#moschicaneweek

[albaaca]

moschicane week day one: disguises/costumes

let them into your house! they’re trustworthy :)

[dreamscape-witch]

Day 5- Prison/Cryptonomica

I'm sorry this is late, I wasn't home to finish it. I really do like this one

Host: @albaaca

[nedfuckindiscretionchicanejr]

Moschicane Week:  Disguises/Costumes

Nobody took particular notice of the two casually dressed men who came in a few minutes apart, both buying tickets at the door with cash. Both were wearing backpacks, which might have seemed odd for people of their age, but there was a community college nearby. They weren’t even the only people in the lobby wearing backpacks and casual clothes, though most of the patrons were a bit more dressed up.

Nor did anyone notice that both of them went into the bathroom and stayed there until after the show had started. When they did come out, again a few minutes apart, they were both dressed rather differently. One, the taller, more muscular of the pair, now wore a simple black t-shirt and black jeans and was carrying a matching black bookbag. The other, who had a bushy beard that matched his brown hair but for the few streaks of gray, now wore a gaudy mess of an outfit, complete with a colourful purse, that seemed to belong to a bygone century.

***

It was dark backstage, of course. Kieran knew that, and he was used to it. He’d been working backstage for three years. He was used to the fact that you couldn’t always pick out faces, especially when stage makeup was involved. Usually, mix-ups just resulted in a quick correction and a moment of laughter, and then everyone went on their way. That was exactly what happened when a member of the ensemble tapped him on the shoulder and said,

“Boyd, I’ve looked every- Oh. You’re not Boyd. Ah, sorry friend. I’ll just … look for him over here.”

Kieran was busy at the moment, of course, he was always busy, there were never enough people, so he didn’t think much of the encounter. It was only later that he would realize that there was no one named Boyd in their production. And, come to think of it, he hadn’t recognized that ensemble member either.

***

If Alisha had known about Kieran’s unusual encounter, she might have been more suspicious of the stagehand that grabbed her hand and said,

“Ned, I got it, let’s- Oh, apologies madam.”

But instead, she was just bemused. She asked,

“Who’s Ned?” because there was an Edward in the production, but he wasn’t in the ensemble, and she’d never heard him go by “Ned” before.

“It’s … a nickname. For someone who isn’t you. I apologize again for my improprietous behaviour. I’ll just … be off.” Alisha could have sworn that the man had a British accent a moment ago, but it seemed to be gone. Probably she had just misheard. She watched him walk away, and she wondered why he was carrying a bag, and what was in it, but then she saw that the ensemble was gathering on the wings and she went to find her place.

***

The stage manager, Niklaas, was the first to notice that the prop was missing. He asked around, concerned and then worried and then panicked, but no one had seen it. Someone thought they had seen a stagehand pick it up, but they didn’t know who, or what they had done with it after that. Niklaas had a feeling he knew exactly what had been done. The prop was on loan from a museum and was worth thousands of dollars in the right hands.

The police arrived half an hour later, walking around backstage and taking statements while the show went on mostly as planned. They put together quickly enough what had happened, but were dismayed to find that the cameras in the lobby had been tampered with. An all-points bulletin was put out, but the officers warned the owner of the theatre company that chances of finding the culprits were slim, and she should look closely at her insurance policy, and, for that matter, her security protocols.

[transagentstern]

Moschicane Week- Day 1- Disguises/Costumes

For, and inspired by, @albaaca

____

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

Ned suppressed a grin. Boyd was glaring at the road, too preoccupied with the traffic to do more then flick his eyes over for a few seconds at a time. It rather diminished the intensity of his furious glare.

And well. The mime makeup. The mime makeup also made it a bit hard to take him seriously.

Ned reached up, slowly.

“Edmund Kelly Chicane, you had better not-”

Squeak.

Boyd growled, and Ned barely kept a straight face as he reached up to squeak the clown nose of his costume again.

Squeak.

“Ned.”

Squeak.

“Ned I swear-”

Sq-

Boyd’s arm shot out too fast for Ned to block successfully, like snake striking- grabbing the nose off of Ned’s face and pitching it full force out the window. A second later there was a loud yell and the screech of brakes.

Ned looked out the window, bemused.

“That could have caused an accident.”

“I told you-”

Squeak.

Ned pulled another nose out of his pocket and stuck it on his face.

Boyd groaned.

“I want a divorce.”

