#Kaskbois

[tales-from-the-brig]

The family photos of all the brothers Kask. Anderson, Samuel, Jack, and Tommy

[tales-from-the-brig]

Snake oil

Low on coin and low on time Anderson hustled as quickly as his legs would allow with his arms encumbered by a large crate. Huffing and puffing his hands slipped further along the bottom edges of either side of the wooden cube, his grip ever growing closer to sending the contents out across the cobblestone path. Close in tow, Tommy wove his way through the crowds of people with a small stool in hand. Tripping every so often, the boy gained a scraped knee and a tear to his trousers over the course of the journey to Canal Street, but his perseverance and hardy nature never let him shed a tear or complaint. After a skidding halt, forced by Anderson’s inability to hold the awkwardly shaped package any further the two paused only to catch their breath. Doubled over with hands on knees they panted, arms raising almost in unison as if it had been rehearsed before to wipe their foreheads free of sweat. With a grip around Tommy’s waist, Anderson swung the young boy up onto the stool positioned just off of the pathway. As the boy found his footing, Tommy wobbled with arms flailing aside at empty air before settling in to his stance. Then with hands cupping either side of his face the young peddler began to shout.

“Ladies and gentlemen, boys an’ girls, madames an’ misters! For what you need an’ what you don’t know you need Kask Brother’s is where you’ll need to be! From trinkets an’ amulets, to potions an’ protection, we’ve got it all in our magic box of mystery! Lies you say? Impossible, improbable? Slander I say! Step right up an’ say goodbye to yer problems!” Tommy waved in any man and woman that passed him to hawk his wares, shouting and pointing between them all without a pause for breath. Whilst Tommy yelled and boasted, Anderson went about removing the lid of the crate and slowly beginning to remove items one at a time, doing his best to upplay each of them with what little showmanship he had. Desperate times did call for desperate measure after all. (( I get bored between things, if you want someone to try and sell your character on something why not stop by, even if I’ve got to wave you down. After all everyone needs something right? ))

[tales-from-the-brig]

New surroundings, new people.

With his head hanging backward, neck craning and stretching as he trudged forward, Anderson rounded the final hill to their destination. What could have been a few hours walk quickly consumed the entire afternoon as they’d been forced to stop for every possible bathroom opportunity or shiny rock. His chest heaved with a sigh of relief, his entire body slouching at the sight of relief, this quaint village in the Vale.

Upon entering they were met with all manner of sights; stalls with foods they’d never tasted let alone seen or smelled, people going about their day tending to homes, training, and meditation, and the odd human or two that seemed out of place in such a serene village. With the litter of people that were easy to pick out of locals it did not take much detective work for the four to slowly ease themselves into the directional flow they all seemed to gravitate toward.

Smoke, alcohol, bodies...now this was more familiar. These were out of place, a thumb sticking out in the arrangement of other buildings, one the locals seemed to be nonplussed about when asked for directions. Rolling his shoulders backward, Anderson let the hefty pack slip from it’s place and fall to the ground before removing his hat and placing it atop the pile.

“I’ll uh...let someone know, I guess. See when it might be a good time n’ such.” Anderson may have been speaking to the others yet his eyes were elsewhere. Taking large steps back he looked over the entirety of the brothel’s walls, windows, and condition before finally looking down, his fingers pressing into the divot of his eyes to work at them.

“Tommy you’re stayin’ here with Sam, and Jack.”

Before Anderson could finish Jack was already removing his bag and bounding to stand beside him.

“No-no-no, I’m comin’ with you. Backup, emotional support, third thing.”

A smile and a thumbs up were shot up from Jack before giving a firm slap on Anderson’s back. Too tired to complain nor debate at this point, Anderson shook his head before making to the entrance.

“Just...be quiet...be good for once, Jacky.”

At the entrance Anderson stood still, locked in place as he remained halted in thought. Should he...knock? Do you knock at a brothel? Is it rude to just walk right in?

“Fuck it, wagons, doors...long fucking day.” Anderson murmured before letting himself in. Upon entrance, Anderson immediately veered to the side, hoping to remain out of the progress of coin flowing from willing customers. Jack did not seem to get this memo. Just as he came through the doors, Jack’s eyes lit up like a child on Winterveil morning. Smiling wide and being guided by his ol’ divining rod Jack was almost oblivious to anything else as he began to wander, being torn back to reality by his collar’s sharp yank. With Jack put on a leash for now, Anderson tried waving down the nearest person who seemed to be an employee.

