lull before the storm, alcohol, drinking games, first kiss, flirting, Peter speaking French, mixed feelings, doubt, manipulation, talks of murder.

No Minors Allowed!!

The plop of a coin into a shot glass filled the tense air. Sammy whooped in triumph.

"Yeah, motherfucker!"

Peter cried out in surprise; the third time he had lost a round of quarters, Liore noted.

"Drink, bitch!" Sammy urged.

Peter grabbed the glass from the tabletop. Their little game had moved from the bar to a nearby set of chairs, sitting across from one another. Liore was not playing; she got bored with drinking, but she was keeping score. There was nothing else to do at the moment.

"I really don't want to," he stated.

"Your tone says otherwise," Liore pointed out.

If Peter did not want to, he would not play. He quickly took the shot, removing the quarter from his mouth, and bounced a finger at Sammy.

"I like your tattoos."

She hummed in reply, eyes darting briefly to Liore. It was a subtle gesture, but even over the pool table, she noticed it. Liore missed her next shot and ignored it. She moved aside as Rickles lined up his cue.

"Do they have, uh, a meaning or..."

"We're not supposed to get personal, big boy," Sammy interrupted. She poured another shot.

"Well, I know, but I like your little demon guy," Peter stated.

"I just said it's too personal." Sammy paused for a moment, then smiled softly. "Thank you. You don't even know my name, man."

Joey returned in the same moment Rickles sank his shot. He cleared his throat, drawing Liore's attention.

“Stake your claim."

Liore grinned. "All is fair in love and war."

She was irritated by Peter's blatant flirting with Sammy, but what could she do? The man had his preferences. Ultimately, it honestly did not matter, the reason she chose not to interfere. She ignored them and moved to the head of the table to listen in on whatever hushed conversation Frank and Joey were having.

"She just implied that her father might be a particularly violent man," Joey mentioned.

Frank sighed loudly, obviously not caring.

"Wow. She implied that, did she? Well... of course she fucking implied that. She's scared. She wants to rattle you."

"I don't think so," Joey argued. She pressed again. "Do you know who her father is?"

"Oh, my God, you're gonna be a real pain in my ass, aren't you? There's one in every crew," Frank stated, annoyed.

Liore turned up her eyes. Joey's concerns were not something to sweep under the rug and forget about. Frank was just being a dick. Why the fuck was his head shoved so far up his ass? What Joey said next made her hum.

"No, sir. I just don't scare easy, so when I do, I pay attention."

Getting up, she left the room a second time. Liore shared a knowing look with Rickles from across the table; he, too, seemed to have overhead them. Their moment was interrupted when Sammy called out her alias. It took her a moment to realize that she had asked her a question.

"Sorry, I was miles away." At least she could blame it on the alcohol.

Sammy pointed to Peter.

"How many shots?"

"Four maybe." She honestly lost count.

Sammy slapped the arm of her chair.

"You're just missing so you have to finish the whole bottle, aren't you?"

It certainly seemed that way to Liore. He had not made one single shot since they started playing. His luck could not have been that bad.

"I don't know why you would say that," Peter muttered sarcastically. He tossed the quarter onto the table and took another shot. It clattered loudly, rolling to the side.

"Oh, that's bad." Sammy caught on..

At least Peter was not flat out denying it. Why, though? What did he want to forget?

"Punishments," Rickles blurted out. Liore raised a brow, so he elaborated. "Play with punishments. The one who misses the shot gets the punishment"

That was an interesting idea. She was eager to see if Peter would still miss on purpose. Liore raised her shoulders, directing her attention to Peter. He shook his head, albeit reluctantly.

"Yeah. Sounds fun."

Sammy sat on the edge of her seat, excited.

"I know a good one."

She motioned toward the glass, urging him on. Peter poured another shot, then snatched up the quarter and took aim. His tongue poked out between his lips as he tried to focus. But again, he missed. Was he honestly trying? It was hard to tell.

"Guess I get a punishment, yeah?"

Sammy pretended to think for a moment, then pointed a finger at Liore.

"Kiss Juliet."

What? Liore crossed her fingers in an X.

"Nope. Not a punishment."

"No? Why don't you want to kiss me?" Peter asked, seemingly confused.

Liore tightened her jaw. She did not expect it to turn around on her. Fuck Rickles. Fuck Sammy. A part of her, however, was eager. How could she not be? She sighed in defeat.

"It's not–" She made an excuse. "I'm taking advantage of you."

"Aww," Sammy cooed.

Peter raised his brows, lips parting a fraction.

"You're not."

She just couldn't. But she wanted to. Liore sighed. Ambling over to him, she rested her hands on the arm of the chair and stooped over. The kiss lasted a few seconds, but when she tried to part from him, Peter pursued her. His large hand wrapped gently around her upper arm, keeping her in place as he kissed her amorously. Kinder than any man who she had ever let touch her before. She responded with the same fervor, but the moment his tongue eagerly brushed her lips, she pulled away abruptly as though she had been electrocuted. 

"Don't do that.” 

Liore backed away, then walked to the entrance. She knew that Peter would be confused; she simply did not care, owing him no explanation. 

"Wait. Did I, uh– Did I do something?!" Peter tried to ask.

Yeah. You did.

Liore quickly left the room.

–

The moment the shit hit the fan, Liore was in the hearth room, resting on a plush couch. She was content with being alone, preferring it. There was only so much socializing she could do before her energy drained like a weak battery. Besides, her thoughts were enough to keep her company. All that mattered after all was the job; she cared little about the opinions of the others.

Or so she told herself. 

Peter was at the back of her mind, feeding on her like a parasite, there more than she wanted him to be. Liore found him attractive, but it was no more than that. Attraction. She had no interest in getting to know him on a personal level, though she was curious. Joey mentioned he was from Quebec. Did he speak French? She was fond of languages; she spoke five. And while that left her stomach feeling like a kaleidoscope of butterflies had been set aflight, she could not quite read him.

For a would-be criminal, Peter was, well, not what she had been expecting. He fascinated her just about as much as a shiny new toy did. Liore wanted badly to play with him. After tonight, maybe she could. 

Liore squirmed uncomfortably; the couch groaned in protest beneath her. She hated feeling restless. Luckily for her, the boredom ended the moment Frank stormed into the room, bag in hand.

“Got somewhere better to be, boss man?” 

Frank ignored her. A moment later, Joey hurried into the room; the others followed closely behind. Something was wrong. She sat up, dangling her legs off the couch. The brief concerned look that Peter gave her did not go unnoticed. She ignored it. 

"Hey! You can't just leave without telling us what's going on."

She grabbed his arm, yanking him around to face her. Frank pulled himself free.

"What's going on? What's going on is we are fucked." He pointed briefly to the stairs. Liore had never seen him so terrified. "That little girl is Kristof Lazaar's daughter."

Liore tightened her jaw. Well fuck. How did he come to learn that bombshell? 

