#she is old enough to be drinking a balter here

[milk-and-cereal]

australian miku + gumi

[unicyclehippo]

beaujester prompt: balter

She’s worn out all the others, and booed the ones who begged off dancing, and has almost given up hope when she spies Beau returning to the tavern.

‘Beau! Beau! And Caleb,’ she adds, seeing their friend standing at her side. He must have been there the whole time, they must have returned from the library together. He must have been standing behind her—that’s why Beau is the only one Jester saw. ‘Come dance with me!’

‘Oh, I am not one for—ah, you meant Beau,’ Caleb mutters, words trailing quieter as Jester grabs her friend and whisks her away.

‘I think you’re supposed to ask people to dance,’ Beau says. She has to lean close to speak over the music; even so, her voice is pitched loud, and Jester has to pull back to check to see if she’s actually upset. Beau just grins.

‘You might’ve said no,’ Jester tells her.

Beau just shakes her head, and follows her around the room.

She’s surprised to find that Beau is surprisingly good at dancing, and also that she doesn’t seem to give a shit and is perfectly content to gallivant around the room with Jester heedless of what anyone else might think. And she hasn’t even had a single drink! She lets Jester spin her, and duck and dive amongst the lively crowd, and Jester spins away to new partners in the mass but always finds her way back, back to Beau’s wide, easy grin and the hand she always offers when Jester comes close.

‘You’re good at this!’

‘What?’ Beau shouts back, swearing when a dwarf stops hard on her toe.

Jester yanks her close, arm around her waist. Pulls her out of the line of attack for a second stomp. ‘I said,’ she yells, tilting her head up to Beau’s ear, laughing when her cheek knocks Beau’s chin, ‘you’re good at this! Dancing!’

Blue eyes flicker away from Jester, only for a moment, before she returns with a smile. ‘Well, duh! I’m a monk! We’re fast.’

Jester accepts that answer with a laugh, a nod. There are unsaid words clenched in Beau’s tight jaw—it tells Jester that isn’t all the reason, and in the same moment tells her to leave it. Don’t press.

So she doesn’t.

She grasps Beau’s hands and leads her in a gallop around the room, clasped hands leading the way, the drums and jaunty strings urging them on and faster and faster and everyone else in the cleared space here on the tavern floor seems to have had the same idea because all around her people are spinning and running with their partners and it’s a blur of colour and sound. Jester’s heart is racing and her cheeks hurt from laughing, and laughing as Beau calls out to the slower couples in front of them to either jump out of the way or get trampled, motherfuckers! And then the great final blast of horn comes and Jester spins Beau out, dips her. Neither of them quite expect it and it’s far from perfect, but Beau surprises her by kicking her head back and laughing.

Jester surprises herself. Sees firelight play over the dark brown of Beau’s skin. Sees the sweat pouring off her, dotting on her skin. Jester licks her lips and tastes the salt there.

‘Pull me up, Jes,’ Beau laughs. ‘Next time, I’m dipping you, okay?’

The music kicks up again. Beau takes her hand.

//

Eventually, they stagger up to their rooms, exhausted. The faint strains of music continue, reaching them even on the third floor behind closed doors, though it is muffled.

Beau returns from the washroom second, already dressed in her soft pyjamas and a towel draped around her shoulders. Little wisps of dark hair are plastered to her forehead, her neck, and Jester can’t look away. Beau so rarely wears her hair down; she looks strange, but no less lovely. Just...different.

Jester realises that Beau is watching her as much as she is watching Beau when the other girl speaks.

‘I took lessons,’ Beau says into the quiet of their room, rubbing at her hair with the end of her towel. ‘I dunno why I didn’t say that downstairs. Didn’t mean to lie.’

‘That’s okay,’

‘No, I’m - it’s not, but I’m working on it. Just didn’t wanna ruin the mood, that’s all. I was having fun,’ she tells Jester. Smiles that gentle smile that she reserves, just for her. Jester knows it because Beau isn’t known for her gentle nature. Not that she’s cruel or anything, it’s just not something that seems to come naturally, so every time she smiles at her like that Jester knows. It’s on purpose. It’s for her. ‘Didn’t want to think about it, that’s all.’

It’s hard to tell sometimes with Beau if she wants to be asked a question, or if she wants the subject dropped. Sometimes, if Jester is careful, she can do both—make it so Beau can take or leave the conversation.

She turns on her bed, onto her belly, kicks her feet up behind her like they’re gossiping. Blinks at Beau with a wide grin.