“S’cuse me, we’re uh...looking for a Susan Gampre, sent a letter lookin’ to talk.” Having to repeatedly yank Jack back to him, Anderson finally resorted to just holding on to the collar of his shirt cutting out the middle-man of this situation.

“M’ name’s Anderson Kask. Not looking to interrupt anythin’ so we’ll be happy t’ wait outside until she’d be available, whenever tha’ is.”

@susan-gampre

[tales-from-the-brig]

Bed time.

“And so he huffed, and he puffed, and he blew the straw down scattering the home to pieces.” Samuel’s cheeks swelled then blew repeatedly as he sat side-saddled to the shared bed, his eager audience staring over at him.

“Well no shit, he built his house out of straw mate, that’s just not good forethought.”

Anderson blinked at Sam, his arms resting comfortably behind his head, sandwiched between an already sleeping Jack and an engrossed Tommy.

“Shut...the fuck up, Addy.”

Shaking the interruption from thought, Sam was back to weaving the grand tale. Swaying hands, heaving stomach and voices to match the characters- he was nothing if not a bard of this generation’s bed time. Some pages later he arrived again to familiar ground pulling Addy’s attention up again.

“And so he huffed, and he puffed, and he blew the stick home down, reducing it to a heap.”

Turning to raise himself up on an elbow, Addy cupped the side of his head with his hand before nudging at the back of Tommy for his attention.

“What did he do when it rained?”

Sam’s eyes blinked numerous times, halted in his words at the question posed.

“Rained? Who, the wolf?”

“No the pig, mate. When it rained, jus’ go right through all his sticks an’ shit. Or if it snowed, he’d have no insulation, it’d just be freezin’. He knows there’s a fuckin’ wolf blowing houses down, his brother’s crashin’ on his fuckin’ couch an’ he didn’ prepare for this shit? Jus’ doesn’t make sense mate.”

Anderson stared at Sam, a hand raised in unclear questioning as he tried to make heads or tails of this situation. Sam however could only place his hands around either side of his face, covering his eyes as he slowly removed his glasses in frustration.

“Can I...finish...the fucking story, Addy.” Sam stared.

With a wave of his hand, Anderson was all ears to hear the conclusion of this Eastern Kingdom epic as he rested a bulky forearm over the top of Tommy’s head who began to fight him for freedom. Free to return again, Sam continued. When he reached the third arc, Sam hesitated. Closing his eyes he spoke slower, almost unwilling to continue yet he knew he must.

“And he huffed...and he...puffed, but he could not blow down the stone.”

Anderson slapped his hands together in a booming clap before pointing to Sam in victory.

“See! I fuckin’ knew it. Can’t blow down stone, mate. Don’t care how big this big ass wolf’s lungs are, can’t do it.”

Triumphant, Anderson clenched a fist then sharply turned holding an open palm to Tommy then Sam. Tommy was eager and quick to high five him, not entirely sure why they were doing such...yet he was not one to pass on the exciting opportunity. Sam...not so much. Begrudgingly the master of stories lifted his hand and gently tapped it to Anderson’s who immediately began questioning again.

“So why did no one tell these other pigs to make their house out of stone, just seems stupid. An’ these are sentient animals, yeah? Makin’ houses, talkin’, there’s got to be some kind of guards or somethin’ why not just report this prick an’ get a restraining order, yeah? An’ furthermore this prick can blow down houses, but he can’t use a door or a damn window- uhm, hello, it’s called a lockpick...or a rock.”

Anderson’s hands moved wildly about until he was caught at the side of the head with a pillow from Jack, an effort to shut him up so he could return to his sound sleep. Sam covered his mouth and began to shake his head slowly at Anderson, only growing more frustrated at the situation when Tommy began to nod along in agreement.

“I...I just...I can’t any more, go to fucking sleep.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose Samuel resolved to no longer tell the stories from there forward.

[tales-from-the-brig]

Bedtime: The sequel part 1.