“Can’t get a divorce when neither of our legal names are on the form, sweetheart.”

“I think that means we’re not technically married either.”

Ned pouted, and the corner of Boyd’s lips ticked up, as though against his will.

“Well I guess I’d have to steal my ring back.”

“Then I guess you’re stuck with me forever. You’re a lousy pickpocket.”

Boyd snorted.

“I think I can live with that.”

They sat in companionable silence for a minute, and then Boyd realized what he’d said.

“So long as you don’t-”

SQUEAK.

[thiswasinevitableid]

Run Away with Me

Happy Moschicane week! Todays prompt was roadtrip/travel so of course I had to have them running from the law.  The lyrics at the beinning, and some details of the scene, are taken from Waylon Jennings, Live! by the Mountain Goats, which gives me major Moschicane vibes.

Drunk at the Meskwaki casino

Right where God intended me to be

Ned Chicane lays on his back against the seen-better-days bedspread. The air conditioning hums uselessly as he stares up at the map he’s pinned to the ceiling (he thinks better like this, it’s like being under a car, looking at the pieces as they fit together). Far below, somewhere in the adjoining casino, the twang of a guitar curls through the smoky air.

He has no interest in gambling (as Boyd points out, if they wanted money from the place there are ways of acquiring with far better odds of success), only made it through one drink before the smoke of the restaurant made him long for the stale air of the room.  He doesn’t mind the smell of smoke, not when it’s attached to familiar skin or drifting off a borrowed piece of clothing.

There are tell-tale footsteps at the door and he doesn’t even look up when Boyd enters. He knows it’s him.

“Never understood why you lot decided it was worth coming out here. Dusty, god-forsaken place, the midwest”

Weight on the bed, a thunk as sturdy shoes are tossed somewhere in the room.

“Are you referring to Americans as a whole, or to me, specifically?”

“The first one. Know bloody well why you’re here.”

“Come now, would you have passed up a chance to steal an Oscar?” Ned turns to look at Boyd, still perched on the edge of the bed. The taller man regards him with a steely gaze before a smile cracks across his face.

“From that smug bastard? Not a chance.”  He falls onto his back beside Ned. Their hands find one another without needing to look. It’s too hot to touch more than that.

“Still, would’ve preferred it not lead us fleeing cross-country like a pair of cowards.”

“Speak for yourself, Boyd, I’m a coward and shall remain such until I die. Live to rob another day, and all that.”

Boyd barks out a laugh. Scoots close enough to touch shoulders

“Any thoughts?” He points a finger up at the map.

“Not as of yet. I don’t suppose your investigation of the border proved fruitful?”

“Don’t laugh, but our best chance is just to gamble on the passports and go for it. Sure we could try to sneak through, but I don’t like our odds.”

“I see…” Ned chews a nail, considers the map.

“Or we could cut our losses, settle down in Iowa, and remake ourselves as respectable members of society.”

There’s a beat after Boyd says this where they look at each other. Then they burst out laughing.

“That’s rich, my friend, quite rich.” Ned wipes a tear from under his eye.

“Yeah, just like we woulda been if we’d stolen something from that bugger that wasn’t an impossible to fence award. Lord, who’da thought he had the pull to send half the fucking police after us. Or that you’d get the Lincoln caught on a camera trap.” There’s no power behind the jab, instead it’s almost fond, as if Boyd truly doesn’t mind running half-way across the country with him in a rented car.

“My poor, faithful, Lincoln, it must be so lonely at that garage.”

Boyd pats his hand.

“There, there love, we’ll go back for the old girl soon enough.”

Silence, then, but for the whirring of the A/C and Boyd clicking a lighter.

“You’re not much of a coward, you know that right?”

Ned turns to see Boyd, now resting against the headboard, looking at him with something dangerously close to sincerity.

“I beg your pardon, my cowardice is legendary.”

“Coward woulda been panicked finding me robbing-”

“-burglarizing”

“Whatever, the same house he was. Wouldn’t have been decent and gentlemanly like you were. And sure as hell wouldn’t have bothered helping me over that fence. Woulda saved his own hide and nothing else.”

“Maybe I’m only brave when it comes to you.” Ned says softly.

They’re no longer bordering on sincerity, they’re drowning in it, and Boyd seems to realize that at the same time he does.

