#apparently you gotta keep in mind how each colour has its own shade and colour accordingly

[moonsart]

Siffrifying myself for the spooky season :P

[tiliamericana]

Muay Thai: 1.07

Read From Start | Read Ahead | Home Site

Nairi stared at the window. The window stared back. The window very much wanted her to know that its name was “Joe”.

Linden swung back out of the doorway of the bar, looking between Nairi and the window, and she grinned. “Yeah, Joe’s just like this,” she said, grabbing Nairi’s wrist and tugging her towards the door. “Come on, you’ll see what I’m talking about.”

The inside of the bar was warmly lit, and while it wasn’t fancy it was definitely nicer than the dive Linden had set on fire last week. The lights hung low from the ceiling in eclectic, mismatched lamp shades, yellow and incandescent despite what felt like five million articles a week about the environment and fluorescent lighting. The booth seats were lined with shiny red vinyl, stacked along the wall opposite the long bar with its tall stools. The lights behind the bar were big, painted bulbs on a string, decorating two signs in clashing materials that read ‘JOE’ and ‘JOE’S KITCHEN’ in different fonts and stretching along the shelves that were cluttered with bottles that looked like they’d been arranged with more mind paid to how they looked than their cost or use. There was an old-fashioned popcorn machine sitting on the corner with a wire rack stacked high with paper cones, and a flowerpot on the back counter with ‘TIPS’ painted on it in colourful dots. A short and cheerful looking guy in a black shirt and thick rimmed glasses was drying a cocktail shaker with a rag, and he grinned at the two of them as they approached the bar.

Linden dropped Nairi’s wrist and slammed her hands down on the counter, gesturing towards the bartender. “Nairi, this is Joe! He runs a great bar.”

“Right,” said Nairi, nodding at him after a moment, hand raised very slightly to wave across the bar. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too!” said Joe, setting the shaker on the counter and draping the rag over his shoulder. “At last—Linden never shuts up about you. Can I grab you guys a drink?”

Linden what?

“Whatcha got on the non-alcoholic front?” asked Linden, totally unbothered by this assertion, grinning animatedly with glossy lips and blushed cheeks. She winked and elbowed Nairi lightly. “Nairi’s tee-total. Not big on the caffeine, either.”

“Just a coke is fine,” said Nairi to Joe with another awkward nod.

“Oh, I can do you an orange juice if caffeine’s a bug,” said Joe brightly, pulling a glass off the rack in front of him. “Gotta say, coke’s got too much for me on nights I’m not working, don’t like to drink it after the sun’s down, y��know? Or if you wanna go a bit fancy I can whip up a mocktail! Dash of grenadine, shot of mango, tiny umbrella, the works?”

“Orange juice is great, thanks,” said Nairi after a moment, hooking her hands into her back pockets to stop them from clasping in front of her chest.

“Coke’s got caffeine in it?” said Linden, leaning on the bar.

Joe nodded, bending at the waist and pulling a bottle of orange juice out of one of the clear fronted fridges behind him. “Yeah! I guess ‘cause it’s sweet most people don’t think of it. Can I grab ya something, Lindy? I got a new case of chocolate stout in on Tuesday, it’s pretty great.”

Linden laughed, kicking her toe back behind her to prop on the floor as she leaned in. “Oh, don’t tempt me—you know how I feel about stouts! Can I just have a vodka on a rock?”

Joe laughed and nodded as he finished pouring the orange juice, pulling out a squat glass and depositing the largest ice cube Nairi had ever seen into it. He poured a generous amount of vodka over the ice, then finished each drink with a splash of pink grenadine and a novelty straw. Linden’s had a heart shaped loop in it.

He pushed set them on the counter in front of them with a grin, and Nairi smiled back, handing over her card.

A warm hand found Nairi’s, Linden guiding them towards a booth at the back of the room. Nairi glanced at her, eyes flicking around the room for a bin where she could get rid of her novelty straw. “How do you feel about stouts?”

Linden’s mouth twitched. “No clue,” she admitted. “They’re like, the dark ones, right? Joe’s really big on his beers.”

“You’re not?” said Nairi, her mouth twitching a little.

