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flamehairedwritings · 5 years ago

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The Fire In Your Eyes: Chapter Five

Characters: Arthur Morgan x Original Female Character

Rating: The whole series will be E, 18+ ONLY for violence, gore, character deaths, animal deaths, parent deaths, swearing, grief, sexual themes and sex.

Summary: Saved by Arthur Morgan when her town is attacked, a young woman’s past comes back to haunt her when she has no choice but to join the Van der Linde Gang.

The Fire In Your Eyes Masterlist

Please don’t copy, steal or re-post my work; credit does not count.

The Knock on the Cage

The next morning, restless from a sleepless night of turning over Micah’s words in her mind and her irritation at Arthur, Ada offered to take Karen’s morning watch, something that had delighted the other woman.

Sadie had suggested she offer to take a watch a couple of days ago, to which Ada had politely dismissed under the pretence Miss Grimshaw needed her assistance, but now she was itching to do something else besides sewing and washing and cleaning.

And what better way to prove her newfound loyalty to this camp than protecting it? Especially as she’d already proven what she could do.

Her ‘show’, as it was now being called, was still being discussed by the time dinner had come round, and she had batted away questions about how’d she’d been taught with humble answers of being raised to hunt.

It was a familiar story to them, some of the group having been raised the same way, so they didn’t press, just taking it as she was damn good. It was almost as if her ‘show’ had broken the last barrier between her and the group, like they had found the box they could put her in to and what purpose she served. It was almost as if she’d finally found her place, too. Most of the men, probably seeing her as more useful now that they knew she could do more than sew and clean, held easier conversations with her that night and Charles and Javier had even politely extended an open invitation to her to join them in a hunt one day. She’d accepted gladly.

Now, though, she was left alone to guard the camp on the north side, a rifle in her hands and a gentle breeze on her face.

It was peaceful, and she hadn’t minded that the hours had passed slowly. Stood under the tall trees, she listened and watched for any sign of movement, occasionally spotting a hare or squirrel rustling amongst the bushes.

She tried not to think about how easily she had been riled yesterday. Usually she found it more infuriating to someone in an argument to be the calm one, to walk away, but something about Arthur just made her want to prove him wrong. Who the hell did he think he was, judging and—

“Good mornin’.”

She’d heard someone approach but hadn’t expected that voice to belong to them. Turning her head, she smiled politely.

She was the only camp member she hadn’t spoken to, having only glimpsed her sitting in Dutch’s tent or down on the other side of the bank, writing or combing her hair. The other women and even some of the men had remarked under their breath about how lazy and entitled Miss O’Shea was, and Ada had been able to see that for herself.

So quiet alarm bells had started to ring that Molly O’Shea, who kept herself to herself and hadn’t bothered to introduce herself previously, had come to seek her out.

“Good morning, how are you?”

“Ah, I’m grand, thank ye, you?” the Irish woman answered, a gentle smile on her lips as she wandered closer, a cigarette between her fingers.

“I’m fine, thank you.”

“Grand.” Molly exhaled a breath of smoke. “I just thought I’d come to let ye know Javier’s comin’ to take over from ye in a few minutes.”

Oh, did you now.

“Thank you, Molly.”

“No worries. I’ll walk back to camp with ye, if ye like. He shouldn’t be too long.”

Can’t really say no to that now, can I.

“Sure, that would be nice.”

Lowering her hands, Ada kept the rifle grasped in one as she fell into step with Molly, her curiosity over exactly what Miss O’Shea wanted causing her to fall silent.

She didn’t have to wait long.

"You’ve got lovely hair. Just like mine. Ye got any Irish in yer family?”

There we go.

“Yes, my father was. He’d come here as a child, though.”

“And yer mother?”

“American. From Virginia. They met at a local dance one night and fell in love. Much to the dismay of my grandparents, apparently.”

“Oh, really?” Molly smiled as she did, her eyes remaining intently on her.

“Yes, but they loved each other so it didn’t matter to them.”

“Ah, that’s lovely. Very romantic.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Forgive me for askin’ but I take it he passed away?” she asked, lowering her voice to a sympathetic tone.

“Yes, when I was a child.” Ada smiled faintly, making sure the recollection of tragic memories was clear on her face. “A few years after that my older brother died. We moved to Strawberry shortly after, my mother and sister and I, to live with my uncle, for a fresh start.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Annie. You’ve been through so much.”

Ada just maintained her small smile, looking at the ground. They slowed as they reached the camp and Ada lifted her head to nod at Javier as he passed, a light smile on his lips.

“Look,” Molly continued gently. “I’m sorry I haven’t introduced myself to ye sooner, Annie. I thought I’d give ye a bit of space after all the awful things ye went through.”

Of course you did.

“It’s fine, Molly, I appreciate your kindness.”

Molly’s sweet smile widened a touch before she gestured at Ada’s face with her fingers holding the cigarette. “Did that happen in the attack?”

Ada frowned genuinely for a moment before she realised what she was referring to, involuntarily touching her cheek and the small, healing bruising that spread across her cheekbone. Nobody else had mentioned it, perhaps out of respect.

“Oh, yes, my Repeater hit me as I fired a shot. It was much worse when I arrived.”

It was far too sympathetic a look the woman was giving her. She also seemed to be steering them in the direction of Dutch’s tent and, upon glancing at it, Ada spotted Micah sat outside it, cleaning his revolver.

Christ, what is this? They’re not going to interrogate me, are they?

“And your neck, there, that from them, too?”

Ada caught herself before she cursed, tensing just slightly.

Shit.

She’d meant to find a neckerchief before dressing but it had slipped her mind as it had been so full with cursing Micah Bell and Arthur Morgan.

“Oh, no, I got this when I was a child, from an accident.”

She resisted the urge to brush her finger tips against the thin, four inch scar that lay horizontally at the base of her throat. Up until now she’d kept her hair down and the blouse Miss Grimshaw had given her had a high neck which had hidden it. But now, with her hair swept up and wearing the new brown and white striped blouse that she had bought which had a lower neckline, it was on show for all to see, if one were to look close enough. Miss O’Shea was very observant.

“Goodness, how did it happen?”

What exactly was she searching for? All Ada could think about was that this was Dutch’s woman, but was she digging for her own benefit or for Dutch’s? Had her little gun show yesterday drawn more interest than she’d thought? Or was Molly just incredibly curious?

Ada was saved from resorting to one of her lies, however, by none other than Arthur Morgan.

“Hey, Molly, where’s Dutch?”

Her head lifting quickly, Ada found the man suddenly stood before Micah, ignoring whatever the other man was rambling on about, that eternally exasperated expression on his features.

Miss O’Shea’s mood soured quickly.

“I don’t know, I’m not that man’s keeper, apparently.” Throwing her hands up dismissively, she strode away, muttering under her breath.

So much for my new friend.

Passing the rifle to her other hand, she suddenly didn’t quite know what to do with herself, standing there a little awkwardly. Follow after Molly and perhaps continue to be interrogated by her or very obviously turn away from these men and stride away like she’d found a pit of snakes? Well, that wouldn’t be far from the truth.

“... that line of thought serves you or me very well,” Arthur answered to whatever Micah had said. And then he looked at her.

“Miss Sawyer, have you seen Dutch?”

“No, I haven’t.”

He sighed and looked around again, which needled her.

There, he’s just silently dismissed you for being useless, now go.

“Well, that’s because, cowpoke,” Micah continued, “you are a man of profoundly limited intelligence. Isn’t that right, Miss Sawyer?”

She glanced at him, finding him giving her that smile she hated so much.

Irritating Arthur by siding with Micah she certainly hadn’t stooped to yet.

“At least he doesn’t pretend to be the fount of all knowledge.”

Arthur’s gaze darted to her as Micah laughed.

“Defending the idiot, huh? How noble of you, Miss Sawyer.” His attention returned to Arthur. “But while you and the old man and Dutch have been running around, digging us ever deeper into shit, old Mr Pearson might have gone and lightened the load a little. Pearson!”

Now her curiosity certainly wouldn’t allow her to walk away.

“Ain’t you curious?”

She almost answered him before she realised he was talking to Arthur.

“I guess.”

“Gentlemen.”

Ada took a slight step to the side at the sound of Dutch’s voice behind her, turning her head. He strode towards them, looking resplendent as always.

“Dutch,” Micah called out eagerly, excited to share whatever he had, gesturing at Pearson who had nearly run over to them, smoothing down his thinning hair, also excited. “You tell him, fat man.”

Ada arched an eyebrow and found herself glancing at Arthur, who was already looking at her, and they shared the briefest of bemused looks. She swiftly returned her attention to Pearson as he spoke.

“It’s peace, Dutch, the O’Driscolls. I mean, I think there’s a way.”

Ada stilled, bemusement falling from her features. Arthur frowned, stepping aside as Dutch stepped into his tent.

Dutch didn’t seem too impressed either. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“Get the words out properly, fat man,” Micah prompted with thinly veiled frustration, giving Pearson a slight shove into the tent.

Pearson cleared his throat and took a breath, lifting his gaze to Dutch’s back as the older man reloaded his revolver. “I met a couple of the O’Driscoll boys on the road into town. Things were about to get ugly, but you know how I am in a fight, huh? Like a cornered tiger!”

From the corner of her eye, Ada saw Micah look at Arthur, a smirk pulling at his lips, but she didn’t dare pull her attention away from Pearson.

“Anyway, somehow it didn’t, but...” Pearson cleared his throat again as Dutch lit a cigar, still not having gained his full attention and very much aware of it. “We got to talkin’ and they suggested a parley to end things. Like gentleman.”

“Gentlemen?” Now he had Dutch’s attention. “Colm O’Driscoll?” He advanced towards Pearson, who backed out of the tent, his mouth moving slightly. Dutch looked between Micah and Pearson. “... Have you lost your minds?”

“You’re always tellin’ us, Dutch,” Micah interjected before Pearson could, “do what has to be done, but don’t fight wars ain’t worth fightin’.”

“They want a parley?” Hosea’s voice suddenly sounded from behind them and they all turned, finding him sat at the table, a newspaper in his hands. “It’s a trap.”

Micah hissed out a slight breath, raising his hands. “Well, of course it’s probably a trap.” His voice softened a little as he returned to Dutch. “But what have we got to lose finding out?”

“Gettin’ shot,” Arthur drawled.

“We ain’t gettin’ shot because you’ll be protectin’ us,” Micah answered, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, patting him on the arm. “It’s a trap? You shoot the lot of them. If it ain’t a trap, that slim chance—”

“I don’t see the point in any of this,” Dutch cut in as he strode out of the tent towards Hosea, shaking his head, and they all followed after him, Ada included, at a slight distance.

“It’s a chance we gotta take,” Micah implored, walking a little faster than the others.

Dutch exhaled a short breath as he braced his hands against the table, leaning over it. No one spoke.

Suddenly pushing away from the table, Dutch straightened. “I killed Colm’s brother, a long time ago.”

Ada’s heart stopped as her lips parted.

Oh my God...

Her blood ran cold.

“Then he killed... A woman I loved dear...”

This was why they hated each other so much. This was why so much blood had been shed. This was why... This... Because of... Because of this man stood before her...

Micah hummed sympathetically and leaned on the table. “As you say, it’s a long time ago, Dutch.”

Dutch fell silent once more, his jaw moving. He threw his cigar aside.

She couldn’t breathe.

She felt Arthur, stood beside her, looking at her.

Breathe, for the love of God, breathe...

Then, Dutch nodded.

“Let’s go.” The men all straightened as he pointed at Micah. “You and me, with Arthur protecting us, no one else.”

He started to walk away, and Ada heard herself saying, “I’ll go with you.”

They all paused, their eyes heavy on her.

Breathe.

Gentleman Dutch smiled politely as he turned to her. “Miss Sawyer, I can’t allow that.”

She swallowed hard, grasping the rifle a little more tightly. “Either you allow it, or I just happen to be heading the same way you do.”

Her boldness took them all by surprise, including herself.

“Miss Sawyer, it—”

“Because of that man my family is dead and my town destroyed. If he wants to talk peace and means it, I want to be there. For my family and the people of my town’s sake.”

“By that reasonin’ we should take Sadie, too,” Arthur interjected, frowning.

Her gaze cut to him. “I’d be delighted if she was to join us.”

Dutch’s smile lingered as his eyes swept over her and, after less than a moment, he nodded. “Fine, but you go with Arthur and watch from a distance until we know it’s safe.”

She nodded, knowing when to not push her luck.

As she strode passed him, Arthur stared at Dutch incredulously, opening his mouth to protest, but Dutch was already walking away, heading towards his horse.

Gritting his teeth, Arthur made his way to his own horse, watching Annie. She mounted quickly, holstering the rifle on her saddle, a grim determination on her features.

Lord, I hope she doesn’t shoot him the moment we see him... If he’s even there.

“Mount up, then, Morgan.”

Arthur glanced at Micah, a satisfied smile on his lips. Sighing heavily, he mounted his horse, his eyes returning to Annie as they headed out of camp.

Micah led the way, Dutch to his right and Arthur and Ada behind them.

“You know, I’ve been fightin’ Colm for so long now I can barely remember a time when it was different,” Dutch said bitterly.

Her gaze cut to him, her heart thumping against her chest.

“And you’re still fightin’ him now, make no mistake of that,” Arthur answered from her left.

“Here he goes, Doubtin’ Thomas. Is there any plan you ain’t sour on?” Micah snorted.

Ada kept her gaze ahead, silent, her mind racing as they talked to each other.

Think about something before you throw up.

But what else could she think about?

Peace? Why would O’Driscolls want peace? It, almost laughably, went against their very nature. It just seemed far, far too good to be true. Whatever was going to happen, though, whether it was a trap or not, O’Driscoll boys would be there, and she was going to kill them. And if Colm O’Driscoll was there, then—

“What about you, Miss Sawyer? Awful brave of you to want to come.” Micah’s voice brought her back to the present.

“I’m nervous, too,” she answered after a moment, echoing words she’d heard Arthur say.

“Look, you two ain’t even going to be the one’s in danger. We’ll get on over there, find a nice perch for you two to settle into, you both got rifles, ain’t you?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Arthur muttered.

“Then me and Dutch walk right into the lion’s den with you to cover us. And you Miss Sawyer, we’ve all seen you’re a real good shot, I can imagine the damage you could do.”

What a shame if you were to get caught in any cross-fire, Micah.

“Okay, just keep calm. Unless I give you a reason not to,” Arthur answered before she could.

“Oh, we’ll be fine. We’ve got you two,” Dutch called back.

“We will do our best, won’t we, Miss Sawyer?” Arthur glanced at her as they rode over a dry river bed, the sun beating down.

She just hummed in response.

“Oh, my dear and trusted friend, with you watching over me, I would walk into hell itself,” Dutch said sincerely.

“As would I,” Micah added, so over-sincerely she would have laughed in any other situation.

They fell silent, until...

“Hey, up there, men on the ridge.” They followed the direction of Micah’s pointing finger, slowing

“O’Driscolls, from the look of ‘em,” Duch murmured as they watched the four men ride up the ridge slowly, the man at the back, even from this distance she could see, looking down at them.

“I don’t like havin’ eyes on us.”

She shared Arthur’s discomfort as they rode up the incline of the hill.

“We’re close, you’ll be the eyes soon enough,” Micah answered in what just about passed as a soothing tone. “Maybe he’s right, Dutch. Maybe I have pushed too hard. Got us into situations that... could have been safer. I just... I see all those mouths we got to feed, and I... I dream too big. Caring too much, that’s my problem.”

Ada wanted to laugh again.

“Carin’ too much? There’s no such thing.”

“This is horse shit, from both of you!” She was glad Arthur said it before she did.

“It might be! Micah might be full of shit. Colm O’Driscoll might be full of shit,” Dutch said, a quiet bite to his tone as the path flattened out and they reached the top of the hill. “The promise of this great nation, men created equal, justice and liberty for all, that might be nonsense, too. But it’s worth trying for. It’s worth believing in. Can’t you see that, friend?”

Arthur sighed. “I don’t know.”

“Try. All I ask is you try.”

“All right, cowpoke, and my lady,” Micah interrupted, “you’re gonna peel off up ahead. We’ll be meeting down on the plain. Find a spot just above us where you can keep an eye on things.”

“All right, all right. However this shakes out, let’s aim to meet back at the fork in the road afterwards.”

“We’ll be there, partner.”

They separated, Dutch and Micah heading down into the valley as Arthur and Ada cantered away up the rocky, grassy incline. Neither of them spoke until they reached the top.

“Slow up, just here,” Arthur murmured.

She slowed Faithful as Arthur slowed Ophelia, glancing at the nearby ridge. They dismounted, each shouldering their rifles, and she followed behind him, crouching a little as they moved towards the edge. They both kneeled and Arthur lifted the binoculars he’d retrieved from his saddlebag, peering through them at the scene below. Micah and Dutch had halted and dismounted, three horses cantering towards them. Where was the fourth? Probably doing exactly what they were. Ada looked through the scope of her rifle. They both watched as Dutch and Micah lay their hands on their weapons on their belts, and a grey-haired man in the middle dismounted his horse.

The wind faintly carried his voice as he spoke.

“Hello, Dutch. It’s been a while.”

She stiffened. Colm O’Driscoll.

“He’s old,” she couldn’t stop herself from saying.

“He ain’t that old.” Arthur muttered, lowering his binoculars and raising his gun. “Now be quiet.”

“Sure,” they heard Dutch say.

The other two men behind Colm dismounted and approached.

“So, uh, how’s your gang doing? They still believin’ in ya? Better world, pure world, hmm? How’s that comin’ along?” She could hear Colm’s smile.

“Just fine.”

“How’s that score you stole off us?”

“Which one?”

Arthur sighed.

For Christ’s sake...

Colm laughed suddenly. “Oh, I like that. It’s like I said,” he said to his men, “This a charismatic leader.” Turning back to Dutch, he neared, his head tilting. “Lot of heat on us this time. Both of us. Whole heap of trouble.” He smiled. “They offered me a price, Dutch, to bring you in.”

Dutch smiled. “Why didn’t you take it?”

“Well, still might.”

Dutch’s smile faltered slightly, and he seemed to exhaled a breath. “I am... sorry about your brother.”

Colm just continued smiling, shrugging. “Well, I never liked him much.”

Dutch stilled, and Arthur thought he could see the coldness in his eyes. “... I liked Annabelle.”

“You always loved the ladies, Dutch van der Linde, I like that about you,” Colm laughed, shaking a finger at him.

Dutch seemed to have had enough. “What are we doin’ here, Colm? Is this thing over?”

Ada hadn’t moved, desperate to hear every word, barely breathing. Arthur had been too busy focusing, too, to notice her distress, thankfully. The very earth seemed to fall into silence as they awaited Colm’s answer.

There was a sound behind her, suddenly.

Before she could turn, white hot pain spread across the back of her head and everything went black.

Sounds waded in and out. Loud, so loud. His eyes opened and there were three moving shapes. Blinking, they focused into three men, strangers, who were staring down at him, laughing and calling out to him.

“Hello, sugar! You ain’t dead, is you? Not yet, anyway!”

The man who spoke slammed his boot down onto Arthur’s shin and he grunted, pain shooting up his leg. Then a fist slammed into his head, and a boot connected with his stomach. Something cracked against his head, and everything went black.

“.... handin’ him over to the law, it’s... I don’t know. Strange times...”

“They killed Seamus, fuck the whole lot of them...”

Arthur exhaled a quiet groan, trying to open his eyes. His vision was blurred and distorted voices came from somewhere but he couldn’t determine where or who. Closing his eyes, he tried to regulate his shallow breathing, his head pounding.

What the hell happened... Think, you idiot...

Mountain. He’d been up on the mountain, he’d been watching the O’Driscolls, then Annie had— Shit, Annie had been with him. She’d made a sound, then he’d turned and... Shit, an O’Driscoll had slammed a gun against his head.

It had been a God damn trap... Jesus Christ, where’s Annie?

Opening his eyes again, Arthur dragged his gaze up and there she was. He released a rasping breath as he tried to focus on her. She lay a foot or so away, her hair covering her face, motionless.

They can’t have killed her, they won’t have killed her or...

Of their own accord, his brain slow to catch up, his arms moved out and settled on the ground. Digging his fingers into the ground, he pulled himself towards her, gritting his teeth as he tried to be as slow and as quiet as possible. He still couldn’t place where the voices were, but they were starting to sound closer as he adjusted.

His fingers brushed against her hair, trying to push it aside to see where her face was. Then, she made a small sound and her head moved a fraction.

Relief eased the tightening of his chest.

“Annie...” he breathed, pushing more of her hair aside. “Hey, wake up, come on.”

She didn’t move or make another sound.

A horse’s whinny broke out across what he had now established was a clearing in a forest, and he’d recognise the sound anywhere.

Good girl.

He couldn’t whistle her closer for fear of alerting the O’Driscolls, but he couldn’t just do nothing.

Shit...

“... he can play him...”

Slowly turning his head, Arthur found the source of the voices. He could only see two of them, sat on the ground several feet away, their backs to him. He was too weak to fight them, he knew that, and if they hadn’t killed him yet they wanted him for something. They hadn’t killed Annie either or seemingly done anything else, so...

If I could get away, get to Ophelia and get help... Shit, I can’t leave her...

Perhaps he could get to his guns on her, though, she hadn’t sounded too far off.

Shit...

Turning away from Annie, he began to crawl, focusing on an incline up ahead. If he could stand, and then maybe run, maybe she was beyond it, maybe they wouldn’t notice him...

With what strength he had left, Arthur pushed himself up onto shaking legs as quietly as possible.

One foot in front of the other, come on, you big bastard...

"He’s escapin’! Shoot him!”

Oh, shit...

“Relax, relax! I got him, I got him...”

A gunshot sounded and he saw a bullet collide with the ground before him. He collapsed, his legs too weak, rolling onto his back.

“Did I kill you?”

The same three men from before appeared over him again as he groaned, fighting to keep his eyes open.

“Not... yet...”

They laughed, two of them still keeping their guns fixed on him.

“No, of course not. Not yet... But I will.”

A gunshot sounded again, and pain blossomed across his shoulder. His cry broke off as he passed out.

A roaring sound. Like when he was too near an explosion and his ears couldn’t adjust. His face was wet. Blood? Possibly. Yelling, too.

He groaned. God, pain everywhere.

Open your eyes.

It took all his strength to pry them open and he gazed down at... water. Running water. A river, a loud one. Something kept jolting him, too. On a horse, crossing a river. Every breath he took came out as a ragged exhale. Pained.

Still yelling.

Annie. He could faintly hear Annie yelling, but it was as if she was miles away. Cursing and hollering that was answered with laughter.

There was a cry, then, suddenly, silence.

He thought he heard an eagle’s call as he passed out once more.

She heard firewood crackling first. Low voices drifted over it. She felt warmth from something close by.

Then she felt the pain.

There was an unrelenting stiffness in her shoulders, arms and legs. It took her a few moments to realise she was kneeling on dry grass and her hands were tied above her head to a wooden pole that pressed against her spine, keeping her rigid. Her jaw and cheeks hurt, too. They throbbed, as did her right eyebrow. In fact her whole head ached.

She’d been hit, she remembered. Hit to pass out, hit to shut up, hit just for the hell of it. Hit by...

She mentally checked the rest of her body.

Fine, thank God... Well, besides the stiffness...

The voices rose a little higher for a moment, laughing, before stabilising again.

I don’t want to know where I am, I don’t want to know where I am, I don’t want to know where I am...

A groan escaped her, and the voices grew in volume, enough for her to hear.

“Shh, quiet... Is she awake?”

“About time.”

“Quick, make sure you’ve got a gag ready.”

They laughed and the sound of it irritated the throbbing in her head, making her groan again.

Someone suddenly gripped her chin and lifted her head. Opening her eyes a fraction, her cracked lips parted.

“You’ve taken a couple’a blows to the head, darlin’, you all righ’?”

She hummed out a sound, then made her eyes open a little wider. A man swam into focus, with brown eyes and black hair and moustache.

“Never been better,” she rasped.

The man laughed, making her wince.

“Fiery one, ain’t ye? I think I’ve got somethin’ to make ye quiet.”

“I wouldn’t. I’ve got strong teeth.”

He laughed again and released her, standing and patting the top of her head before turning away.

“She’s fine. Tell him.”

She watched him as he walked away to, she assumed, resume his place at a fire surrounded by three, four other men. Her sluggish mind tried to frantically make a plan as she attempted to rotate her wrists to test how loose the bonds were.

Not loose at all.

Slowly lifting her head higher, her neck so stiff, she leaned it back against the pole, her eyes drifting across the scene before her. The men sat to her right around the fire, and across to her left was a stone building of some sort, perhaps a cottage. She could hear the sounds of horses behind her, snorting and biting at the grass. Beyond the men was a ramshackle wooden shack, crates stacked around one side of it and...

No sign of Arthur.

Please, God, don’t let him be dead.

Closing her eyes, she willed herself, in her exhausted state, not to cry. They would just love that and she couldn’t lose hope because there was always, always a way out.

‘Somebody always makes a mistake somewhere, girlie’.

Think.

They couldn’t have killed Arthur. She’d heard the men talking about this being a trap to lure Dutch to them, so they won’t have killed him... Would they? Would it make much difference, if Dutch was going to come and they were all to be turned over to the law, anyway? Why was she still alive? She was no major gang member the law could use, oh, God, what did they want with her—

“Ah, our second guest.”