“Coward wouldn’t turn his back on me long enough to let me fuck him, that’s for damn sure.” Boyds grin is as crooked as he is and Ned scoots up to sit next to him just so he can kiss it.

“Point is, love, I can’t bring myself to be too bothered by our current predicament.” He pulls Ned into his arms, neither of them caring about the heat anymore as they regard the map together.

“We come up with a plan, we always do. Find a way to fix things just how we need them to be.”

Ned looks at the man beside him, the warmth in his chest more pleasant than the one in the air.

“You know, Boyd, I do believe you’re right.”

[albaaca]

With a lot of help from the Slimy Crime Boys (18+) discord, I’m happy to announce Moschicane Week, a week dedicated to creating content for Ned Chicane and Boyd Mosche’s relationship. It’s my favorite ship in the fandom and we thought it could use a bit more love after recent canon events.

Any kind of fan content is encouraged! Art! Fanfic! Headcanons! Playlists! Moodboards! You name it!

Be sure to work on the prompt fills beforehand so you can have them ready to post by the date. Once posted, make sure to tag them with #moschicane and #moschicaneweek so I can reblog it all here! 

PROMPTS:

Disguises/Costumes (10th)

Road trip/travel (11th)

Historical/Retro (12th)

Apology/Forgiveness (13th)

Prison/Cryptonomica (14th)

Protect/Defend Fix-it (15th)

Anything you want! (16th)

Please reblog to spread the word and I can’t wait to see what you all create! 

[albaaca]

moschicane week day two: road trip/travel

shared glances. long night ahead.

[albaaca]

moschicane week day 7: anything you want!

yknow... like... nya :)

[albaaca]

moschicane week day three: historical/retro

it’s the seventies baby! crime was so much easier back then

[nedfuckindiscretionchicanejr]

Moschicane week: Protect/Defend Fix it

Word count: 1315

“So.” Ned flinched at the sound. It had been silent in the car for the past three hours as they sped away from the large house and the police cars that were no doubt sweeping the area. The silence had been tense, but Ned could tell that that talking was going to be worse. “Do you want to explain to me what the Hell happened back there?”

“Well,” Ned began, knowing that he was turning this into a fight and that he would probably regret it, “for one thing, the house wasn’t quite as empty as you promised it would be. So that’s sort of the root of the problem, I think.” Ned was staring straight ahead, but he didn't need to be looking at Boyd to tell when he was getting angry. The car sped up dangerously.

“Is it, then? Because I seem to recall that we’ve done jobs, before, where there were people in the building. Those jobs all went fine. Let me try to think about what was different … Oh, you know, here’s something. We both managed to stay fucking quiet on those jobs.”

“Look, I was being as quiet as anything when the father came down. And he was surprised to see me. So I’m pretty sure he didn’t hear anything, and he just happened to come downstairs, because people sometimes do that in their own homes. I mean, Hell, Boyd, this isn’t exactly a museum where we can time the guard’s route.”

“No, you know what, Ned, you’re probably right. It was an unfortunate accident that the father came down when he did. What wasn’t an accident was that you started talking to him instead of immediately shutting him up. Unless you think it was pure coincidence that the daughter also happened to wake up and come downstairs at that exact moment?”

“Shut him … No, I don’t think it was a coincidence. But shut him up how, Boyd? By giving him a concussion like you did? By doing … whatever you were planning to do to the daughter? You know I’m not a violent person, and that I don’t approve of violence in general.”

“Oh, I’m well aware,” Boyd said sharply.

“Well then,” Ned continued, matching Boyd’s tone, “you should have known that the job was over as soon as I was seen. There was no good ending after that. And yet, you were determined to keep going. If we’d just left, then and there, the girl would have never even seen us.”

“And what of the father, Ned? What, exactly, should I have done differently?” Ned muttered something under his breath. Boyd said, “what was that, love?” but his tone was not particularly loving.

“I said, I don’t know!” Ned realized he was shouting and sighed. More quietly, he said, “look, I fucked up. I think we both fucked up. We should have checked the house was empty, I shouldn’t have made so much noise, and you should have agreed to leave as soon as things went south, instead of waiting until the girl was halfway to the phone.” Boyd suddenly turned a corner at eighty miles an hour, throwing Ned against the passenger door in the process.

“She wouldn’t have gotten to the fucking phone if you’d let me deal with her!” Ned was in no mood to be intimidated, and he wasted no time in raising his voice to match Boyd’s.