In the quiet hours after the sun’s setting, with the moon high in the sky and the city settling in for slumber Anderson groaned as he laboriously lowered himself onto the edge of the bed of which Tommy was situating himself in. With Jack and Sam gone, the two were left home alone for a time and with it came new responsibilities for both of them, in this moment namely; story time. With a harsh clear of his throat Anderson began to shuffle through the pages of Sam’s book, searching for a good tale for the evening before turning over to attend to Tommy.

“Alright then let’s make sure everythin’s accounted for off the ol’ check list. Do you have your stuffed guardian bear;  Mister Beary F. White?” Anderson said with a side glance to Tommy as he held up an imaginary check list.

“Check.” Tommy held up the weathered companion before pulling him back inward into a tight hug.

“Your standard issue ghost deterring, anti closet-monster blanket?” Anderson checked off the first item with an imaginary pencil, swiping it through the air.

“Yep, check!” Tommy pulled the blanket up higher covering all but his nose and eyes as he looked over at the barely visible Anderson, his form only illuminated by the hole in the roof that allowed the moonlight through.

“And your handy dandy stick of weather-proofed, short wick dynamite?”

With a quick patdown, Tommy glanced around then lifted his pillow, finding the volatile boom-stick stowed ‘safely’ beneath it. “Big Check.”

Clapping his hands together Anderson nods to Tommy with a smile and continues flipping through pages. “Good on ya, what should we go with tonight then, eh? Goldshire Lock’s an’ the three bears... The Ugly Pelican, what ya think?”

Tommy chewed the inside of his cheek before looking to Anderson, a shine of curiosity beaming forward.

“I miss home...can you tell me a story from there?” 

Slowly joining the two ends of the book together again, Anderson kept his eyes on Tommy. With the child-friendly tome in his lap, he gently thrummed his fingers along the spine of the book as he thought of a less violent story from home. As the figurative light bulb clicked in his head, Anderson tossed the book onto the pile of dirty clothes that had accumulated at the foot of the bed before sitting cross-legged and facing Tommy.

“Long ago...before our home was covered in ice, it was a beautiful paradise.” He stretched the words, hands waving in an arched pattern in the air.

“Frigid plains and icy, jagged crevasses were once rolling hills filled with lush forests and bountiful fields of all manner o’ things. In them times there lived a giant who towered above the trees, wider than dragon’s wings, an’ as strong as the mighties’ Titan’s!” Anderson boomed whilst showing off his bicep to mimic the giant.

“The Giant had a lover too-” He prods a finger to Tommy’s belly. “Beautiful maiden who lived atop the highest mountain of the now Frozen wastes. Golden hair spun from the silk of the great spider, Vestriss, an’ a voice so filled with love, with joy that it filled the land with life.” Anderson smiled as he stared off into space for a moment.

“Now he loved her, but the giant, he had a job to do. He was the first great keeper, Tommy.” Anderson nods then nudges his younger brother with his elbow. “Powerful and mighty he stood against the creatures of the night who lived along the Long Waters. With his greataxe, the giant defended the lands an’ it’s people for generations at the cost of seein’ his beloved. He knew it was his duty, but he knew the creature’s too, Tommy. See, once a year he knew the lands were safe an’ he could see his lady love, an’ that’s what kept him fighting. Until then, there was only one way t’ talk to her.”

Tommy yawned as he struggled to keep himself awake. Growing more comfortable his raised posture dipped in protest repeatedly despite his attempts to see the story through. “How did he...talk...to her.”

“The winds, Tommy.” Anderson cupped his hands in front of his mouth and blew deep, hollow breaths that carried throughout the room. “The giant knew the winds an’ knew it could find his lady love, if it could bring the warmth she gave all that way to him, o’ve course it could bring his messages back to her. So everyday the giant would sing to the winds, give his love an’ longings to it to carry back to the mountain. An’ every day the winds would come and go as it was asked until he could return to her loving...”

Anderson glanced down to Tommy, too caught up in the retelling of the story to notice the boy had already dozed off. He was not an adorable sleeper like people talk about; mouth open and a pool of drool already accumulating, Anderson could only chuckle quietly. “-Arms. Guess we’ll finish this tomorrow.”