Her eyes snapped open at his voice. Carefully lifting her head off the pole, she watched him approach, a smile on his lips, a lantern in one hand and a stool in the other.

“Hello, sweetheart, how are you?” Colm O’Driscoll asked, setting the stool down and taking a seat opposite her.

He was dressed like a poor man’s version of Dutch. Waistcoat, shirt, trousers, all of them one step down from the kind of finery Gentleman Dutch wore. Where Dutch’s hair shone darkly, Colm’s was lank, grey, thin. His features were harsher, too, the lines in his face deeper. His blue eyes, however, were bright, and on her.

She swallowed hard and wet her lips, feeling each stinging split.

“Wonderful,” she whispered, not trusting the full strength of her voice.

He laughed softly. “They said you was a firecracker. You don’t sound so good, though, would you like some water?”

She couldn’t, and didn’t want to, stop herself from nodding.

“All right, then.” Placing the lantern down, he pulled a silver flask from his waistcoat pocket, unscrewed the cap and held it to her lips.

Tipping her head back as much as she could, he then poured the liquid into her mouth. She swallowed, and instantly started to cough. Turning her head to the side, she spluttered as the liquid burned her throat, her breaths ragged.

Whisky.

“Ah, shit, my mistake. Damn, you got some on me, sweetheart.” Colm tutted before taking a swig himself and screwing the cap back on, watching her as she started to cease her coughing.

Licking her lips again, wincing, she lifted her gaze to meet his. He smiled.

“I’ve just seen your boy Arthur,” he remarked, leaning a forearm on his thigh. “Oh he’s fine, don’t be so worried,” he continued as her eyes widened. “I told him you were... a little unwell. Still pretty, though, ain’t you? Yeah...”

He brushed the dirty strands of hair that fell over her face away before his fingers ran down her jaw, his smile widening a little more as his hand dropped.

She hadn’t jerked away but stayed silent, watching him, her heart pounding.

“He was goin’ to leave you, you know. He was makin’ a break for it.”

He couldn’t have missed the confusion that flashed across her features.

“Yeah, my boys saw him runnin’ away. Had to shoot him in the shoulder, they did. It’s lookin’ a little bad now, but I think it got the message through.” He waved his hand. “But, anyway, what’s a nice girl like you doin’ with a band of such cowardly outlaws, hm, Miss...? What’s your name, darlin’?”

She didn’t answer.

He leaned closer, his elbows on his knees. “Now we thought you was Dutch’s current lady at first, what’s her name, Molly? Yeah? But then we saw how young you was and... then I saw this ring...”

Her eyes darted down as he rummaged in his trouser pocket and pulled out a small, silver object. Holding it out to her in his palm, she clenched her teeth as she stared down at the ring.

“... now, I know this ring. Where’d you get it, darlin’?”

She returned her gaze to his.

“It was a gift.”

“Hm? Was it now? From who?”

“A boy in my town.”

“Oh...” He sat back, tilting his head. “... now I don’t believe that.”

Beads of sweat trailed down her back as she watched him turn it over with his fingers.

“See, this is a very special ring. A family heirloom, I think, one of a kind. I know someone who had one just like it.”

Her chin started to tremble as she exhaled a short, staggered breath. He met her gaze again.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Ann—Annie Sawyer,” she whispered.

He tilted his head again, his expression one of disappointment. “I don’t believe that, either.”

“My... My name...” Her voice shook, her eyes filling. “... is Annie Sawyer.”

“No, it isn’t...” He leaned closer once more, closing his fingers over the ring. “I think it’s Adaline O’Driscoll.”

Tears started to fall down her cheeks as all hope left her.

“Am I wrong, dear niece?”

Comments, reblogs and likes make my day in a way I can’t describe.

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged or untagged in this series!

Read on AO3

Questions?

Tagged: @belfry-bat, @sistasarah-sallysaidso

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x original female character #arthur morgan x female oc #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption #my writing #flamehairedwritings

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imyoursugarbunny · 5 years ago

Note

All the yandere asks, haha, suck it, nerd (and tag possessive-prey when you do it bby)

❤️ - How many people have you fallen in love with?

Hmmm let's see... Six, I think? I get crushes really easy but love is different.

🧡 - Are you REALLY willing to kill somebody for love or is it just an exxageration?

Hmmm not for love, but I definitely almost killed some people who were hurting someone I cared about and only was stopped bc they weren't within walking distance lmao. I blacked out in a rage and everything.

💛 - Are you a real yandere or is it just for aesthetics?

Hmmm depends on your definition of yandere. I'm not the kill for my love kind but I am definitely obsessed with being around my loved ones and my emotions can get really chaotic.

💚 - How far would you go to change for your beloved?

Hmmm idk. I'd definitely do anything I could to make a relationship work and I definitely want to be healthy in my relationships, but I do not like being tied down and having to hide parts of myself from people so I have no interest in putting on airs or saying things I don't mean. I also do not like being told what to do so if someone demanded too much from me than I wanted to give I'd definitely put up a fight.

💙 - What is your favourite video game?

Paper Mario and the Thousand Year Door!! 😍

💜 - Ever think about getting a seifuku? If so, what colour?

Not that I'd look good in one but something pale pink or purple or space themed! Or like cotton candy!

🖤 - Are you more of a 🌸Pastel🌸 yandere or a 🕷Dark🕷 yandere?

Pastel for lovey stuff, Dark for idk when my mood gets dangerous.

💔 - How have you dealt with heartbreak?

Hmmm no idea. Usually i cry a LOT and get super depressed and kind of just...freak out around ppl all the time. There was one person that I very much became suicidal afterwards, tho I was luckily in a good place at the time so i coped pretty well. No idea how I got over that person tbh. But like we stayed friends for a long time after so that was good.

❣️- Can people truly be forgiven for being around your beloved, even if they don’t interact at all with them?

Yeah. LMAO I love the idea of keeping my beloved locked up and completely dependent on me but I also value ppl's freedom and joy so like. Also that'd trigger the HELL out of him so. It's literally just a fun idea I think about from time to time.

💕 - Are you in a relationship?

Yes!!!! I am in a relationship with the best man in the world!!! He is the perfect balance of stinky and sweet nwn!!! We have been dating for pretty much a year now! Our anniversary is June 8th~ 😍😍😍

💞 - Do you have a crush?

I do!!! I have more than one!! My Main Crush is called Dessert. 😜 The others aren't things I really wanna act on er well one of them is but they're like. Not a good option lmao bc it'd be REALLY BAD if something happened bc they are in multiple positions of social authority over me. e___e I just like the idea of giving them flowers lmao. They're called Wendi. (It's a full term but i dont want it showing up in the tag bc they might see it even tho they're like never on tumblr.)

💓 - What does your ideal senpai look like(if you aren’t in a relationship)?

LOOK LIKE? Hm this is hard bc I'm really just. OK. Tall, big frame (like fat or stocky, at least), big squeezing arms, dark hair, facial hair, and that's pretty much it. Like that's like my ideal aesthetic that I'm drawn to. 😗

💗 - Fave piece if weaponry?

Knives are a classic but. >:) I prefer messiness over precision. I ain't interested in drawing it out. Any kind of bludgeoning weapon whether it be a mace or just a bat with nails hammered into it is my weapon of choice.

💖 - What colour best describes your mood around your beloved?

Hmmm depends! Gentle, soothing green, yellow, pale cream, muted grey, royal blue. =w= All of these will collapse into pink if I'm soft.

💘 - Favourite yandere character?

Ren Yamai from Komi-san Has a Social Disorder! (i think thats the title.) Here are some highlights:

💝 - What gifts does your senpai like the most/ do you like the most?

Hmmm idk I haven't been able to buy presents for anyone lately and I don't like getting things for ppl they haven't mentioned they want first, either, so it depends on what they like. Sweet things! Stuffies and shit like that. Enamel pins and anime figures and minifigs. Vocaloid merch. Paint. Stickers and pens and journals.

🏳️‍🌈 - are you an LGBT+ yandere?

As for me I like shit that's cute. I like bug plushes a lot. I have some beetles and there's a large isopod plush i have wanted for YEARS. Also I collect furbys and interestingly shaped bottles and Sanrio and San-X plushes. I'm not too picky tbh.

I'm aro-spec and ace and nonbinary baybee!!

#ask meme #lemonade lyric #possessive-prey

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redhairdontcare732 · 6 years ago

Text

Fangs Fogarty X Jones! OC

Author’s Note: Slight backstory, Jean Jones is the twin sister of one Jughead Jones. Oh, I also don’t own any characters except for her, nor do I own any picture/media used!

Jean’s POV:

“Girl, you’re delusional. Everyone can see the way that you two pine for each other except for you two airheads”, Toni groaned. My other friends nodded vigorously in agreement from their various spots in the student lounge. Cheryl was perched next to Toni on the loveseat they shared, Betty on the opposite end of the couch I sat on, and Kevin in a chair nearest to my end of the couch.

“I am so beyond tired of this discussion. There’s nothing left to say TT, Fangs does not see me that way! I’m so over you guys ganging up on me about this”, I snapped back. Ever since the Southside students had been moved to Riverdale High I not only had to deal with Toni’s incessant meddling into my relationships (or lack thereof) with one Fangs Fogarty, but now Kevin, Cheryl, Betty, and all my other northside friends had hopped on the bandwagon. When Jug and I found ourselves at Southside High, I was immediately drawn to the Serpent gang and was accepted much faster than my dopey brother. I clicked with all the young Serpents, but instantly found myself falling for a certain tall, dark, and handsome Serpent. Fangs and I were definitely closer than myself and any of the other gang, but to my extreme disappointment I’d never felt like he viewed me as anything other than a friend. I mean, he was naturally a very flirty person, and I was a notorious cuddle bug so it was only natural that I would end up in his arms or lap more often than not. Honestly, I pretty much ended up in everyone’s lap at some point, evidenced by the way my legs were draped across Betty’s lap at this very moment.The way he acted around me was no different than with any of the other young serpents. According to everyone else, he was just as obvious as I was with his “feelings”, but I think that they all just saw what they wanted to see. Confiding in Toni about my feelings was turning out to be the biggest mistake I'd ever made.

Thankfully, I was saved from whatever snarky comment Cheryl was clearly thinking up by Jug, Fangs, and Sweet Pea walking into the lounge. My friends knew better than to say anything in front of the boys, but for good measure I shot them all a death glare. The guys all settled in, greeting everyone; Jughead perched himself on the arm of the sofa Betty and I shared, giving her a quick peck in way of greeting. Sweet Pea sat on an empty chair near Toni and Cheryl (or as I called them, Choni), and Fangs took up the spot between Betty and I. I lifted my legs so that they were laying across the handsome boy’s lap instead, who responded by casually throwing an arm over my shoulder. Instinctively, I scooched in closer to him, finding comfort in his broad chest as his arm began to trace delicate circles on my bare shoulder.

“And how are my favorite people doing on this fine day?”, he asked, looking around at the group. I rolled my eyes, trying to ignore the butterflies I felt bubbling up in my stomach at his gentle touch. I also avoided looking at any of my annoying friends; I didn't even have to look to know that they were giving me that stupid look. Everytime Fangs and I made any type of physical contact (which was often, given our personalities) they all sent the same smug look. It made me want to smack them. As if they knew everything about our friendship just because they were around. Please. Although, I found it difficult to be too angry when the guy I was secretly in love with was sitting so close to me and rubbing his fingers up and down my bare arm.

“Jean?”, I heard my twin speak up, pulling me from my thoughts.

“Mhm, yeah?”.

“I asked you if that's my flannel”, he stated simply, eyebrow raised. I looked down to the flannel I'd grabbed this morning and tried around my waist, and shrugged.

“Probably”, I replied, unfazed. Cheryl rolled her eyes.

“Classy”, she said teasingly as I felt the soothing vibrations of Fang's chuckle on my side.

“What? It was the closest shirt available. You guys know I don't do mornings”, I shot back good naturedly.

“Oh please, you wouldn't care what you wear regardless of the time of day”, Toni laughed. I giggled. It was true; I was notorious for my extensive collection of oversized t-shirts and ripped jeans, and I often could be found wearing my twin’s clothes (much to his annoyance). Today I was found in a pair of simple black leggings, a white oversized long-sleeved shirt, Jug’s flannel, and my favorite pair of old worn out converse hi-tops. I couldn’t care less about makeup, and my hair was thrown up in my usual messy bun with a bandana tied around my head in order to keep the mass of dark hair in place.

“It’s true Jean, I swear you couldn’t actually be bothered to pick clothes that were actually flattering if you tried”, Cheryl snottily replied with a strange spark in her eyes that I didn’t trust. I narrowed my eyes in suspicion.

“Uhm, ouch Cheryl. That was kind of harsh”, Betty chided as Kevin nodded.

“Yeah, I personally love her personal brand of comfort chic”, he defended. I smiled at him, reaching across the space and grabbing his hand to squeeze.

“Thank you Kevie!”. Cheryl rolled her eyes once more before checking on her nails.

“Well, all I’m saying is you have a banging body, and I wish that you would show it off more”, she soothed. “In fact, I’ll bet you $100 that you can’t dress like you actually care for one week”. My eyes widened in surprise.

“You Northsiders are freaking nuts”, Sweet Pea commented, shaking his head. Fangs nodded from beside me.

“Seriously Cheryl. A hundred bucks just for changing her clothes? Why can’t you just let Jean wear whatever she wants?”, he asked , tightening his arm around me. My heart fluttered and I felt my face flush a little.

“I just want to see what it would look like if you actually put in effort. Obviously you are gorgeous either way”, Cheryl replied, not bothered in the least. “Also I truly don’t think that you could actually rise to the challenge”.

“Oh I absolutely can. I just don’t want to”, I practically spat, crossing my arms. Jughead snorted.

“I beg to differ sister dear. You practically live in my clothes, and I’m the only one here who actually has to deal with your grumpy ass in the mornings. There is absolutely no way you could go an entire week without rolling out of bed and leaving like ten minutes later” he challenged.

“Okay, super not appreciating you hopping on the bandwagon traitor”, I grumbled. “Also I had to share a womb with your fat head for 9 months, I think you can deal with sharing your shirts”. I felt Fang’s arms encircle me from the side and I snuggled further into his embrace gratefully.

“Don’t worry mamita, I think you look great everyday”, he whispered into my ear. I shivered involuntarily at his pet name for me, hoping to God that he didn’t notice.

“Okay, say that I did decide to take you up on your ridiculous offer. What kind of terms are we talking about?”, I countered. In all reality, Jughead and I could really use the hundred bucks given Dad’s current situation. Everyone thought that we were doing fine, but without an actual income things were getting pretty tight around the Jones household. Not that I’d ever admit that out loud to anyone other than Jug. Cheryl crossed her legs and placed her now folded hands over one of her knees, looking more like a business shark than any highschool sophomore had any right to.

“The terms are this: You have to come to school everyday with clothes that are actually yours, no stealing from your brooding brother or one of the other guys. Clothes borrowed from any of us girls are acceptable. No sneakers, no combat boots, no oversized anything. You have to actually style your hair, and you have to actually wear makeup, including lipstick, everyday for one week”, Cheryl rattled off. My jaw dropped.

“Jesus Christ, how long have you been thinking about this? That is way too many rules!”, I exclaimed. Cheryl returned to examining her nails, unbothered.

“Oh, and at least one of the days you have to wear a skirt”, she added. I leaned down, elbows on my knees, and narrowed my eyes once more.

“If I’m gonna go to that much trouble, I expect at least $200”, I countered. Cheryl leaned back in her seat, slightly considering. Suddenly, she stood up and stuck her hand out to me. I too stood and met her halfway across the space.

“Deal”.

“I have to say, I think this entire this is stupid, but I am pretty stoked to see this whole thing play out”, Sweet Pea chuckled. I flipped him off, smiling sweetly. Jug rolled his eyes.

“Of course you are, you don’t have to live with her”, he complained. I frowned at the two.

“Does no one have faith in me?”, I questioned looking around the group, met with averted stares and awkward silence. “Oh you guys suck! I can so totally do this!”.

The next day:

Okay this deal was officially going to be the death of me. As much as I really wanted that $200, sacrificing my precious sleep was not as easy as I had anticipated. I had to wake up a full hour earlier than I normally did, and there was no amount of coffee in the world that could counter such a travesty. Despite the fact that I felt like I was going to fall asleep at any moment, I couldn’t help but be proud of the outfit that I’d chosen as I shut down my bike and prepared to walk into school. After the terms were set for the bet I practically begged Toni to let me raid her closet, seeing as our styles were the closest out of all the girls. I loved Betty to death, but the girl’s clothes were a little too Leave to Beaver for my taste, a single piece of Veronica’s wardrobe cost more than my entire life so she was out, and there was no way I was going to Cheryl for help. To my slight surprise, I’d found plenty of outfits in TT's wardrobe however, my favorite of which I was wearing today.

My current ensemble consisted of a pair of my favorite pair of high waisted, ripped skinny jeans with a pair of fishnet tights underneath, a pair of black heeled booties, a black crop top, and a flannel (which was actually mine) tied around my waist for comfort. My waist-length raven locks were curled lightly, falling in waves around my face with half of my mass of hair tied up in a bun at the crown of my head. My makeup was pretty bomb if I do say so myself. I’d opted for a shade of burgundy eyeshadow that matched the deep matte lip I’d found with a winged liner. Though on the outside I’m sure I looked confident, in all reality I was kind of freaking out at the prospect of what everyone would say today. Cheryl’s bet was so public I was certain I would be subjected to all kinds of taunting and opinions from my friends. Mentally, I steeled myself for whatever comments were sure to be directed towards my sudden wardrobe change.

For all my mental preparation, I could never have predicted the reaction from my friends as I entered Riverdale High, coffee in hand. Betty and Jughead smiled lightly from their position near our lockers, silently supporting me. Bless them. Cheryl and Toni shot me smug looks from where they stood, Cheryl even clapping lightly in potentially mocking support (it was always hard to tell with her). Archie looked confused as always, and Veronica and Kevin appeared to be nearly drooling at the stark difference in my fashion choices. But by far the most surprising reaction came from the Serpent’s youngest dynamic duo. Sweet Pea and Fangs looked downright shocked to see me this morning, jaws dropped practically to the floor. I felt my face heat up marginally at all the eyes on me, but I maintained my nonchalant facade as I strode over to my friend group.

“Morning everyone”, I mumbled, tired. I wandered over to Kevin, wrapping my arms around his tall frame and leaning my head on his chest, eyes closing. He immediately began rubbing my back comfortingly.

“Tired this morning are we Jeanie?”, I heard him laugh from the confines of his strong arms. I turned around in his arms and leaned my back against his chest, groaning dramatically.

“We might as well start an IV of straight espresso into my veins”, I complained.

“Alright, if no one's going to say it I will. Jean looks fucking hot”, Sweet Pea, exclaimed looking around at the group incredulously. I felt my face blush furiously, but I rolled my eyes in a futile attempt to hide it. Fangs elbowed his best friend hard while glaring at him.

“Eww dude, that's my sister”, Jughead moaned, scrunching his nose in disgust. Betty, in turn, slapped his arm and threw him a pointed look.

“Don't listen to these Neanderthals, Jean, you look beautiful as you always do”, Veronica intervened. “Doesn't she look beautiful Archie?”.

Poor Archie still looked as confused as ever, but he straightened up when Veronica not-so-subtly pinched the ginger boys bicep.

“Uhmm yeah Jean, you look beautiful as always. It's just uh, different you know?”, he stammered while rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “I mean...it's just uhm..”. I'd known Archie as long as Jughead, and I knew that whenever he was feeling awkward (which was literally all the time) he rubbed his neck like that. Deciding to save him from himself, I interrupted his rambling.

“Yes Arch it is different, because a certain red-headed syrup heiress decided that if it's different enough it apparently is worth $200”, I said while smiling not so sweetly at Cheryl. “But honestly guys, it makes it pretty difficult to visualize my well-earned winnings with you staring like that. So can we please go back to our daily lives and leave my clothing choices out of it?”.

Sweet Pea opened his mouth to respond just as the first bell rang out through the halls. I smiled with victory as I held out my arm for Fangs so we could walk to our first period class together like we did every morning. Today though, he seemed out of it and took a few extra seconds before snapping out of whatever was holding his attention and linking his arm through mine. Seeing his dazed expression I frowned and asked,

“You okay Fogarty? You seem out of it”. He looked down at me and threw me that megawatt smile that caused my insides to melt and my legs to turn into jelly.

“I'm fine mamita. Now come on let's get to English”, he replied. He squeezed my forearm in reassurance, and we began our walk down the halls.

A few Days later: Day 6 of the bet.

“For the record, I've never thought you guys know what your talking about, but now I'm certain you're crazy. I mean he's barely even spoken to me all week for Chrissakes!”, I sighed exasperatedly. Once again my relationship with Fangs, or more accurately my lack thereof, was my irritating friends’ choice of conversation topic. Currently we sat in the lunchroom waiting for the other subject of this ridiculous discussion to arrive with his tall friend. I silently prayed that he would arrive soon and spare me from hearing any more of the gang's insane theories about his feelings.

“Please Jean, spare me the dramatic will-they-won't-they crap”, Veronica declared dramatically. “You're too smart for that, and besides Fangs hasn't taken his eyes off you all week”. I wrinkled my forehead in disagreement, ready to tell her exactly where she could stick her bougie New York opinions, but before I could open my mouth to speak Betty interrupted gently.

“Seriously Jean, he normally can't tear his eyes off you but in the last week it's like he's got them practically glued to your face”, she interjected. I shook my head; now I knew the girls were clinically insane. Normally Fangs and I hung out often, both in school and out, but for the last few days the raven-haired serpent had been notably absent from my side. I don't know what I did to piss him off, but I figured whatever it was that I should give him some space to work through it before confronting him. Not gonna lie though, I missed his goofy personality and stupid jokes. I hoped that whatever problem he had with me would sort itself out soon, because I was really starting to miss my best friend.

“Guys I'm seriously as over it as a person could possibly be with this discussion. For the last fucking time, just drop it”, I practically hissed. Never one to back down, Veronica opened her mouth to respond, but thankfully the boys came and sat down at our table before she could get anything out.

“Hey Jean, last day of torture. You excited to go back to dressing like a sloth again”, Sweet Pea teased as he took the open seat next to me and Fangs the seat across from me. Dishearteningly, I received only a simple nod from Fangs before he turned his attention to his lunch. Shaking off my extreme disappointment I shoved Pea lightly.

“Shut up Sweets, you're just jealous that I met you and got to know your real self before you knew how hot I was”, I taunted back grinning. He smirked back playfully.

“There's always time doll”, he joked and winked at me. I full on laughed at his stupidity, while Jughead walked up behind him and smacked the back of his head before taking the seat next to Betty.

“Man for the last time, quit saying shit like that about my sister. Especially during lunch, people are trying to eat”, he whined. I shot him a look and motioned to Betty.

“I'm on it”, she said before smacking him upside the head. I nodded in appreciation and Jughead glared at his girlfriend and I.

“First of all, you're a moron Jones. And secondly, your sister is hot so learn to deal with it. At least I'm kidding, she's been getting looks all week and I'm sure they aren't being all gentlemanly about their thoughts either”, Sweet Pea said plainly. I felt my face blush lightly at his comment. It was true, for the past week I'd gathered much more attention from guys than I was used to. I wasn't oblivious to the looks I'd received in the past few days, and truthfully I was more than ready to leave their wandering eyes behind when this whole thing was over. Today was particularly bad seemingly, and I was willing to bet anything that it had to do with the outfit I was wearing. It was the second to last day of the bet, and I begrudgingly decided to wear the skirt Cheryl had included in the rules. I wore a simple black pleated skirt, fishnet tights underneath, with a white v-necked white long sleeve shirt and a pair of Toni’s knee high heeled combat boots. I’d figured out on day 3 or so that Cheryl found my naturally wavy curls acceptable as long as I added some defining gel and made it look like I’d actually combed it, so today my waist length hair was all on full display. My makeup was similar to the rest of the days: winged dark eyeliner, minimal bronzer/highlighter, and a dark burgundy matte lip. I’d put this day off until nearly the end because I didn't have a single skirt in my wardrobe and had to borrow one from Toni. Problem was, I was significantly taller than the pink haired serpent, and the skirt rode up my thighs much more than hers. I subconsciously shifted in my seat to futilely attempt to pull my bottoms down a smidge. My attempt did not go unnoticed by Veronica's eagle eyes and she smirked my way.

“Calm down girl, your outfit is fine. Good lord you'd think you've never worn a skirt in your life”, she said with an air of exasperation. I flipped her off daintily, smiling innocently in her direction. Sweet Pea and Betty laughed, while Jug simply shook his head and took another gigantic bite of his burger.

“Well not that I'm not loving this debate over my appearance, but I'm gonna go. I've gotta meet up with Kevin to talk about our history project”, I stated, standing up to leave. As soon as I turned to leave I found my face jammed into a hard chest, causing me to stumble backwards a bit. I looked up to see the smug face of one Chuck Clayton looking down at me with a look like a cat that caught a canary.

“Hey there Jean, looking fine today. Loving the new look”, he practically purred, looking me up and down. I physically gagged in response. He had been one of the worst of all the guys that had suddenly taken notice to me this week.

“Fuck off Clayton”, I spat. I moved to push past him, but he blocked my path with his arm.