‘I bet you were so cute. Did you have to wear dresses when you danced? Did you have someone playing music? Can you play an instrument? Was your teacher very strict? Was she hot?’ Jester waggles her brows.

‘He,’ Beau tells her, ‘was, like, a two hundred year old halfling with bad breath and a bad attitude. He loved dancing and hated kids, especially kids who couldn’t dance. And I was,’ Jester is fascinated to see Beau flush, cheeks darkening. ‘I was a clumsy kid.’

‘No!’

‘Yeah.’

‘I don’t - but you’re - you’re a monk,’ Jester tells her like she doesn’t know.

‘I know,’ Beau laughs. ‘But I had two left feet and I just - I hated dancing. Stand up straight, Beauregard. Don’t watch your feet, Beauregard. Don’t climb out the window and run away, Beauregard.’

Jester laughs, delighted by the impression and the image of tiny clumsy Beau throwing herself out the window and running into the fields. Or. The sands?

‘Sucks that he was such a jerk about it. I reckon I might’ve enjoyed it otherwise.’ Beau glances down at the floor, at her bare feet. Toes at a mark in the grain. With a forced laugh, she shrugs. ‘Then again, I was such a little shit, no wonder he was a jerk.’

Jester shakes her head. Beau avoids the soft look she sends her, so Jester doesn’t say anything about that. Instead, asks, ‘Did you have a favourite? Dance, I mean.’

Beau shrugs. Nods.

Jester jumps up onto her knees. Bounces her way to the edge of the bed and nearly toppled off it as she hurries to Beau, hands opening and closing, shoulders and tail wriggling with excitement. ‘Show me, show me, show me! Please, please, please?’

Beau groans. ‘We just danced for like, two hours,’

‘Please, Beau!’

She sighs. Jester knows she’s won, squeals.

Beau tosses her towel over to the end of her bed. Shakes her head, disbelieving. ‘Uh. Okay. Well. You hold your hands up like this,’ she begins, lifting both hands with her palms toward Jester. Jester copies her, presses her hands to Beau’s. ‘Um. It’s been a while, just, I have to remember,’

She closes her eyes, brows creasing over them heavily like she’s trying to squeeze the memory out from her mind. Beau’s lips move fast as she speaks quietly to herself, and Jester finds herself staring, fascinated. At Beau’s hair free around her shoulders. At the hard line of those shoulders, spilling into biceps tense with preparation. At the way Beau snarls the tiniest bit when she messes something up, shakes the thought away.

And then Beau steps toward her and Jester doesn’t move, wasn’t ready to move, and Beau has to catch herself and Jester to keep from falling, wrapping an arm around her waist and dancing into a quick side-step.

‘Sorry, sorry,’ she laughs, eyes open now. ‘You have to step back when I step forward. It’s basically a waltz.’

‘A waltz?’

‘Yeah. Three beats.’ Beau taps them out against Jester’s hip, her hand still resting warm on the curve of it. One two three, one two three, one two three. ‘Don’t bounce your head, Beauregard,’ she says in the same voice she had used earlier to mimic her teacher, ‘you’re not a chicken.’

‘You’d made such a cute chicken!’ Jester argues, even though the teacher isn’t here, even though her reply makes exactly zero sense.

Beau snorts. ‘Thanks?’

‘You’re welcome.’ Jester’s tail curls, nearly twisting into a knot, and she avoids Beau’s fond, searching look to glance down at their feet instead and ask, ‘So... I step back when you step forward?’

‘Yeah. And then we step to the side, that’s on the second beat, and then feet together. So the first foot slides over to meet the second.’ Beau demonstrates, stepping forward and sliding to the side. She stops. Frowns. ‘You’re left handed.’

‘Mhm yah.’

‘Okay. So we’ll go with your dominant side. I’ll step forward left foot and you step back on your right foot. And then when we get to the turn,’ she shows Jester a simple step and turn, slide, twist. ‘We’ll both go left. And I end up in your spot, and you end up in mine. And you just go around the circle like that, basically.’

‘Seems simple enough.’ Jester nods, determinedly. Looks expectantly at Beau.

‘Oh, you still want -‘

‘If you do,’

‘Sure, yeah, we can,’

‘I mean, I didn’t really get to finish the dance,’

‘Right, no, I guess not since we kinda fell over. Um.’ Beau steps in toward her, hands raised.

Jester wipes her hands down on her nightgown. Hopes they aren’t sweaty. Or too cold. Or worse—sweaty and cold. Clammy. It doesn’t help that Beau’s hands are perfect and dry and warm when she sets them against Jester’s.