“Deal with her, how, Boyd? By killing her?”

Boyd’s quiet gasp was almost inaudible over the roaring engine, which was roaring less and less by the second. The car was slowing down, and Ned realized that he’d been gripping the sides of his seat. With some effort, he let go. Then he looked directly at Boyd for the first time since they’d left the house. He seemed … scared? When the car was a little below the speed limit, Boyd turned to meet Ned’s gaze. It took him a few seconds to speak, and when he did, it was in a quiet, cautious voice that Ned could barely remember hearing before.

“You didn’t … you didn’t really think I would kill her, did you?” Boyd looked so vulnerable, Ned just wanted to tell him, no, of course not, you could never. But he remembered the way Boyd had looked in the house and shook his head.

“I thought that you’d do anything, Boyd. Whatever it took.” Boyd’s eyes widened. “You’ve been getting …” More reckless? More violent? More frightening? “... worse lately. Sometimes it’s like …” Boyd’s expression was too much. Ned turned to look out the passenger window. “Sometimes it’s like I don’t know you anymore. And I have no idea what you’re capable of.”

Boyd didn’t respond for a while. Ned could hear him taking deep, regular breaths, and he wondered whether he was trying to keep himself from crying. He’d never seen Boyd cry before. Finally, Boyd said,

“I’m sorry that I’ve made you feel that way. And I wish I could say that it was just a misunderstanding. But you’re right; I’m getting worse.” Ned closed his eyes. They needed to have this conversation, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. “I don’t know what I was going to do. I don’t know how far I would go, if pushed. I’m not … I’m not sure I know myself anymore, either.”

Ned was holding back tears, himself, now. He knew what he had to say, but he was afraid. Because what if this was it? Despite everything, Ned loved Boyd, and he didn’t want to leave. But after this, he might have to.

“That’s not enough, Boyd. Admitting you have a problem is the first step, but it’s not enough for me. I need to know that you’re going to change. Not just try, but actually change. I can’t … I can’t keep doing this with someone who doesn’t know whether or not they would kill someone. I can’t be a part of that.”

“No,” Boyd said quickly, “of course not. I wouldn’t want you to, Ned. I would never forgive myself if I dragged you into … You’re too good. God, Ned, you’re so, so good. You’re the best thing in my life. I don’t deserve you, and you definitely deserve someone better than me.” Ned squeezed his eyes shut even tighter, but it didn’t stop the tears from escaping.

Then Boyd chuckled softly. Ned turned to look at him, confused. He looked tired and hurt, but there was a small smile playing on his lips.

“But I’m selfish - I don’t want you to be with anyone else. So I guess I’ll have to become someone better, eh?” Ned couldn’t stop himself from smiling, but he quickly reigned his expression back in.

“I know,” Boyd said, preempting him. “I know you need more than words. I’m not going to promise you anything because a promise means fuck all if it isn’t followed by actions. Just give me time, ok? I’ll prove that I’m serious. I’ll be better. Please.” Boyd wasn’t smiling anymore. He looked afraid again. “Please, Ned. I love you. Please give me another chance.” Ned sighed.

“One chance.” Boyd beamed. “I’m serious, Boyd. If you hurt anyone, that’s it. From now on, we only take safe jobs, and if something does happen, we run. No fighting. No victims.” Boyd nodded solemnly.

“No victims,” he repeated. “Never again.” Of course, Boyd had said it himself; a promise was nothing. Ned was hopeful but cautious. He would have to wait and see what happened. “I love you, Ned. I love you too much to let you go.” Despite himself, Ned smiled. It was so hard, right now, to remember how he had felt before. The man sitting next to him was Boyd, his Boyd. His partner. And he didn’t want to go anywhere.

“I love you, too, Boyd.”

[nedfuckindiscretionchicanejr]

Moschicane Week: Apology/Forgiveness

Word count: 1150

Boyd was sitting alone in his hotel room. His haul from the Cryptonomica sat in a nondescript box in the closet, where it would remain until he could figure out what to do with it. In the meantime, he didn’t have too much to occupy his time. And so he found himself, against his better judgment, tuning into the local access channel that would shortly be airing Ned’s ridiculous horror movie themed show.

He’d only seen it once before, when he was still in prison. It was beyond absurd, kilometres over the top, and 100% unadulterated Ned. Seeing it had sparked in him equal parts entirely justified rage and hopeless longing for the way things used to be. Neither was a particularly productive emotion, but he couldn’t stop himself from watching again.