“Woah woah, no offense princess. Just wanted you to know how much we all appreciate the looks you've been serving this week”. His attempts at flirting were becoming more aggressive as the days went on. He was so pathetic; he would've never debased himself to speak to me before, so the fact that he was now so relentless in his pursuit of me was utterly disgusting to me.

“Screw off Chuck, she's not interested”, I heard Betty snarl from behind me. My friends were evidently feeling much like me. Sweet Pea had turned and stood next to me in a protective stance with his arms crossed, Betty and Jug looked as disgusted as I'm sure I did, and even Fangs had looked up from his lunch to glare menacingly at Chuck. My heart lurched at the darkness swirling in his normally chocolate brown eyes and the way his strong jaw was clenched tightly. It was nice to know he still cared, even with the unfortunate circumstances.

“What's the matter Cooper, finally realizing that you missed out on all this action?”, Chuck replied, unfazed.

“I think I heard my sister tell you to fuck off Clayton, I'd listen to her if I were you”, Jughead growled from across the table. Normally my twin preferred to let me fight my own battles, because let's be honest he wasn't exactly the tougher of the two of us, but I knew he was still not over the whole Chuck and Dark Betty fiasco from our birthday. I turned towards him to give him a reassuring look, but as I did I felt a hand creep up my skirt and cup my ass tightly.

Skin crawling, I whipped around and found Chuck's remorseless face looking at me with his lip caught between his teeth. I cocked my arm back to take a swing, but before my fist connected with Clayton's someone else beat me to the punch. Literally.

“DON'T FUCKING TOUCH HER”.

Fangs was all over Chuck, punching him repeatedly and screaming. Chuck was on the ground, Fangs on top of him, and the two rolled around hitting and shoving one another. I'd never seen Fangs like this before, he was almost scary in his intensity. Shocked, I stepped forward to try and break them up.

“FANGS, STOP! CHUCK GET OFF OF HIM”, I yelled helplessly. Sweet Pea grabbed my arms as I made a move to try and pry the two off of one another. He shook his head.

“No, let them go. This has been brewing for a long time”, he muttered. I gaped at the tall boy.

“No, are you kidding me?! He's gonna hurt him and they're going to get suspended!”, I shouted, struggling against Pea's vice grip. As I struggled, I saw Weatherbee enter the cafeteria, making a beeline for the two boys. I managed to wrangle my way out of Sweet Pea's hold and attempted to grab Chuck away from Fangs. As I got my hands on his arms, he reared his fist back and I felt all the breath rush out of my body when his elbow caught me in the stomach. Doubled over, I heard a number of voices swimming around me. Weatherbee's angry demands, Veronica and Betty's frightened voices, and Chuck's irritating excuses. But most of all, I heard a low, soft voice in my ear frantically trying to get my attention.

“Mamita, are you okay? Jeanie?”, Fangs soothing baritone hurriedly questioned. I leaned on his strong shoulder and his arm found my waist. I looked up to his gorgeous face and was immediately horrified to find that he had a large bruise blossoming under his right eye. His eyes were wild as they searched mine scanning for any signs of injury and he still hadn't fully caught his breath. In any other scenario I might have swooned at his fierce features. I brought my fingers gently to his cheek, eyes swimming with tears that I refused to let fall.

“Your eye…” , I murmured as he brought his hand up to grasp mine against his cheek, deep mocha eyes boring into mine. He looked as sad as I'd ever seen him and I felt my heart break nearly in two at the sight. The deeply distressed expression didn't belong on his normally cheerful, handsome face.

“Mamita..”, he softly began to reply.

“Clayton, Fogarty, Jones, my office. Now”, Weatherbee demanded while walking out of the cafeteria and down the hall. Steeling myself for whatever consequences were coming our way, I straightened up and grabbed Fangs hand as we followed Weatherbee. I internally hoped that he wouldn't pull away from me like he had for the past week; after all that just happened I don't know if I could deal with the total rejection of my best friend. I really needed him in my life most days just to make it through in this nightmarish town we called a home, but in this moment I needed him more than ever. Thankfully, Fangs seemed to be on the same page as me. His strong, rough hand gripped mine tightly, almost as if he were afraid if he let go I may disappear. I squeezed his hand in reassurance and nodded curtly as we found ourselves standing in front if the principal's office. Weatherbee motioned at Fangs.

“Alright Mr. Fogarty, you're first, step into my office”, he barked. Fangs squeezed my hand near painfully, and his other hand balled into a fist as he shook his head.

“No way I'm leaving her out here with that asshole”, he practically growled. I cast my eyes downward, heat rushing to my face. I was so worried about Fang's well being that I had nearly forgotten why he was even fighting with Chuck in the first place. Bile rose to my throat and my jaw clenched tightly as I remembered the feeling of his hands on my ass, and I whipped my head suddenly towards Chuck. Judging by the way he slightly recoiled, the disgust and anger I felt was apparent on my face. Fangs brought me back down to earth by rubbing gentle circles on my hand with his thumb. Weatherbee seemed to consider Fangs’ outburst for a moment before relenting.

“Very well. Ms. Jones, Mr. Fogarty, in my office please”, he sighed.

Once we were all settled in and seated, Weatherbee folded his long fingers together in front of himself and leaned forward on his desk.

“Well Mr. Fogarty, what do you have to say for yourself?”, he questioned. Fangs looked down at our still intertwined fingers for a brief moment before answering.

“Clayton was harassing Jean sir. I had to step in before anything else happened”, he stated carefully, his face becoming an emotionless mask.

“Harassing?”, Weatherbee repeated. “And you felt like the answer to that was violence?”.

As I listened to Fangs being lectured, I internally wondered if his nonchalant facade was the result of many interactions like this one with authority figures over the years. As I faintly heard Weatherbee and Fangs speak I felt a wave of sadness and guilt wash over me. Fangs was in this situation because of me and that stupid bet that I had made with Cheryl; I felt tears spring to my eyes at the realization that he would likely be in more trouble than either Chuck or I. Weatherbee wouldn’t care how he stood up for me, or how perverted Chuck was. All he was going to see was the jacket he wore and punish him based solely on that. My hands balled into fists, and I stood abruptly.

“Principal Weatherbee, none if this is on Fangs. Chuck grabbed me inappropriately, and basically assaulted me. Honestly, if Fangs didn't step in I would have done much more damage to him. What he did was disgusting, and Fangs was just defending me against that pervert!”, I exclaimed loudly. “I hope Chuck gets expelled for what he did, but at the very least you should let Fangs go, because not one bit of this is his fault!”.

Fangs and Weatherbee looked at me, surprised by my sudden outburst. Fangs had an expression on his face that I couldn't quite place as he peered up at me from where he still sat. His tanned features displayed emotions something akin to amazement, and truthfully, if we weren't currently under interrogation from our school's principal I would probably have grabbed his gorgeous face and kissed him. Thankfully for me, we were in the presence of the man doling out punishments and I would be spared the awkwardness of explaining to my supposed best friend why I was aggressively making out with him.

“Is that true Mr. Fogarty? Did Mr. Clayton touch Ms. Jones inappropriately without her consent?”, Weatherbee asked. Fangs was still staring up at me with that beautiful look, not hearing a word Weatherbee said. I elbowed him lightly.

“Uhm yeah, basically that's what happened. But it wasn't Jean's fault sir. Clayton is the one who should be punished”, he said quickly after shaking his head like he was clearing his thoughts. Weatherbee leaned back in his seat as he looked as if he was actually. considering what we'd said. My heart raced as he rubbed his face in thought; I know our principal wasn't exactly perfect, but I hoped to every deity I could think of that he was smart enough to see what had truly happened. After what felt like an eternity, Weatherbee finally spoke up.

“While it's very… noble of you to defend Ms. Jones's honor, I'm sure you know that we don't condone violence here at Riverdale High”, he started while looking at Fangs. “I will punish Mr. Clayton accordingly for what he did, but you cannot expect me not to reprimand you for your role in what occurred either. So, Mr. Fogarty you will serve one week of after school detentions starting today”.

Fangs nodded, and I felt myself let out a breath I didn't know I was even holding.

“As for you Ms. Jones, I want to assure you that Mr. Clayton will be suspended for his actions. I encourage you to let me or another staff member know if anything like this happens again or if you feel in anyway unsafe here”, Weatherbee continued while turning his attention to me. “If Mr. Clayton continues this kind of behavior, I won't hesitate to get law enforcement involved”.

I nodded, thankful for Weatherbee's sudden outpouring of good judgement. He dismissed us from his office and Fangs and I walked quickly away and out to the halls. Once there, Fangs pulled me back by my hand, which I hadn't even realized he was holding until now. He gently brought his hands to my face and his deep brown eyes scanned my face once more.

“Mamita, are you sure you're fine? I mean, he didn't hurt you did he? I swear, I'll kill him if you're hurt”, he seethed. I brought my hands up to my face, covering his much larger ones.

“Fangs I'm fine, I swear”, I promised. I looked deeply into his darkened eyes, trying to convey my sincerity through my own eyes. He seemed to consider my words for an eternity before he sighed in relief and brought his forehead to rest on mine.

“Okay”, he murmured. Butterflies running rampant through my stomach, I allowed myself the briefest moment of contentment before I brought my hand sharply up to his arm and slapped him. Hard.

“Ow. Jean what the hell?”, he whined rubbing his arm slightly. I glowered at him.

“Why on Earth would you do that Fangs? I could've handled Chuck just fine on my own, but no you had to go ahead and put yourself at risk. You know Weatherbee already hates the Serpents! You could've ended up being kicked out!”, I raged, glaring at the handsome teen in front of me. He frowned.

“Oh so what I'm just supposed to let him get away with groping you? Fuck that Jean, that asshole got what he deserved. Actually, you know what, no he didn't because I should have been kicking his ass long before today”, he practically growled. “All week I've had to put up with his disgusting, repulsive comments about you and your body and I'm honestly not a bit sorry for what happened today. In fact, I wish Weatherbee would've shown up just a few minutes later so I could've gotten a few more swings in”.

“Who the hell cares what Chuck thinks? Everyone knows he's a pig!”, I spat back.

“I care! Okay? I do”, he seethed. “No one should be able to look at you like that, let alone make comments. Everyone knows that you're….”

He cut himself off abruptly, shaking his head and I raised my eyebrow.

“Everyone knows what Fangs? I mean I'm just as pissed at Chuck, but Sweets said that his has been ‘brewing for a long time'”, I said placing quotes in the air for emphasis. “I don't see what the big problem is!”. He huffed.

“The problem is that these stupid northsiders can't take a fucking hint. The problem is that I should be the only one who gets to look at you like that. The problem is that you're to god-damned hot for your own good, and I can't stand that everyone now suddenly sees you for the beautiful bombshell that you are before I…”.

My heart hammered against my chest like thunder as I took in his every word searching for answers. During his little rant Fangs had walked closer and closer to where I stood with my back against the lockers. Never one to back down, I stood firmly in place while I anxiously wondered if he could possibly mean what it sounded like.

“Before you what?”, I questioned breathlessly. His eyes widened, and he looked almost scared. It was like he hadn't intended for that last part to come out of his mouth, and he was desperately trying to find a way to shove the words back in. “Fangs?”.

He shifted his weight from foot to foot and hung his head down before muttering something I couldn't quite hear. I raised an eyebrow once more, utterly confused.

“What? I couldn't hear anything you just said”, I murmured. Fangs looked up at me with a heartbroken expression that left me reeling with the desire to comfort the normally upbeat serpent. He sighed and looked away before answering again in a slightly louder voice.

“Before I could figure out how to make you mine”, he said finally. I felt my stomach drop to my feet as I stood still as a statue trying to process what I was hearing. “I've been trying for months, racking my brain for anything that would give a dipshit like me a chance with a girl as badass, smart, funny, and completely fucking gorgeous as you, and I've come up short every time. Ever since you walked into the cafeteria at Southside High, I've been waiting for the right moment to confess how I feel to you, but I always end up chickening out. And then this whole bet fiasco started, and suddenly every guy could see what I've seen since day one: that you, Jean Marie Jones, are the single most beautiful girl in Riverdale. I couldn't take it and I'm so sorry that you found out this way and I'll completely understand if you don't want to speak to me ever again but please just…”.

By the end he was rambling, fumbling for words and tripping all over them trying to find a way to apologize. My heart lurched at the possibility that even after all of the events of today, and pretty much everyday since we met, everything would suddenly be lost if I let him continue. I felt more emboldened than I ever had, and I did the one thing I could think of to stop his rambling before he took back anything he said. A rush of confidence overtook me. Hands shaking slightly, I grabbed the sides of his face and pulled him into me, lips brushing together for the briefest of moments before I tore myself away.

My eyes were closed as I leaned backwards and I felt a rush of fear overwhelm me. What if I had completely misjudged the situation? What if he didn't want me that way? Oh God, what if I'd made the biggest mistake of my life and our friendship was ruined forever? I didn't have much time to worry however, because soon I heard Fangs breathe my name and I felt the sweetest sensation in the entire world.

Fangs smooth, strong lips were back on mine as he pressed me back into the row of lockers and kissed me with an intensity like I'd never felt before. I felt sparks of electricity in each spot where our bodies met, and I found my hands grasping at his strong, chiseled jawline as my lips furiously locked with his. I poured all the emotions that have been building ever since I met the handsome, sweet boy into our embrace. His hands roamed my hips and squeezed my body deliciously. I tugged at his thick, raven locks and he moaned into my mouth, causing my entire body to feel like it was on fire. His big hands gripped my waist tightly as his tongue teased the entrance of my mouth, begging for the entrance that I readily granted. Our tongues battled for dominance as our hands roamed each other's body, exploring the places that only our eyes were privy to before.

Though I felt like I could go on kissing Fangs forever and never tire of it, eventually oxygen did become an issue and I had to pull away from our heated session. Fangs appeared to be on the same page as me, and our foreheads met in the middle to lean against one another for support. I sighed in complete bliss, smiling as I caught my breath. I finally ventured a look to the beautiful man in front of me, and was elated to find that his face was a mask of utter peace. I'd thought his strong features were handsome before, but now I decided that there was nothing more stunning than the look he now wore. Gone was the tough, brooding serpent facade he put on for others, and gone too was the goofy, happy-go-lucky guy that I'd fallen for these past months. Fangs looked wholly, dare I say, happy. His deep brown eyes were alight with sparks of joy, his rugged jawline was relaxed, his plump lips still slightly red and swollen from our previous activities, and his sweet smile was one I'd never been blessed enough to see before. I vowed right then and there to do everything in my power to make him look this way as often as possible.

“So does this mean I get to say you're mine now?”, I questioned gently, a small part of me still fearful of rejection. Fangs chuckled breathlessly before placing a tender kiss to my forehead, and pulling me into a crushing hug. I settled against his broad chest as my heart crashed in anticipation, awaiting for his response.

“Mamita I have been yours since the day we met”, he murmured fondly into my hair. I sighed in relief, but pulled back after a few moments to look up into his eyes.

“So you think I'm the hottest girl in Riverdale?”, I questioned teasingly. His face flushed slightly at my words, but his eyes never wavered from mine.

“Mamita I think you are so much more than that. You're the kindest, smartest, funniest, and most genuine woman I've ever met. And yeah you're hot, but you're also the most gorgeous girl that I've ever laid eyes on”, he confessed softly. I felt my knees go weak and my stomach erupt in butterflies. Slightly embarrassed, I cast my heated cheeks downward in an attempt to conceal my blushing face. Fangs was having none of that, hooking gentle fingers under my chin to bring my face up to meet his loving gaze.

“That's part of why it was so hard for me not to kill all the asshole guys that were making comments about you this past week. I had to avoid you because there was no way I was going to be able to handle all the looks and whispers sent your way”, he continued. “The idea that they could trivialize all your worth and make it all about the way your ass looks in your new clothes or the way your chest was out on display was infuriating. You're worth so much more than your body, no matter how fucking sexy it is. And believe me mamita, I think you're really, really God-damned hot”.

“How did I get so lucky to find a guy as perfect as you?”, I pondered softly. I pecked his lips once more as a silent appreciation for his beautiful words.

“Please, I'm the lucky one Jeanie”, he replied quietly. I rolled my eyes.

“I can't believe this all started because of one of Topaz's freaking skirts. Maybe I should start dressing like this more often”, I joked semi-seriously. Now it was Fangs’ turn to roll his eyes. He placed an arm around my shoulder and we began walking down the hall towards our bikes.

“Mamita, I think you're hot no matter what clothes you choose. As long as these other guys get the message that they can look but not touch, I couldn't care less what you wear”, he stated confidently. “Although…”

He leaned down to speak to me closely, lips teasing the shell of my ear and making me shiver.

“... I wouldn't mind if you saved that skirt for just the two of us. After all, that damned skirt is the one that finally got me my dream girl”.

#fangs fogarty imagine #southsideserpents #riverdale #riverdaleimagine #jugheadjones #fangs fogarty #jealousy #fangs forgarty xreader imagine #fanfic #archie comics

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hungergames-fanfic · 5 years ago

Text

An eventful Monday

The 40th Annual Hunger Games started yesterday morning, a Sunday. Today during class, like every year, we don’t have to watch but I’m dying in curiosity. Ms. Gullard has placed a towel over the hanging television up on the wall corner and has made us write down verbs. She’s also lowered the volume to mute and because the towel is thick enough, I can only see vague shadows on the tv.

Next to me, Wendy sends notes to two of her friends, Cassidy and Orchid. I’m guessing they’re talking about the games and I want to almost ask them but I just know they’ll avoid the question and hurt my feelings. It’s all they’re good at.

During lunch, Efrain and I sit by ourselves as usual and eat. He mentions watching the games but refuses to tell me about it. Says that if I was allowed to watch he’d tell me. Also says that he got a good talking about it.

“Momma gave me a good bitchin’ bout talkin’ bout it at ya house. Said that if I make Ms. Bilmin cry I ain’t gon see the light of day”, he widens his eyes and shakes his head. He stuffs his mouth with peaches from his school lunch.

Since I met Efrain, he hasn’t changed that much except he looks a lot more healthy now. I guess his daddy working at Mr. Kwan’s stables brings in good money and puts food on the table. He’s still thin, but doesn’t look as bony as he used to.

He’s a little bit darker than I am and his hair is curlier than mines. My curls are big and wavy, his are small and abundant sitting at the top of his head. He says his oldest brother Eduardo cuts his hair. Trims the back and sides and leaves it longer at the top. I really like it and sometimes wish I could cut my hair too. Mines is so long sometimes I sit on it.

After school, we go to my house and eat what momma Bilmin has made for us. It’s vegetable and egg fried rice with cooked slices of pork ham. Because Efrain is here, she’s not crying as much as she normally does around this time of year, still her eyes are red and her nose is pink.

Momma Bilmin is so pretty. She ain’t as wrinkly as all the other old people. Her graying hair is long and straight and she’s thin, always wearing pretty yellow dresses. I love the color yellow, it’s the color of sunshine and sunflowers. The color makes me feel happy and warm, just like the sun. She fills our glasses of freshly squeezed orange juice and reminds us to do our homework after we’re done eating.

“That’s a pretty ring, Ms. Bilmin”, Efrain says to her.

On her right hand, on her middle finger she has a gold ring of a horse shoe with small stones on it, inside of it is a horse on its side. She told me it used to be uncle Amos’s but it’s hers now. Momma Bilmin smiles and puckers her lips. Her eyes get watery and she stares at me giving me a painful smile. Without a word, she takes a deep breath and walks out the room. We can hear he sandals make noise as she walks away.

“What did I say?”, Efrain asks me.

“Momma tends to be fragile around this time of year”, I inform him.

While we do our homework outside, sitting under a small tent daddy made for me when I was younger, Efrain tries to call Brownie over to him. She ignores him but her calf, now full grown, runs to us like a big happy dog.

“Daddy made this tent for me so I could spend time outside with him while he worked on the ranch”, I say picking lint off a corner. He pets the cow and it runs off.

“Ya daddy so strict and scary”, Efrain admits.

“No doubt, but I can tell he loves me cause he always wanna spend time together”, I add, “he always wants me to work outside with him, or go to places with him and on the lazy days, he likes to sit in the livin’ room while I read books. He snores really loud and it’s hard to concentrate but I enjoy his company too”.

“My daddy is always workin’, momma‘s sick so she stays home. My big brother Eduardo is always workin’ too, he brings home tessera every now and then”, Efrain says.

“What’s that like?”, I ask wondering what tessera is.

“Well it gets lonely cause it’s usually Felix and me but he acts like he’s too old and cool to hang out”, Efrain says closing his science book.

I don’t correct him and accept the answer. Soon the conversation changes to what he does for fun, which is pretty much what Ignacio said on our birthday. He plays outside with the neighborhood kids but cause it’s hunger games month he watches the games. This calls for my curiosity again.

“What are the games like this year?”, I whisper. I know that every year the games are different and set in different arenas. In fact, one time, on tv I saw that one of the arenas was all tall grasslands and a couple of trees. Everyone was stuck sneaking around.

“It’s swampy”, he says. “A lot of scary animals. So far a boy ran into a body of water and got eaten by a big lizard”, he widens his eyes and nods. This scares me.

“Ain’t the games start yesterday?”, I ask. I’d expect for them to just roam around the place at random and only be killed off by other tributes, I didn’t know that the arena was meant to kill you too.

“That don’t matter in the games. Anything’ can kill you, be it another tribute, the arena or even yourself. Everyone usually just tries to survive the careers though”, he says packing his book in his backpack. He’s done with his homework but I still have a lot of verbs to come up with for mines.

Our conversations change a lot, we go from talking about the games to all the weird animals we’ve seen here in 10. So far I win cause I’ve seen an actual coyote pack but he was pretty close with the feral chickens. After that, we talk about the animal we wish we were, he says he wishes he was one of our cows cause they look like they have it good. We laugh at this. I’m not sure what animal I wish I was, but right now, I think it would be cool to be a bird so I could fly.

“More like a wild chicken”, he jokes and makes a chicken call. This riles up the chickens in the coop and we laugh harder than before.

When his daddy comes to pick him up, mines tells me to go change and that I’ll be going to Efrain’s for a bit while he and Mr. Oxoro go do some errands. In my room, while I put on my shoes, daddy comes in and sits next to me on the bed.

“I know they watch the games at your friends house. I’m allowin’ you to watch them, but when you come back, there will be absolutely no talk about you saw, you understand me?”, he looks at me and points firmly. I nod in agreement. This excites me more than going to Bloques, but I keep the emotion to myself.

We follow Mr. Oxoro’s raggedy car in our wagon and soon, we enter Bloques. I’m not sure what it was that I expected, but it was nothing like this.

The streets are dirty and there’s trash on the corner of roads. It smells like pee and I’m sure the stains on building walls are exactly that. The houses are small squares and made of cement but some have been painted and given personality by their owners. Other houses look like mines but they’re half the size. Some people sit outside theirs and stare at us, kids playing around stop to look at our horses in awe. I see some point at them, others point at us.

“I ain’t ever seen so many houses in one spot”, I say to daddy.

“You see that red, run down house over there”, daddy points. The house looks empty and in shambles. It’s roof is caved in and the door is leaning off it’s hinge. Whoever used to live there must of had nothing if they couldn’t even fix it up.

“That’s where I used to live when I was around ya age”, he says ignoring all the people watching us. I imagine patting myself on the back for not thinking out loud.

After so many turns on so many neighborhoods and so many looks from so many people, some who I think I’ve seen at the Plaza on reapings, we finally arrive to Efrain’s. He lives in a very big gross looking building daddy calls an apartment complex. Our daddies don’t go in with us, they just wave us off and leave on the wagon without saying where they’re headed.

“We have six floors and guess what floor I live in”, Efrain says with an attitude tryna skip steps up the stairs.

“I almost don’t wanna go home no more”, I admit thinking about having to walk all the way down when we finally reach his floor’s hallway.

He laughs and knocks on the first door we reach and tells me we have to wait a little. Through the walls I can hear a baby crying and some loud music playing. Efrain says that’s his neighbors. I’m not used to the ruckus but in a way, I’m having fun just standing here.

When the door opens, a tall teenager opens the door and stares at us funny. He looks like Efrain but older. He’s skinny and just as dark, same haircut and everything except his clothes fit better.

“Where’s dad?”, he says looking at me funny.

“He and Mr. Wyetka went on an errand, this is Isa”, Efrain pats my shoulder. “Isa this is my brother Felix but we call him Fee. Can Isa call you Fee too?”, Efrain asks. Felix smiles and tilts his head swiftly inviting us into their home.

Unlike mines, his living room, dinning room and kitchen are all connected. Down a small hallways are three doors. Efrain tells me the door down the hall is the restroom in case I need it and we sit on an old green patchy, two seater sofa. Their tv ain’t flat or on the wall, it’s fat and huge and sits on a table decorated with little glass tea cups with pretty flowers drawn on them.

To our right is a big open window that leads to the fire escape, says Efrain. Here, his brother steps out and closes the window. He smiles at someone and then they peak their head to look and laugh too. It’s a blonde haired boy I’ve never seen, another teen. In his hand, he has a small stick that he lights with a lighter and sucks. I watch them smoke for a minute before Efrain points it out.

“They smoke that every day”, Efrain rolls his eyes and changes the channel where previously Dan McGee, 10’s news reporter, was talking in front a meat factory. He switches the channel to the games and looks at me with a mischievous smile.

“Daddy says it’s ok to watch, but I can’t talk about it back home”, I inform him. He nods and raises the volume up to the number twelve.