"Who's Kristof Lazaar?" Asked Sammy.

Frank shot her a look of disbelief as if to say, "Are you fucking serious?”

"Bruh, that's a urban legend, man," Dean chimed in, dismissing the claim. 

Ignorance was bliss. She hummed. 

"The boogeyman is considered an urban legend, dear. Kristof Lazaar is the man the legends were inspired by."

Everyone in the underworld knew him, or at least had heard of his name before; the evil deeds he had committed. This whole plan made her uneasy. It had strayed too far. 

"S'not true," Dean argued.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, pumpkin.”

She envied his ignorance.

"He's not a fucking urban legend. He's very fucking real, believe me," Frank asserted. He buried his fingers in his hair. "Nobody even knows how big his fucking empire is."

Sammy knitted her brows.

"So he's, like, a crime boss?"

"He controls a lot more than just crime,” Rickles answered. 

Lazaar had roots buried deep in the entire city, no doubt further. Honestly, Liore was not even certain how far his authority reached. His shadow encompassed everything; everyone. 

"Is Lambert fucking insane?" Asked Joey. "He just put a death mark on all of us. Including himself."

"What if we just, like, you know, like, give her back and say sorry?" Sammy proposed, innocently. 

Liore snorted. She was cute.

"Oh, yeah. "Here's your daughter, Mr. Fucking Antichrist. We're really sorry. Hope she's not too traumatized. Let's play a round of golf sometime,” Frank said sarcastically, waving his arms around like a lunatic. 

Sammy shot him a glare.

"Fuck you, Frank."

"This isn't the time for sarcasm, okay?" Peter stated, defending her.

Liore could not help but laugh, an action that did not go unnoticed.

"You know," Frank stated, pointing at her. "You're very fucking calm for someone who's heard of Laazar by name. Nut case, yeah?”

"Desensitized," Liore corrected. 

He scoffed, muttering beneath his breath. She was fucked up, she knew. Too many years cleaning up someone else's mess. Lazaar frightened her, but she had a job to focus on.

After a moment of silence, Joey proposed an idea. 

"Let's just leave. We leave her with some food and make an anonymous phone call, get the fuck out of Dodge."

Rickles snapped his fingers, "I like that."

"It's not like she's seen our faces," Joey furthered.

"Uh, actually, she has, thanks to you," Frank admitted, pointing to her.

That would explain how Frank knew about Abigail being Lazaar's kid. Liore turned up her eyes. He was not as in control as he made them believe. 

"Curiosity get the better of you, boss man?" She asked, teasingly. 

Frank shot her a glare. "Fuck you, nut case." He turned his attention back to Joey. "It's her fucking fault."

"I was supposed to be the only one in and out of that room. And I wore my mask," Joey retorted, in her defense. 

"Well, I didn't, so I walk in there to see Angelina Ballerina memorizing my fucking face," Frank snapped. He waved his hand in front of his face to emphasize.

How was that her fault? He got greedy. 

"Major party foul," Dean chimed in. 

"Why did you take off her blindfold, Joey?" Peter asked, knitting his brows. 

"It's messy," Sammy added.

Liore scoffed. They were ignoring who really broke the rules. 

"She's a kid. Have some fucking compassion.” 

What Peter said next turned her stomach.

"We have to kill her."

"Not a fucking chance," shot down Joey. "We're not killing the girl."

At least someone had morals.

"She saw Frank's face," Peter tried to argue. 

"Because he's fucking reckless," Liore snapped. She stood, shoving her finger in Frank's direction. "We had orders. He should have left well enough alone."

Peter gave her a look, one that told her he was regrettably not on her side. 

"Are you seriously gonna stand there and tell me that you're OK with killing a kid over a mistake we made?” 

He said nothing, but his eyes held a look of regret in them. Liore scoffed and shook her head.

"I thought better of you.” 

"Even if Lazaar catches up to him, he don't know shit about us," Rickles pointed out.

"He knows that I'm Quebecois," stated Peter. "He knows that Sammy comes from money. He knows that you come from a military background, and that Jules is a cleaner thanks to Joey."

Frank should win an award. Master fucking manipulator. He managed to turn the majority of the room against Joey for his mistake. And he was not done. 

"Just had to do your little magic trick, didn't you?"

Liore turned up her eyes. She did not see them arguing earlier. They all but threw their money at her, thinking it was a fun game.

"Hold up. If we just leave her here, then we don't get none of that money?" Dean asked. He glanced from one member to the next. "Kind of need some money real bad right now. I don't know about y'all."

"How much do you trust Lambert?" Joey asked Frank.

He raised his arms. "I trust him enough. That doesn't make this worth the risk, though."

She closed her eyes and sighed, then opened them again.

"If six million two hundred fifty thousand per person isn't worth the risk, then what is?"

"It's a lot of money," Dean added.

Liore nodded in agreement, turning her attention to Frank. In the end, it was his decision. She disliked him, maybe even hated him, but none of this was going to work if he did not stay. He took off his glasses, rubbing his eyes.

"All right, he wouldn't have had us kidnap the kid if he didn't think we could pull this off, so maybe we all just pretend like we don't know who her father is, and with the money we're making from this, we just disappear forever. Hmm? Start a new life. I never have to see any of you fucks ever again.

"Everyone stay alert. Any threat is gonna come from outside, so we set a perimeter and we hold it. Rickles takes first watch in the crow's nest. Joey, secure the interior. Look for any ways in or out. What is it like, twenty more hours, hmm?"

He glanced at his watch, tightening his jaw, then grunted. "Twenty-two hours." Picking up his bag, he cursed beneath his breath and stormed out of the room, disappearing into the bowels of the mansion. 

Liore was relieved. Walking back over to the couch, she sat down in exhaustion. A nap honestly would not hurt. While she got comfortable, the others filed out of the room, all except Peter. He remained in place like a soldier waiting to be dismissed. She ignored him until his deep voice broke the silence, a whisper above the crackling fireplace. 

“Jules, I–”

“I think you've said enough, big guy,” Liore interrupted. She was not in the right mindset to handle him at the moment. Turning onto her side, she faced away from him. 

For a moment there was silence. Liore was aware that he was still standing there; she could feel his eyes on her.

“Ne sois pas en colère contre moi (please don't be mad at me),” he muttered, then trudged away.

A shiver ran down her spine. He was not playing fair. She almost called him back.

[mydisenchantedeulogy]

Character Art:

Camilla Laverne

She is an Attack on Titan OC, a woman born in the Underground. She and Levi have ties, but they went sour at some point, and she became his enemy. Though things changed after she was brought to the surface; she began to fall for him.

Camilla is a major bitch, but she has the right intentions. Children are her weaknesses, and she does anything for Levi, obsessing over him occasionally. She fights dirty only because that's how Levi taught her and is never without several throwing knives on her person.