Linden held up her vodka in a mock salute with a wink. “I’m more in favour of efficiency and having fun.”

“A woman after my own heart,” said Nairi.

Linden giggled, the lines around her eyes creasing as they drew to a halt by the backmost booth, occupied by two colourful hairstyles and a grouchy looking ginger in glasses. The first two Nairi recognised from Linden’s texts—the grad student friends with musical talent. The ginger was a mystery.

“Guys, this is Nairi!” said Linden to the table, prompting the three of them to turn their heads with a chorus of greetings, curious eyes lingering on Nairi. “Nairi, this is Mason,” soft faced man, teal hair flat ironed into a fringe over one eye, “Flo,” a young black woman, her cornrows and wayfarer style glasses in matching shades of bright pink, “and Agatha!” solving the mystery of the ginger.

“Welcome to the post-grad misery zone,” said Mason, toasting her with a pink and fizzy drink complete with a straw to match Linden’s. “Agatha’s just submitted her PhD thesis, we’re commiserating.”

“Oh, uh, congratulations?” said Nairi to Agatha.

“Thanks,” said Agatha tiredly, shoving her glasses up her nose.

“No!” said Flo, slapping the table with a wide grin. “We cannot congratulate you before your defence, it’s bad luck! We’ll jinx you!”

Mason laughed, a little too loudly, shaking his head as Linden slid into the seat next to Flo with a short cackle, patting the vinyl next to her with a grin at Nairi. “We’ll crack out the leg-breaking wishes on the day for you, Aggy,” she said, leaning into a hug from Flo.

Nairi perched awkwardly at the edge of the booth, setting her pink-tinged juice on the table. Agatha’s eyes kept flicking towards her as she and Mason talked about scheduling logistics and email exchanges with professors. Nairi tried not to let it bother her and took a sip of her drink, turning her head to tune into Linden and Flo where they’d gone rapid fire into chatting about… performances? She thought they’d been arguing about theatre curses, but they were well into local bands now, the conversation jumping so quickly she couldn’t keep track.

She turned the glass around in her hand, fingers twitching slightly, and then glanced up as she heard footsteps approaching. Edith caught her eye, slowing to a halt on her way past the table. “Oh, hello again,” she said, sounding faintly amused as her eyebrow twitched up and disrupted her usual frown. “I heard you two had an exciting week.”

“Not really. Kinda quiet,” said Nairi, taking another sip of her juice.

Edith gave a quiet scoff of a laugh, rapping her knuckles on the tabletop next to Nairi’s hand. “Really? That’s not quite what Nicholas has been saying.”

Nairi hummed, setting her glass down.

Edith collected a neat whiskey from a round-faced young woman who joined her from the bar. “This is Verity,” she said, nodding at her. “Verity, this is Nairi and the redhead is Linden, the one who knows people in town closer to your age.”

At a guess Verity was about ten years older than anyone else at the table. Edith didn’t appear to care about this fact. Nairi nodded at her with an awkward smile, her teeth toggling with a tag of skin on the inside of her cheek. “Nice to meet you. Excuse me, uh, I just—need the bathroom a second.”

“Have fun,” said Edith glibly as Nairi stood and edged past her.

Nairi ignored her as she strode to the back of the bar, trying not to pick up speed as she went.

Mercifully the bathroom was empty. It was a small, two stall affair, and while Joe’s sense of interior design had extended into the room in the questionable paint choices and a talking bass over the paper towel dispenser, it was also quiet. She hesitated, then wedged the door shut, leaning her back against it and covering her face with her hands.

What was she doing? It was only three people. Three of Linden’s friends, that was all. Edith and Verity made five, but that wasn’t a crowd. She’d been in crowded bars, filled with way more people, louder volumes, far, far more confusing conversations—

And when she escaped to the bathroom it was usually to snort something before she went back out and glared at everyone who tried to talk to her, filled in the cynical voice that sat in the back of her head.

Suddenly the bathroom was the last place she wanted to be. She glared at the floor and stood up properly, setting the cold tap on the tiny sink to full blast and shoving her hands under the stream. She slammed the soap dispenser aggressively and started scrubbing at her hands, wrinkling her nose at the strong, sickly scent. Water splashed up her sleeves as she took deep breaths through her nose, counting down from one hundred silently.