For the first twenty minutes all they show is a bunch of tributes minding their business. The careers, Efrain says they volunteer to be there and train for the “honor”, he quotes his fingers making a silly face, hang at the cornucopia talking to each other. Apparently they spotted someone and are gonna go hunt them down. This makes me feel nervous. Other tributes are shown sneaking around the swampy, muddy arena or climbing tall trees, hiding. Because nothing interesting is happening they replay the bloodbath. I am not emotionally prepared for what I’m about to see because when I do, I get so scared I start to cry.

The cannon blows and everyone runs towards the cornucopia, a boy is followed by the camera, he picks up knives and just as he does, a spear is thrown right at his stomach. This makes me jump. Efrain laughs and says “that must of hurt”. My stomach churns when I see one of the so called careers stab another boy mercilessly. The boy spits blood with every breath and weakly tries to push the career off but he dies before reaching the strength. I can’t help it. This is so scary I start crying immediately.

“What’s wrong Isa?”, Efrain asks scooting closer to me. He puts his arm around my shoulder. I look out the window and spot Felix giving him a thumbs up, one he retracts and sucks in his lips before he and his friend hide attempting to not be seen.

“They’re just killin’ one another like life ain’t mean anythin’”, I say, “like who they used to be never mattered and never will cause they gone. Just a memory to their loved ones. Momma Bilmin has a right to cry. This is horrible”.

“I never thought of it that way”, Efrain says guiltily taking his arm off of me. “Wanna do some else?”, he asks but suddenly jumps up with excitement, “wanna meet my momma? She’s been wantin’ to meet you, c’mon”, he takes my hand and pulls me into the hallway. We enter to the room on the left.

In here, the room is clean and white, colorless and almost empty. All that’s in here is a bed and a dresser. Above the bed is a big picture of her and Mr. Oxoro on their wedding day. She looks pregnant.

It smells like dampness and sickness. A scent I can’t specifically describe. At first, her eyes are closed but she turns her head to see us come in and coughs in a handkerchief. She looks like she’d be very pretty and on the picture above, she is. She’s light skinned and really pale, her lips are almost white and her hair is light blonde. It almost feels like she’s a random lady in their home because Efrain and Felix look nothing like her. They look like his daddy, who’s shorter than her, chubby and dark skinned. He has puffy hair like Olive.

She smiles at me. Efrain pushes me towards her and puts his hand on her arm.

“Momma, this Isa”, he says excitedly.

“Hello, Isa”, she says tiredly with a smile. I smile back. “Efrain’s told me a lot bout you”, she says.

“Momma”, Efrain snaps with his eyes wide open and turns to look at me with an awkward laugh. He scratches the back of his head.

“I’m sleepy baby”, she says to him before he gives her a hug and invites me to leave the room.

When we step out, he runs to the window his brother and friend are at and knocks. With his thumb he points back at me and Felix nods giving him a peace sign. Efrain takes my hand and we head down to the street.

“Where we goin’?”, I ask out of breath.

“I think everyone should be outside right now”, Efrain says skipping steps, going down faster than I.

“What you talkin’ bout?”, I scream at him but he doesn’t answer and leaves me behind.

When I run out the door after him, he’s waving at a bunch of kids playing with a deflated ball. Without skipping a beat, some run up to us. Others spot me and look at each other. They don’t bother to come.

“Why you with her?”, Edwin asks. He’s tanned with shaggy light brown hair. Skinny like most and wears clothes just as big as Efrain’s. He’s sweaty and looks mad that I’m here.

“Isa’s my friend”, Efrain snaps. “Besides, ain’t we been needin’ an extra player for Wendy’s team?”, he points at Wendy who too makes a stink face and nods. She crosses her arms and looks at me.

“She can be on your team, Edwin can join me”, she says.

“No way, she’s a girl, she’s gonna be in yours”, Edwin snaps back.

“Then I’m not playin’”, she says.

“Fine, Isa can take over for ya”, Efrain snaps at her. I stand next to him feeling bad about no one wanting to play with me, but Efrain standing up as my friend makes me feel better.

“Oh c’mon it’s just for today”, another girl says. She has loose and messy pigtails, whatever she ate has stuck to her cheeks and it looks sticky. Her clothes are stained in red and her knee caps are scabbed from having fallen recently. “I’m Wigma”, she says, “I’m the oldest one here cause I’m eleven”. I give her a shy smile.

After some back and forth, Wendy rolls her eyes and accepts me on her team. She doesn’t talk to me at all for the first thirty minutes but after I successfully kick the ball into the middle between two trashcans, where we make a goal, she smiles at me for the first time ever. By the time the game ends, Wigma scores by kicking the deflated ball at a trashcan making it fall back. The boys refuse to accept that as a score and refuse to claim we won, instead they call it a tie. Laughing at them for being in denial, Wendy smiles at me, sweaty and out of breath and high fives me.

One by one, everyone starts to leave. Wigma hugs me goodbye and Wendy just waves. Edwin avoid contact with me and a boy named Lucas just gives me a half smile. Efrain and I stay outside until the sun starts to set, we climb a fence and run around pretending we’re foxes running after feral chickens, whom I learn from they shouldn’t be trifled with.

By the time our daddies get home, they find us running back to them and jumping on top of the wagon with an angered chicken tryna fly and peck at our heads. They smell like alcohol and Mr. Oxoro laughs so hard he falls off the wagon. Daddy laughs and hiccups a burp before he asks Mr. Oxoro if he’s ok.

Waving goodbye to Efrain and Wigma who I spot looking outside the window on the second floor of the apartments, I turn to look at daddy with a big smile.

“You had fun too, daddy?”, I say listening to him chuckle to himself.

“Yep, and I see you did too”, he says pulling me closer, under his sweaty armpits, and hugs me tightly.

“Uh-hu! I did! We watched the games but it was too scary”, I admit, “I never want to watch something so horrible again!”, I snap. Not to him but at myself. I’m upset that I’ve saddened momma Bilmin so many times for wanting to watch. I understand why I’m not allowed and won’t ever ask anymore questions again. I’ve had enough!

“Why do the games exist?”, I ask daddy.

“Cause!”, daddy sings, “how else is the government gonna control us? How else can they remind us that we have no power and mean nothin’? By takin’ our children and forcin’ us to watch them kill each other, that’s how!”, he chuckles and nods. “That’s why I work my ass off! So you never have to be part of that”, he says and kisses my forehead.

“Crud”, he burps. “I think we’re lost”.

#isadora wyetka #efrain #Polomir Wyetka #momma bilmin #Wendy #Edwin #Wigma #Felix #Mr. Oxoro #Mrs. Oxoro #Hunger Games #age 9 #arielle

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darkwriterpanic-blog · 6 years ago

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Chapter 1

alcohol in my system that I can barely remember who the hell I am. I sulk and throw the bottle on the floor, adding to my mess of empty bottles and cigarette packs. I don’t really care if the noise bothers whoever’s under me, they can deal with it. For some reason the sound of the bottle connecting with my unswept hardwood floor is satisfying. I toil to light up one of my last smokes and decide that I need to make a run to the 24 hour store, which is my favorite store in the world. Out of everywhere that I’ve resided this store is the best. It’s close to me, sells everything I need, never closes and it’s the only store in Canada that sells my favorite kind of smokes. If I don’t make the trip I have a feeling that it’s going to be a really long night. I’m too drunk to put on my old, bloodstained shoes that I’ve had since my first murder, I can barely stay on my feet. After struggling for a few minutes I manage to slip them on. I stumble out the door of my apartment and lock it behind me. I focus hard on the red and orange pattern of the carpet in the hallways, I’m trying not to trip. I feel accomplished once I make it outside injury free. I love this apartment building for many reasons, one of them being that my rent is incredibly cheap- twenty dollars a month. My best friend Jacob happens to be the owner of the building. And I love the name- The Last Stop. It’s also pretty low maintenance and the other tenants don’t ask questions about shady happenings and other illegal circumstances. Sadly, the police do, and there’s a lot of legal attention drawn to this place, due to all the crimes committed. It’s risky as hell, it gets on my nerves. The other thing is that there are a lot of stairs which tend to be hard to get down when I’m drunk and hard to get up because I chain smoke. Somehow I’ve managed to never spill a drop of vodka while stumbling down the staircase.I would find somewhere better but this is the only place I can afford. The thing is, I don’t really have a job per se, it’s kinda hard to lay low when people identify you, and since my name is always on the news “Justin Hillsmith World Famous Serial Killer,” it isn’t hard for them. Besides it get’s in the way of my hobby (murder). I’m not broke or anything though because I sell drugs on the side so that I always have money for my vodka and smokes. I know what you’re thinking- “what about food?” Well, Jacob’s always getting on my case about that too. I don’t really eat because to be honest it just isn’t a priority for me. As I’m making my way through the dark alley that I always take on the way to the store I hear footsteps approaching. Initially I think that there’s somebody following me again, it’s usually someone trying to come steal my drugs- unsuccessfully of course, or a nosy citizen trying to expose who I am because apparently everybody wants to be a hero, and as I look around I realize that it’s a teenage girl walking the opposite way. She’s pretty short, and kind of chubby - but not fat. She’s wearing all black. Her hair is down to her hips and it looks black but with a tint of purple. The purple could just be from the lights though. She’s walking in a stride that isn’t quite a run. I stop dead in my tracks, hoping she won’t notice me. I decide to watch her for a few seconds out of pure curiosity, but to my dismay she starts sprinting to the alley exit. I roll my eyes (which is really a habit that needs to be put in check) and continue on my way to the store.I arrive at the 24/7 Convenience Store and go inside. It’s pretty much empty.I go to the counter to purchase 2 bottles of Smirnoff, 3 cartons of Marlboro cigarettes and a bag of All Dressed chips. I decide to check my phone because the old lady is working and she’s having trouble with the new touch screen cash register.There are a bunch of notifications from fan girls tagging me in their ridiculous fan fictions and my usual booty calls messaging me asking if I’m up. Those aren’t the notifications that get my attention though. The one I click on is a video link from Jacob. It’s a video of that same girl from the alley. Some cruel kids sent it out and it’s being posted everywhere, it’s titled “Ghost girl Loses It”. Ghost Girl’s running from something or someone- probably me if I’m being honest. Sadly, nobody takes it seriously when she comes running looking for help. There isn’t very much in me that feels bad for her and I can’t stop myself from considering that maybe she’d be a good victim. Nobody would believe her if she told someone about me. Besides, she’s already pretty isolated it won’t be too much work ruining her. She’s pretty hot too. I save the link to the post just before finalizing my purchase and exiting the store to make my way back.When I get home from the store I light up a smoke and start digging into Ghost Girl, I have nothing better to do anyways. It’s pretty easy to find her profile since people are tagging her in the videos. She’s also commenting telling people to grow the fuck up and to suck her dick. I like this one. It looks like Ghost Girl has a name: Sidney Holloway. Her profile tells me that she moved to Tombstone about 2 years ago, when she was 14. I don’t know why the fuck anybody would actually move to this shitty town, I only moved here because the police wouldn’t look for me in the middle of nowhere and right now there’s a lot of heat on me in the states. She has a girlfriend named Samara, which discourages me at first because how could I make a gay girl fall in love with me. After a bit more digging I find some good news- she has had boyfriends in the past, which means she can be pursued. After downing another half a bottle of Vodka and doing some basic research on Ghosty the sun starts to come up. I should probably go to sleep for a couple of hours. I can start my pursuit later. I haven’t slept in a week and Jacob get’s mad when the bags under my eyes are too dark- even though they usually are. I’m too used to being awake and about during the night time and by morning I usually have things to do, clients to meet with, people to stalk and errands to run. While I’m looking around I realize that I really need to redecorate. And maybe hire an exterminator. There are cockroaches all over the walls which are dirty and filled with holes from my drunken rages. The old green couch I got from an alley (someone was getting rid of it) has cracks and rips. It smells like stale smoke and vodka, combined with the lingering scent of my casual female conquests. The coffee table is wobbly too, it has marks from me stabbing my knives into it. Plus the stove doesn’t even work, it kinda does but it doesn’t really get hot enough to cook anything. I know that I need to sleep but I’m starting to think that isn’t going to happen- AGAIN. I’m too busy thinking but also not being able to think because I’m too drunk. That’s when I hear a knock on my door. I go over to the peephole and I can already guess the nature of this visit. Either a desperate customer or a whore. As I suspected, when I look I see the girl I took home from the bar a couple nights ago. I forget her name. I think it’s Victoria or Vanessa or something like that. She’s 19, and tall. Too tall for a girl in my opinion. And way too skinny. She’s wearing a pink and white dress that is extremely revealing. Unfortunatly for her I am not up for a repeat of my drunk Wednesday night. I open the door, aggressively. “Listen, Vanessa-” she stops me.“It’s Valery, not Vanessa. I’m not hear for the reason you think. I’m here because I need help.” I open my mouth to tell her I’m not a charity worker but she puts her finger over my mouth and brushes past me into the apartment, closing the door behind her. She sits down on the couch. “I killed someone. And I don’t know what to do.” I’m suddenly filled with horror. Not because she killed someone but that she’s trying to drag me into it.“Look Valery. I can’t help you. I have enough to deal with, being involved with your shit is gonna get me arrested. So I’m going to politely ask you to get the hell out of my apartment and don’t come back.” I purposely ignore the hurt look on her face. I don’t feel bad, it’s everyone for them self in this game. On the verge of tears she hurriedly storms out of my apartment slamming my door behind her. Suddenly, I hear a blood curdling scream come from one of the other suites on my floor. That isn’t a good sign because it means that the police will more than likely be showing up within the next hour, knocking on doors trying to collect information. That wouldn’t be a problem except for the fact that as soon as they identify me I’ll be thrown in prison for the rest of my existence which believe it or not, doesn’t sound too appealing to me. I need to get out of here. Well I guess that my theory about not getting any sleep is correct. I pour some vodka in a plastic water bottle, and then I grab a pack of smokes, my lighter and my leather jacket. I rush to put on my shoes, experiencing the same struggle from earlier and run out the door. While walking down the alleys, making sure to avoid the main streets so that any cruisers circling won’t see me. I’m used to the drill, this happens at least once a week. Trying to shake off my annoyance and paranoia- and the feeling in my gut that Valery is no longer an issue, I make my way to Jacob’s house. He lives in his own house, instead of the apartment building because he says it “isn’t his style”, plus if he’s in a suite he’s losing money because it means a renter can’t be in it. His house is navy blue on the outside, the paint is cracked and peeling. It’s a two story house with a triangular shaped roof. There are three wooden steps leading up to the white front door. The steps groan when you put pressure on them and everytime I use them I fear that they will collapse.I knock on his door and he answers within a few seconds. He’s not wearing a shirt, just his blue jeans. His black hair is a mess. I try not to look at his abs as I walk in. “I have an issue,” I say ignoring the young girl with orange hair and a zebra striped dress climbing out his window with her sparkly silver high heels in hand. “There was another disturbance at the building, I am started to get thoroughly annoyed with the presence of trouble caused by people other than myself.” I know that there isn’t much Jacob can do about it, other than evicting people, which he isn’t going to do. That doesn’t stop me from complaining. I also make sure not to mention Valery. I don’t want anything to do with it. Jacob walks over to the window and closes it making sure it’s locked. We both know how insane girls can be.“Of course there is Justin,” he says, clearly annoyed. “I thought you’d be used to it by now. It’s not my fault that you always pick the worst area to live in everywhere you go.” This gets me mad because he knows damn well that if I lived in the good areas I’d be identified. People in the hood might identify me, but they damn well wouldn’t say anything. None of us want police involved any more than they already are. When he sees the pissed look on my face he changes his tone to sound more sympathetic. His already thin lips press together into a line and he lets out a breath through his nose. “I know you have to Justin. I wish there was a way to make your life normal. For you to be pardoned. But it isn’t possible, so you’re going to have to live with the little annoyances.”“If I were absolved I would stop. I would get help and I would start over,” my voice is shaking. Jacob is the only person who reminds me that I have feelings, no matter how hard I try to numb them. “It’s too late for me Jacob.” The look on his face tells me that he already knows that but hasn’t accepted it. he doesn’t want it to be true. The unspoken truth though, is that we both gave up on a normal life years ago. “I just don’t want you getting taken away from me Justin. We’ve been best friends since we were 2 and this is all either of us have left, your booze aside.” A single tear runs down his cheek and it breaks my heart. “I’m scared our time is running out. You don’t sleep, you rarely eat. You’re trying to drink yourself to death and the whole world is looking to throw you in jail other than your hookers and customers. I’m terrified for you.” “I need to tell you something about tonight.” There’s apprehension in my voice and my shoulders slump forward. “There was a girl at my apartment before the commotion. I had hooked up with her a couple nights ago. She came trying to get me to help her because she murdered someone. I made her leave and I heard the scream just after that happened. I think it might have been her.” His shoulders and fists tense up. My eyes meet Jacob’s and his are full of worry. “We’ll get it figured out, Justin. It will be okay. But you need to get better.”Jacob’s words hurt because they’re the truth. I’m not used to staring the truth in the eyes, I do everything in my power to avoid it. For the first time in months I break down. I’m on my knees sobbing while he holds me. He says it’ll be alright but we both know that’s a lie. “We could’ve been so much more than this Jacob,” my voice is shaking and although I’m slurring my words he understands. I blame myself for his lack of success. No matter how often he tries to convince me I’m not to blame it doesn’t work. We sit there crying for what feels like forever and after a while Jacob and I fall asleep on the floor with tear stained faces, just as the sun hits the sky.

#OC #creative writing #writeblr #fiction #thriller

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survivingmiddleearth · 6 years ago

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A Disturbing Party

first fic I've actually completed in a while, first one posted here. Srry if it sucks and srry if I got Calaear’s characterization wrong. Thanks @calaear for letting me borrow her OC!

Calaear took a deep breath as she hiked through the hills north of Oatbarton. Normally she loved the smell of the clear northern air, but today something seemed wrong. The sky, which was usually wonderfully clear and crisp even on rainy days, had an unfamiliar haze she had only ever really seen over the desolate ruined Fields of Fornost. The effect was not quite as pronounced, but it was troublesome to the young ranger; Calaear wondered if it was a portent of some impending disaster or evidence that disaster was already upon her kinsmen who held the ruins of Annúminas. She stopped for a moment by the side of the road and spied some skittering spiders off in the distance. Her bow was strung and an arrow loose before she even truly realized what she was doing; the motions were so instinctual that she was still lost in her thoughts of the strange atmosphere by the time she was looking beneath the trees to see if the spiders had any vile friends lurking nearby. All she saw were some relieved little does and a big fat raven resting on a rock near her. Calaear smiled at the handsome chubby fellow and held out her hand for a moment to let the little guy inspect it before stroking his beak and belly. Perhaps things around here aren’t all bad, she thought. Even as she thought so, a chill ran down her spine and she heard a strange voice. Calaear couldn’t be certain if she was imagining the voice in her own mind or hearing it with her ears. It hurt to listen to and sounded like cracking ice and grinding rocks.

“Blood. I smell blood: blood of the north, blood of the south, blood of the sea.”

Lightning fast, Calaear’s bow was drawn once again and she called out “Who are you?” The only response was her new little friend who cawed “Who? Who? Who?” It took flight and began circling in the air chattering away. Fear fell over Calaear and it felt like a thick blanket made of insects. The air seemed to chill even more and she felt something approach. She readied herself for combat, unsure from whence the presence was approaching. The only thing she heard for several moments was her own breathing and her, suddenly, quite annoying new friend. Her instincts told her the presence was withdrawing just as quickly as it approached and as she relaxed her bow Calaear heard something entirely less menacing.

Thick boots were stomping up the road and she knew right away a dwarf was approaching even before she heard the deep throaty song he was singing. The raven flew off immediately in the direction of the newcomers and Calaear put her arrow away and prepared to make herself scarce. The days events and her recent travels left her wary and, though she had good dealings with the Longbeards, she didn’t particularly wish to risk a fight with a gang of Dourhands as she guessed she could hear another voice. Normally she would have disappeared quickly, but she could hear some of the words of the song and they reminded her of some of the songs the older rangers used to sing around the campfires when she was young: it was a sad song about beautiful craftsmanship forever lost (dwarves, she thought) but instead of lamenting an attack by dragons or goblins as dwarves usually do, the newcomer hauntingly cooed about a flood that swallowed an island and a storm that drove exiles to a shore that would never match the beauty of what they lost. Calaear didn’t need to be a ranger to realize immediately the dwarf was singing about Númenor, but she couldn’t guess why a dwarf would sing about such. She was so mesmerized that she briefly forgot she aimed to disappear, but by the time she regained her composure the newcomers were getting very close and the raven was back. It landed on her shoulder and she tried swatting it away whispering “shoo, little fellow,” but the bird took flight and started cawing and shouting “SHOO! Blood! WHO? SHOO!”

Forgetting to whisper, Calaear said “No! Go away!” But this only made things worse as the bird circled right over her repeating everything she said but seemed to mock her a second later by saying the opposite: “NO! GO AWAY! Yes, come hither! Come, come, come!” Calaear was so frustrated she didn’t hear the singing stop and didn’t see the odd pair approach her as she swatted at the raven with her bow. “Stop, please!”

“Please, stop!”

“Just fly away!”

“Just sit and be!”

“Go!”

“Stay, stay. STAY!”

Then the raven stopped chattering and began cawing in a way that sounded, to Calaear’s further annoyance, too much like laughter. Suddenly she realized it wasn’t the only laughter she heard and she turned to see a dwarf chuckling next to a bemused looking elf. Or, she assumed the other one was an elf. One was a dwarf, and no mistake: he stood only as tall as a shortbow he was leaning on, had a long white beard, a balding head with a snowy topknot, and a good-natured handsome face supported by a thick neck. His friend was clearly wearing elven armor and had an unmistakable fey air to him, but he looked more like a young man than an ageless immortal. The two didn’t seem sinister, or even very dangerous, but Calaear was still annoyed at the raven which had finally shut up and perched itself on the strange elf’s shoulder.

“That was not funny.” Her statement only made the dwarf chuckle more and the elf’s smile grew warmer, to Calaear’s further annoyance. “State your business. I would know what brings you to the northern kingdom.”

“Not much of a kingdom these days is it, lass? And pay Couhre no mind, he loves his little jokes, but he is as fast a friend as any could want.” The dwarf gestured at the raven and muttered something in his guttural dwarfish language. The bird responded quicker than Calaear could, much to her surprise:

“This fine young woman is a ranger. No friend of spiders or our relentless hunters.” Calaear’s eyes widened as the raven croaked full sentences explaining what it had seen. She was about to demand an explanation, but the dwarf and the elf bowed and introduced themselves before she could.

“A ranger! Yes, you have the look. Though very much less grisly and haggard than your noble kin; if I may be so bold. Doc, at your service and your family’s. This is Ellaerhir, my lord and-”

“Doc is my vassal, or herald if you prefer.” The elf spoke for the first time as he rose from his bow only to interrupt the dwarf.

“Father-figure, bodyguard, personal hero, and many things besides!” The banter between the two softened Calaear’s edge, though she still didn’t know why such a strange duo was traveling in Evendim nor what the odd bird meant by ‘relentless hunters.’

“Well met, friends. You may call me Calaear and I am indeed a ranger. My business is in Tinnundir, though I would still know yours.”

“Ah, excellent! Tinnundir is our destination today. Our travels took us far, far north but we made a short detour on our way back to our friend Calenglad. I am a dwarf of many talents including trade and companionship, it would honor us to enjoy your company along the road.”

“Both of you?” Calaear asked, smiling at the dwarf and eying the strange elf.

“Oh, indeed! Times are strange and rangers make for excellent conversation. We have much to speak of before we arrive at your kin’s quaint little island and enjoy the fruits of my company’s many labors.” The elf stayed silent, but the dwarf stepped up, padded Calaear on the back and resumed his stomping along the road; keeping pace with Calaear by taking four steps for every one of hers.

Doc proved to have a very warm easy manner and was indeed enjoyable to speak with. Calaear spoke of her life as a ranger, despite herself, and Doc listened intently, laughed at appropriate moments, and responded with questions that weren’t too personal but elicited even more talking from Calaear. All thoughts of the dangers of Angmar and the eerie weather disappeared and Calaear found herself laughing along with Doc until she noticed Ellaerhir striding further away ahead and altogether ignoring them.

“Have I offended your lord? Is all well?”

“Oh don’t mind the pointy-eared prince. He’s shy on good days and he’s only sour today because he’s afraid his curse is catching up to him.” Doc grinned, but Calaear could see Ellaerhir scowl as he turned and shouted something in dwarfish at Doc. Doc waved it off with a “bah” and continued asking Calaear about how she made her own arrowheads, but Calaear waited for another opportunity to sate her curiosity.

“So… he is an elf, right?”

“Mostly, yes.”

“Mostly?”

“Quite. You travel now in the presence of elven royalty, the blood of elf-men, proto-Númenorean nobility… if you believe all that rot.” Doc lowered his voice so only Calaear could hear. “Truth is he’s a good lad, no more and no less. He’s walked Middle Earth a long time and saved many lives, my own ancestor included. Dwarves never forget, and dwarf families never forget their friends. I’ve followed good Ellaerhir since I heard he was wandering Ered Luin on errands for Master Elrond. I learned more of him than I knew from old stories and fact is he’s just like other elves: distant and cool until they’ve known you for fifty years, then you can’t get rid of them nor shut them up for another twenty, then they’ll get all weepy and melancholy about your impending demise and go right back to being distant.” Calaear smiled, she knew dwarves and elves had strained relations, but Doc made light of it all and put her mind at ease. “Trust me, my lady, one barrel of wine and Ellaerhir will freely admit who his grandsires were. Drink another two with him without blacking out and he’ll tell you so many stories of the Elder Days that you’ll wish you did!” Calaear took note and suddenly realized that the odd haze in the air had mostly dissipated as they past the King’s Crossing and neared the island of Tinnundir, but an ominous black cloud seemed to move oddly quickly off in the distance. Suddenly she remembered that she never managed to get Doc talking about something else that troubled her and decided to give it another try.