[mydisenchantedeulogy]

Criminal [Chapter Two] What's In A Name [Terrence Lacroix | Peter]

Warning(s): OC, language, heavy dialog, mild flirting, alcohol, implied drug abuse, assumptions, character nature.

No Minors Allowed!!

With the Boston cityscape in the rearview mirror, the driver slowed the E-150 to a sensible speed, sailing across the blacktop until the road transitioned to loose gravel. Bending forward, Liore was eager. As they approached an iron-clad gate that read ‘Wilhelm Manor’, it creaked open ominously, letting them pass through.

"What the fuck?" The driver uttered quietly, clearly confused.

Liore grinned, humming the theme to 'The Twilight Zone' beneath her breath. She felt the big man nudge her leg as if to say, "That's a laugh".

"Focus," Specs ordered.

He certainly knew how to kill the vibe. Liore was not going to allow him to ruin her good mood, however. Like a child eager to visit the park, she rocked back and forth in her seat. As soon as the vehicle came to a stop, she hopped out, standing in front of a magnificent Tudor-style Edwardian house. Her stomach fluttered. She hardly even noticed the man standing before the canopy until he cleared her throat. 

Liore caught his eye, grinning.

"Nice place you got here."

The man, who she assumed was the fixer, giving off a commanding presence, said nothing in response. Liore stared at him momentarily until the hacker, a cutesy girl with fluffy eyebrows, brushed past her. She followed her inside, standing to her right inside a cluttered entrance hall with parquet flooring and a high decorative ceiling. She did not envy the person who had to dust this place.

"Whose house is this?" The big man asked in awe.

His question went unanswered. The driver whistled loudly; his voice echoed off the walls.

"This place is pretty sweet."

"You like this?" Asked the hacker.

The driver hummed, taking another brief look around.

"Yeah, look at all this cool shit."

Liore liked expensive things. A lot of it was pretty old too, blending various centuries. Shame it was just sitting here, collecting dust.

"Find a room and get the girl situated," the fixer ordered, suddenly. His voice was low and deep.

Liore held back a smile. Did Specs like to be ordered around? He did not seem the type. She studied his reaction, but he did not even so much as twitch a muscle. Bummer. 

"Set up a lookout position," the fixer furthered. "Meet back here in five."

Once they were free to move, Liore gently nudged the big man on the arm before he toted away Abigail.

"Careful with her, yeah."

He gave her a thumbs-up, smiling. She trusted him, oddly enough. Liore wet her dry lips, meeting eyes with the fixer again. He merely stared at her a moment, then turned his attention back to Specs. She was not fond of him. There was something in his eyes; something menacing.

All work and no play.

She turned up her eyes and returned outside, retrieving a large metal case from the E-150. It had all of her gear in it, loaded into the cabin before she ever left the house. She took it inside to the entertainment room, a luxurious space with an open bar and sitting chairs, then set it down, popping open the locks. The fixer had gotten everything she asked for: an assortment of PPE and cleaning chemicals, the arsenal of a cleaner. There were a few more things to grab, but she did not want to tote them all in just yet. Instead, she left the case in the corner of the room and returned to the entrance hall to wait.

One by one, each of the crew returned. The driver and the hacker had not moved an inch, Liore noted, until the fixer stood before them on the main staircase, clearing his throat. Everyone fell into line like soldiers standing at attention.

"For those of you who don't know, I go by Lambert," he said with boredom in his tone. How many times had he practiced this, Liore wondered. "You all came highly recommended. And so far, those recommendations are paying off.

"You know the rules. No real names, no backstories, and keep the grabass to a minimum."

Now that's no fun, Liore thought humorously.

"It's a twenty-four-hour job. And the hard part is already over. Now you babysit,” continued Lambert. He lazily motioned to the woman with the untamed hair. "But the only one that sees the girl is this one. So she only hears one voice.

"The rest of you...get comfortable. Questions?"

"Yeah. Who's the girl?" The woman asked.

Liore raised a brow. She wondered when someone was going to ask. Turning her attention back to Lambert, she waited for his answer. But honestly, she did not expect much. 

"You don't need to know her name."

Bingo. 

"I don't… care about her name," the woman argued. "Whose kid is she?"

"The fuck's that matter to you?" Specs snapped.

He had a point though. It should not matter to any of them who her parents were. 

"A very wealthy man who's about to be fifty million poorer," Lambert stated, to answer her question. Fifty million split between the eight of them, including himself. 

There was tension brewing. Liore could feel it, thick as London fog. She reckoned Lambert could too.

“Look, you're safe here. And to be completely certain that you can't be tracked, I'm going to collect your cellphones.” He reached into the pocket of his blazer and took out a clear bag.

“Nobody's tracking me,” argued the driver. 

It was clear that neither Lambert nor Specs cared. The latter raised his phone.

“We're not taking any chances. Give ‘em over.”

To say that Liore was bummed was an understatement. When it was her turn to shove her phone in a pile with the others, after waiting a few comical seconds for the hacker to finish whatever text or blog post she was typing, she pouted.

“There goes my login streak on Obey Me.”

“Asmo stan,” the hacker uttered. 

Liore grinned. “Beel.”

It was a small world after all. Lambert sighed in annoyance and continued down the line until each of them had put their phones in the bag.

“Keep the doors locked and the girl isolated.” He ambled around them to the front door, standing in the entranceway, facing them. “Anything else I can do for you before I leave you to it?” 

The big man raised his hand. He reminded Liore of a teenager waiting for the approval of his teacher to speak. 

“Uh, how come we can't use our real names?”

“So if any of you fucks get caught, you can’t rat out the others,” Specs answered.

He made it clear he considered himself superior. But it was the driver who made her scoff. 

“Yeah, dumbass.”

“You asked the same question in the van,” the big man muttered, pointing out his mistake. 

“He was thinking with his dick then,” Liore pointed out.

Probably still was.

The driver shot her a heated glare. She spared him no response.

“You want names?” Asked Lambert suddenly, to humor them. “Fine.”

Liore raised a humorous brow as he named them, a proud daddy to his motley crew of would-be criminals. Frank, their spectacle-wearing leader. Dean, the getaway driver. Sammy, the hacker. Peter, the big man. Joey, their medic with the untamed hair, and–

“Damn,” the sniper groaned. “The man got his finger on the pulse of pop culture.”

“And you're Don fucking Rickles. You happy?”

The Rat Pack. Cute. Liore had a feeling that was where this was going. But wait.

“There are only five people in The Summit. Rickles was an unofficial member,” Liore stated.

“So fucking what,” Frank snapped. 

“There are–” Peter paused, counting each of them beneath his breath. “Seven of us.” 

Lambert aimed his finger at her, bouncing it. 

“Juliet.” 

Liore frowned. Juliet Prowse. She was not a core member, but she was a prominent member of their wider social circle, often referred to as a “mascot”. Liore was fine with the name, not so much with the meaning behind his choice for her name. She reached for her locket, gripping it tightly. 