By the time she turned off the tap her hands were numb, the paper towel scraping her skin through what felt like a thick, protective coating all over her fingers. She closed her eyes and took another deep breath before exiting the bathroom.

When she came back out there’d been a switch in the conversational configurations and she paused, looking around to see if there was somewhere she’d… fit. It was worth it, to try, wasn’t it?

Mason and Flo were knocking elbows at the bar, looking at liquor bottles, while Verity and Edith had joined Agatha for a conversation that apparently required a lot of serious expressions and shredded napkins. Linden had swapped tables entirely, engaged deeply in a conversation with an older woman.

Nairi started to drift towards them, catching a snippet of what they were saying.

“—yeah, it definitely gets easier once you’re off the spiro, after,” Linden was saying as she rolled a beer bottle between her hands, previous glass empty on the table in front of her. “I go for injections these days, I’m like, totally useless at remembering to take a daily pill, though I did while I was in college.”

“I’ve been considering swapping,” said the woman, nodding at Linden. “My partner gets squeamish with needles, though—”

Nairi’s feet turned to head towards the bar without her actively thinking about it. She had no desire to discuss anything relating to needles or medication right now, no matter how benign.

“Oh, I knew if I left them alone they’d get into hormones!” said a cheerful voice from just beside her.

Nairi turned and was greeted by a short, androgynous looking blond with their hand outstretched. For lack of a better response, she shook it.

“I’m Avery,” they said, smiling widely. “Are you Nairi? Your friend, Linden, mentioned you before I left her alone with Cynth and let them derail straight into titty-skittle talk.”

Nairi latched onto one part of the sentence without meaning to. “Synth?”

Avery burst out laughing. “Sorry! Cynthia—my wife. I have to shorten every name, it’s my worst trait!”

“No-o! We all do it, you’ll fit right in!” cried out Flo, wrapping an arm around Avery’s shoulders and squeezing. “Nairi! Come sit with us! Avery uses they as a personal pronoun, isn’t that cool?”

“Um, very cool,” said Nairi, letting herself follow them up to the front of the bar where Mason and Joe were very seriously discussing what the essential components of a good Manhattan were.

Flo and Avery giggled, jostling up against each other and Nairi as they took the seats next to Mason. Joe grinned at them as they sat, Mason taking a dainty sip of his cocktail through a comically small straw. “Hey, hey! Anything I can get for you ladies and genderqueer? Another juice?” he said, winking at Nairi.

Flo gasped, slapping the top of the bar. “Mocktails! Joe, do you know any good mocktails?”

“Oh, no, it’s okay—” started Nairi, but Flo and Avery were nodding eagerly, and someone’s hand patted her shoulder.

“I love mocktails!” crowed Avery, nodding eagerly. “Cynth thinks they’re dumb—she’s a grain alcohol kinda lady—”

“I might know some mocktails,” said Joe loudly, and Mason, Avery and Flo cheered raggedly, Flo clapping over the counter.

Joe did make a good mocktail, or at least a tasty one. Tasty wasn’t always the same as ‘good’ when it came to regular cocktails, but she thought hers might be pineapple based and it was sweet, so Nairi thought it was good. The others were easy conversation too; they didn’t actively leave her out, but no one was leaning on her to talk, and when she did, at least one of them paid attention.

Still, when she heard her name called she was grateful for the excuse to walk away from the loud chatter.

“There you are,” said Linden cheerfully as she stopped at the table, the seating arrangement having cycled through again. She and Agatha were on one side of the booth, their cheeks reddened from the booze, or the warmth, or the conversation, Nairi couldn’t tell. Edith was sprawled across from them, taking up the whole bench seat and looking highly amused by whatever they were talking about. “Do you wanna go for a ride?” Linden asked guilelessly, looking up at Nairi as she took a drink from her beer.

“Yeah, sure,” said Nairi, shrugging at her. “Where were you thinking of heading out to?”

Edith snorted and Linden shrugged back. “Don’t know yet, still mulling it over. You left your drink at the bar,” she added. She was still smiling, but there was something cynical lurking in her eyebrows.