Anderson gently eased himself off the rickety bed hoping to make as little disturbance as possible. Scratching his scraggly beard the exhausted elder brother made his way to the other end of the room to the table, picking up the papers left by Samuel and began reading in an effort to be of help to them in the future as well.

[tales-from-the-brig]

Bedtime: The sequel part 2

Anderson’s boots dragged along the termite-ridden staircase, too weary to lift them more then was required to ascend. Scrape. Thunk! Scrape... Thunk!

Each time he moved up a step his boots swept across the top to smack into the edge before pulling itself over to proper footing. At the attic’s entrance, Anderson placed his palm to the door, brushing it downwards exhaustively in an effort to open it with minimal force. As the entrance cleared, door opening with loud creaks and groans from poorly maintained hinges, Anderson pressed into the room. Maul dropping from his hands with a booming Thud, he immediately made for the bed. Turning and dropping his full weight backwards, Anderson bounced with the give of the mattress then heard the crack of a dilapidated frame piece. Great, he thought with a pinch of the bridge of his nose. Painfully hissing he removed his boots one at a time before dropping them aside without bringing himself up all the while. In his current state he’d not even noticed his younger brother, Tommy, sitting at the table playing with a deck of cards. Swiveling in his seat, the young boy hopped from the chair before bolting for the bed. Tackling into the side of the frame, Tommy vaulted over the edge of the bed, scurrying over Anderson’s body to lay on the other side of him. When Tommy bounced over the older brother’s body, Anderson let out a pained grunt, his face contorting before shutting his eyes.

“Got to finish the story, Addy. Been waiting all night for you t’ get home an’ I can’t sleep without a story.” Tommy said whilst trying to rock the arm of Anderson.

Anderson let out a sobbing groan of defiance, his lower lip protruding outward. “Can’t we just do it tomorrow, Tommy, m’ just so tired already.”

Tommy however remained resolute in his demands, shaking Anderson even harder now until the agitated man finally gave in.

“Every fuckin’ day he’d sing to the fuckin’ winds!” Anderson shouted.

With a harsh slap to Anderson’s forearm, Tommy pushed his hand into the side of Anderson’s head and began rocking it side to side. “Tell it right!” He shouted.

“Fine, fine, fine...” Anderson rambled on, resisting the urge to fall into a deep slumber. “So every day the giant sang, an’ every day the winds brought it to the mountains. An’ on the wind’s return it carried the warmth of the woman’s song, keepin’ the giant company along the cold seashore until the day came that-”

A long pause ensued, too long for dramatic effect. With the sound of a snore rumbling from Anderson’s throat, Tommy began shoving again. “Until what day!”

“Fuckin’, hell- the, what?!” Anderson jolted looking to either side before easing himself down again. “He could go home.” Anderson continued on after a sad groan. “He’d fight for months, but every second-summer the creatures disappeared without a trace. The lands were safe again, an’ he knew he’d not be needed for another season. When the time finally came for his deserved rest, the giant was pleased to sing to his lover- “I’m comin’ home” he’d say, an’ then his trek began.” Anderson’s hand waved through the air in a flowing motion. “Across the River of the Aera he’d paddle in his longboat for three days an’ three nights, all the while singin’’ to the winds ‘I’ll be home soon’.” His fingers then made a walking motion. “Then through the plains of the wheatlands he’d march, collecting bushels of golden stocks for his supper, still singin’ to the winds ‘I’m almost there’. Until finally-” Anderson held his hand up to halt, his palm flat in the air before dropping suddenly onto the bed. “He found the Lake of Whispers.” Anderson began murmuring quietly, his hushed voice trying to mimic the sound of the fabled Lake. “But-” Anderson held up a finger. “This summer held a surprise for the giant. Now he’d seen all the things this land had. He knew every tree, every boulder, every creature along his journey an’ most of them by name! But this season held somethin’ new. Along the shore of the Lake was a great hole. Deep an’ wide, the Giant gazed down into the endless void, his voice echoing off it’s walls as he tried to make sense of how far it ran. All was quiet while the giant stared inward, until something answered back...” Tommy’s eyes widened, his small fingers raking further over Anderson’s forearm. “What was it? What answered, Addy? Was it a monster? Addy? Addy!” Tommy tugged and pulled at Anderson’s unconscious body, but nothing shook him this time. He was down for the count, out cold, 100% asleep, some fourth metaphor. Then with a defeated sigh, Tommy rolled himself out of the bed. Scooping up the lone blanket the brothers had that now lay on the floor, Tommy pulled himself up again doing his best to drape it over Anderson.