“Caw mentioned something odd earlier, are you two being hunted by the Enemy?”

Doc’s face darkened. “The little blighter’s name is Couhre… and that is a mighty astute guess, my lady. I dare not say more. That is for my lord to reveal. Just remember what I said about the wine.”

The rest of the hike passed in relative silence. Ellaerhir reached Tinnundir before Calaear and Doc to be greeted by the rangers and the excited squeals of their children. Doc’s reception was even more ruckus, as the children waved toys about that the dwarf had clearly made and had shipped to the island prior to his arrival. Calaear enjoyed the familiar welcomes of Sindarin greetings and hugs from her kinsmen. Everyone was surprised at her company, but glad that she had made acquaintance with their friends.

After exchanging words with Ellaerhir, Calenglad, the senior ranger strode towards Calaear with a smile and his big arms open wide. Calaear met her old friend halfway and embraced him so hard she heard his bones creak. “You’re getting old.” She joked. The men of the north didn’t truly begin to show their age for twice the lifespan of lesser men and Calenglad was still hale.

“And you continue to blossom.” Calenglad’s face darkened just as Doc’s did not too long ago. “How did you find the road?”

“Oddly empty, save for those two.” Calaear gestured towards Ellaerhir and Doc, who were already playing funny little tunes for the children with fiddle and lute. “I thought to see robbers and Angmarim invaders, but saw only spiders and then a small few.”

“This is a strange day, dearest. A dark power creeps down from Angmar in pursuit of Ellaerhir.” Calenglad lowered his voice. “Your new companion was spied by the Great Eye…”

The news confirmed many of Calaear’s suspicions, but she wondered why Calenglad allowed such a threat to remain in Tinnundir and immediately voiced her concerns. Surely the rangers could protect an Elder Days hero somewhere away from their main staging area and children! Calenglad waited patiently and explained that Ellaerhir’s power actually kept them safer, but that the agents of Angmar were probing the island for a way to attack. Tonight they would feast and make merry as a ruse, hoping that whatever evil the Enemy employed would reveal itself to be vanquished for good.

“So we are bait.”

“No, we are aiding-”

“You are letting an elf use us as bait.”

Defeated, Calenglad meekly nodded and led Calaear to the bonfire in the fading light.

As much as Calaear had warmed to Doc during the hike to Tinnundir, she was too busy looking out for danger to enjoy his company anymore. Doc relented and took to playfully tossing children up and down while Ellaerhir plucked a fiddle for the older rangers to dance around the fire. Calaear felt incredulous and made a point to keep track of everyone, deeply troubled by the absence of faces she knew rarely left the island. She asked one of her friends about the absence of the old relics master and learned that he “found an old elvish blade near a ruin and hasn’t taken his eyes off it all day.” Nothing unusual, I suppose, she thought. The other missing faces were similarly less distressing; mostly away visiting kin in Estedlin or the Bree-lands.

The night was merry indeed, but Calaear’s instincts told her something was amiss. As she wondered what, she heard a loud crashing noise, the twang of many arrows, and the sickening sound of pierced flesh. She called out and the other rangers, mostly feigning drunkenness, stood alert and drew their bows with Calaear.

The shouting and clamor grew closer as the lookouts entered the ring of light around the bonfire. “It’s Rodney! Something is wrong with the professor!” As they frantically shouted, a horrid sight leaped clear over them and landed in the midst of the entire party: Rodney, the aging kindly relics master from Bree, who had taught so many their letters and uncovered so much lore of the old kingdoms, stood bow-legged, panting, and bleeding from many wounds with a wild look in his eyes. The old man had never wielded a sword in his life, but now his right arm was swollen with muscle and veins, clasping a black blade glowing more intensely than the fire he stood before.

“He is not himself, he is possessed by the blade.” Ellaerhir had his dagger drawn and stood with the rangers. Old Rodney fixed Ellaerhir with his wild eyes and cackled like a madman.

“I am not the blade’s. The blade is mine!” Rodney held the blade aloft and crouched as if to lunge, but as he did so, a familiar chill crept upon Calaear and she heard the same voice from earlier, but louder and horrifyingly more present.

“No. The blade is mine, swine.” The darkness of the night seemed to intensify as a spectral figure glided right through Calaear and into the midst of the rangers. It felt like being plunged into an icy bath of knives and she shouted in surprise and frustration. The spectre looked like the ghostly oathbreakers who haunted the Fields of Fornost, but his armor was older and there was a dark fire where his eyes would have once been. The figure held out an open ghostly hand and the sword Rodney seemed to have an iron grip on ripped right through the old man’s hand to be clasped by the wraith. Barely noticing that the old man finally succumbed to his wounds, the figure pointed the sword at Ellaerhir and began a chant that crippled the other rangers with fear:

Remember, remember the wiles of the trickster

Life and light stolen for naught

Ever the bravest

Always the gravest

Finyon the halfman undying

Open his hide

See all inside

Find the stolen lot

“Thy life will be mine, at last.”

“Couldn’t be content with your own, Olcano?” Calaear felt as if her hands were made of cement blocks, but at least she could see and think better than her fellows who were writhing on the beach sand. The fact that Ellaerhir seemed unbothered and uncharmed by the wraith only increased her anger towards him. She wanted to shoot the elf, but sense won out and she let an arrow loose at the ghost. Faster than quicksilver, he struck it down mid-air with the glowing black sword.

“I will make her watch as I kill her kin. And thou, Fin-” Before Olcano could finish speaking with his icy, rocky, voice, Ellaerhir let out a clear loud battle cry that seemed to break the spell the rangers were under and charged the ghost. The clang of the elf’s dagger against the long black sword snapped everyone back to attention if the battle cry had only woken them from the mystic stupor. Arrows were loosed as soon as Ellaerhir leaped aside and the ghost was hit again and again by projectiles that appeared to dissolve as soon as they made contact. Calaear drew her long hunting knife and crept behind the ghost as Ellaerhir reengaged, this time dropping his dagger and somehow grabbing the spectral elbow of the arm that held the black sword in one hand and and the white transparent wrist of the hand holding the blade with his other. The wraith used it’s free hand to pummel Ellaerhir repeatedly with blows so loud they sounded like trees falling in a forest. As the two wrestled, Ellaerhir began his own chant in an elvish dialect Calaear wasn’t entirely familiar with. She caught every other word or so, but she was more intent on her own plan and slashed between the ghostly helmet and the transparent breastplate.

There was a sound like a short windstorm and a shriek as Calaear’s sword split apart in her hand and the ghostly armor lost some of it’s unnatural light and fell limply in the sand. The sword fell too, with no hand to hold it, and Ellaerhir breathed desperately holding his side with one hand. He nodded at Calaear, who had stumbled back a few paces, and raised his other hand over the pile of ghostly armor.

“He will recover if I do not do this…”

“What are you doing?” Calaear nearly shouted. Her legs were suddenly jelly and she fell to her knees. In the light of the fire, she could see the pale glint of a ring on Ellaerhir’s finger. This time when Ellaerhir began speaking, she recognized it was in Quenya and thought back as hard as she could to her early lessons. As best she could guess, Ellaerhir was laying a geas on an old enemy:

You had paradise and chose instead the darkness

Give up your hatred and remove the lies

They are blinds before your eyes

No more shall you serve in wickedness

I took your life in ages past

I return your valor

A gift undeserved and unearned

Forgive me as you may one day forgive yourself

The pile of ghostly armor dissolved into nothing as Ellaerhir spoke and the gleam of his ring grew brighter. As injured as he looked moments ago, he now stood as if nothing had happened at all. Elf magic, Calaear thought bitterly. She might have been awed, but her mind was on more practical matters, such as the wicked blade that had ruined and ended the life of one of her dearest friends.

“What about that thing?” She asked, still on her knees in the sand. The other rangers dared not step forward, and Doc shielded the children with his little body far away from the fire.

“That blade has an evil aura. It lay dormant until poor Rodney had it in his study and your foe deemed time to use it as a key past the doors of our defenses.” Calenglad spoke and eyed the glowing sword as if it were a wild animal.

“I know this sword. No doubt recovered by agents of the Enemy as a means to torment me.” Ellaerhir looked down at the sword. “Powerful curses indeed, but not as intricate as they could have been. You’ve grown careless, wise fool.” Ellaerhir reached down and tenderly grasped the handle with one hand and cradled the tip with the other.

“NO!”

“Ellaerhir, are you mad?”

“You saw what it did to Rodney!”

Without blinking or changing his expression, Ellaerhir held the sword up; silhouetted by the fire he seemed to grow in a strange way and the night seemed to return to the previous pleasant gloam. The black sword which previously shined with an unnatural hungry light suddenly seemed quite beautiful in Ellaerhir’s hand. Shadowed by the fire, Calaear could see the elf break a wide smile as he lowered the blade and weighed it in his hand.

“What did you do?” She asked.

“I reclaimed a relic of the Fall of Gondolin, sweet ranger. With no small help from you.” Ellaerhir walked forward and extended a hand to help Calaear to her feet. She couldn’t tell if it was his smile, his touch, or some other strange elf magic that brought back her strength, but now that the danger was passed she decided she didn’t care. “You truly are a remarkable ranger, Light of the Sea. Please forgive my manner when we first met. I was… troubled.” Ellaerhir smiled shyly and looked around at the other rangers who were tending to Rodney’s body and already resuming their feast, which started in the night as a feign, but evolved into a true somber celebration.

“Well, you are trouble.” Calaear was only half joking. Still somewhat annoyed at the situation, but happy that everyone else was safe.

Doc shoved his way between the two with two big mugs full of wine in both of his broad hands. “Yesterday’s dangers are past and the perils of the morrow can wait. For now, we live, we laugh, we dance, and we drink!” Doc offered one mug to both of his friends and kept two for himself as he toasted and laughed.

Doc’s mules wheeled more barrels of wine out to the bonfire as the night wore on and the elf and the ranger found themselves telling each other all of their favorite stories. It turned out they both had a hand in foiling the Angmarim’s plans for the Blackwold clan in Chetwood and they were both acquainted with the Chief of the Dúnedain. They traded stories of how the Grey Wizard took liberties conscripting them for adventures and how the funny little people of the Shire filled them with joy and hope. Barely able to keep up with Ellaerhir’s drinking, Calaear found herself combining her questions and gesturing wildly:

“Why’id that ghost call you Finyon y’knew him? and that sword, whe’rev you seen’t before?”

“Finyon is the Quenya name my mother gave me, it means clever one. Ellaerhir is the Sindar name I was given later. Call me Finyon, if you like. Olcano was a Black Númenorean in his day, a great and terrible conqueror. The Enemy convinced him I sneaked into the uttermost West like a thief in the night and stole immortality, we clashed when the poor fool decided he wanted that immortality for himself. And this sword….” Finyon was balancing the blade on his knees as he sat on a log next to Calaear. He looked down on it with a sad look, a look that brought tears to Calaear’s eyes (mostly because of the wine). “It is part of a set. My father carried it’s twin and a jealous fool wielded this one as he brought the finest city Middle Earth will ever see to ruin.”

“Why keep it?”

“Those stories ended in tragedy, but doom is not the fault of the instrument.” Calaear couldn’t be certain, having heard so many strange voices that day, but she thought she heard a faint voice whisper wise words, young one. Perhaps she did hear it in her mind, so she repeated the words and toasted again. “Indeed,” Finyon laughed “so you know the truth behind my name. Why name a woman of the north Light of the Sea?”

“Let’s make a deal. You tell me of your father, a’good story besides, and I’ll tell you about mine.”

For the moment, Finyon was glad of Calaear’s inebriation and only told her a good story of a young hero who once aided Orodreth, the King of Nargothrond, sparing her the sadness of the whole tale. Smiling ear to ear at her own cleverness, Calaear only told her new friend of a wise seafarer of Gondor who fell for a rustic ranger of the north; sparing him the scandal of her parent’s relationship and the tragedy of her father’s death. Neither friend really lied, and they both secretly promised themselves to tell the whole truth on a day when they were free of the looming threat of orcs, wicked men, and dark lords.

#fic #lotro #survivingmiddleearth

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tillerman1 · 4 years ago

Text

THE RITE

A television screenplay by Ingmar Berman translated to the sentence by Thomas Jester

An interrogation room.

Gray the walls. Some office furniture. A shaded-loosely general light somehow a hot cloudy summer afternoon. A clock beats three strokes. Faint church-ring-up. A door opens somewhere cum man include footsteps. A big grown man among dark suit and white tie comes rushing into the room. He turns himself about and shows a somewhat deformed face with weary sleepless eyes, big quite meaty mouth. He sweats heavily and occasionally wipes his hands with a clean but moist handkerchief. (It is laws doctor Ernst Abramsson. About sixty years old.) He smiles lovingly and makes an inviting gesture. Two men and one woman emerge. The men are tall, have a beautiful attitude and are dressed with discreet yet tangible elegance. Both faces are lean, tanned. The older (who we suitably call Hans Winkelmann, fifty-six) is short-at-butch grizzled, long such nose and smiles of thin sarcastic mouth. The younger one (he can probably be called Sebastian Fischer, thirty-five years) is light-haired, has a large scar on the cheek, white eyes closed behind colored eyeglasses. His mouth is big with broad, sensitive lips as drawn till sudden volatiles smiles. The woman in their company (she called Thea Winkelmann, 24 years) is very female built with heavy chest cum hips, small head cum large gray eyes. She wears a band of genuine pearls around her neck. Her costume is delicious and expensive cut. She has very high heel shoes. Ernst Abramsson (hereafter referred to as the Judge) produces a cigarette case and invites. Thea declines, the two men thank smiling. The judge lights their cigarettes.

JUDGE: We have indeed got one strenuous weather.

HANS: Yes, it must be the heat record. Thirty-four degrees in the shade. Almost unhealthy.

JUDGE: Yesterday's thunderstorm did not do much good, I must say. Firm it wriggled down later.

SEBASTIAN: We had to cancel the show twice. The light went on. It feels strange when such a thing happens in a big city. Away the country is more common.

JUDGE: Yes, yes.

HANS: A kind of panic.

JUDGE: Yes. (pause) Right. (pause) Is it any of the men who want something to drink. A brandy. A drop of whiskey. Sherry. Yes, that's what the house can do this on a Sunday. Or maybe just something soothing?

HANS: My wife probably wants some ice water or a Coca-Cola. She is not feeling well.

JUDGE: No, it's really painful. Yourself if I take a sherry, I might need that.

SEBASTIAN: I heard that your father hastily had –

JUDGE: Yes Friday. Sans previous warning. It went extremely fast. Away less than an hour.

SEBASTIAN: So envious.

JUDGE: What? Yes, jealous. You may be right in that Mr. Ritter. Sorry, Mr. FISCHER, I mean.

HANS: After all, when I see you sherry, I think I regret it.

JUDGE: Well, that was nice. And you still don't want anything from Mr. Fischer? Where that merry Mr. Winkelmann.

SEBASTIAN: About I get a glass so I profit a little at Thea's Coca-Cola.

JUDGE: We can enough to endure is a separate bottle, if it squeezes.

SEBASTIAN: If so, I thank you most respectfully.

JUDGE: Very lovely of you to want to sacrifice a Sunday.

HANS: It was equally lovely of you to want to receive us in this informal way. You sacrificed after your own Sunday, is not it?

JUDGE: (laughing) I do not distinguish on Sundays and weekdays. Workaholic. My doctor has warned me. It says that when you come across the fifty should pull down the speed. Yes, you know all that. If I had a loving wife, who was waiting for dinner and hot slippers, then maybe I would. But as it is now.

THEA: (strains difficult) Are you alone?

JUDGE: Well alone! I have good friends, a grand servant, a good library, a fat dachshund and a house at sea, which I love. I have no reason to complain. (switches) No, it was indeed not about me we would speak, though it is dreadful pleasant. Where do you go next? As far as I understand, you just from Poland.

HANS: We should be some weeks in Holland cum since travels we on one long tour through Far the East.

JUDGE: Several months?

HANS: Half a year.

JUDGE: Look at that. Becomes it not thundering boring. Or maybe you get used to it?

SEBASTIAN: (smiling) Yes, you do get used to it.

JUDGE: Forgive a question. As far as I can see from the papers, you are all three Swiss citizens.

HANS: Since five years. We are at write in Ascona, where we usually room under holiday and between tours. It is convenient from many points of view.

JUDGE: We have tried in vain to find out your income in the last three years, but the tax authorities over there are really, how should I say, record. (looking for some papers) I've let one of my coworkers do a calculation after a tour of the establishments where you performed. He estimates your total income to be over a million dollars a year. (laughing) Yes, forgive my curiosity, your income does not superficially belong to the thing itself, but I would like to have as much material as possible. Maybe you understand that?

HANS: We are very understanding. (laugh)

JUDGE: I have talked to your lawyer in Geneva. For obvious reasons, I did not like much of the conversation, but as far as I understand, you have your assets invested in bonds and shares. Well. So it was this speeding. The Dutch police caught you on a speed-restricted route between Arnhem and Nijmegen. You stated that you were late, that you were going to a charity party in Liège, where you had promised to perform for free. According to the police report, you kept a speed of one hundred sixty.

HANS: We pointed out that we were very late.

JUDGE: That's true. It says in the report.

HANS: My wife had been very ill in the morning. Hence the delay.

JUDGE: The report states that Mrs. Winkelmann was highly intoxicated and that she disrespected the policemen. Furthermore, she had taken off her clothes and made (I'm citing) "fornicators movements."

HANS: We have sent you a medical certificate.

JUDGE: That's right. Mrs. Winkelmann suffers under some certificate of a particular form of epilepsy, as in connection with medication can give some psychic effects.

THEA: (stuttering) I got a feeling of suffocation.

JUDGE: Dutch police became in each fall extremely upset. (laughing) Well, could you come to your charity party?

SEBASTIAN: (laughs) Frankly, it wasn't a charity party. A friend we have a summer place near Liege and we would perform at a private party, which he held for some politicians and industry humans. That there with the charity just flew out of me cum it was a bit silly.

JUDGE: The report also mourns your little lies. (laugh)

HANS: He should maybe perchance, to ourselves donated three-quarters of our gage till beneficial purpose.

JUDGE: (laughing) So. You haven't told me that. I'll note that right away. Well, it here is the minutiae cum speeding has Mr. Fischer recognized. It will be a daily fine, I suppose. Mrs. Winkelmann hardly has any reckoning to wait. The medical certificate will save you. (Writes long and concentrated. Silence.)

SEBASTIAN: I have always run diligently.

JUDGE: (writes) That's not true. 1956 you ran a red light in Flensburg.

SEBASTIAN: So boring. I had forgotten that.

JUDGE: (writes) Yes, it was sad. Not true?

The judge gets up and leaves the room. The door sounds closed. Steps descend into the corridor.

SEBASTIAN: Such a rude fan. That we have a hard time with that, I can tell you that.

HANS: Now shut up Sebastian and don't be hysterical.

SEBASTIAN: (stretching, yawning) I feel cursed, terribly stressed. I can't handle these situations.

THEA: Let Hans handle –

HANS: Call. Right. We are not true together. Whatever happens, we do. (warm laughter) Thea wouldn't have had that necklace just yet. He is cursed subclass as laws doc he yet is. And your necklace teased him. We should have thought of that.

THEA: (strains) But dearest you. It was you, like –

HANS: You remember your beloved friend. It was Sebastian, who said: Put on your necklace, you will already crush him at the entrance. If I thought about it, I would have stopped you. Done is done. (laugh)

SEBASTIAN: Do you think there is a microphone in here?

HANS: We have nothing to hide. We haven't done anything illegal. It is a matter of discussion.

THEA: It's so nasty.

She goes over to a window. Hans and Sebastian stand behind her. She opens the window. A church bell heard calling in the distance.

SEBASTIAN: Not a living soul along the entire long street. We could kill Mr doctor and quietly go away. Now the lightning flashed behind the gas clock. Do you see that big beetle, which creeps down the window sill, the other window from the left? It was huge. Now it caught sight of me and flew its way. Hans takes care of us, not true. Hans is our boss. He is so tender, so caring, so wise, so dignified, so full of shit.

THEA: You speak continuously.

SEBASTIAN: Ever since in morse [sic?morning?] has I've gone with one indefinable anxiety, it sits under at heart directly till left. I just want to cry and get drunk.

HANS: You were drunk yesterday too.

SEBASTIAN: How you mean that too. States you, that I'm being bullied right now. (screams to) Damn me for blaming me for everything at all times. Don't blame me.

THEA: (stuttering) Hans did not mean so.

A hotel room.

Sebastian sits undressed in bed and reads a newspaper. Thea in bathrobe sitting on a chair. Drink morning coffee and smoke. Both are in a bad mood. Long silence.

THEA: Be obliged to you bring such a damn noise as you read the newspaper. Every time you turn the page, I jump high in the air.

SEBASTIAN: You can go out to you.

THEA: Are you driving me out?

SEBASTIAN: I'm just saying that if the way I read the newspaper embarrasses you, you can go into your private room. Have I said anything else? What?

THEA: (calmly) I hate you truly.

SEBASTIAN: (reads) The same.

THEA: Should you do not start to rise. You should be with the judge at ten o'clock.

SEBASTIAN: I have enough time.

THEA: The time nine and you have not shaved. You haven't even brushed your teeth.

SEBASTIAN: Neither have you.

THEA: It concerns you not.

SEBASTIAN: Yes[,] it does that. Towards you have bad breath in the mornings. You simply smell bad.

THEA: I want nothing more than to sleep for myself. But you can't fall asleep unless I'm in the evenings with you.

SEBASTIAN: Do you know that Portner is dead?

THEA: No!

SEBASTIAN: It says here. Ivan Portner, fifty years, after lingering disease. Death in Stuttgart. Poor bastard. He had cancer of the lungs and esophagus. They operated on him twice. I met him in February.

THEA: You didn't talk about that.

SEBASTIAN: He looked too damn good. Men he the work still. It was the end of February. He looked dying already then.

THEA: You didn't talk about that. Each Marina?

SEBASTIAN: No, I did not hit the Marina.

THEA: Well so did ye. [sic]

SEBASTIAN: No, I said.

THEA: Of course, it was her you met. And you deceived that poor man.

SEBASTIAN: I did not meet Marina.

THEA: Surely. It was in Switzerland between tours and so the hit you Marina.

SEBASTIAN: Don't bother. I think no further of your jealousy, it is only bad humor.

THEA: You are one fucking adultery-goat

Sebastian slowly gets out of bed and walks up to Thea, who does not move out of the spot. He puts his hand on her head. She closes her eyes.

SEBASTIAN: In case six months my contract expires. Then we dissolve our community you and I and Mr. Winkelmann. Then you can do without Sebastian Fischer.

THEA: Remove the hand from my head.

SEBASTIAN: No.

THEA: Remove your hand.

SEBASTIAN: That I want.

THEA: Remove your hand.

SEBASTIAN: What did you just say: I hate you.

THEA: It was you who said.

SEBASTIAN: In an hour we will get better.

THEA: Remove the hand from my head.

Sebastian bends over her quickly and licks her face. She lets it be immobile. Then he kneels in front of her and puts his head in her lap. She is motionless. He bites her in the chest through the thin linen. She makes one blustery gesticulation but seated still left. He puts his hand between her thighs. She drops her head down, forward, forehead against his shoulder. He grabs her waist and bends back, pulling her down on the floor above him. There are footsteps in the corridor and a loud knock on the door. They are silent. The knocking is repeated. Then the footsteps are removed after a few moments. Sebastian sits up.

SEBASTIAN: It was Hans.

THEA: It was the waiter who wanted to pick up the tray.

SEBASTIAN: I'm convinced it was Hans.

THEA: What would it do? Do you have a bad conscience?

SEBASTIAN: I do not know. (sits quiet for a few moments) I had a dream last night. I walked on a street and knew it was Monday. Suddenly it struck me that school had started just this Monday and that I was not there. It scared me tremendously.

THEA: (yawns) Lord God[,] yes.

SEBASTIAN: Am I boring you?

THEA: No, no, of course not.

SEBASTIAN: (eager) It scared me tremendously. Then I thought: I quit school. I have the right to quit school any day I want. I went home to my parents. My mother opened the door and said: Aren't you in school? No, I said, I left school. I never go to school again. Mother was odd red in physiognomy such, she had vigorous rhinitis and blew out. I've thought, that seems contagious, I stay at a distance. She said, how do you do if you don't go to school. I said I did was grown and that I had three quarter million in annual income and that I probably would clear me.

THEA: (laughing) And I dreamed that I would be going for a ride in an old trailer. I had two horses to choose from, one younger and the other older. So I chose the younger, then I saw that the elder could not be bothered so much. When we came up, sat horse in the carriage and drove the and I went and drug. The whole time the horse talked about love and art and freedom.

SEBASTIAN: And then it was time to send the horse to slaughter.

THEA: The horse had a stomach ulcer and was always cold.