A comforting hand touched her shoulder, interrupting her thoughts. She peered over her shoulder, directing her attention to Peter. He smiled widely. 

“Juliet. Good name.” 

She could not contain her smile.

“Stay focused,” Lambert interrupted. He gave her a stern look, then darted his eyes between them. “There’s clean bedding and lit fires in the rooms. Kitchen’s fully stocked, so is the bar.

“See you in 24 hours, my lovely pack of rats.”

Lambert then turned and began to lock up, leaving them to their devices. 

“Rats?” Asked Peter, confused. He turned his attention to Joey. “Why’d he… How come he called us rats?” 

He clearly did not get the reference. Liore smiled, turning toward the entertainment room. She was dying for a drink.

–

“I'm serious,” Liore stated. She drew an X over her heart. “I can make you any mixed drink you desire…if I have the alcohol for it.” 

Peter smiled softly, leaning over the bar counter on his forearms. He had shed his coat, leaving him in a form-fitting wide-neck shirt. It might have been the shots, but Liore liked the way it looked on him. It showed just enough to pique her interest, but not nearly enough to sate her. 

She wondered if there was something at the end of the chain around his neck, hidden beneath. Or what the tattoo on his chest was, peeking out from the neck of his shirt.

Peter wet his lips. “Hmm. Whiskey Sour.” 

“You bet.” Too easy. 

Liore stood and took off her wool coat. The button-down she wore beneath was a little formal with its sky blue floral print, but it was the only shirt she did not mind getting dirty. She tossed the coat over the stool, then wandered behind the bar. 

“Make room.”

Peter lifted his hands and stepped aside. Liore was aware that he was watching her closely, rooting around in the underbar for supplies, but she did not mind. If he wanted a show, then she would give him one. Though she doubted that was his intention. One thing she learned in the short time she had spoken to him, sitting in the entertainment room with the others lurking about, was that while he was a little slow on the uptake, he was also kind to her. She honestly did not deserve it. 

“Where, uh, did you learn to do this?” Peter asked suddenly. 

He had easily forgotten the rules, but Liore did not feel like it was her obligation to remind him.

“Here and there. You learn a few things along the way when you get bored.” 

Making cocktails was one of them. By the time she finished making the Whiskey Sour, Sammy had wandered in. Dean was not far behind, following her like a lost lamb. Within a half hour, so too did the others. 

Liore stood behind the counter, serving drinks with Peter, and knocking back just as many. An old-time music box played “Goodbye, Good Luck, God Bless You” as Dean wheeled around the pool table on a creaky bicycle that he had found. 

“Man, this place is dope, right?” 

“No. No, it's not,” Sammy retorted. She thanked Liore as she passed her another Kamikaze shot, then drank it back.

The hum of the music lured Liore into a warm daze as she softly rocked her hips to the music. She was a little floaty, not nearly as drunk as she wished she could be.

“Come have a drink with us, Joey,” Dean offered as he wheeled by the plush chair she was sitting in. She was the only one not at or near the bar; the only one not drinking. 

“Gotta go check on the kid soon,” she deflected. “Maybe after.”

Liore had a feeling she did not like drinking. Though, perhaps she liked it a little too much and was trying not to let the others see her true nature. Who was Liore to judge? She was certainly no Saint. 

Dean rang the bell a second time and imitated a buzzer. 

“No party poopers allowed, anyway.” 

Pouring himself another glass of whiskey, Peter put aside the crystal decanter. 

“Hey. Who do you guys think that, uh, this girl’s father is?” 

Sammy peeked back at him from over her shoulder. 

“Hmm, some tech billionaire.”

“Nah,” Frank spoke up, joining them at the bar. “Probably real estate.” 

“Nah, you don’t get a house like that without being into some shit,” Dean commented. “Weapons, drugs…human trafficking.” 

For once, Liore agreed with him. She leaned over the bar counter on her forearms. 

“All three most likely. A widower with fifty million to spare. That's probably a drop in the bucket for a workaholic like him.” 

“Widower?” Rickles asked, turning his attention to her. “How do you know the mother is dead?”

Liore grinned. 

“Because the kid came back from the theatre alone, and there were no pictures of the mother in the house. No pictures in general. Trust me, there's no mother in her life. Probably has not been for a long time.” I should know.

“That's sad,” Peter muttered. 

He had no idea. Liore reached for her locket, squeezing it tight. She became lost in her thoughts until Dean rang that damn bell again, making a screeching noise as he pulled to a sudden stop beside Joey. 

“Who you think he is?”

“America’s dad. Tom Hanks,” she said without missing a beat.

“Ha, ha.” Dean turned up his eyes. His attention returned the moment Joey unfurled a wrapper and popped a piece of hard candy into her mouth. “Let me get a piece of that candy.”

Joey turned him down, a fact that clearly annoyed Dean.

“You grew up with a bunch of brothers and sisters, huh? I'm like a expert at reading people.”

“Oh, really?” Joey was baiting him. She wanted him to try. 

Liore hummed. She stirred her drink around, eager to hear what he had to say about her.

“You like a nanny or a babysitter, looking after that kid.” He went down the line, starting with Frank, a mere bagman for Lambert, then to Rickles, who he claimed dealt with private security. “Explosives man in the back, a bartender looking for a little extra cash, and a little teenage runaway hacker turned black hat for the feds.”

He could not have been more wrong about her. Liore made an X with her fingers, imitating the sound of a buzzer.

“Wow,” Joey said, utterly unimpressed. “You might be the least perceptive person I’ve ever met.”

“How the fuck would you know that?” Asked Dean. 

“You literally got nothing right.” Joey swept her eyes across the group. “About anyone.”

Oh. Did she have her own thoughts about everyone? Liore honestly did not care, a job was a job, but if she wanted to give away information about the others, she would not complain. It was obvious, she was not the only one interested. Frank approached the pool table.

“Crisp a hundred-dollar bill, you can tell me one true thing about me.”

“Pass.” Joey averted her eyes to the side.

Frank grinned in triumph, turning his back on her. Thinking it was over, Liore pouted. Then Dean set the challenge. Good old Dean.

“Told y'all she ain't know shit.”

Joey turned her head, lips pursed as if to say, “Don't say I didn't warn you” then strode over to the table, standing beside Frank.

“You used to be a cop.” She snatched up the hundred from the table. 

Frank gave her an expressionless look, but there was a hint of annoyance and surprise in his eyes. Oh snap. She was right. 

“No way,” Peter muttered.

“Did he arrest you or something?” Sammy asked, intrigued.

Joey pocketed the money and shook her head. “No. It's the stance. The walk. The shoes. Not to mention the standard-issue Glock, the shoulder holster, and he used police hand signals back at the house.”

Did he? Liore honestly was not paying much attention.