[tales-from-the-brig]

Worth

“What are you worth?”

This question, this simple question is something we’ve been asked since we were young.

“What are you worth?”

Before every fight, every life changing event it’s asked the same way; my brother, his forehead to mine and a hand cupped around the back of each other’s thick skull just like mum used to do.

See we measure it, in ourselves, in the people of our lives and communities and everyone seems to see it different. Is it my name that makes me worth somethin’? Titles and lineage that give your word and opinions weight? Well that’s all well an’ good, but it ain’t me mate.

Maybe it’s your wealth then, eh? Possessions, material things...enough of them and you’ve got the world at your finger tips. You’ll never live hungry, starving and looking to the top of the towers wondering if one day that might be you. Nah, because you are that tower. Higher than anyone else and always able to look down, maybe once in a while you’ll give someone a taste of what you’ve got, a sample to make them crave it all the more and wish they were like you. S’ not me either. Sure ya need coin to eat, to live, but that’s all I need it for. Luxuries are nice, but I don’t need it, maybe I was just raised different.

Lately, I don’t think I’ve been worth much really. My blood’s been weighed in measurements of copper and silver, each drop another coin that gets you through another day. Maybe if I had the name it’d be worth something more, maybe those copper and silver coins could turn to gold. Or maybe if I had the wealth there wouldn’t be a reason to break open veins to watch coins spill from them.

But y’ see, again that’s not me. I’m not out here fighting for what other people think. I’m not angry, I’m not ‘down on my luck’, an’ I’m sure as hell not in it for the money...well, not only for the money at least. It’s what I’m worth. A good fight, an outlet to let go, an’ maybe something more.

An’ that’s the answer: more. Always more. You can fight harder, give deeper, an’ be better. You can be worth more.

So... What are you worth?

[tales-from-the-brig]

Night terrors.

((Warning: For self harm, and insinuation PTSD))

He couldn’t recall what stirred him from sleep, what brought him to the center of the room, pacing, feet wearing a path through the trash and piles of clothes that littered the brother’s home. Anderson’s curled fingers dug beneath the skin, digits steepled to claw and carve from the fingernail where each rested cradled around his skull. As the phantoms plaguing his dreams grew louder so to did his speed increase: five footsteps forward, turn, repeat. Faster. The familiar ringing became louder, deafening to his ears as the world fell to chaos in the night. But even through the haze of dizzying, monotone screeching, words came through, biting, faint, and painful. Hideous Monster Murderer Five footsteps forward, turn, repeat. Faster.

Did nothing!

Coward

Weak

Five footsteps forward, turn, repeat. Faster.

Shaking now, his hands had already fallen from the grip they held on his face. Swiping left then right wildly, Anderson made every attempt to strike out against the ethereal presence in his mind.

Your fault

When his hands finally found something solid, his eyes were open. Wide and glaring, his stare held pointedly to the shadows teeth bared and frothing at the mouth as his aggression overwhelmed him enough to no longer control the spray of spit that came with his babbling bark. What his hands found were the edge of the brother’s salvaged table: creaky and damaged, it had one leg over 3 inches shorter than the others but it had always been reliable to them. A good find. With both hands gripping the top, Anderson swung his body in an arching motion, scraping the table across the wooden floorboards before it was finally thrown to the corner.

“Quiet! Shut up, just shut the fuck up!”

Anderson used everything in his lungs to power the pained plea fueled by anger. His desperate cries were given the opposite effect: the ringing growing louder, painful now as it rammed full-force against his eardrum. As desperation grew on him, Anderson had already been falling to his knees, hands cupped around his ears and his eyes clenched together. ”Quiet!” Thump.

Subconsciously now he did all he could to make it end, to be relieved of such torment. Palms braced against the floor, Anderson threw his forehead against the floorboard with everything he had between each gasping word. “Quiet!”

Thump

“Quiet!”