He told himself he was only watching out of boredom, but he knew it was a lie. He wanted to see Ned again - the old Ned, the Ned who was overflowing with joie-de-vivre. After everything that had happened, and especially after what he had just done, Boyd knew he was never going to get a chance to see that Ned in person again.

As expected, Boyd felt twins pangs of anger and loss when Ned graced the tiny screen. He didn’t even consider turning it off, instead just settling in to watch as Ned started speaking.

“Welcome my friends! This is Saturday Night Dead! Live, or, I should say, dead from the Cryptonomica! I am your host, Ned Razzle-Dazzle Chicane, and tonight, strap in for an out-of-this-world Christmas story. A good old-fashioned family tale about kidnapping and murder plots, where the jolly guy in red unexpectedly finds himself on the red planet. Yes, tonight you’ll be treated to Paul L. Jacobson and Nicolas Webster’s 1964 hit, Santa Claus Conquers the Martians.”

Boyd was barely even looking at the screen, as his eyes were much more involved with rolling around their sockets in exasperation. Yes, this was Ned alright. Jolly old Ned, who always managed to find the beauty in things that were undeniably terrible, who had an uncanny ability to pick out the positives even if it meant making them up whole cloth, who could spend years happily working with someone who never appreciated -

Boyd but a stop to that train of thought right there. Ned had ruined his life, had abandoned him, had left him for dead, and hadn’t even had the decency to write him a fucking letter in all this time. Boyd owed him no respect, much less gratitude. Maybe he should turn the damn show off after all. He reached for the button, but his hand was stayed by a sudden change in Ned’s demeanor. He seemed … almost sad.

“But, my friends, before we get to our main event, there’s something that I want to share, something of a somewhat personal nature. Don’t worry - this is still a family show. No, I want to talk about apologies and about forgiveness. You see, I did something a long, long time ago, and someone got hurt because of what I did. And I never apologized for that.”

Boyd was frozen. What the Hell was Ned doing? Did he know that Boyd was watching right now? Why would he … after all this time, and on live TV no less? What did he hope to accomplish?

“And I think part of the reason I didn’t apologize was that I was waiting for an apology, myself. But folks, that isn’t how this works. Just because you got hurt, too, doesn’t mean you don’t have to apologize. We all owe it to each other to own up to what we’ve done and to try to make it right. I don’t know whether it’s possible for me to make things right with this person, but it’s Christmas, and Christmas is a time for love, not bitterness. So, my friend, if you’re watching - I’m sorry. And for whatever it’s worth, I forgive you. I know things will never go back to how they were, but maybe we can build something new together. Well, folks, I think that’s enough sappiness for one introduction. Without further ado …” Boyd wasn’t listening anymore.

What the Hell was that. And why now? Why now, goddammit? Did Ned really think a generic apology on live TV could make up for the years of silence? Did he really think that Boyd was going to forgive him just like that? Or that this was the one thing that Boyd had been so desperately craving all this time, and that hearing it had made his heart flutter and the corners of his mouth turn up unconsciously? Was that what he thought?

Boyd couldn’t believe this. He didn’t want to believe it. Was Ned truly sorry? Or did he just want his things back? Boyd glanced at the box in the corner. It contained some valuable items, but Ned had never sold them, even though it was obvious that he had had some financial troubles over the years. Ned had always been hopelessly sentimental, but Boyd hadn’t really questioned what he was sentimental about. Maybe it was mere pride at having obtained his trophies. Or maybe … maybe he had been keeping them as mementos of their time together. Or, Boyd didn’t dare hope, perhaps he always had intended to split the haul once Boyd was out of prison.

It still didn’t justify anything that Ned had done. But maybe it didn’t need to. Ned had finally, finally owned up, even if it was in a very generic way, and apologized. He had also said that he forgave Boyd. For what, Boyd had no idea. He’d clearly been the victim in every aspect of that horrible night. The idea prickled, and Boyd was ready to be angry about it. But then, it was Christmas, after all. Now wasn’t the time for bitterness.

The movie was still playing, and Boyd tried to focus on it. It was bad, almost unbelievably so. But Boyd was determined to find something to like about it. He wanted to see it the way Ned did, focusing on the positives even when they weren’t there. It was tricky at first, but, after a while, he was able to laugh at the absurdity. It felt good. It felt so much better than dwelling on the negatives.