“Not a street cop,” Joey mentioned. She stared Frank down as though she wanted to intimidate him. Perhaps she did. “No. Too smart. You need to be in control. So I'm gonna say detective. Homicide or vice?”

Liore whistled, impressed. And a little concerned. It was unnatural how spot on she was. 

“And he tries to hide it, but he’s from Queens. Probably only been up here a few years,” she furthered. 

For a moment, there was silence as everyone processed what Joey had said, then Peter laughed and applauded her. He reached into his pocket and retrieved a hundred-dollar bill, unfurling it with a snap. 

“Hey, uh, you do me, too? Huh? Right here.”

He laid the money down on the bar counter. Joey smiled and ambled forward, a pep in her step. Liore almost wished that she had a bag of popcorn for this; it was too good.

“I almost feel bad taking this…’cause you’ve basically got a fucking neon sign over your head that reads “muscle.”

Peter tightened his pecs proudly; a mare strutting to show dominance. Liore hated to admit it, but her stomach fluttered. 

“Quebec, right?” Asked Joey. She continued. “You got bullied in school? Probably by Dad, too. So when you got bigger than everyone else, you turned the tables. Made it into a career.” 

All that show of dominance and pride vanished in a second. It was almost sad to see his smile falter. But then Peter did something Liore did not expect. He balled his hand and offered it to Joey. A fist bump; a show of approval. She was so conflicted about him. For a criminal, he acted far too kindly. Amends perhaps. 

The sound of money crinkling turned her attention to Sammy who presented a twenty. 

“How much will this get me?”

“Wow. Really? A 20?” Joey shook her head in disappointment, but took the money anyway. “That’s cheap, considering you come from money.”

Sammy did not even try to hide it. She smiled enthusiastically.

“It’s true.”

“Which means you’re only in this for the kicks,” Joey concluded. “You don’t get your hands dirty. You use a keyboard instead of a gun and tell yourself that makes what you do not as bad. Good luck when the illusion wears off.”

Unlike Peter, her smile hardly faltered. Sammy simply did not care.

The shots continued, and Liore was next on the chopping block, a fact that she did not care much for. When Joey's eyes met hers, she quickly shot her down. 

“I'm not interested.”

Joey rested her forearms on the table, leaning in. 

“Afraid?”

“For me? No. Afraid for you,” Liore retorted. A warning. 

Joey snorted. 

“Well, now I have to do it.” She paused for a moment, observing her. “You know, I'll admit, at first I could not quite pin you down. You were all over the place. Then I noticed your little case in the corner. Cleaner. Probably underground. In case something goes wrong here. 

“But there's disdain in your eyes. You don't like it. Or the blood. So, someone is making you do this; someone with power over you. Is it Daddy?”

Liore tightened her jaw. It was a subtle gesture, but Joey seemed to notice. How did she figure out the father angle? She reached for her locket, a sign of confirmation. 

“Yeah. Daddy. Because mommy is long gone. She the one who gave that locket to you?” 

Liore merely grinned. She was furious, but there was not much she could do about it. Besides, Joey might have had her foot in the door, but she was not quite inside Liore's head just yet. There was more, much more.

“Family business. Lack of choice.” 

Joey pursed her lips and nodded. She patted the counter twice as if to say, “Fair enough” then straightened her back. 

“Oh, and she's been eyeing the muscle all night.”

“I like ‘em big,” Liore admitted, shooting back the rest of her drink. 

The surprised look on Peter's face was a sight to behold, reminding her of the expression Joey Tribbiani made when he realized the father of Rachel's baby was Ross. Rickles chuckled. 

“No cash,” he claimed when Joey turned her sights on him. 

She grinned, shaking her head. “Then I'll just leave it at ‘semper fi’. And you're getting off easy.” 

A Marine. Liore should have known. He was a trained marksman after all; she had seen the rifle case he toted in, but she did not know which branch. She wondered what factors gave it away?

“You gotta teach me how you do that.”

Joey merely smiled. She turned and walked back to the pool table, but Dean interrupted her. A haze of cigarette smoke poured from his mouth as he spoke.

“Hold on, now, you forgot about me.”  

“You don't want me to do you,” she remarked.

Dean slid a lighter into the pocket of his coat, zipping it closed.

“What you mean? This fun.”

It was not about to be. 

“You're not a professional,” Joey said quickly, quick and sharp as a whip.

“I'm the best motherfucking wheelman in this town.

“I didn't say you weren’t good,” Joey retorted. “I said you're not a professional. You’ve got… loose wiring. Probably a sociopath.” 

Definitely a sociopath. She and Sammy shared a brief laugh. 

“And you are a junkie,” Frank blurted out. “Cop knows a junkie.”

Liore thought he was just trying to hoodwink them, but when Joey turned, the look on her face spoke volumes. Liore was, for once, shocked.

“Your little candy affectation. Long sleeves.” Frank encroached on her space, removing his glasses to clean the lenses. “Why you don't want to have a drink with us. You in recovery or something? How many days you got? We gotta be worried about you?”

“No,” Joey merely retorted. 

“No?” Frank lowered his voice, but not enough to hide his threatening comment. “Don't ever fuck with me. I will know.”

A tense silence filled the air. 

“I'm gonna go check on the girl,” Joey stated. She quickly turned and walked out of the room.

Whatever statement Dean made was lost to Liore as Frank turned, proud of humiliating Joey. He asked for it, tempting her. She raised her hand, flexing her fingers to bare her red-tipped black nails. Ripping his tongue out would be too easy a death for someone like him.

Frank shot her the bird. 

Asshole. 

[mydisenchantedeulogy]

WIP: Criminal

[mydisenchantedeulogy]

Criminal [Chapter One] Stray Dogs [Terrence Lacroix | Peter]

A/n: For the most part, this is going to follow the movie, but I'll be adding extra scenes into it. Please enjoy.

Warning(s): OC, criminals, kidnapping, blood, language, flirting, secrets.

No Minors Allowed!!

An ominous air hung over the city of Boston after the sun went down. Liore Abrams could feel it, thick as molasses, engulfing her. She swore the universe was working against her, aiming to rat her out for the terrible deed she was about to do. In a funny way, it was frightening. A part of her wanted to back out, but the thrill of the unknown kept her motivated. It drew her like a fly to honey. Gripping the gold locket dangling around her neck, she hastened her pace, not wanting to be late. She was on a strict time frame.

At a quarter till nine, a black Ford Explorer pulled onto the curb in front of her. Liore crawled into the backseat, sitting next to a woman with wild, untamed hair. She spared her a brief observing glance, then returned to checking her gear; a case of sedatives sat in her lap with an unknown liquid resting in the tube. Liore herself did not carry any add-ons; her position in the group did not require her to. At least not yet.

With the windows rolled up, the air inside the Explorer was hot; too many shared breaths, she reckoned. Liore did not want to be the one to complain, but she could hardly breathe.