SEBASTIAN: If at least I could laugh. It's hard to imagine the comic in a situation and not being able to laugh. Recall you incidentally the where poem: I am half the person, a half the bird?

THEA: I'm not a poet, you know.

SEBASTIAN: No, you only read weekly newspapers. By the way, I don't remember it.

THEA: What then?

SEBASTIAN: The poem. You don't listen to what I'm saying.

THEA: Bird poem. Half a bird, half a human. [sic] Bird heart, human lungs, bird head, human eyes.[sic] So it bursts into the membranes of never-ending longing. Then tied the body of heavy limbs, his eyes turned skyward. And so on. Sebastian. Bird.

Sebastian pinches the cheeks and pulls them violently inside out, as a squelching noise occurs.

THEA: Don't stay there.

SEBASTIAN: The sparkling women's flower open, moist, generous, fearless. Mother earth's peculiar sister. Slurping, slurping.

THEA: Remember that you should always take revenge, for that you can't satisfy me. At least Hans can.

SEBASTIAN: (tearfully) And I can't!

THEA: You can't. Not in any way.

SEBASTIAN: (excessive) I'm brittle, you see. I can't perform, what should I say: the grotesque itself?

Both laughing sudden, as if they were playing a stage and now coming out of it. They are upset and trembling. Thea makes an ugly grimace. Sebastian answers it.

THEA: Marina.

SEBASTIAN: Pierre.

THEA: Eva. Lilian. Elisabeth.

SEBASTIAN: Arnold. Igor. Heinrich.

THEA: Marion.

SEBASTIAN: David.

THEA: Johan.

SEBASTIAN: Damn it, what a shame you are.

THEA: Now you should hear what a psychiatrist told me. So here said he. You are not a fixed matter. You are a movement. You flow in on others cum they flow out of you. Nothing is permanent. The sooner you learn it, the sooner you get rid of your neurosis. And so he said: The islands in the river are signs of imminent death. They get bigger and firmer, they rise out of the darkness of the current. One day the power is suffocated. Off island.

SEBASTIAN: You should intrinsically have four different men. One when supported you, one who fucked you, one who amused you and one who handled your soul's life.

THEA: Okay, I have it poor.

SEBASTIAN: Now I will rise.

THEA: And I will come in to me.

SEBASTIAN: I will long for you, I think.

THEA: No. You have been so bad today.

SEBASTIAN: I will long for you. And I forgive you. Not just for today without for yesterday and all day.

THEA: You must not go.

SEBASTIAN: It's getting late.

THEA: What about Marina?

SEBASTIAN: I think I'm getting cold.

THEA: You don't listen to what I'm saying. You never do.

SEBASTIAN: I think of what an old director once said, speaking of the actor: The miracle is always the same: Suddenly it shoots up lilies out of your ass on carrion.

Sebastian sits in bed, bouncing burning matches around him. Long silence. Thea hides her face in her hands and sobs dry.

THEA: Oh Gawd. Oh Gawd. Have mercy on me.

SEBASTIAN: Oui ma petite, ma petite. I feel sorry for you on Thursday.

THEA: (examines herself) Take me with you. Save my soul before it perishes in the emptiness.

She cries for a few moments and then gets up from the floor and walks out of the room without looking around. Sebastian calls something for her yet sits remaining in bed and flips matches. Suddenly it catches fire and starts to burn quite well. He stares fascinated at the flames.

Interrogation Room.

SEBASTIAN: I'm cold, have a sore throat, ache throughout the body, eye pain, and if you apologize for fucking diarrhea. I feel extraordinarily indisposed, I have not slept for more than an hour on the whole night. Me feeling me extraordinarily indisposed, I have not slept more than highly one hour on whole overnight. I pondered first of that call cancellation till this here meeting, self having after my show of evening cum it must in all events go in first hand. (laughing) You may speak to me kindly.

JUDGE: First, we will fill in some forms.

SEBASTIAN: Oh really. It sounds threatening. (laugh)

JUDGE: Your full name.

SEBASTIAN: Albert Emanuel Sebastian.

JUDGE: Surname.

SEBASTIAN: I thought you knew that. Fisher.

JUDGE: German or English spelling?

SEBASTIAN: Original one German only by my father, who emigrated in 1931, changed to English. My grandparents were Jews. My mother comes from Holland, an old artist family. Vaalendorff about you-all feeling to the name. There is a very notable circus Vaalendorff. No. Two of my uncles operates it. My father was a musician like my grandfather. He could have been prominent, but he drank unfortunately rather much. In the end, he became seriously ill - he was hallucinating - nay this might not belong here.

JUDGE: Are you married?

SEBASTIAN: No. I'm divorced for quite a few years. My ex-wife is a professor of archeology and lives in Cairo. She's Italian.

JUDGE: You are not divorced, but you have separated. Divorced is something else.

SEBASTIAN: For by all means. Apologize. Why do you ask when you know everything much better?

JUDGE: Just formalities Mr. Fisher. And soon bustled away. I will not dwell on you any longer.

SEBASTIAN: Thank you, it was kind. Now let's talk about the scar on my left cheek, right?

JUDGE: That's irrelevant. We know that you for wherein punished for inadvertently causing the death of another. A knife fight.

SEBASTIAN: I defended myself.

JUDGE: It was a close friend, right?

SEBASTIAN: He was my partner for four years. When he was drunk, he never knew what he was doing.

JUDGE: Mr Winkelmann's wife was previously married to your friend.

SEBASTIAN: It was an unhappy marriage. We were all engaged by the same company for several years. Hans was also married and had two young daughters. We shared one great outdated house outside London.

JUDGE: Your partner's death blew up the community.

SEBASTIAN: My wife, the professor, separated as I said. Hans and Thea started working together. I was in prison cum Hans wife went mad with jealousy. I could stick my tongue out through my cheek.

JUDGE: How did you give your friend four stab wounds? Already the first where kill.

SEBASTIAN: It belongs to the current case.

JUDGE: No. I ask out of curiosity.

SEBASTIAN: Honestly.[sic] I do not know. I thought it felt good. I remember standing and holding him. He puffed cum coughed cum us were either flooded with blood. I felt his sharp stubble against my bare shoulder. Before he died, we talked, we stood there and laughed, none of us thought it was all gentle.

JUDGE: Forgive a question. Have you been plagued later?

SEBASTIAN: Plague or. How. You mean, like, I've been missing him. Of course. I loved him.

JUDGE: Have you had remorse?

SEBASTIAN: No, why not. Should I have been?

JUDGE: You are still wearing a wedding ring.

SEBASTIAN: It's my hell.

JUDGE: I apologize. It is right surely your one thing.

SEBASTIAN: I feel tired and sick and want to go home to the hotel.

JUDGE: Of course. Forgive me one more time. I thought we were sitting here talking. I'm not going to be long-winded.

SEBASTIAN: Can I have a drink?

JUDGE: Sadly, I have nothing to offer. How many children do you have?

SEBASTIAN: I do not know. No, I honestly do not know. I never bothered to count them. I support a few, I think it's four or five, but my lawyer knows all that much better. With the professor, I only had two miscarriages.

JUDGE: Yes, so maybe we should talk a little about the main thing. Is the number (or what should I call it) your invention?

SEBASTIAN: (laughing) Figment. Bo to the devil what I think you are ridiculous with your damned self-esteem and your underclass curiosity, your tactlessness, your lack of education cum human compassion. Do you know what I have discovered: You are not clean, Mr. Abramsson. I think there is a lack of intimate hygiene. Under the fresh scent of your shaving water, there is a distinct odor of acidic, unwashed obesity. You change shirt each day, but above the dazzling white sleeve sees me one fully palpable shit stripe and era Nails is not particularly clean. I despise you. (calmly) I despise you and think you are incomprehensibly ridiculous in your occupation. It does not feel bad to have to rub shoulders with three world artists. To be allowed to stand in the newspaper with feet on a par with us. It does not feel bad to torment us stupid and humiliating issues in the face of decency and discretion. To unbutton our pants and slap us a little. I intend, through my lawyer, to demand a judge at my level. You have no precondition for understanding or judging what we have done. You are a lowly, stupid WORM. Now I have said, what I meant to, and now you can cage me for insulting or whatever it's called.

JUDGE: (tired) It pains me that you find my person so disgusting. I admit that I sweat a lot, I have sought specialists in many places for my sweating, it is a mistake in my metabolism, I can understand that it bothers you - I mean the smell. But that I would be dirty - no it can I do not agree, no one washes as often and as much as I do. How I have a ski stripe above the shirt is none truth. There is an old sunburn, pigmentation, which takes a little strange and what finally my nails are concerned, I have been doing my sailboat over Saturday and Sunday. It is in point of fact paint and does not go away. You say I'm underclass. It is an extremely flexible concept. My parents were quite wealthy, father was a lawyer and mother a teacher, we were five siblings and I dare say that we got a good upbringing. [sic] I have done my best not to hurt or embarrass you, possibly I have been too discreet and if I am to be sincere - a little anxious. (laughing) I must videlicet confess, to I harboring an immense admiration for you and your colleagues cum it was with overmuch mixed feelings I undertook this assignment. I am extremely hesitant if the legally entitled in prohibition cum I find it personally tasteless to exercise censorship against creative artists. (smiles) I felt from the very first moment your animosity Mr. Fisher and as I remarked smarts it myself and makes me unsure. I therefore propose that we interrupt this session. Everything this has been much upsetting for both of us cum me the propound, that we say farewell. I wish you first-rate improvement with your cold and will have fun visit tonight's performance. Guess not that I pay any attention to your outburst. It is for sure and if you as want such pardon. I can very surely understand your violent affective. Farewell Mr. Fisher, you found the way yourself(,) or should I beg a janitor forward your corrective? You go hallway straight front and then take you off, till right. There are the elevators. Later is it no problem. Farewell.(sic)

SEBASTIAN: (with anger) You are not merely an unpleasant and disgusting a human, who smells bad. You are also one lousy actor. The playhouse, which you have accomplished in the last few minutes, is one of the most disgusting selves experienced. You are dead reckless, completely amoral, absolutely rotten. Such as you should not get to live, such as you, such as you-all.

JUDGE: I'm just incredibly embarrassed sahib Fisher, both on your and my behalf. I am also to the full unable to feel aggressiveness(,)[;] I apprehended only of a sense of teetotal impotence. I ask you to go. I please you to walk at once.

SEBASTIAN: (emits a series of strange noises and waves his hands over his head) That's how it is. Holy Mother of God. That is how it should be. I have seen it. Now there is no turning back.

JUDGE: (throws off his jacket and tears up his shirt) I have no kin, nothing to live before. Sorrow is not, pain is not, anxiety is not, it is only rupture. (panting awful)

SEBASTIAN: Sit down, be very calm. I'm not touching you, that would feel too disgusting. While you-all cooling you - Damn also what is stuffy here - I will tell you a number, which Hans Winkelmann and I perform together. A man enters a police station. He's looking for the commissioner. He has to report something strange. What does he have to report? Well this! He has arrested by one thumping and fatal appetite. He has eaten up his wife, his butler, his two children, his tenacious grandmother. In the afternoon, a bearded man entered the store. It was God himself. He cut a fillet out of God's inner thigh and ate it. Then he felt an unavoidable need to shit. When he did, he went to the police, as I said. Calm yourself(;)[,] the story is soon over: He lifts the main bowl, as he sawed of flattering ears and shows the astonished commissioner an empty inside. His head was utterly empty. At the bottom of the cervical vertebrae was a drawstring for the eyelids, but that was all. Now you have calmed down. Then I'm going. Before it every several relationships between us. Farewell.

JUDGE: I have another question: Your denomination?

SEBASTIAN: I do not have a creed and do not belong to any denomination. I have never needed a god or salvation or eternal life. I am my own God(,)[;] I provide my custom angels and demons. I am staying on a rocky beach, which in waves sinks towards a protective sea. A dog barks, a child cries, the day sinks and becomes night. (with rage) YOU CAN NEVER SCARE ME. No human being can ever scare me again. I have a prayer, which I pray to myself in complete silence: May there come one wind and stir up the sea and the suffocating twilight. May a bird come out of the water and burst the silence with its cry.

A church. ("A confessional" in the film.)

The judge, Dr. Ernst Abramsson, has confessed. He is sweaty, bloated cum much tired. Early morning.

JUDGE: I think I'm going to die.

He takes a long break and lowers his head, wipes his forehead with an already damp handkerchief. Breathe heavily.

JUDGE: Oddly enough, I'm scared.

Pause again. He seems insecure and full of vague ideas about what he wants to confess, perhaps frightened by his initiative.

JUDGE: Already this that I seek you, Father. Already this that I woke up this morning with a sudden need to confess.

Pause. Anxiety washes over him in a hot wave. He closes his eyes and swallows repeatedly.

JUDGE: I have none feared death before, you know, father. I am not a believer. I'm looking for you a human none as a priest. I'm already dead. And I felt a stench from my body, which I had never noticed before. Yes, of course. It unusual heats and my ill heart. I was at the doctor's last week[,] and he thought that the heart - that I should be careful. I get short of breath[,] and my eyesight has deteriorated quite sharply in the last six months. And then my old father's death. Whatever it is, everything changes. What am I saying? I'm talking in my nightcap. (smiles frightened)

Calm. A church bell rings{,} [;] it has a light[,] almost frangible tone and rings right fast[,] but weakly about forty beats per minute. The judge takes a deep breath. He seems relieved, calmer.

JUDGE: I'm utterly alone. I have no relatives, no friends. I state this without regret, do not think I'm complaining. Unlike most people, I have been happy with my loneliness. I have over one number of times in life tried to live with women, children[,] or friends. It has always ended with us withdrawing from each other more or less hurt, more or less relieved. So I set up my solitude and thought it was quite bearable.

Suddenly a few sharp breaths, the eyes widen, the mouth is open as on a dying fish. He tries to say something, shakes his head.

JUDGE: This horror. Oh, my God, what am I going to do? If only I could sleep. People can pardon each other. There is an earthly grace. But outside the brittle ring of human warmth, there is cruelty. Forever and ever. (quiet) The insight, God, the insight! If only I could sleep. I'm taking them strongest hypnotics. I have a sort's pain in my leg, this called by all means something. If I lie down, I have to get up and go. Sometimes I go to sleep. Suddenly I have done things that I do not have a clue.

The small church bell has fallen silent. He looks around, listens. It's completely silent.

JUDGE: I'm boring you.

THE PRIEST: (voice) No.

JUDGE: I currently have a case, yes, you have possibly read about it in the newspapers. Three famous artists have received one routine censored and withdrawn. I have taken care of the investigation. But it was not that I would speak on. It does not belong here at all. The woman is interesting. It is surprising, to upper-case artists is so banal, that man comes them in on life. No, it was something else.

He thinks for a long time. Then he sighs to himself and smiles sickly.

JUDGE: I know that you are not laughing at me, and probably you know quite well the phenomenon of your practice. You know that unbelievers often pray. I pray. It gives me relief in my anxiety.

The referee falls on his knees and clasps his hands, they direct anxiously opened his eyes to nothing, rattles off and begins to pray in a weak and changed voice.

JUDGE: It's evening cum dark and self is afraid. My mother has gone and closed the door. I know no one hears if I shout. I dare not go out on the floor for everyone animals were, I must stay in my bed if I start crying out of anxiety, I'll be even safer.

The voice decreases and becomes indistinct. He sweats profusely, about eye wanders anxiously back and forth. The little bell has started ringing again. Echoing footsteps can be heard under the arches.

The interrogation room, afternoon.

Hans Winkelmann is sitting in a corner and waiting. He looks at his watch, looks in his wallet, reads a letter, rattles off his bundle of keys, gets up and walks off and on, sits down at the big bare table, supports his head in his hand. Some finally steps are heard in the corridor, a door opens cum the judge rises in.

JUDGE: Dear Mr. Winkelmann, I apologize. How long have you had to wait{.}[?] Two hours. That is intrinsically regrettable. I also heard that you none has received my message about the delay. As soon as I noticed that the conference was running out of time, I called my secretary and asked her to let you know, but she says you were not in the room.

HANS: (strained) Maybe not right then.

JUDGE: Yes. No. Either way, it was regrettable. Beat you down sahib Winkelmann. As you perhaps vet, met me Mr. Fisher at one some separate interview. I do not want to say that we agreed very well. I have examined myself to find out if I hurt your colleague in any way.

HANS: Mr. Fisher is very sensitive and is currently quite sickly. He has been suffering from various infections all spring. It makes him extra irritable.

JUDGE: I understand.

HANS: This whole thing is tormenting him unreasonably.

JUDGE: And you-all self?

HANS: (smiling) Dear Dr. Abramsson. I have long since ceased to be annoyed by anything that concerns my profession. I do my best from day to day, that's all. It is plumb understandable, how the reaction to our latest issue has been strong. I take it for granted that your judiciary finds it necessary to try the matter. The penalty is light - if we are held accountable - and we have already deposited the fine in a bank designated by you. I see it as a mere formality.

JUDGE: It pleases me to hear your attitude. You and I have quite entirely the same starting point. One might think that our laws are antiquated, but as long as we have them, they must be applied. There are other instances, which write them or abolish them. And as I said, the penalty is pretty modest. The advertising you received through our intervention is not either despicable.

HANS: (smiling) We do not work on a percentage basis in principle.

JUDGE: Is it you who negotiate and draw up contracts?

HANS: Oh no, I could not do that. We have a general agent[,] and he negotiates in his turn with agents in the various countries, that in one's tour negotiates with our employer. It is one big and very complicated apparatus. On the other hand, it is I who discuss with Josef Heros - our general manager - about the very principles of our commitment. Some gravity acquires I information ex-mine comrades, before me taking a few measures.

JUDGE: Who of you is the creative force [,] or how I now should express myself?

HANS: It is hard to say. We are so involved with each other. We have odious-like thoughts and initiatives. We feel the same way, understand each other's reactions. That in itself is not so strange. Occurs year after year, day after day together in context, which requires a perfect vigilance and a substantial rate of reaction formed to eventually to a single working body. It hinders not that we in-between have ultimately various perceptions about both the one and the other.

JUDGE: May I then ask. Is it impossible to enter, who from you as came with the current number?

HANS: (short) Absolutely.

JUDGE: The attributes?

HANS: I do not remember.

JUDGE: The gestures?

HANS: Everyone is responsible for their gestures.

The judge writes quietly.

HANS: May I offer you a cigarette?

JUDGE: Thanks.

Light both cigarettes. The judge writes. Hans smokes and looks stealthily at the clock.

JUDGE: (without looking up) A quarter past four.

HANS: (smiling) Forgive me. The reason I looked at the time was no rudeness. I left my wife alone in some hotel for near three hours since cum it is possible, how she has begun alarm herself. It is namely so that -

JUDGE: Maybe you want to call?

HANS: No, by all means.

JUDGE: Are you afraid to leave her alone with Mr. Fisher? Is that what you mean?

HANS: (smiles) My wife is very dependent on my presence. This intervention has upset her.

JUDGE: I'll meet her for an individual conversation. I'm convinced I can calm her down. Or what do you think[,] Mr. Fisher?

HANS: Winkelmann. (smiles) That was just about the subject I would have chatter.

JUDGE: (still writing) Oh really. Just a moment. Forgive a question. How long have you been married to wife Winkelmann?

HANS: Over five years.

JUDGE: Do you have any children?

HANS: A boy.

JUDGE: Where is he?

HANS: About one home. He's an idiot.

JUDGE: Have you been married before?

HANS: Yes.

JUDGE: Where is your ex-wife?

HANS: I do not know.

JUDGE: But according to the information I received, you pay maintenance to your two children.

HANS: The lawyers take care of that.

JUDGE: You never meet your children.

HANS: No.

JUDGE: Why?

HANS: (tormented) Is that part of the matter?

JUDGE: No. Does it bother you?

HANS: Yes and no. I blame the trips.

JUDGE: You have a holiday every year.

HANS: Then I'm tired.

JUDGE: Is it your current wife who does not want you to meet your children from the previous marriage?

HANS: (shakes his head) No.

JUDGE: What were you going to say just now, when I interrupted you?

HANS: I was going to ask you something.

JUDGE: Oh really.

HANS: My wife is coming here for a call. I would be grateful - extremely grateful - for that meeting customer canceled or if I could be present.

JUDGE: Oh really?

HANS: My wife is, how should I say, a rather unusual woman. Many would say that she is severely neurotic. I would rather say that she suffers from an abnormal physical and mental sensitivity. Sometimes she has very peculiar outbursts and performances. When I am with her, she gets a kind of security and behaves completely naturally apart from the stuttering, which stems from a horror experience in childhood. She also has an excessive need to please. To please. Therefore, you can make her say or do just about anything far beyond the bounds of reasonableness and dignity. Your meeting will be pointless.

JUDGE: I would be happy to grant your request Mr. Winkelmann, but I have my rules to follow. Feel free to follow her here and sit in the next room, if you are worried. But I absolutely must have an individual conversation with your wife.

HANS: I understand that it would be unreasonably difficult to inhibit the coincidence. But it can not be by purely formal nature. I let her to you, and you switch a few bland phrases under a minute. Then I pick her up.

JUDGE: I have mine instructions Herr Winkelmann. I have to form my own opinion about your wife. You-all must reflect, to I am appointed to investigate a suspected crime. In such a situation, I can not follow your recommendations, no matter how much I value you cum no matter how much I would like to spare your wife's nerves.

HANS: You can not imagine her anxiety. It's almost animalistic.

JUDGE: If you want, I can get a doctor present during the conversation. I feel a very reasonable and understanding man, who certainly could give your wife the help she needs.

HANS: It would only make things worse. For years I have been trying to tell Thea that she is not insane.

JUDGE: Anyhow dear Mr. Winkelmann, you must understand me. Speaking of which, why is Sebastian Fisher still wearing his wedding ring?

HANS: It's the father's ring. Sebastian was in a very strong and unusual due to his father. But to return to my wife.

JUDGE: Does your wife have a relationship with Mr. Fisher?

HANS: What do you mean?

JUDGE: Do they live together?

HANS: I do not understand what you mean.

JUDGE: Are they in love with each other?

HANS: I still do not understand.

JUDGE: Are they located together?

HANS: (humiliated) I think so. We never talk about it. There is a sibling preference between them, an intense friendship, a strong affection.

JUDGE: As you tolerate?

HANS: (after a long pause) I've learned almost everything about humiliation I do not know what will happen, but it is probably something in me that invites humiliation. (laughs sarcastically) A pride across all borders. The real great artists are unattainable, deeply invulnerable. I do not belong to them. My core is soft and corroded. I have only one great fear: to be left alone. For flattered? I look robust, right? Well-adjusted and decently wise. Practically gifted and so on. Reach. I love Sebastian Fisher and my wife. Love? I do not know, but I think so. (laugh) I'm addicted to them. However, I am not sure if they are dependent on me. That is why I make myself indispensable. (laugh) So that they none will leave me. I am one first-class artist. On the professional planet suffers me not of any inhibitions - I would very well clear me by odd hand, me having acted for twenty years before I met Sebastian and Thea. By the way, everything is uninteresting. So you can not imagine canceling the meeting with my wife?

JUDGE: I thought we finished talking about it.

HANS: But if I ask you on my knees. Forgive the expression, it sounds melodramatic, but I mean it literally. (desperate) Mayst I pay you?

JUDGE: How much want you-all pay?

HANS: Say a sum within reason. I pay it now and here.

JUDGE: Fifty thousand? One hundred thousand?

HANS: One hundred thousand. Goes it good with a check?

JUDGE: (nods) It's fine.

HANS: I am deeply grateful for your understanding. (writes the check) You have been very reasonable. Here you are. I spelled your name with two s. I think that was correct.

JUDGE: (looking at the check) Now I am substantially curious.

HANS: What do you mean?

JUDGE: You pay without blinking a hundred thousand for me to refrain from meeting your wife. In this case, I disregard the atrocities of your attempt to bribe a civil servant. It stands for your peculiar bill. (tears the check) We are finished with each other[,] Mr. Winkelmann. We perhaps meet, supposing you follow your wife here.

HANS: (smiles) I am tremendously grateful for your generosity.

JUDGE: I start more and more wonder, supposing it hides something bigger and more dangerous behind your pretty innocent numbers.

HANS: (shakes his head) I know not, self thinks not that.

JUDGE: Goodbye[,] Mr. Winkelmann. See you at seven tomorrow night.

HANS: Is the gate open at that time?

JUDGE: I'm going to tell a caretaker.

HANS: Goodbye.

A lodge of the large variety.

It's night. Thea is sitting half-made up and half-dressed at her table. She drinks now and then. Crying violently and abandoned. Hans Winkelmann comes in and sits down next to her. He is tired and severe.

HANS: You do not have to say anything to him. You only leave him your statement, as I wrote. If he starts questioning you, you stutter so loudly that he does not understand a word of what you are saying. After about ten minutes, he gives up. I'm sitting in a room next door. If you're anxious, just call me. You have to try to be calm. I have done the best I could.

She drills her head into his arm. He takes her in his arms and rocks her back and forth. Then they sit for a long time.

HANS: Tomorrow is all much better. Then we travel to the country. I know an inn with fantastic food. And if it's not too hot, we take a walk in the woods. Maybe we're having dinner under some shady tree.

THEA: We can't leave Sebastian alone in town.

HANS: So Sebastian gets to follow.

THEA: He has said that he will leave us when the contract is over. Do you know that?

HANS: He does not leave us.

THEA: This time he will do it.

HANS: I'll get to talk to him.