When Ned reappeared, Boyd was reminded, again, of the good old days, and this time he didn’t push the memories away. Ned was right, of course - things would never go back to how they were. And Boyd was still upset about everything. How could he not be? He wasn’t even sure whether he had accepted Ned’s apology, let alone forgiven him. But Boyd could still see something of the man he had once loved in the garishly dressed television host, and he decided to just focus on that for now.

[transagentstern]

Moschicane Week Day 2- Roadtrip

For and inspired by @albaaca, as always. 

__________________________________

“Skip.”

“What about this one?”

“Skip.”

“Boyd-”

“Skip.”

“Boyd-”

“You can leave this one.”

“Boyd.”

“Yes?”

There was a long moment of silence, long enough that Boyd tore his eyes off the road to glance over at Ned, and then had to resist a smile at the blatant pout his partner was giving him.

“What is it, love?”

“Of the-” Ned lifted his ipod to check. “100 songs on this device, you have only let me play 10 of them.”

“And?”

“And they’ve all been Abba, Boyd.”

“And?”

Ned growled, and Boyd had to fight a little harder to push down the grin.

“And if you make me listen to Abba on a loop for so long that I end up hating my favorite band, Boyd, I’m going to wait till it’s my turn to drive and then crash the car.”

Boyd paused, paying conscious attention for the first time to the song he’d let Ned leave on.

-When you’re near me darling can’t you hear me SOS-

Boyd took a moment to mull it over, tossing his cigarette butt out the window and pulling another one, finally giving in to the impulse to smile when Ned reached over to light it for him.

“Alright. Did you bring any audiobooks?”

“Only ones I could find at that used bookstore were bad murder mysteries.”

“Even better.”

Ned snorted, leaning over to kiss Boyd on the cheek and then leaning into the backseat to grab them.

Boyd breathed in the cigarette smoke and looked out into the empty night, the stretch of road in front of him, and felt, for the first time, truly at home.

[dreamscape-witch]

Happy Moschicane Week! 🎉

Day 1- Disguises/Costumes

I forgot how long drawing in pen takes, but I'm really happy with how this one turned out.

Hosted by: @albaaca

[dreamscape-witch]

Day 6- Protect/Defend

I wasnt really sure what to do with this one since my mind was on other things. But hey! Here it is, and I do really like it!

Host: @albaaca

[nedfuckindiscretionchicanejr]

Moshicane Week:  Prison/Cryptonomica

Word Count: 969

CW for suicidal thoughts, arguably abuse

“It’s funny, isn’t it?”

Ned gasped, and the novelty sunglasses he’d been holding clattered to the floor. It had been years since he’d heard that voice, but it still cut him straight to the core. He squeezed his eyes shut for a second as he steeled himself. Then, very deliberately, he picked up the fallen sunglasses and continued to fill the rack.

“You could leave any time. Victoria isn’t here anymore to guilt you into staying. Everyone in town hates you. And, I mean, really Ned - you aren’t exactly a skilled businessman. This place is dying already. I’d give it … two years? Five if, by some miracle, you manage to hire someone useful. And then what? Are you going to get a job at the bank? Maybe stock shelves at the general store?”

Silently, Ned finished with the sunglasses. Then he walked over to the t-shirt shelf and started re-folding.

“There’s nothing for you here. And yet here you are, with every intention of sticking it out to the bitter end.”

Ned’s hands were shaking, which made it difficult to fold shirts. But there weren’t many, so he was still finished too quickly. He looked around for something else to do, forcing his eyes to slide past the man sitting on the front counter.

“You were afraid, that night, of going to prison. So you ran. You thought you were escaping. But now look at you, stuck in a prison of your own making. For everything you went through, you’re no better off. And I’m … well.”

From the corner of his eye, Ned saw Boyd spread his arms out as if to say, ‘you can see what happened to me.’ But he couldn’t. Boyd didn’t look … like he had after the crash. He looked just the way he always had. His skin was smooth, his eyes bright, his mouth turned up in that lazy smirk that Ned knew so well. If Ned didn’t know better, he’d say Boyd was the picture of health.

“What is it that’s keeping you here? Are you trying to punish yourself?”

Ned started rearranging keychains.

“Or maybe you think you owe it to Victoria to keep her store running. If it’s that, you’d be better off selling it. You’ll run the place into the ground. A fine way to repay her, eh?”