"It's a bit muggy in here," she uttered, breaking the awkward silence.

A basic looking male with black framed glasses peeked over his shoulder at her, scowling. He shook his head in disbelief. Unbeknownst to her, the topic regarding the air had already made its way around; a topic that was shut down by the same man. A moment later, the air came on, and a soft breeze wafted against her face. Liore smiled, content. She was used to getting what she wanted.

"Thank you."

"No problem," said a deep and resonant voice. The driver of the Explorer, she assumed. "If it gets too much, I can—"

"Enough about the air! Drive the damn vehicle!" Specs snapped. 

Liore could tell that he was going to be a real pleasure to work with. She turned up her eyes and glanced out the window, observing the bustling city as it zoomed by her. It was thrilling just how well they blended in; no one even knew what wicked thoughts were racing through their heads. Gripping the locket around her neck, she tried to compose herself.

For the remainder of the ride, the cabin remained quiet until the chime of a cellphone broke the silence. It was nine twenty-seven, according to the bank clock they passed by. Liore watched as Specs showed his phone to the man driving, who in turn hummed.

"Let's go." It was game time.

The vehicle gradually picked up speed. A bout of excitement coursed through her. Liore tied up her wavy black locks and removed a black ski mask from the pocket of her wool blend coat, sliding it over her face. The thick fabric was stifling, but she was in no position to complain. It was necessary for the job; for kidnapping the daughter of an uppity rich man who did not keep a close enough eye on her; a first for her. She had done a slew of terrible things in the past, more than she could count, but this was her first kidnapping. It felt a little like losing her virginity; tense but fun.

In front of a stunning two-story Victorian mansion, the driver pulled to a stop. He got out before Liore, opening the back door for her. It was sweet considering their occupation, though she assumed it was merely because it was just in his nature. Regardless, she appreciated the chivalrous gesture.

"Thanks," she uttered softly.

Specs ushered them to the back, collecting their remaining gear. He tossed her a device which she secured to the shell of her ear, then followed behind the woman with the untamed hair; the lower part of her face up to her nose was covered with a black cloth. To her amusement, the front gate came open. Liore hummed. Somewhere nearby was the hacker.

The four hurried onto the grounds, moving side by side across a well-maintained yard as they neared the front door. It was quiet; no sight of security or the staff. Liore was briefed that there would be no one around to get in their way. She was impressed how meticulous the information was.

"Front door is clear," said the silvery voice of the hacker over the earpiece.

As she stated, the four were able to easily enter the mansion. It was too easy. Liore admired the interior of the foyer; the matching furnishes and the plants, merging luxury with the serene properties of nature. It was elegant but also lonely. If the walls could talk, she imagined they would speak of a family separated by duties and by interests. It was a sad way to live.

Specs led them up a curved staircase to the second story, as though he was familiar with the layout of the mansion. Liore did not care one way or the other. She followed him into a gorgeous bedroom with a clean white aesthetic. It looked like the bedroom of a child. A bout of nostalgia washed over her, forgotten as the woman with the untamed hair spoke up in protest, noticing the same detail.

"Hey. No one said it was a kid."

Specs turned and encroached in her space. His tone was sharp and callous. He obviously did not care.

"Oh, no one said that? It's a fucking kid. You want to walk? Walk." When she made no move to leave, he pointed behind her. "Yeah, that's what I thought. Get in position."

He ordered her and the man with the resonant voice, whose role Liore was certain was the hired muscle. He was a brick wall compared to her. She stared at him a moment longer in interest, then followed orders, hiding with the woman behind the dressing screen. They waited in silence, then at last, a noise drew her attention to the door. A girl no older than twelve walked in, cell phone in hand. Her long brown hair was pulled into a ballet bun.

A series of soft chimes filled the air, and she lifted the phone to her ear.

"Hi." Someone Liore could not hear on the other end spoke to her. "It was good."

She must have been referring to her performance. According to their fixer, a man whose name was no concern of hers, the target had come from the theatre. Liore watched the kid as she carried on with the conversation. A bout of empathy washed over her. She did not deserve this. Liore reached for her locket again; it was starting to become a bad habit of hers.

The kid leapt onto the bed, pulling a writing book and a pencil from the bedside table onto her lap. A sudden creak echoed around the room and she lifted her head, eyes darting from side to side as she tried to locate where it had come from. The big man nearly gave them away. Liore tightened her jaw, but fortunately, the kid ignored it.

"Yeah, it's fine." She smiled a moment later. "Okay. Bye."

The instant she ended the call and let down her guard, Specs sprang out from behind the bed and shoved a gloved hand over her mouth. The kid screamed in fear, a panicked noise that came out muffled. She immediately began to fight back, even going so far as to stab Specs in the hand with a pencil; he recoiled in pain, cursing out loud.

Rushing out from his hiding spot in the closet, the big man quickly secured the kid, trying to hush her. Liore was hesitant, but she crawled onto the plush bed beside her head and rested a hand on her forehead.

"You'll be OK. Shh, I know."

Her words of assurance did nothing to quell the kid's fear. Liore did not expect it to; she just hated to see her this way.

"Hurry up," she pleaded, turning her attention to the woman with the untamed hair. 

From the pocket of her coat, she took out a needle and pulled off the cap, then sedated the kid with it. Her wide blue eyes rolled back, then she quickly drifted to sleep. Whatever was in the syringe was fast acting; Liore felt a bit uneasy by this fact. She stroked the kid's forehead, then sighed.

"That wasn't so bad."

"Speak for your fucking self," retorted Specs as he nursed his injured hand.

Liore snorted. It was his fault for underestimating her.

If cornered, even prey will attack.

The big man sighed in relief and released the kid, but their moment of rest was short lived.

"Incoming," stated the hacker. "Could be the father."

A bout of fear washed over Liore. No. That could not be. He was not meant to be here. The fixer assured them. 

"Shit!" Specs exclaimed in annoyance.

The next few seconds were a blur to Liore. She could not catch her breath as she quickly helped lay the kid in a black gym bag. She wished there was an easier way to do this, but a plan was a plan.

"Ten seconds till they're at the door. Should I take the shot?" A second voice asked; the voice of a man.

That would be a bad idea. 

"Negative," Specs answered. "We'll be out in nine."

Liore hoped so. She hurried from the room, following behind the others as they navigated the halls, going around the back. As they entered a vacant hallway, a man's voice echoed through the house.

"Abigail? Abigail!"

Specs led them through the study on the bottom floor and out the back door.

"Need a new pickup. Back gate."

Liore was not fond of deviating so much from the plan, but at least Specs was a quick thinker. It did not surprise that he had taken on the role of their leader. He seemed too high strung not to, barking orders like they were a pack of stray dogs.

In the driveway, leading to the back gate, another member joined them; their eyes in the sky, she reckoned. He walked beside her, forcing her closer to the big man who was tasked with carrying Abigail.