Thump

He couldn’t remember the others there either: Samuel, Tommy, Jack. All had been in a near comatose sleep as was usual until the war broke out in his mind. While they were once groggily raising, the moment that table hit the wall they’d all scrambled from the bed.

“Quiet!”

Then came a different collision. Not a bleeding gaping skull connecting to wood this time, but Sam and Jack’s own bodies being thrown at Anderson. Jack had tackled into his right side, doing all he could to pull Anderson’s stocky arms together, while Sam went for a more permanent solution. Arm wrapped around Anderson’s throat and affixed to an upward forearm, Sam reared back with all his strength, suffocating his brother. Even as Anderson choked and spurted for air, his face growing red and strained he continued on as he had, crying out through what little air he had left for help.

“Qui...et.”

[tales-from-the-brig]

Locals

Three hours. Three hours were spent in the mage district stopping every book toting, scribe scrawling, robe dawning man and woman that passed him by in an effort to find a mage. Of all things you’d think a district named for them would have these people a bit more available, but his efforts finally payed off, now it was just time to see if it was all worth it. A chill ran through Anderson’s spine, his body twisted and knotted in an uncomfortable fit that was only relieved with a harsh shake. Pandaria, his first breath of air in a new world seemed far different than Stormwind. Clean, quiet, these were the words he thought to define the feeling. This place wasn’t like Stormwind, nor Ironforge, bodies were not crammed together into one confining place mingling their scents of blood, sweat, and waste together into one revolting melding pot. This was actually kind of nice. With each of the brothers aligned like ducks in a row they took heavy steps down the ornate staircase leading down from...well, they didn’t even know the name of the place, but it did look nice though. Each taking their burden of the load they hefted along with their hands tightly gripped to the straps of linen bags slung over their backs until Anderson spotted a presumed local loading his cart.

“Evening uh, sir?” Anderson quirked a brow, unsure of a proper way of greeting the pandaren.

“Looking for a Mistfall Village, wouldn’ happen to know which direction that is, eh?”

The aged pandaren gave no reply to Anderson whilst tending to his cart, easing a final bag of seeds onto the back and gently pushing it away from the edge. Turning and facing Anderson now, the man bowed his head slowly and with a soft tone replied,

“I do.” Turning and pointing to the south over a set of hills the pandaren blinked in the direction he motioned before looking back to Anderson.

“Wouldn’t happen to be headin’ that way, eh?” Anderson smiled with an insinuating creak in his voice.

“I am.” Came the pandaren’s voice again.

“Would you...be willing to take us...we could offer you some help, or coin maybe?” Anderson scratched at his forehead before gesturing to the cart.

“But it is such a lovely day, the path is far better enjoyed from foot to behold it’s majesty.” Making his way around the side of the wagon, the pandaren pat his pair of oxen while the brothers followed.

“So you’re sayin’ we’ll have to walk all them miles...” Anderson replied after shifting the hefty pack on his shoulders.

“I am inviting you to walk.” The pandaren retorted as he began to push his way up onto the cushioned seat of his wagon.

“So this is a no...” Lips pursed, eyes deeply squinted Anderson stared at the man as he drew his words out slowly.

“Pretty much.” The pandaren smiled cheerfully before giving a soft wave of his reins, the oxen and subsequently the cart rolling off away from them afterwards.

Arms raising then dropping in a huff, Anderson turned back to the others and waved them forward.

“Alright, fuck it, let’s get movin’.”

[tales-from-the-brig]

New surroundings, familiar situations

Anderson’s lips pulled inwards, tucking back into an odd looking smile meant to show his thanks to the employee he’d spoken to. With a wide gait in his step, Anderson moved backwards the way he’d come in from, tugging an unwilling adolescent along with him. The moment he was free of the brothel’s entrance the world opened up again. The smell of smoke and alcohol was faded yet still lingering on the walls as if it had been at home there for years. The Sun was finally given it’s place in the sky again, blinding and forcing Anderson to cover his eyes at it’s sudden appearance. It was remarkable how they were able to shut out the world in there, to make it a haven all their own and make a man feel as though he was in a different time, a different place than the Vale.

With a disappointed sigh Jack took his place on a pile of bags next to Sam and Tommy, Sam raising an arm up and throwing it over the younger brother’s shoulders to welcome him back. Stepping back even further Anderson looked out across the village with questions on his mind. Why here? Somewhere so remote...so wholesome. But even more-so, why is it so unwelcoming?