“Shut up, Moshe!” Ned regretted the words even before they were out of his mouth. He stumbled back, nearly toppling the postcard rack. Boyd looked shocked for a second, and then he smiled.

“Look at us, bickering just like we did in the good old days. I knew you missed it.” Boyd slid off the counter, his feet making no sound as they contacted the hardwood floor, and started walking forward. Ned maneuvered around the postcard rack by touch, unwilling to take his eyes off Boyd as he backed away. But he knew he’d be backed into a wall soon enough.

“Mosche, please. I don’t want to do this anymore. Please just leave me alone.” Boyd’s pace didn’t waver.

“Like you left me alone in the front seat of the Imperial?” Boyd’s smile didn’t waver either, but Ned felt a chill run down his spine.

“Mosche …”

“And when did you start calling me ‘Mosche’? Feels a bit distant, considering.” Ned turned slightly so that he was at an angle to the wall behind him, now subtly moving toward the front door.

“It was always ‘Boyd’ back when I was alive. Not in public, of course; a man has to have an alias. But it was ‘Boyd’ on the road and in the motel rooms. It was ‘Boyd’ that you screamed out when we-”

“Stop it.” Ned’s voice was barely audible, but he knew Boyd could hear. “Please, stop it.” Boyd tilted his head.  

“Does it bother you to be reminded that you loved me? Is it easier for you to justify what you did if you pretend that our relationship never happened?”

Ned was adjusting his path with each step, so that, now, he was moving nearly parallel to the wall. The door was maybe a dozen feet behind him.

“I’m sorry, Boyd. I’ve said that I’m sorry.” Ned’s voice cracked, and tears were running down his cheeks in steady streams. He shook his head. “I don’t know what else you want from me.” Boyd’s smile finally slipped away, replaced by a hard expression that filled Ned’s veins with ice.

“You know exactly what I want, Ned.” And he did. It was always the same thing.

“It’s the decent thing to do,” Boyd said, his voice acidic, “and it’s no more than you deserve.” Ned was right in front of the door, now, but he wasn’t moving. His whole body was shaking, and he couldn’t breathe.

“Go on. I saw a letter opener behind the counter. Just a flick of the wrist, and then you can be free of this ridiculous farce you call a life.”  

Ned looked past Boyd to the front counter. He knew exactly where the letter opener was. Then he closed his eyes and took a shaky breath, then another, and another. When he opened his eyes again, he was feeling a bit more sturdy.

“It’s not going to happen, Mosche. No matter what you say, I’m not trapped.” Ned straightened his back and locked eyes with Boyd. “I’m happy here. I don’t want to go anywhere, and I definitely don’t want to die.” Boyd glared for a moment longer. Then he smirked again.  

“That’s good, that’s really good. I’ve got to hand it to you; you always were an excellent liar. But you can’t lie to me, Ned. Not anymore.”

And then Ned was alone. Only the security camera saw him sink to the ground, wrap his arms around himself, and start sobbing.

[nedfuckindiscretionchicanejr]

Moschicane Week: Road Trip/Travel

Ned is running. It’s dark, and he can’t see the branches of the trees, only feel them as they whip at his face. He’s laughing breathlessly, soundlessly. Boyd is beside him, looking ridiculous in his exterminator’s outfit, and he’s smiling, too. Boyd had put his trust in Ned. And look where that had gotten him.

Ned is running. The sirens are getting closer, coming from right behind him, from in front of him. Surrounded. Boyd grabs his arm, jerking him sharply to the side, and they’re both tumbling through a doorway, which snaps shut behind them. They crawl through the darkness until they find a suitable spot to hole up. Then they both turn their headlamps on. Boyd is bleeding. There was blood all over his face, his clothes, the dashboard, the steering wheel.

Ned is running. With every step, metal and glass and stone clink together, louder than any gunshot. He is certain that everyone can hear. Boyd tells him to calm down, to walk slowly, to just look confident. Nobody knows, he reassures Ned. Nobody knew what Ned had done except him, and he would take the secret to his grave.

Ned is running. There’s still time before the train departs. Boyd is holding his hand and pulling him along. The doors close behind them, and they fall into the only two empty seats. They keep holding hands for the entire trip. They stand up when the disembodied voice announces their stop. Ned stepped onto the platform alone. He always travelled alone now.