"All right. I think we're in the clear," Specs announced.

No sooner had the words left his mouth, the outdoor flood lights came on and a piercing alarm broke the thick silence. Liore grinned behind the mask. Just when she was starting to get bored.

"Oh, fuck!" Specs shouted.

Each of them took off in a dead sprint toward the gate; a gate which was still unfortunately locked. Liore made it there first, a fast runner, tugging at it. 

"We've got a problem."

"Open the gate, assholes," Specs ordered.

The shrill screech of tires could be heard nearby, then the gate slowly opened inwardly. Like the gentleman he was, the big man motioned for Liore to go through before him. She would have thought it was sweet if not for the fact he was lugging a twelve year old kid over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. She merely nodded, then followed suit and convened with the others outside a black Ford E-150 with the words "Flush Force Plumbing Co" written on the side. Cute. 

Abigail was placed in the back on the floor, then the five of them piled in around her. Liore balanced on the edge of her seat as the E-150 began to move. She could not see the hacker from her position, shoved between the passenger seat and the big man, who she found rather attractive with his imposing physique, but she could make out the features of the driver; a man with striking blue eyes and long lashes. The person across from her was a dark skinned man with strong features. They were the definition of a motley crew.

"All right, kids. We're not out of the woods yet. We still got to get out of the city," Specs mentioned.

Liore grinned. It was cute how much he looked down on everyone, including her. She watched in curiosity as the woman with the untamed hair unzipped the gym bag and pressed her fingers against Abigail's neck. It was obvious that she was a trained medic. She was careful with her movements, checking her signs as she counted down on her watch. Liore appreciated that.

"She okay?" The big man asked, leaning forward just a bit.

"Yep, she's good," the woman answered. "Blindfold?"

He handed her a thick black cloth, to which she tied around Abigail's eyes. She looked at peace, fast asleep. Liore resisted the urge to grab at her locket, curling her hands into a fist. She got lost in her thoughts a moment, so much so that she was not able to brace herself when the driver turned a corner too sharply, sending her tumbling forward. To her luck, the big man caught, wrapping an arm around her stomach and bringing her against his chest.

"You okay?" He asked.

Liore hummed. She could feel the vibration of his deep voice on her back.

"Ever the gentleman."

He smiled ear to ear. Instead of pushing her away, like he should have, he allowed Liore to lean against him. She was not sure how she felt about it, but she had to admit, his warmth was rather comforting. If not for the faint scent of iron in the air, she would have allowed herself a moment to bask in it. Turning her attention to Specs at the back of the vehicle, she noticed that his hand where Abigail had stabbed him was lightly bleeding.  She felt her stomach tighten; she did not do well around blood.

Certain that it would come off as strange and awkward to him - though honestly Liore did not care - she turned to her side and rested her head against his arm, closing her eyes. 

"Oh...um," he uttered, tense as a bowstring. Did he rarely have women this close to him? 

Liore took in his cheap scent; a mix of vanilla and warm cedarwood. "It's the blood."

The big man hummed. He relaxed a bit. Liore rested against him for a moment longer, half listening to the conversations going on around her; something about discretion and rules. Blah blah. It was par for the course, but she did not blame him for being curious, even if he wanted to know because he was flirting; she was growing tired of naming everyone after their physical traits and roles. It would be nice to put a name to a face.

"All clear from here to the destination," the hacker mentioned.

"All right," the driver chirped. "Y'all might want to hold on to something. It's about to get real accelerated in this bitch."

The E-150 jerked forward quickly, pushing Liore harder into the big man beside her. She whined as her cheek was crushed against his bicep. 

"At this rate you're gonna squish me."

She cracked a soft smile as she felt vibrations of laughter against her side. At least someone was having fun. It was a shame that it would not last.

[mydisenchantedeulogy]

New Project

Yeah, so I couldn't help myself. I love Kevin Durand as an actor, and there aren't many stories for Peter. I'll probably put out more for Liore, the OC later.

[mydisenchantedeulogy]

The Highest Cost [Chapter Eight] On The Horizon [David]

A/n: Another short-ish chapter, I'm afraid. David is not present, but the next chapter starts the big first hurdle. The shit is about to hit the fan.

Warning(s): OC, flare-up (MS), pain, mood changes, short chapter, pity, argument, guilt, sadness, reflection.

No Minors Allowed!

At the same time that Mia was dreaming about David, Cadence was unable to rest. She was in too much pain to sleep. No matter what position she changed to, there was discomfort. An ache in her back, a burning pain in her leg; it was almost too much to bear.

Cadence gave up on trying to rest and sat up, tense as a bowstring. The sudden movement brought intense pain, a sensation that felt like someone was running a cheese grater up and down the tissue inside her body. She sobbed. It was a flare-up; there was no other explanation.

The worn-out sofa she was lying on certainly was not helping. Cadence was under the assumption that it was the same one the hospital put in when it was built in 1941. A bed of nails would've been more comfortable. As much as she did not want to, she stood up. She needed to take a brief walk.

Over the years, since she was diagnosed, she learned that the longer she sat around, the more unbearable the pain was. The movement made a huge difference if she was in the right headspace.

Briefly, on her way to the door, Cadence paused at the end of the hospital bed to check on Mia. Her sister was in a deep, comfortable sleep despite the seizure she had earlier. Even though she was relieved that she was going to be fine, a part of her was annoyed that Mia was able to rest. It was a ridiculous reason, but she could not shake the feeling gnawing on her nerves like a rat to a piece of cheese.

It's the flare-up. I just don't feel right. Cadence assured herself. She honestly hoped that was the reason. She sighed and left the room.

The stark white hall was vacant as Cadence trudged toward the side door. She would have to wait and flag down someone to get back in, but she did not mind. It was easier than walking to the entrance, risking someone seeing her. She did not care much for pity, and she knew that someone would stop her if they saw how tired she looked.

I'll have to explain to them about my condition, then the pity will start.

It happened all the time. A large part of it came from her sister. Mia did not know how she felt about it. She was not entirely to blame, but Cadence wished that she would trust her and let her deal with her own issues. She had enough to worry about herself, especially now that something or someone in Santa Carla would not let them leave. Cadence was certain now.

She sighed. A shot of pain in her chest made Cadence tense up. It was the worst time to have a flare-up, too, now that they were stuck.

If only Mia had listened to me. She never listens.

Cadence felt to blame. She wanted to leave Santa Carla as soon as things got dicey with the beach bums. However, she allowed Mia a chance to investigate her visions. Cadence should have said no; she should have reminded her that the reason for the cross-country trip was because she wanted to live before there was a chance it was too late. But she didn't.

At the end of the hall, Cadence pushed the exit door open and stepped outside into the warm afternoon sun. Her body was shaking, but she felt a tad bit better. There was a bench a little ways down next to a metal cigarette receptacle, a break area, she assumed. She opted to sit there and catch her breath before she went back in.