Without realizing it Anderson had already received a few looks, and only after silence seemed to overtake him did he realize it. He often did this, other’s voices dulling then going in one ear and out the other and this time he’d caught the eyes of the stall vendors. Large, burly Pandaren looking up from their wares seemed to pierce through him even with this much distance between them. One of the men chopped at the head of a large fish, separating then swiping it aside with the blade of a hefty cleaver with an annoyed presence about him. His eyes seemed to blink from his work to Anderson between chops. Surely he can’t be glaring at me, Anderson thought, glancing over his shoulder for another culprit then moving to his side to be sure, but the stare followed.

He turned, swiveled steps pivoting him to swing back around so that he no longer had to look at the locals, out of sight out of mind. With his hands beginning to fidget, Anderson patted along his pants slipping his fingers in and out of his pockets in an effort to find anything to occupy his thoughts. Then there, in the window, a silhouette peered from the curtains of an upper room above him. Unable to make out a face or any features really Anderson stepped back further, his feet shuffling across the cracked stone to better see. The corner of his lips turned upwards in a half-hearted smile, his right hand raising from his pants to give a rising wave, yet nothing was returned. The figure disappeared, curtains closed again as he assumed she returned to a waiting client, or something more interesting.

His hand remained in the air, left hanging before brushing it backwards through his hair with a heavy sigh, cheeks puffed out to over embellish it. Hand slipping down to cup the back of his neck he returned to the lineup of miscreants he called family, placing his back to the brothel walls and sliding down it to sit on the stone. As he realized the situation they found themselves in his head slowly nodded repeatedly before resting his elbows over his knees, hands patting together.

“Just like old times...”

[tales-from-the-brig]

Cover-up

“You sir, are one tough, jammy bastard y’know that?”

Anderson’s hands wrung together beneath the cover of a browned rag, barely visible as he loomed over the man seated on the stool before him. Pacing back and forth, Anderson worked the cloth between his digits to soak the blood that had found it’s way onto every possible inch of his palms and fingers. “Now normally-”

Anderson tugged another stool from the shadowed corner of their attic home forward into the lit area, a shared effort of illumination made by their dwindling gaslight and the hole of the baker’s roof they’d not taken upon themselves to fix which allowed the moonlight through. Seating himself in an exhaustive huff, Anderson pointed a finger to the man bound and gagged in front of him, a mauled, bleeding mess of swollen features staring back without blinking to greet him.

“Normally a beatin’ s’ all a person needs to give up some information. But you, y’ just been quiet the whole time. That, mate- that’s how I know I’ve got the right man.”

Tapping his captive’s knee twice rapidly, Anderson jerked away, making for their wobbly table and the gas-lamp resting atop it. Easing the rusted cage open, the gentle clinging flame that exhausted every effort to remain lit despite dwindling energy was extinguished shortly thereafter. Anderson twisted the creaking knob on the side of the light source before leaning in to blow out the flame hidden behind splintered glass. 

“I’d apologize for what comes next, but for what you people ‘ve done...”

Anderson shook his head in the dark, glad that nothing could betray him here, nothing could reveal the hatred burning in his eyes as he stared to the man. Shaking the memories long past from thought, Anderson gestured to Samuel who had been working silently near the captive before clearing his throat and giving a harsh sniffle to clear phlegm.

“Sam’s no’ much of a talker either, never enjoyed this part of the job- can’t say I blame him, but he’s effective, ‘ll give ‘m that.”

Arms folded, dead stare, Anderson watched Sam pull away from his assembly of makeshift tools and approach the man before a sound caught his ears. Twitching, Anderson turned his head to make reason of the intrusion before dashing for the door. Opening it swiftly, a crack just big enough for him to move his wide body through was made before being slammed just as quickly, his body pressing against the door to bar passage. On queue Jack and Tommy’s shadows could be seen playing off the walls as they stomped their way up the staircase, folded shortly by their appearance in front of him.

“Hey-hey! An’ where ’ve the two of ya been off too?”

Anderson said whilst throwing his arms open in a greeting before patting either of the younger brothers on the shoulders.