THEA: I think Sebastian's going crazy.

HANS: No. I do not think so.

THEA: I'm afraid of him.

HANS: You must stay away from him.

THEA: He can none be without me. Every night he asks me to stay with him. He has one awful anxiety. It looks awful, you see. I can not say no.

She stops crying, sits up cum looks in the mirror, continues to put on make-up. Hans takes a sip from her glass. Views on the clock.

HANS: The time is half two.

THEA: Are you evil?

HANS: I, no.

THEA: You sound so unfriendly.

HANS: I'm just a little tired.

THEA: So are you always.

HANS: Yes.

THEA: Is it me who makes you tired?

HANS: No, dear. Why?

THEA: You love Me. You do, right?

HANS: Sure adore self you.

THEA: If I did not have you, I would kill myself.

HANS: If you did not have me, you would have someone else.

THEA: What you sound bitter?

HANS: Not at all. I'm just tired.

THEA: You once said not so long ago that it was your life content to find out about me. Was it not like that?

HANS: Yes.

THEA: You are my only security.

HANS: Is it not much better how everything is one great insecurity with small artificial islands of security? It fits better with the real conditions than your idea of absolute security with short breakthroughs of insecurity.

THEA: (sadly) Why do you say that?

HANS: For it that I'm tired.

THEA: Why that you're tired of me.

HANS: I did not say that. But by all means. I am sick of you. I'm tired of Sebastian. I'm tired of you and Sebastian. I'm tired of traveling around with wash fools. I'm tired of our so-called artistry. I do not believe in our task. I think we are meaningless, disgusting cum ridiculous. We no longer have any relevance.

THEA: I do not know what relevance means.

HANS: People do not need us. We are a bit outdated.

THEA: You're tired of me.

HANS: Yes, I'm tired of you. My lead is boundless. I do not even feel sorry for you. You're lazy and spoiled. You do not even practice.

THEA: Yesterday we practiced for three hours.

HANS: But the day before yesterday was you sick said you. And then before you were not sober and then before you were visiting a friend or whatever it was and then before we were traveling and then before arguing with Sebastian all day. You are lazy and muddy and unbearable. You are not worth a tenth of the money you earn. When our contract expires, you can do whatever you want, go to hell, if it suits you. I'll take one long vacation. And then I'm going to marry a nice woman, who cooks my food and takes care of my clothes and who shuts up. And with her, I'll move to some remote forest area and make a living on agriculture or whatever the hell. Sometimes, when I see you walking around naked at home in the hotel, I think, why is there that beautiful body. What makes it for use with its beauty and its perfection. No, by the way, I do not know what I'm thinking. I never talk about myself. Still, I love you. May you realize that I love you after all. I feel sorry for you. Almost all my thoughts revolve around you and yours. I am ready for anything to free you from any inconvenience or discomfort. And when I witness your and Sebastian's passions, I'm worried about you both, I see how you tear each other apart, although I should know better. You can do anything, say anything, commit any damn scandal you want. It does not bite you. You are monstrous. I feel that, I recognize that. But I can never be like you. I never want to be like you. I never want to at all again. We have gone to the extreme. It is humiliating and unworthy. Now it must be. I'm tired of you Claudia.

THEA: Poor Hans.

He looks at her with tired surprise. She is red in the face with alcohol and suddenly bloated compassion. She makes some helpless arm movements, as if she wanted to embrace him. He gets up and stands pressed against the wall.

HANS: You have not grasped anything.

THEA: Poor Hans. (smiling) Poor little Hans. (low) The world rages and burns and bleeds and stands on its ears. Poor Hans. Poor bad conscience. (laugh) That should be it unify but not the other. The other. Not one.

HANS: At least I believe in my mind.

THEA: And I believe in your understanding. It does not abandon you.

HANS: Refusal it does not abandon me.

THEA: You're tired, you poor thing. I'm really going to hurry. Do you know where Sebastian lives?

HANS: He's gone.

THEA: To the hotel?

HANS: I do not think so.

THEA: (smiling) Do you think I've gotten ugly?

HANS: No. (tormented) No, no.

THEA: You're still my husband.

HANS: We're going to file for divorce.

THEA: I'm moving with you to your farm.

HANS: No.

THEA: You must be extremely tired of me and Sebastian.

HANS: Yes.

THEA: We behave like crazy.

HANS: What are you laughing at.

THEA: Ate Sebastian.

HANS: And when you're with Sebastian, you laugh at me.

THEA: It is understood.

HANS: God what I'm tired. Free me from this prison. Free me mild Lord God. Free me. Free me.

THEA: You want to die?

HANS: Again, not exactly die. But I would like to sleep in the mornings. Do you know that? That every morning –

THEA: – you wake up at five and the anxiety sits like black birds on your chest. You want to sleep. How long? Until ten o'clock? Eleven?

HANS: I want to be free.

THEA: Dry you about the nose[,] dear Hans.

HANS: Oh[,] sorry.

THEA: Now I'm almost finished. May you hand me my makeup-rock. Oh, this is just damp. There are horrible lodges they hold us with. You should complain to the management. You should not tolerate - (laughs) Sorry.

HANS: (drinking) For all part. [sic] Continue.

THEA: Refusal there is difficult. We can never talk to each other. We do not understand each other. The words are not correct. That is the absolute incomprehensibility.

HANS: Should I call for a car.

THEA: It is probably the best. I am none completely sober cum you have also been drinking. Now I go and take a shower. Oh Hans!

She walks towards him and presses herself next to him. He wraps his arms around her and holds her tight. The stands in this way awkwardly embraced.

HANS: What is it?

THEA: I'm so damn anxious.

HANS: You should not be anxious. I'm in it.

THEA: But you are not in the room.

HANS: I'm in the room next door.

THEA: He's awful that judge.

HANS: No, he's fine. We can be thankful that we got him. He's just doing his job.

THEA: You know you're talking against better knowledge.

HANS: I'm probably doing it.

She goes to the shower. He remains.

The interrogation room.

JUDGE: Good evening Mrs. Winkelmann.

THEA: Good evening.

JUDGE: Now let's sit down and talk for a moment. I assure you, it will not hurt.

THEA: (smiling) I think not.

JUDGE: What an extraordinarily beautiful dress.

THEA: I'm glad you like it.

JUDGE: Sorry you-all, if I take paper and pen and make some notes for the memory.

THEA: Of course.

JUDGE: Usually now for the time uses we band player. I can none deny till that a machine of it some kind seems inhibitory on confidentiality.

THEA: It is you probably right in.

JUDGE: I think we have had the summer's warmest day today. Thirty-five degrees in the shade. It is indeed quite oppressive.

THEA: I think about heat.

JUDGE: Yes, naturally. It is the highest variant. You play not on Mondays.

THEA: No[,] we are free on Mondays.

JUDGE: That is quite nice or how?

THEA: It is nice.

JUDGE: How many performances have you per evening?

THEA: For currently has we four appearances.

JUDGE: It becomes surely quite tiring.

THEA: Man accustoms in.

JUDGE: Where travels you on vacation in years?

THEA: Hans cum Sebastian wants till Africa.

JUDGE: And you oneself?

THEA: I follow well on.

JUDGE: You are quite rarely home. I mean in Ascona? There becomes not much while till home life.

THEA: Oh whose. We see ever till to have any weeks between the further the tours.

JUDGE: Lives Sebastian Fisher with you on such occasions.

THEA: (smiling) Yes.

JUDGE: It must be uppermost wonderful to live in one such trinity.

THEA: (smiling) Yes, it is that.

JUDGE: To be so beloved.

THEA: So too.

JUDGE: No conflicts?

THEA: In the beginning, it could be difficult at some point.

JUDGE: Your husband claimed that you were worried before our meeting. We're having a good time, are we?

THEA: Hans thinks I'm so sensitive.

JUDGE: Wants you-all have something to drink.

THEA: That could be good.

JUDGE: (by the cupboard) One small brandy perhaps. I'm sadly not very well off.

THEA: I'll take anything.

JUDGE: Should we give your husband a glass too{.}[?] He is sitting in a room next door and is bored. I think he deserves a glass. Can I greet off you?

THEA: (smiles) Yes, thank you.

JUDGE: Goodbye for now. (smiles)

He disappears. Thea lights a cigarette and tastes the brandy. Suddenly her face changes. From mastery to desperation. From smile to horror. She moans low, beats herself in the forehead and on the cheeks with left knotted hand. When she hears footsteps, she immediately masters herself. The judge again comes, is in good humor.

JUDGE: I can say hello out of your husband. He sits two meters away and reads the legal yearbook. He was a lot worried for your sake, but I reassured him. You are really incredibly beautiful[,] Mrs. Winkelmann. As the light falls over your face. Forgive me.

THEA: (strains badly) I have written an account.

JUDGE: An account.

Thea nods seriously and takes a stack of typewritten paper from her bag. She hands them to the judge.

THEA: I have written to you.

JUDGE: Only dear Mrs. Winkelmann.

THEA: Would you please read it, now, here. Wants you-all be kind to read aloud.

JUDGE: Why should I read aloud[?]{.}

THEA: Sometimes I want to interrupt you and explain.

JUDGE: (reads) My name is not Thea von Ritt-Winkelmann, even though it's in my passport. Nor do I have real hair and my age, I hardly know myself. My mouth is my own, but it has changed position due to all my front teeth being replaced. My upbringing was strictly religious[,] and as long as my parents lived, I fully matched their notion of a good daughter. I have suffered many bodily ailments. The most difficult was an itch, which haunted me like a waking nightmare for two years. It disappeared as suddenly as it came. Another difficulty is my overdeveloped senses. I react painfully to heavy sound, strong light, or unpleasant smells. A perfectly normal pressure, for example, my dress, can make me crazy with pain. I take painkillers, but it only partially helps.

The judge stops reading and looks at Thea intently for a long time. He is much major. She smiles suddenly and disguised anxiously.

THEA: I have expressed myself elaborately.

JUDGE: Not at all. (continue reading) I started my artistic career by studying singing. I got a job at a theater. There I met a man who took me to him and began to train me for the variety show. We toured for many years. That's how I met Hans Winkelmann.

The judge stops reading again. He lights a cigarette and shakes his head. Thea smiles as before and tries to say something, but the stuttering prevents her cum she gives up.

JUDGE: Yes Yes. (reads further) Hans and I got married. It has been a good marriage and I depend on his practical care, because I myself am completely incapable of such things. The dry twilight trembles cum rattles over the baby's head. – I can't go any further. Everything is already there. Inside can I none come. (ends read)

THEA: I was so desperate.

JUDGE: I understand. (reads further) I play that I'm a saint or a martyr. That's why I call myself Thea. I can sit for hours at the big table in the hall and look at the insides of my hands. Once a blush penetrated my left hand. But no blood came. I play that I sacrifice myself to save Hans or Sebastian. I play ecstasy and call with the Holy Virgin, faith cum another, despite and doubts. I'm a poor sinner with unbearable guilt. So I reject faith and forgive myself. All is trifling. Inside the game, I am always the same, sometimes extremely tragic, sometimes incredibly playful. All with the same insignificant effort. It's like one uninterrupted running water.

THEA: That is not at all what I mean.

JUDGE: What do you mean? (reads further) I complained to a doctor. (So many doctors I visited!) He said that my traveling life was harmful to my psyche. He prescribed home, husband, children. Security, order, everyday life. Realities he called it. He claimed that one should not cut oneself off from reality, as I did. I then asked him if reality was the majority's idea of the course of life or if there were not possibly different kinds of reality: one as real as the other. He replied that it was important to live in the best possible way. I replied that I certainly was not unhappy, and then he shrugged and wrote out a prescription. (ends read) Have you written about the matter itself?

THEA: (stammers) I knew you would be bored.

JUDGE: Not at all. Everything is greatly beautiful. I would volition suggest, to you have talent matron Winkelmann. But I have to get to the point.

He flips through the papers with his lower lip pouting and violent movements. Thea is sitting tight.

THEA: I thought you talked to Hans and Sebastian about our number. It says nothing about the number in my report. You can give me the paper.

JUDGE: Now stammered you not.

THEA: No, sometimes I do not stutter.

JUDGE: What's up?

THEA: I do not know.

JUDGE: Simulates you?

THEA: Sorry?

DOMAREN: Simulates. Pretending, trying to lead me behind the light.

THEA: Why?

JUDGE: Sometimes stammers you and sometimes not. Your husband talks about a horror experience in your childhood. What's right? You do not bear your real name, your real face, your true age. Why all this - game?

Thea shakes her head.

JUDGE: And then this statement or confession or whatever you call it. A poetic outpouring. Do you want this to be read in court?

Thea shakes her head.

JUDGE: All this theater. Your man's nervousness for our meeting. Let us one moment last simple and sincere[,] Mrs. Winkelmann. An artist has certain methods to create interest around one's person. You have laid out a pink dim curtain. Your beauty, your pleasant way. I begin to discern your true nature through all your lack of sincerity. Only simple, clear facts apply here. What's your name?

THEA: Claudia Monteverdi.

JUDGE: Claudia Monteverdi? Excellent. If it is also correct, then it is even better. Your age?

THEA: I do not know.

JUDGE: Of course, you know your age.

THEA: No.

JUDGE: Now we stop with this nonsense. Tell your age.

THEA: I do not want you to call me Claudia.

JUDGE: I call you whatever the hell I want.

THEA: (anxious) Can't you kiss me?

JUDGE: (screams) Your age. Hear you what self says. Your age cursed woman. (screams) Devil, cursed hell small whore. Devil, devil crap girl. Stop with these arts. (screams) Give me your age[,] and I'm gonna shut you up[,] damn hell circus whore.

Thea breaks down. She rocks back and forth, throws herself forward, rolls on the floor, moans like a beaten dog. Pulls the skirt up over the waist and tries to take off the panties. Skewed by the long, powerful legs.

JUDGE: Do not be hysterical. Do not play theater. Damn that. (afraid) Stop now please man. (sic) It was your own fault. You made me furious.

He continues disconcerted. Leaning over her and trying to hold her. She pulls him towards her and tries to kiss him. They roll on the floor. He holds her mouth, which moans and whines in a strangely monotonous way. He starts beating her face and shoulders, the blows are getting rougher, she is trying to get her legs around his back. He continues to alternately scream and speak. Furious or comforting. Suddenly, the violent intercourse movements turn into cramps. He makes himself loose, terrified cum suddenly at consciousness. Thea is on top of the head and the soles of the feet, the body travels in an arc, arms taut straight out, gurgling sound. The judge runs out into the corridor and shouts at Hans Winkelmann. He leans over her and talks calming, while he squeezes some medicine between her teeth. She immediately becomes calmer[,] her body collapses, and her face is released from the cramp. She falls to the side. Hans sits next to her on the floor and holds her head with both hands. The judge sinking into the couch and breathing heavily.

JUDGE: I do not understand… Suddenly she had a seizure. We sat here and talked in peace.

HANS: (calm) I heard you yelling at her. (pause) I heard what you were shouting at her.

JUDGE: (raw) Who the hell guarantees that she's not simulating? (afraid) Yes, I did not mean anything bad by that. I just said: Suppose she simulates. Do you think that would be so unreasonable?

HANS: Can we call for a taxi? I have to take her to the hospital.

JUDGE: I can drive you.

HANS: No thanks.

JUDGE: (crazy) I forbid you to take her in a taxi. I'm calling for a police car. Then you get an escort. And I will follow myself. To get everything investigated. And we'll have two doctors. And security. And escorts. Now the scam, Mr Winkelmann, is over. I have tried to be kind and take it from the good side. I have failed. Unfortunately. For me. And for you. (takes a phone call) I want to requisition a police car for a transport. Hello. What? It is Dr. Abramsson who speaks. Councilor of the Court of Appeal Abramsson. They wait in the courtyard. We'll be there in a few minutes. No, we do not need any help. Two constables are enough. We're going to the General Hospital. If you would like to please call Dr. Wilson. He is surely in his residence at this time. (hangs up) Now then, everything should be ready. Shall we go?

HANS: Can you take her purse?

A hotel room. Afternoon.

HANS: You are late.

SEBASTIAN: We did not say a specific time.

HANS: We agreed on three o'clock and now is it half-past four. I have been sitting and waiting for an hour and a half. You could at least apologize.

SEBASTIAN: I apologize. What do you want?

HANS: I want prate affairs. A lot has happened since this morning, which you should find out.

SEBASTIAN: Judging by your tone, it can not be a nice thing.

HANS: It depends on how you take it.

SEBASTIAN: Well.

HANS: I just received a telegram from our agent. He says that our tour in the Far East is canceled due to the war. He goes on to say that our American tour is in danger because of months of freedom or unemployment or whatever you want to call it.

SEBASTIAN: We're losing quite a lot of money.

HANS: You can figure it out yourself.

SEBASTIAN: Approximately half a million each.

HANS: A little less. The agent gets nothing.

SEBASTIAN: Then we only have those weeks in Italy.

HANS: Yes.

SEBASTIAN: That was vexatious. To say the least.

HANS: I would come to that. As you understand, I can not agree to lend you money for how long and how much anything. Especially not now. Here is a list of your finances, which our lawyer has sent me.

SEBASTIAN: Thanks. Where does the TV gag stand for Rosella?

HANS: It is not included in this list, which only goes back to the first of January.

SEBASTIAN: We did Rosella in March.

HANS: You are perhaps forgotten, how you train out whole the fee in advance, then we wrote contract last in the autumn.

SEBASTIAN: Full the fee.

HANS: Full the fee.

SEBASTIAN: Yes, there remember me, about me will after.

HANS: If you need cash, you can naturally sell your floor in Geneva. It should bring you about 250,000 francs tax-free.

SEBASTIAN: How big is my debt to our company?

HANS: Your debt to myself and Thea is at 296,000 francs. You can see that from the lineup.

SEBASTIAN: I understand me not on such here lineups. Me becoming just nervous about looking at them.

HANS: Here till right has you your income and left you can see what you have taken out of the company. The summary is on the next page. There, the Company stands for "us for good" 296,000 francs.

SEBASTIAN: But what about my part in the house in Ascona? It must be worth a lot.

HANS: I'm sorry. If you remember, I bought you out of the house and paid a tax debt, which you had in Scandinavia.

SEBASTIAN: Then we will be allowed to write a new one agreement despite all, old Winkelmann. If you want to telegraph to Bauer, I'm willing to a new period. But I need money in advance. And then we sell the floor in Switzerland. (rises) Is that okay? I must go now. Have a little hurry.

HANS: Forgive me[,] Sebastian. But there are actually a couple of additional things I need to talk to you about.

SEBASTIAN: It does not sound fun.

HANS: Bauer has written me a letter. He says that it is becoming increasingly difficult to place us, especially with the fees we have reached. He suggests two alternatives. Either that ourselves begins work where and one for themselves or that ourselves goes down in claim of approximately two thirds. He recommends the former option.

SEBASTIAN: Yes.

HANS: It suits me well. I was still going to retire in a year or two. The question is how you and Thea will do. I have informed Bauer of my decision. I suggest that you and Thea discuss your future more confidentially with Bauer.

SEBASTIAN: Thea and I?

HANS: You and Thea. I think, to you could become quite attractive that combination. Fast you-all must naturally start working again in seriousness. The needed several new number.(sic) I worst fall can the Thea start stripping. (sic) I know one much good teacher. You know her also. Sara Fraenkel.

SEBASTIAN: Damn.

HANS: Yes, I'm not going to get into that. It's just a suggestion. You do as you please. Another thing. You have overdrawn your checking account by about twelve thousand. The bank has called the lawyer cum because you refuse to talk to the lawyer, he asked me to talk to you.

SEBASTIAN: Is there anything else?

HANS: We need to figure out who's going to pay Thea's hotel bills. You or I or herself.

SEBASTIAN: (surprised) I do not understand that. She says all the time that she pays for them herself.

HANS: That's actually not true. She comes all the time and asks me for money. In itself, these are small sums, but I would finally like clarity on who will be responsible for Thea's expenses.

SEBASTIAN: (sourly) You're her husband.

HANS: (with a smile) Yes, just that. So we agree that I will continue to pay Thea's bills and take care of her business. Wants thou say it to her in one fine way. She's just getting angry if I suggest anything in that direction. She lives in that performance, how she runs her own business one magnificent way.

SEBASTIAN: (acid) I'm going to talk to her.

HANS: They called from the car repair shop and said that your car is ready. You were not available, so they called me.

SEBASTIAN: Thanks. I'll get it right away.

HANS: A decent foreman pointed out that the tax receipt was two years old. You may get discomfort for that matter, because you have already once -

SEBASTIAN: Thanks. Was there anything more?

HANS: Wait, I'll look at my list. No, there was not. (pause) How are you?

SEBASTIAN: Bloody.

HANS: Are you arguing?

SEBASTIAN: I do not even know if you could call it a fight. We climb a sort of wild theater, where we are both spectators and players. Long performances.

HANS: Oh really.

SEBASTIAN: (laughs) She says I can't satisfy her.

HANS: (distrustful) You!

SEBASTIAN: She claims you were nice about it. What did you do?

HIS: (serious) Attempt not with love or tenderness, it just makes her nervous. Insert the left hand as deep as you can and press hard with the right against the clitoris, as that it hurts. She gets several orgasms within two minutes. Then you can fuck her how you want and for how long you want.

SEBASTIAN: Forgive a question. How did you come up with that?

HANS: Imagination and desperation. (serious) I'm asking you not to tell her that I've discussed these issues.

SEBASTIAN: (amused) No, no, of course.

HANS: You also do not need to start an internship at the moment. You can pretend that you come up with it little by little. Right?

SEBASTIAN: (laughing) Do not worry.

HANS: Yes, Hell, you never know with you.

SEBASTIAN: How are you doing with her?

HANS: It's no problem.

SEBASTIAN: She's pretty funny.

HANS: If you'll excuse me, so I would like to say that I love her in the spirit of the letter to the Corinthians.

SEBASTIAN: Love believes all, hopes all, endures all, and so her just the same.

HANS: Yes, that is me. But she does not care.

SEBASTIAN: Nay with us is it in the pouring.

HANS: I have understood that.

SEBASTIAN: So you'll get her back soon.

HANS: Thanks.

SEBASTIAN: You're crazy.

HANS: In fact, I think I'm smart.

SEBASTIAN: Tell me honestly one thing: Do you hate me?

HANS: No, far from it. I have not attached myself to many people in my life and my few friends I cling to, whatever happens. On the other hand, I can say that I liked you a lot more before.

SEBASTIAN: Before I took Thea away from you?

HANS: Before you started drinking. Before you started to cut corners with your exercises. It was probably because I admired you. And so I thought that you were a warm and vibrant human being. Difficult to analyze. You owned something, whatever it might be. By the way, Thea did too.

SEBASTIAN: (serious, but amued) What did I own?

HANS: (embarrassed) A light, an inner light. Yes, you're laughing. There is no expression. A light.

SEBASTIAN: It is that light, as Thea and I'm about to put out.

HANS: Do you hear me waiting for a call from the agent around five o'clock? Shall I ask him to put himself in touch with you thee, so that you can make an appointment when he visits you. Is that okay?

SEBASTIAN: You may well attend that meeting.

HANS: By all means. If I can be of any use.

The interrogation room.

The referee sits alone and dictates to the tape recorder. It's evening. He smokes and drinks coffee.

JUDGE: (to the tape recorder) It's Monday night[,] the seventh of August. This morning appeared Mr. Winkelmann and Mr. Fisher in my study and arrested about a personal conversation. They said that Mrs. Winkelmann was fully recovered from her attack on Sunday night. I also talked to the doctor, who confirmed my suspicion, that she has an epileptic predisposition and that she appears severely neurotic almost insane cum is in dire need of effective care. Under morning call brought Mr. Fisher some words. He seemed completely different than at our last meeting. His arrogance and unpleasant aggression were gone. He seemed balanced, amiable, slightly regretted cum very unreserved. He suggested that he and his friends visit me after the show on Wednesday night. They would then be painted and dressed till the prohibited number[,] and they would show that for me individually and explain in detail how it is structured and why that become just so. I found the proposal excellent and gladly agreed to their modest request that no other audience attend.

The referee turns off the tape recorder and lights a cigarette, sits for a while with his head in his hand, seems tired. There are footsteps and a deliberate knock on the door. The referee says: "step in" cum the three artists enter. They wear coats over their costumes yet are in full stage makeup. They greet. The judge has stood up and shakes their hands.

HANS: Sorry, we are a bit late, but it was hard to get to town. Several streets are closed due to heavy rainfall. Ourselves tried to call you, but there was no one answered, I suppose, that the exchange is not open at this time of night.

JUDGE: By all means. I have been sitting and working. I certainly did not wait. The more I think about it, the better I find your idea that we jointly go through your code and examine it like this in privacy.

SEBASTIAN: Sadly, there will be no lighting effects. The music is limited to one drum and that we have taken with us. It's in the hallway.

JUDGE: I have told our night watchman that he must not disturb us for the next few hours. (laughs) I imagine his face if he would come and interrupt us in the middle of the seance. How are you today?

THEA: Thank you very much. Such beautiful flowers you sent me.

JUDGE: I felt extremely relieved when the doctor explained that it was not something serious. Are you fully recovered?

THEA: I'm just a little tired. After the medicine.

JUDGE: I hope you do not find it too strenuous to be here tonight.

THEA: For me, the number is not the least bit laborious. I'm just going to mark on the drum and talk some nonsense.