There was a lot to mull over. At the forefront was Mia. What was Cadence going to do now? She did not know how long the visions would last or when her sister would be free to leave, but she knew that neither of the two could survive in Santa Carla on the bare minimum, not when their welcome had been overstayed.

They were in danger on the boardwalk at night. The beach bums would no doubt be looking for them after Mia and David took matters into their own hands. Cadence really could not be angry about that, though; the two were merely defending her, or at least Mia was.

"What am I supposed to do?"

She sat in silence for a few minutes, as though the universe might show her what to do, then sighed and stood. There were only two things she could do now, and one of them she sure as hell did not want to do.

She'd never let me live it down.

Fiona Ross (Aunt Fi to her and Mia). She happily took them in when their father passed, and though she was not unpleasant in the sense that she treated them badly, she clung to ideologies that made it hard to tolerate her. Aunt Fi believed that a person could either have children or have a high-income job, but could not balance both at the same time. She was a Spinster, and as such, she persuaded the Ross sisters to adopt the same beliefs. And they did for a while.

Until Cadence was diagnosed, and then life changed in the blink of an eye. It was too short to spend chained to a job that neither of them liked, to a town with so many bad memories. When they left, heading west, they hardly spoke a word of it to Aunt Fi. To call her now, asking for a wire transfer would be pointless.

That left the only other option. A job. 

Cadence deeply frowned, then wandered back inside. 

–

It was late when the Ross sisters left the hospital. Mia had indeed had a seizure, but neither of them knew for certain why. The doctor, Joseph Hart, claimed that the test results would provide them with a clearer understanding, but based on his knowledge, it was most likely the heat that got to her. Cadence was not so sure.

It was the town or something in it. She surmised that the murders and the trauma drew Mia to Santa Carla like a fly to honey, and now that she was confined like an animal, whatever it was, did not want to let her go. If only she knew what had its claws in Mia. And why. Maybe then she could set her sister free.

While Mia rested from her aches and pains in the backseat of the Taurus, Cadence wrote. She sat on the truck in a crowded lot near the boardwalk and vented into the pocket notebook that she had been using as a journal to record her sister's dreams. The words rushed out, spilling across page after page until her wrist hurt and her fingers trembled. 

By the time she decided to call it a day, the first glimpses of sunlight were slipping over the horizon. Hues of orange and yellow cast reflections over the water like a saturated world beneath the surface, mirroring our own. Cadence was exhausted, but far too stirred up to sleep. It was ironic how that worked.

She slid off the truck with a grunt, gathered some clothes, and then ambled down to the public showers to clean up.

When she returned, dressed in an 'I Love Country Music' t-shirt that she bought in Nashville, Tennessee, Mia was awake, leaning against the Taurus with a sickly look in her eyes. She looked worse than Cadence felt. Her flare-up had not yet passed. The walk down to the showers proved to be more tiring than she had anticipated.

"Morning."

Mia uttered a response back, then took notice of her uneasy expression.

"Are you feelin' OK?"

"I should be asking you that," Cadence deflected. She did not want to worry her. With a hum, she reached into the back pocket of her jeans and took out a folded sheet of paper. "I saw this on my way back."

Mia took it, noting the way her sister's hand shook when she handed it to her, then unfolded the sheet. It was an ad, a work ad searching for cleaners to maintain the boardwalk and the beach. Three dollars and thirty-five cents an hour.

"Bitchin'. That's not bad pay," Mia stated. She raised a brow. "Are you looking for a job?"

Cadence felt like this was as good a time as ever to let her in on the new plan.

"I...don't think we will be able to leave Santa Carla, not without jeopardizing your health."

Mia sighed. On one hand, she was oddly relieved. On the other hand, she was upset. She felt like she was ruining her sister's trip.

"I'm fine. It was just a seizure."

It could have just been the heat, she opted not to add. Honestly, she did not believe Dr. Hart's diagnosis either.

"This time it was a seizure," Cadence argued. "If we push it, who knows what it will be next time. You could go into a coma, or worse."

All of this sounded ridiculous to Mia. There was no way it was true. How could a town keep her from leaving it?

"It's these dreams...these damn visions. They're just wearing me out. We should just do like we planned and go."

Cadence felt too enervated to argue with her. She wanted more than anything to leave but knew they couldn't, not without risking Mia's health.

"We will once I know for sure. But for now, we need to focus on living."

Mia sighed in defeat.

"Fine. At least let me take the job."

Cadence did not mean to, but the words and the anger slipped out before she could contain them. She knew Mia meant well, but it was the same as saying to her, in a voice that conveyed pity, "I don't want you to hurt yourself".

"I can do it, Mia. Just let me do it. Stop fucking treating me like I'm broken.” 

Mia was taken aback. She felt like her sister had just struck her in the face. Actions might have actually hurt less. A part of her knew that Cadence did not mean it, but she could not push aside the feeling that she was at fault. Somehow she caused this. 

Shaking her head to show that she understood, Mia slipped into the car to gather up some clean clothes, then sauntered down to the beach. She never looked back. If she had, she might have seen the regret in her sister's eyes.

–

After her shower, Mia did not return to the car immediately. She did not want to apologize to Cadence just yet. Knowing her sister, it would not do much. She needed time to cool down. Instead, she wandered the boardwalk. She did not plan to be there long; just enough to decompress.

Mia breathed deeply, blinking away tears. It was much harder than she had hoped to calm down. There was a voice in her head, one that kept telling her that she was a nuisance. It was her fault they were stuck there; her fault that their father–

No. She did not want that thought in her head, not while Cadence was mad at her. Mia needed to focus; she needed to clear her head before her thoughts completely turned on her. 

If only she had someone to lean on. If only David were around. Mia snorted.

He's a stranger, but I need him so badly right now.

Where was he? Why could he find her so easily in a crowd? Almost like he could smell her. But she could not find him. It was odd. Not as odd as their relationship thought. 

I mean…what are we?

Their futures were destined, even though Mia was not certain she wanted them to be. Aside from the blatant attraction and the vision, she felt connected to him. It was something she had never felt with a person before.

His aura glows like moonlight. 

Tendrils of silver and blue. It happened in the dream when they kissed. But what did it mean? Why did he see the sun? Mia wished she knew. All she could say for certain was that no one but her was haunted by this dream. If it was indeed her future, was David permanently a part of it whether she wanted him to be or not. 

Perhaps she would tell him the truth the next time she saw him, about the dream and about the sex. She reckoned that he deserved to know.

With her thoughts cleared, Mia returned to the car. Cadence was not there. She was not surprised. Her sister needed more time, though perhaps she had gone down to the beach to meet whoever put up the flyer. 

Either way, Mia had a little more time; she was not eager to address the situation. Flopping down in the passenger's seat, she waited. And waited. 

But Cadence never came back. Not even when the sun went down and the lights on the boardwalk lit up the night.