“Been dippin’ below the docks, Addy. Foun’ seventeen coppers in the sand we did, spent all afternoon but we found loads!”

Tommy was overjoyed to announce their spoils found beneath the wave-soaked sands lining the dock’s support beams. Jingling a salvaged can in front of his older brother he held it forward so that Anderson might look inside to see his success.

“S’ amazing, Tommy! Good work lad.” Ruffling Tommy’s hair Anderson made a showing of smiling wide and sharing the excitement of their youngest sibling.

“Well we’re goin’ to have to celebrate, Sam’s no’ feelin’ the best right now, sittin’ in with a doctor right now so what’s say you an’ me we go find a celebration dinner, eh? Pick everyone up somethin’ nice.” Nudging Tommy with his elbow, Anderson nodded numerous times before turning the little man around and ushering him back downstairs. Once Tommy was free from earshot, Anderson looked to Jack while maintaining a cautious surveillance of the stairs.

“Help Sam finish up with his ‘doctor’, tell him he’s got thirty minutes. When he’s done have him send word t’ the Gampre woman, see if she can meet as soon as possible, the weekend perhaps. Either way we’ve got t’ get this place cleaned up, an’ get out of the city a while.”

With Addy finishing up, Jack nodded and watched as the man hustled down the stairs, hearing a few faint words before momentary silence-

“How would you feel about a little...campin’, Tommy?”

Anderson’s last sentence was barely audible behind a swinging screen door being bounced off of the threshold before Jack made his way into the room easing the door closed behind him.

[tales-from-the-brig]

Home sweet home, or at least close enough

[tales-from-the-brig]

Charging my special moooooooove!!!

[tales-from-the-brig]

[tales-from-the-brig]

Anderson in his Winter Veil jacket from @caterinaprimrose Thanks again sunshine!

[tales-from-the-brig]

Fixed fights

With the sounds of shouting and stomping overhead, Anderson was left in a drifted stare at his own reflection in the locker room. Nothing sinking in, nothing being lost, Anderson’s glossed over eyes looked past the reflective surface without recognizing the man before him. This place, it never changed- the people coming in always left different though; bloodied and beaten, he’d become so accustomed to seeing himself through crimson clouded eyes that an unmarred reflection just wasn’t him. But there were others in the reflection too, over his shoulders a pair of men spoke but made no sound, nothing registering to Anderson’s perforated ears. While they continued to speak Anderson lazily rolled his head aside squinting further at their reflections, making it seem as though he’d heard them, but even then his attention was elsewhere. Those black lines, they were different. Across his forehead, running lines of words distorted by sweat piqued his interest in the mirror. Maybe they were illegible to others, but they were clear as day to Anderson as his lips pulled to a toothy smile, his head subsequently dipping down to hide the chuckle beginning to find it’s way upward. “Did I say something funny?”

Through the ringing in his ears, Anderson heard the hoarse, throaty sound of the man and his goon behind him. With the sudden realization, Anderson’s head jerked upwards again, first spotting the man through his reflection then turning to face him.

“No, Mister Brachen, caught something in my throat s’ all.”

With his tongue rolling over the top of his chapped bottom lip, Anderson pulled the skin backward as his eyes searched lowly around the room.

“Down in the third, I got it.”

Anderson was quick to that final remark as he continued to avoid looking to the portly man and his enforcer. Then with a gesturing of hands, he could see the displeasure on Brachen as he spoke to his security, but again, no sound, as the ringing found it’s way to drowning out everything yet again. Soon enough though the man saw the futility in his berating, finally leaving Anderson alone for the final moment’s preparation before his fight.

Anderson watched as the pair of men exited the room from over shoulder. With the door finally slamming his eyes lingered on the creaking mess, almost certain it would open again. No sounds, no movement, with everything still he turned back to the mirror he’d been hunched in front of over the rigged ‘sink’; A bucket of water left hanging from a hook on the wall. Fingers dipping into the lukewarm water, Anderson began gently scrubbing his calloused palm across the imprinted words on his forehead. It wasn’t much to remove it, more of a smearing into a charcoal mess now but it served his purpose well. Advertising on someone who’s going to lose is poor advertising anyway he thought, smirking again as he thought of the exchange that resulted in the autograph earlier that day.