During the conversation, Hans and Sebastian have cleared space at one wall. Hans has fastened on the outside of his jersey a big grotesque genital cum Sebastian has screwed in huge loose breasts. Thea, who wears one full-length, transparent robe, has put on an elaborate headdress, depicting a stylized haircut. She has taken the drum in her arms and sat down on a high-legged chair. Sebastian lays a great sharp knife on the floor in front of Thea's feet. He smokes a cigarette and seems a bit distracted. The judge has offered Hans a brandy.

JUDGE: Now I just want to ask you in the greatest confidence about a single thing.

HANS: Oh really.

JUDGE: Why this particular number? You guys are outstanding performers in the entertainment industry. Suddenly you create a number, which is almost incomprehensible and whose entertainment value is questionable. I do not understand.

SEBASTIAN: We read something in a book, I think. I do not remember for sure. Or maybe it was something that Hans heard told as a child. So we wanted to try to shape it. It stimulated our imagination and we imagined that the audience would –

JUDGE: It's not that simple.

HANS: No, it's not that simple. We can call it an intercession. You know artists are superstitious people.

SEBASTIAN: (smiling) A sudden urge to commit a rite, one has perhaps no significance in itself, but the desire to fall on your knees or clasp your hands can come over us from time to time.

HANS: (smiling) A ritual play. A spell. A formula. Someone sort of conversation. I'm not trained in mental complications yet probably has our lust a Latin name. Doctor Abramsson, have you felt a weakness yourself? A voluptuous longing for humble abandonment. Maybe as a child?

JUDGE: What are you going to do with the knife?

SEBASTIAN: Don't you know that?

JUDGE: I only got the number related. I've never seen it done.

SEBASTIAN: I can take it away.

JUDGE: Rather tell me what it should be for.

SEBASTIAN: Do you have the red wine with you? Now we fill this dummy with the wine. So at a given moment lifts I the knife cum the wine squirts into the vessel.

JUDGE: I understand.

THEA: We have to put out all the light. First, a complete silence and then drumbeats in the dark.

Hans turns off the light. The judge gets up and immediately turns on the light on the desk.

JUDGE: I must have turned on the desk to take notes.

SEBASTIAN: (laughs) We certainly do not need to be dark.

He raises the knife and throws it up against the ceiling, where it gets stuck with a dry sound.

HANS: Now we start our number. We imagine a completely dark room, the murmur silences. That becomes very quiet. (listens) Even quieter. (lyssnar) Even quieter. Then comes the first drumbeats. Set in now Thea.

THEA: I can not.

HANS: Can not?

THEA: It should be dark.

HANS: Doctor Abramsson. Just a moment. Ten to twenty seconds. You can regulate your lamp yourself.

JUDGE: We skip the introduction.

SEBASTIAN: It is impossible.

JUDGE: Let me first - I have something to say. It was my father who wanted me to become a lawyer. He was himself a prominent lawyer and his father - I had no action. My wishes went in a different direction. You will laugh when I talk about what I wanted to be: I had a beautiful voice and loved - I have always loved music. Music has been my consolation in difficult times and my stimulus. I would also ask you to consider that I was required to handle this case. It so happens that an investigation is drawn. The lot fell on me. I'm just doing my duty and have always tried to go as cautiously as possible. I can not help, to I been brought to despair - I find no other word - desperation and despair. I passed away cum I have asked for extra. You might hate me. I do not know. If I am to be sincere, then I feel an indefinite fear. Maybe it was not curiosity. I do not know. But I wanted to see your number up close. Maybe I had a vague desire to participate. I'm sincere. Or maybe it was just the secret need to - I do not know. I have my superiors and subordinates. I take orders and give orders. You may be free. I do not envy you. It is one horrific freedom. I do not understand you, I understand not, what drives you, I do not understand your relationships, I do not understand my relationship with you. You might be laughing at me. Or not laughing. You're probably serious. Maybe we should look at our common problems with a little more humor. I like you and admire you, you know, I have said that. I said that on the first day.

The referee is silent. Nobody says anything. Sebastian smokes his cigarette. He puts himself on a chair. Thea has taken off her one a heavy headgear. She yawns.

HANS: Have we not gotten away from the subject?

JUDGE: I've always been scared. My first memories are chariness. How am I now in a single moment to give you a key to myself, as that you should understand. How that where atrocious - no, what am I talking about. I have to calm down. I'm a victim of ridiculous phobias. It is soon two o'clock at night. We are tired. So smiles you-all Mr. Fisher, is me ridiculous?

SEBASTIAN: I'm not smiling.

JUDGE: Reach. In short, good. It was pointless to arrange the number here in the interrogation room.It must take place in the presence of witnesses and before the members of the court.

Sebastian, Hans[,] and Thea are quiet and thoughtful. The judge looks at them one by one. Suddenly he smiles. His fear is gone.

JUDGE: These days with Sebastian Fisher, Hans Winkelmann[,] and Thea von Ritt[,] or Claudia Monteverdi or something else has been stimulating. It is you who determines. I'll be the obedient spectator. Enjoy Mr. Fisher and make the arrangements at any time. Arrange the light and shadows as you please. I freely admit that I am a few minutes assaulted by a panic fear of death. Now I think I have overcome my weakness. Highly respected artists, you have never had a more committed and grateful audience. I take my chair and sit down here. I hope it fits well.

Sebastian strikes him hard on both cheeks, so he gets a nosebleed. He picks up a handkerchief, which he presses against his nose. Starting to laugh.

JUDGE: Is that number, which has begun. Or maybe it's the orchestra that tunes its instruments. In that case: very effective. Joking aside. I am a human being with a name and surname. I am born, mature cum educated, I have lived one quantity days and slept one quantity nights, known joy, laughed, known sorrow, cried. Disappointment, tenderness, love. THIS IS EVERYTHING. You hit it off the head[,] Mr. Fisher[,] and I admire your physical action unit. Your hand touched my burning skin. But you touched while in my memories, my dignity as a human being. Take what a lesson or whatever you want. Treat it as a last cry, the last warning cry through your fortifications of hatred and selfishness. You have beaten me and humiliated yourself. Or do you not feel that way? You experience satisfaction and desire.

Sebastian hits him in the face again. The judge is out of breath and takes to heart. He's trying to get up yet sinks back in the chair. He smiles. Thea and Hans look at them with serious faces. Thea has started to freeze[,] and Hans picks up a cardigan and wraps it around her. Sebastian starts whistling.

JUDGE: See, I'm shaking my hands[,] and I feel like I want to cry. It's probably a kind of abandonment. Do you understand what I mean? To be able to lean on someone, warm oneself in a hug, take shelter, be comforted. What a theater! I am happy to admit that there is also an element of cruelty in my profession. To rebuke, humiliate, judge, investigate. The lust of cruelty. How else would that be possible? Yes, I'm asking you. Artists. You must know. You know. (laughs) I have never made a conscience. I'm just a tool. And we live under the law cum the law is necessary. As you can hear, I am not a cynic, like many of my colleagues. Sebastian Fisher, Hans Winkelmann, Claudia Monteverdi, you look at me. Turn off the light and start your show.

HANS: It's not necessary.

Sebastian takes a deep breath and presses his palms together in a strange, appealing gesture. The judge breathes heavily and rattling, but his face is calm, attentive. Hans has filled the vessel with wine. He turns himself with a dry tone towards the judge.

HANS: I relate all the time that we do. Thea, who is sitting on the high chair, hits the drum with her hand. The dark, before sunrise.

Thea hits the drum a few blows.

HANS: So it's dawn. That can we not accomplish here. Dr. Abramsson can imagine that.

JUDGE: I understand. It's dawn.

HANS: (objective) I stand with the vessel facing the sunrise. Behind me on a stool stands Sebastian Fisher wrapped in his female apparel. Just before dawn, the sea begins to blow.

THEA: And I imitate the wind with a pipe, which we have forgotten in the theater.

HANS: When the light has become strong enough - at a certain moment, Thea puts a mask in front of her face.

Thea does so.

HANS: Sebastian stretches his arms back and grabs Thea's forearms cum lifts her slowly upwards. At the same time, I lift the vessel to my face. The light now illuminates the mask and is reflected in the wine or blood.

JUDGE: (with a weak voice) I understand.

HANS: So I drink from the vessel. I drink away the reflection. Then Thea sinks slowly down behind Sebastian's back.

Thea does so.

HANS: In short, this is our number.

They face the judge, who sits slumped in his chair with his mouth wide open and torn look.

JUDGE: (remote) I understand.

Fårö on 17 August 1967

AFTERWORD BY JAN HOLMBERG

1953 sat Ingmar Bergman up Franz Kafka's THE CASTLE at Malmö city theater, a show as not is particularly mentioned so here one generation after. (Unlike Peer Gynt and others of his sets in Malmo time, which has gone to the Swedish theater history.) But on Bergman's own work, the set probably made its mark. Kafka probably haunts in the films Bergman made shortly after he staged THE CASTLE, not least in all the scenes where his characters are incomprehensible and annihilated in the face of a diffuse exercise of authority (Isak Borg's dream of his failed exam in WILD STRAWBERRIES or the Medical Council's humiliation of Henrik Vogler in THE FACE). Bergman also wrote, the year after THE CASTLE, a short exercise piece about a police interrogation which, very Kafka-like, begins absurdly and ends in chaos. But it was not just Kafka's literature that continued to inspire Bergman, as well the aesthetics he had chosen to convey it he would return to. CASTLE played virtually no decor. You did not need more than the actors and their suggestive power, he stated (in an interview with theater critic Henrik Sjögren): "you did not need lighting, you needed nothing - nothing more than the artist." It would be some time before the early sixties and the so-called trilogy about God's silence (THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY, WINTER LIGHT, THE SILENCE) before Bergman dared to use such a stripped-down expression in his films as well - but he has never been so radically frugal as in the TV play THE RITE. The text itself is also uncovered, simple - but can still be perceived as quite brutal fifty years later. Bergman himself has said that THE RITE is a result of bitter experiences as The Drama Manager, and it may well be true. But again[,] is it to Kafka's author properties he more or less consciously has turned himself: the interrogation situation, the dark context, the individual against social institutions … The three head people - the disciplined Hans, the anarchist Sebastian, the sensitive Thea - are of its author all facets of it himself. "These three are inextricably linked," he writes in PICTURES, "can not separate and can none work two and two. It is only in the voltage between the three points of the triangle that anything can get done. It was an ambitious attempt to split myself up and shape how I really work. What forces keep the machine running." THE RITE is unfairly misunderstood, in fact, a completely central work in his oeuvre.

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ajuimaginary · 7 years ago

Text

Soulmate Woozi

Part of the Seventeen Soulmate Series

In a world where everyone has every lie their soulmate will ever tell them written on their body, people tend to stare a little when someone looks almost blank. Unfortunately, you happen to be one of those people. And summer is the worst: shorts and t-shirts increasing how obvious it is.

You’re used to eyes turning your way: used to the specific considering look even people you’ve known for a while sometimes get on their face, scanning your body as if seeking a mark. Usually, you glance them over at the same time, easily seeing the lines of ink-like writing, peppering arms, extending up the sides of necks, peaking through the knees of ripped jeans.

“Wow, your soulmate must be pretty honest?” someone asks you on a day when you’re particularly tired. “Do you have any marks at all?”

You want to retort “at least I don’t have a cliche lie like yours” when you see the turn of their shoulder marked with “of course you don’t look fat.” It’s one of your least favorite lies, so pointless, so insincere, and worst of all implying there’s something wrong with extra weight in the first place. But you maintain politeness, because you don’t want to expose how worried and bitter you feel about the hidden lie written over your own heart.

“I have one.” you say instead.

“What is it?” apparently they can’t contain their curiosity.

But you just shake your head and turn your face away, unwilling to share.

At night, alone in your room, you hitch up your shirt and stare at your single lie, printed bold across the place where your heart is, and you trace the letters with disbelief. The one lie your soulmate will say to you.

I love you.

It’s written in Korean, actually. But you had it translated when you were still very young. You know what it says. And it terrifies you. Why would a soulmate ever say those words and be lying about it?

You learned Korean during your teenage years despite your hesitance and worry, to ensure you had a language in common. You almost didn’t want to meet your soulmate if that was what they would say to you. But at the same time, you knew the universe had a way of working out. And there was a chance you had misinterpreted something. There was a chance it was out of context and wasn’t really quite so awful as it seemed. And after all, they were your soulmate.

And you couldn’t help liking your soulmate already. You liked that they seemed to be very honest- after all, you had often been drawn to honest people. Your best friend was one of them. She wasn’t afraid to say what was on her mind, and if she wasn’t ready to share her thoughts, rather than tell a lie, she would say nothing.

She found her own soulmate near the end of high school.

Your school was big enough that there were some people in your year that neither of you had really talked to before. One of them was a tall gangly boy with a sweet smile and an almost blank body like your own. You had exchanged smiles with him in the hall because of that, actually, and knew your best friend thought he was cute, but none of you had properly interacted.

Until, during the last week before you all graduated, he was standing nearby and suddenly dropped his pen, sending it skittering toward you and your best friend. He stumbled over and picked it up. And then, while looking up at your friend with red cheeks, he said “sorry- didn’t mean to do that.”

Her eyes widened as if she’d been stung, she laughed, and she pulled up her sleeve. The words were written on her arm (sorry- didn’t mean to do that), and now, having been said to her, they had faded instantly to the color of an old scar, ink black gone.

“Seems like a clever excuse to finally talk to me,” she teased him.

And just like that, she had found him.

You tried not to be jealous. They really were perfect together. You were happy for them. And you got on well with him too. He was very kind hearted, and understood what it was like to be stared at because of your lack of marks. The three of you were a close knit group in no time.

But you still couldn’t help the dread that came along with knowing your meeting with your soulmate probably wouldn’t be so perfect and so easy.

Your best friend’s soulmate was Korean, and a fan of K-Pop, so as a result, your friend’s interest in the music began to grow too. The two of them liked a few different groups, and told you bits about them, and because you were learning Korean for the sake of your own soulmate, you decided to try giving it a listen as well. It turned out you liked a lot of the songs. Even more so when they introduced you to a group called Seventeen.

You couldn’t work out what it was about them, but the song writing felt like it was really speaking to you. Everything about the way the music pulled together was flawless and tugged right at your heart.

You were busy with school and your language learning a lot of the time, so you didn’t necessarily have the time to become fully invested in all the members (unlike your friend and her soulmate, who knew all of their names alongside the other groups they enjoyed), but you had seen some of their videos, appreciated the pink haired boy in Adore U, admired the choreography too. Your friend also liked to show you things on her phone you would appreciate.

“You know how you like the Seventeen member who does most of the song writing and composing?” she asks you one day.

“Yeah. Woozi, right?” you don’t know all their names well yet.

“That’s the one!” she says. “Look at this.”

It’s a post-it from a fan sign, where he’s been asked to define his sense of beauty. His answer is that “beauty lies in honesty.”

You smile, nod in agreement.

“Aw, I like that,” you say. “That’s really sweet.”

When the three of you finish college, you decide to take a trip overseas together. Considering their interest in K-Pop, the fact that there are family members of your best friend’s soulmate you could stay with for cheaper accommodation, and your own growing fluency in Korean (plus your tiny fluttering hope that you might meet your soulmate) you all unanimously decide to go to Korea.

It’s a great trip. And on one of your lazy days in Seoul (which you set aside as a time to just wing it and see what you felt like doing) your friends manage to find three tickets last minute tickets into a Seventeen fansign off a girl who can’t go anymore. They ask you to come with them even if you’re not as invested, and since you like the music, and know you have things you could say to each member, complimenting voices, or dancing, or especially Woozi’s song writing, you decide you may as well go along. After all, you aren’t doing anything else today...

Jihoon has been having a genuinely awful day. As much as he loves his job, he does get those days, every now and then. He scratches a lie on his wrist (I’m fine), adjusts his shirt sleeve over it, frowns in the mirror to see that his make up is okay, and then lets out a long sigh.

“Jihoon?” Seungcheol’s voice calls, with a cursory knock before the leader steps into the bathroom. “The sign’s about to start, so you might want to come gather.”

“I know.” Jihoon snaps. Seungcheol raises an eyebrow.

“How much sleep did you get last night?” he asks.

“Almost three hours.” Jihoon sighs. And then, thinking over it for a minute, realizes he was just rather rude. “Sorry, I’m a bit sharp today, aren’t I?”

“It’s fine. We get why. So long as you don’t get grumpy with the Carats.”

“Of course I won’t get grumpy with the Carats.” Jihoon sighs. “I’m just- eruh- it’s not a good time. Come on. Let’s get this over and done with.”

He pastes on his fake smile for Seungcheol to see. The leader shakes his head worriedly and offers a comforting pat on his shoulder, and then they join the other boys in time to head out onto the stage for the fansign. It’s going to be a long day.

Jihoon does love his fans. He really does. But running on so little sleep, not having eaten a proper lunch yet, and having spent the night before dealing with some security issue of a rather invested stalker trying to steal his personal mail from outside the Seventeen dorms, that love feels a little dull. A little bitter.

The sign begins, the line starts to move past, and using all his energy, Jihoon is able to settle into his usual self on the outside. He’s pretty sure no one can notice the exhausted edge to everything and the fact that his mind is elsewhere.

At the other end of the table, you’ve just started making your way down the line.

It’s nice to meet some of the stars you’ve begun to admire so much, and they’re all very friendly, and very impressed when they find out Korean is your second language, but you speak it so well.

By this point, Jihoon is fully in robot mode, totally detached from his real feelings. And then you reach him. You slide your book to be signed, and he doesn’t look up when you first greet him.

“Hi, Woozi, it’s so nice to meet you,” you say, smiling. “It seems unfair to the others when I say this, but you’re actually my favorite.”

“Oh, thank you,” Jihoon says with as much cheer as he can muster, in the middle of writing his name.

“I really love your music.”

“Ah, that’s very sweet, I love you.” he says, finally looking up.

The first thing that impacts him is how surprisingly pretty you are- somehow managing to tick every one of his boxes for what he finds attractive. Even boxes he didn’t know he had. His eyes widen a little.

And then right in front of him, right as he finishes his sentence and your eyes first meet, you gasp out an almost pained noise and clutch your chest. Jihoon half stands, hovering in concern like he thinks you’re about to pass out.

“Are you alright?” He asks helplessly.

Without thinking, you’re popping open a couple of buttons on your shirt so you can feel the air against a weird stinging on your skin.

“I’m fine,” you lie as you touch your fingers to the area right over your heart, cogs in your head turning, realizing the spot that just stung you is your one and only soulmate mark.

Jihoon suddenly lets out a pained hiss of breath, face scrunching, and his right hand flies to clutch his left wrist.

You both freeze, in sync, minds catching up with the situation and the connection at the exact same time. Jihoon’s gaze falls to your chest, where the edge of his words, his throwaway line of I love you, is written on your skin, turned the faint color of a scar now that the lie has been told. Your eyes are on the wrist where his fingers are rubbing his own stung skin. Your words are written there. I’m fine.

And then you look up at each other.

“Oh my god.” you say.

“You’re my soulmate.” Jihoon breathes.

And then the rest of the world seems to start moving again.

The commotion you caused was enough that everyone is looking at you now. The staff at the fansign step up to you, asking quietly if you want to come to the waiting room in the back so you can meet Jihoon properly when he finishes. All of the members are gaping in your direction. Some of the ones you already met are beaming in delight. Seungcheol is standing up a couple of people down, eyes flickering between you and Woozi, looking like he wants to take charge and say something. A little further along, Seungkwan seems to be having the same thought.

You don’t get to hear how the fansign continues. You’re ushered out of the back door, still not even having spoken to your soulmate. Not even having had a chance to touch him. You look back over your shoulder right before the door closes, and meet eyes with him, staring after you stunned and completely lost in a daze, so handsome it makes your heart pick up speed. You had admired him before, of course, but in person, he still managed to blow you away.

And then the door closes.

The staff shuffle around you as they find you a seat in the waiting room back there. Most of them are very nice, though some seem annoyed at the interruption. They don’t have time to readjust the whole schedule, and tell you Woozi will just have to cope with finishing the day. Poor thing.

Then they all end up going back out to the sign, apart from one particularly lovely woman. She talks through some details with you. Having an idol as a soulmate is complicated. Apparently usually, when one discovers their soulmate, they get to know each other in secret (or adjust to their new connection after having already known each other) before making a public announcement together to break the news to the fans in the best way. Fans tend to be happy for them, used to the Universe being something they can’t interrupt.

However, in your case, because you discovered the connection in front of a bunch of fans, fansite cameras clicking away behind you, you would have to make the announcement over V Live that afternoon. Right away.

The staff are relieved to find out you have nothing else on your schedule for the day.

And then finally, they leave you alone, to wait for Jihoon’s return, and to absorb what just happened. You send off texts to your family to let them know. You respond to some screaming texts from your best friend, who you realize got to see the whole thing from one seat over, sitting in front of Jeonghan.

It’s a while before Jihoon gets to come meet you. When he does, he announces his presence with a tentative knock at the door. You can tell it must be him right away, rather than the staff, who come in and out with more confidence. You swallow a tense lump in your throat before calling out “Come in!”

Jihoon swings open the door.

He looks gorgeous and stressed all at once. His hair (dyed an endearing sort of a lime color) is slightly disheveled from running his fingers through. His sleeve is still unbuttoned, revealing his wrist. The whole outfit, with it’s tight jeans and tucked in look, accentuates the grace in shape of his compact frame. Your cheeks heat instantly at the sight.

“Hello,” he says stiffly, eyes meeting yours, and then darting to the floor, shy.

“Hi, Woozi, I’m sorry, I- I forget what you real name is.” you can hear how stammering and stunned your own voice sounds.

“Jihoon.” he says, stepping forward, and finally managing to hold your gaze. “I’m Lee Jihoon. What- what’s your name?”

“Oh, sorry, I’m Y/N.” you say, offering a hand to shake immediately.

He looks a little bemused by the gesture, but he shakes your hand, swallows, and then clears his throat.

“I’m sorry I-” he nods his head to your still unbuttoned shirt, and you blush when you realize how much skin is exposed. “I do love my fans, really. It wouldn’t usually be a lie. But today has been... very hard. I was too grumpy and it made me insincere. I’m sorry I gave you an awful lie like that. ”

“It was a little hard to walk around with.” you laugh, and the sound of it melts tension from his shoulders. “But I don’t mind anymore, Jihoon. Not now that I’ve met you. And besides, it’s the only one I have. The only lie.”

“Really?” Jihoon smiles. “I always knew I wanted to be honest with you. I never wanted to hide anything from you.”

“How many lies do you have?” you ask.

“Only five.” Jihoon tells you. It’s a pretty small number too. “I’ll show them all to you later, I’m sure.”

You reach out, and your fingers brush the lie on his wrist. The one you just told him. He jumps a little at the contact, and then smiles. Your first two fingers land right against his pulse, you stepping closer, in his personal space. He watches your face as you read the words written there.

“I can’t believe this is real.” you say, turning your eyes to his.

You see his breath hitch in his throat again.

“I- I know.” he murmurs. “You’re- uh- you’re incredibly beautiful. I- I didn’t expect that.”

And you know his isn’t lying when he says it. Somehow, the reassurance of that sets something warm off inside you. Your affection for him seems to triple by the minute already.

“Thanks, Jihoon. So are you.” you answer, sincere and awed. Silence begins to stretch. You feel the need to explain yourself. “I, um, I’m actually here today because of my friends, mostly. They’re huge fans. I’m more of a casual fan, but I- something about the music always drew me in. And you were my favorite. Always. I love what you write- what you compose. I admired your spirit. And y-your face too. I guess now I know why.”

Jihoon smiles.

“You know, I wrote every love song thinking of you.” his face is a furious shade of red when he says it, but he gets the words out. “Thinking of meeting you in the future. Thinking of the life we might live together. You’re already more than I even imagined.”

He clears his throat, his eyes drift to your lips, then back up. Your breath catches. You can see the weight of the decision in his dark irises. The slight smirk pushing past his shyness. With a sudden confidence, he cups your cheek, and pulls you in, joining your lips together in the most mind blowing kiss- firm, certain, and somehow speaking of what the future might bring.

When he pulls away, his smile breaks over his face, and your own beaming happiness bursts out to match.

“Y/N,” he says. Then he pauses a long time. Like saying your name was enough for him. “I’m sorry this will be such a long day for you-”

“I don’t mind!”

“- But are you ready to meet the members now?”

You laugh, feeling suddenly shyer, even though Jihoon has grown more bold. He clasps your hand in his, and with the other he brushes the hair at your temples as you duck your head.

“I guess so?” you say tentatively.

“I promise they aren’t scary.” Jihoon says. “Don’t tell them this, but I love them more than anyone in the world. They’re the family I always asked for. I know they’ll be nothing but happy for us. And they already adore you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, you’re my soulmate, aren’t you? And the ones who got to meet you earlier can’t stop bragging to the others.”

You laugh. Somehow, he already knows how to reassure you. In a simple, straight-forward manner so very suited to him.

“Okay,” you say. “I’m ready.”

So Jihoon yells out.

“Hey, I know you guys are hovering at the door! Get in here and meet Y/N!”

And as the door bursts open and the room erupts in chaos, Jihoon’s gentle, solid hand, his warm weight at your side, let you know that everything in your life is falling into place.

#seventeen scenarios #woozi #woozi scenarios #lee jihoon #soulmate au #drabble #admin may #here goes the very first one!!#let us know what you think

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