“Oh, thanks,” said Nairi, with the nagging feeling that she’d missed something.

There was a small kerfuffle as she turned to head back to the bar, rustling of cloth and Linden saying, “You see what I mean?” about something.

Her drink was where she’d left it, Flo and the others were being corralled back to the booths by Cynthia, and when she turned around, Agatha was standing there, looking a little flushed. “Hi,” she said, blinking at her.

“Hi,” said Agatha, and then, all at once: “Do you want to get out of here?”

“Yes,” said Nairi immediately, a rush of relief filling at her at the sudden escape route in front of her.

“Really?” said Agatha, smiling at her. “I, I meant—with me?”

Nairi smiled back at her. “Yeah.” Agatha was cute, in an angry kind of way, she thought, suddenly speculative. And god only knew it had been too long since she’d had any kind of intimacy like that, friendly or otherwise. Besides, if it went downhill she could probably take her. “Let me just say goodbye to Linden, she doesn’t like it when I vanish without warning her.”

“Oh, of course,” said Agatha, nodding, her cheeks reddening. “I’ll meet you outside?”

Nairi set her glass down in the ‘return zone’ Joe had marked out on the bar in neon washi tape (it had parking bays, he was really committed to the quirky bit) and walked back over to Linden’s booth, feeling like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. “Hey, I’m heading home for the night,” she said casually, nudging Linden’s shoulder with her knuckles.

Linden’s eyes widened as she looked up, gaze darting past Nairi then back. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” said Nairi, nodding at her. “It was good to get out of the house. I’ll text you later?”

“Sure,” said Linden, tone clipped, nodding. Across the table Edith was visibly laughing into her hand. “Later.”

Nairi headed towards the exit and Agatha, and behind her she heard Edith’s laughter suddenly rise in volume over the chatter.

[thecursedhellblazer-arc]

At the Edge of Nowhere

(( So, guess who went ahead and scratched that crazy itch I got yesterday? Yep, Scotty did. It turned in a small fic instead of a drabble, since apparently I had more to play out than I initially thought, but...here it is. I took the chance to experiment a bit with the writing style too, while I was at it, ‘cause...why not? ))

(( I’m not really sure of where the idea came from, I just really wanted them to have interact, somehow, without inventing something too complicated. And this was the result. Also, it doesn’t mean that I won’t try to shove Five into John’s universe or vice versa at some point, but for now I’m good with this xD ))

(( Sharing just in case anyone is in the mood for some random oddity! ))

(( I even posted in on Ao3 if anyone wants to have a look at it there! ^^” ))

They sit side by side, watching the eternal sunset of Eternity stretching before them, swinging their feet past the edge of the Abyss, unfazed by the danger of its depths. The darkness seems to be threatening to suck them down, condemning them to an endless fall, and yet they pay it no mind, each of them far too interested in sipping and enjoying his drink.

The silence floods past them, over them, through them, carrying the whispers of their lives. However, for this ephemeral moment, they are given the almost unique chance to ignore them. It’s a rare gift, one that deserved to be savoured, like a fine well-aged vintage. Like the ambrosia that the ancient gods, legit and false, so much have lauded.

And so they sit, the Boy and the Fool, side by side, on the edge of the Abyss.

The atmosphere is almost companionable, as much as it can be when shared by two strangers who carry with them too much baggage. A past and a present that are too dark, too painful. There’s as much kinship and understanding between them as there’s mistrust.

They let the quietness linger for a while, listening only to the taste of the alcohol that coats their tongues, knowing that the stasis won’t last. Neither of them is good at keeping his mouth shut when something is making their skin itch.

“Th’ ‘ell ‘s a lad like yeh doin’ in such a place?” The Fool finally asks, turning his eyes away from the magnetic horizon and landing them on his unlikely companion.

The Boy scoffs. Why is it always the same old story with everyone he meets? “I’d watch my fucking tongue if I were you, young man,” he shoots back, with a withering look. “I’m far older than I look. And I’m older than you for sure.”

A half laugh rises with a small cloud of smoke, but it dies in the matter of seconds as the seriousness of those declarations settles in.

“Blimey. Yeh ain’t pullin’ me leg, are yeh? ‘Ow old are yeh s’posed to be den, mate?”

“Do I look like I’m kidding? Trust me, mate, I’m not. I’m fifty-eight. And I’m stuck in the body of a thirteen-years-old. There’s nothing funny about it.”

“Bloody ‘Ell. Fifty-eight n’ still a lad? Tha’s...insane. I dun envy yeh. Nay.”

The Fool shakes his head, but, despite the lingering astonishment, there is a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Tell us, tho. Woh’s yeh secret? I gots me diabolical trick to slow down agin’ n’ all, but it obviously ain’t workin’ as well as yehs.”

“I got stuck in the future for forty-five years and, when I finally figured out the equation to go back to my time, I missed a typo and...this is the result.”

“Soddin’ math. ‘S one o’ th’ bloody reasons why I ne’er managed to get alchemy rite. T’in’s keep blowin’ up in me face.”

“Sodding math indeed. Cheers.”

“Cheers.”

They clink their glasses together and go back staring at the frozen skyline. Two sets of blue eyes. Different shades of the iris, similar heaviness burdening them.

The Boy steers his drink with his straw, lips pursing pensively. “Speaking of things that suck, what is this place exactly? Am I dreaming? Or did I accidentally take some of my brother’s drugs and this is like the most boring trip in history?”

The Fool scoffs. “Gonna pretend tha’ yeh didn’t jus’ insult me too, together wit’ dis soddin’ place.”

His gaze wanders for a split moment, touching their motionless surroundings. “Ah, I dunno, mate. Could be yeh dream, aye. Could be mine. Or maybe we bot’ stepped inside another real wit’out noticin’ n’ ‘ere we are. Wouldn’t be th’ first time for me. Won’t be th’ last either.”

“I’ve never been in another world. I’ve travelled through time, maybe a bit too much, and I’ve rushed through the fabric of space but this…” The Boy waves his free hand. “This is new. It’s easier to think of it as a dream, so I’d go with that, if you don’t mind. The last thing I need is another headache.”

“Wohe’er works wit’ yeh, mate. I get it. At times, ‘s be’er pretendin’ life ain’t real. ‘S good for yeh mental sanity. Even if yeh got none left.”

The Fool takes yet another drag from his cigarette. Curiously enough, it doesn’t seem to be shortening, even if the ash falls down on his trench coat.

“One t’in’ I can tell yeh ‘bout dis place, tho. It ain’t somewhere e’eryone can visit. Yeh gotta carry some serious shite wit’ yeh to ‘ave stumbled in ‘ere. Do yeh?”

The Boy shrugs. “Maybe? I kept pushing and pushing, even after my father had told me not to and I ended up after the End of the world. I heard the bastard’s voice echoing in my head for the past forty-five years.” He makes his voice thicker for a moment. “I told you so, boy. I told you so. Asshole.”

A long sip from his drink, as if he is trying to wash away that intrusive voice from his ears, before he continues.

“I worked for this organisation that monitors the timeline for a while as a trained assassin. They made me into the perfect killer, a tool for their plans. I had my goals, though, since the start. I took their deal just so that I could go back to try to stop the Apocalypse and save my family. We ended up breakin the world anyway, so I dragged them all back in time to try again. Of course, all that shit followed us. Because it’s never that easy, is it?”

The Fool nods and the Boy can tell that his companion knows that sort of feeling far too well. It’s nice to be fully understood, for once. Even if the understanding comes from a nameless stranger he’ll probably never see again. Assuming that their meeting is truly happening in the first place.

“So...We saved the world this time but broke the timeline. And now my childhood home is gone and me and my siblings are stuck in a timeline that holds no place for us anymore. I’m still trying to figure out how that’s supposed to work. Oh, and that bastard of my adoptive father is hunting us down using the kids he adopted in our place. It’s a real mess.”

There’s bitterness colouring his voice, the embers of a fight that’s too stubborn to die just yet, but the exhaustion is stronger.

“Though, between you and me...All I really want is a decent nap and a dozen more drinks. Maybe get a dog too. Not necessarily in that order.”

The straw produces a light slurping sound as he takes the next sip. “What’s your story? You must have one too, since you’re here...wherever here is.”

The Fool tips his head, in a sign of acknowledgement. No comments follow the tale, and there’s no real need for them there, out of time and space.

“Grew up in me own particular version o’ ‘Ell. Me oul man was th’ fuckin’ opposite o’ ‘father o’ th’ year’...So, I ran in my teen years, still thinkin’ I coulda owned th’ world. Stuck me nose in e’ery bloody t’in’ tha’ was magic n’ occult. One nite I got too cocky and damned an innocent girl to Hell. Earned a bloody place wit’ me name down there too in the process.”

The voice that spells out the words is casual, but there’s something haunted in his expression, darkening his eyes.

“Spent all me life tryin' to make up for tha’ bloody mistake. Ended up messin up meself and most o’ me mates n’ th’ people who ‘ad th’ ‘orrible o’ puttin’ their faith in me as a result. Girl’s still in ‘Ell, th’ bloody Devil ‘imself gots an eternal grudge against me, I gots demon blood in me veins n’ me soz arse ‘s still damned. I might not be a professional like yeh, but I bet I gots jus’ as much blood on me ‘ands. N’ even more souls on me conscience.”

The ice clinks against the transparent walls as the glass is lifted. More sourness to wipe away the one that the words have left on his tongue.

“Nowadays, ‘s mostly me, meself n’ I. Me best mate, too, from time to time. No clue o’ ‘ow he survived bein’ by me side for so long. ‘M still tryin’ to make t’in’s rite, but...for th’ most I jus’ try to be there to do th’ bloody dirty job no self-appointed ‘ero gots th’ time to do. I might be lost, past th’ point o’ no return, but there are lots o’ people out there who aren’t yet. Th’ fuckin’ least I can do ‘s tryin’ to ‘elp ‘em, aye? Make dis soz existence o’ mine wort’ more than misery n’ destruction.”

A drag from his cigarette and there’s a small hand landing on his shoulder, in a brief pat, before he has finished sucking the smoke in. The light pressure says more than a thousand words could.

“Between you and me, tho...I could use a dozen drinks too. Maybe more. N’ a bloody vacation. To sod off somewhere, even for jus’ a day. Maybe take me best mate n’ dis other lad I know. Oh, he could use a break too, th’ poor sod.”

The Boy makes a sound of agreement and he is back stirring his drink. “What a pair we make, you and I. And I don’t even know you.”

“I ‘ear tha’ loud n’ clear, mate. Bloody loud n’ bloody clear. Woh’s tha’ yeh drinkin’ anyway?”

“What? You ne’er seen a margarita? Where the hell are you from? England or Mars? Come on, try it.”

“Oi, I know woh a fuckin’ margarita is, oul man. Yehs jus’ a bit...flashier than woh ‘m used to.”

“Special recipe. I perfected it myself.”

“Now, tha’s more like it. I like a bloke who can make ‘is own drinks. There. Yeh like g n’ t?”

The glasses pass from one hand to another and then they both turn to look back at the unchanged horizon, holding each other’s drink.

A moment to sniff the liquors, in unison, and then the Boy dips his lips in the clear spirit while the Fool wraps his mouth around the straw. The tastes mix in the silence and it’s a symphony of citrus and sourness, with just the right amount of sweetness coming at the end.

“So, what happens now?” The Boy asks, after a moment.

The Fool shrugs. “Ah, I guess we wait till all dis fades. Or till we do. ‘S always ‘ard to tell when it comes to dis sort o’ shite.”

A huffs, with the faintest hint of irritation. “For someone who’s supposed to know a lot about this stuff, you give the worst cryptic answers. I can’t tell if you’re that ignorant or if you’re just fucking with me.”

A nudge in a smaller, slender side and a sharp smirk. “Who knows, mate. Yeh guess ‘s as good as mine. Keep th’ drink. I gots more back where I come from. Consider it a safe trip back home present. I’ll keep yehs as a reminder.”

“A present from a guy I never truly met? And a reminder of something we didn’t even speak about?”

“Nay. Jus’ th’ memory o’ some peace n’ quiet in decent company.”

“Fair enough. I can drink to that.”