It is awkward for a little while. They fumble the steps and Beau nearly steps on her feet a few times—and, okay, Jester nearly steps on her feet too—but finally Beau moves their hands out to the side and steps a little closer, brings her head down so she can see their feet and also murmur the count.

‘One two three. One two three. One - there you go, Jes, that’s it. Fuck you Mister Ordanzi, we can look at our feet if we want to.’

‘Fuck him,’ Jester agrees, with gleeful vitriol. But she also doesn’t. Watch her feet, that is. She looks at the strand of hair that hangs, tickling at Beau’s cheek, which she tosses away from her face with small jerking movements now and again when she remembers it. If Jester had a free hand, she would help her. Tuck it behind her ear for her. The idea sparks and Jester moves their joined hands up to do it, curl it back behind the shell of Beau’s ear; she feels and sees Beau jerk in surprise at the touch, blue eyes darting up from the floor to Jester’s face.

‘You - your hair was - and I moved it.

‘Oh. Thanks.’

They’re still dancing. They haven’t attempted the turn yet, though, and Beau steps back, ostensibly to give them space to try it. Clears her throat.

‘Okay, so, this bit is kinda hard. You almost haveta hook your foot behind mine like you’re gonna trip me and then step around me. Like, um, hold still,’ Beau’s hands drop to her waist then pull away quickly, like she’s been burned. She doesn’t stop, or falter though. Her left foot steps forward on the one as usual, and then she keeps moving forward so that on two her leg is behind Jester’s. Her torso twists away and then on the three she is sliding past her and behind.

‘Um.’ Beau’s breath puffs against Jester’s neck. ‘You would obviously have done the same and,’ Gentle hands urge Jester around to face her. ‘We end up like this. Wanna try?’

She does. And after a few missteps and their giggling and Beau’s patient instruction, which grows more confident as she remembers how it is supposed to feel, how to properly set her feet, they fall into step. Beau no longer needs to count the beats for either of them, their feet moving together and tapping it out, and between each beat there is the swish of Jester’s dress and the slide of Beau’s hands as she twists her wrists, moving in a slow and twining fashion that, judging from her focused stare, is a part of the dance she’s remembering. Jester copies her and Beau grins, eyes meeting hers. Feet never falling out of step. Jester hums, delighted by the shifting shadows their arms throw onto the walls with the help of low lamplight, the thump of her heartbeat as Beau suddenly dips into the turnand steps past her. Jester copies her, twirls—and their hands meet again, like they couldn’t be anywhere else.

‘Not as simple as I remember it being,’ Beau says very quietly, not wanting to disturb the charged atmosphere

Jester nods. ‘It’s a lovely dance, Beau. How do you know when to do the turn? Is it in the music?’

‘It’s...supposed to be on every fifth triplet, I think.’ Beau’s fingers twist, graze over the sensitive skin of Jester’s wrists. She shivers. Beau’s eyes follow the movement of her fingers, and Jester shivers again, the weight of her eyes like a second touch. ‘There was a festival every year,’ Beau tells her. ‘In Kamordah. People would dance this later in the night. Married couples,’ she admits. ‘And the ones who’d just got married, y’know most of them did it every fifth like they were supposed to. But the really good partners or the ones who’d been married forever just seemed to know.’

Jester smiles. ‘That’s beautiful.’

‘Yeah. Yeah it is.’

Jester steps past her without warning, twists. Her tail flickers to tap Beau’s calf as the other girl spins, and Beau meets her neatly on the twist, hands touching to hers. She meets Jester’s eyes with a flash of challenge—maybe her own, maybe in response to Jester’s. She steps past Jester. Turns. Jester can feel it, something between them like a rope, a ribbon, and she can feel her own turn neatly mimicking Beau’s. Meets her on the turn, hands sliding together. She can’t resist the pull of that force, lets it pull her a steps closer to Beau so they aren’t the requisite foot apart. So close she has to turn her head a little, not wanting her horns to knock into Beau’s chin, only to find that Beau has already adjusted for it. Beau moves their hands outwards, just past their shoulders.

Fingers lace together.

One two three.

One two three.

Jester’s heart beat feels so loud, thumping in time to the beat. She senses, not really feeling, certainly not seeing, the shift in the dance. The challenge, the trick, the humour in it. The trust. Beau trying to step around her without letting her know. Jester grins, sees the answering smile on Beau’s lips as they part and step and turn and twist and meet again.

Jester stumbles when Beau stops.

‘I think -‘ Beau clears her throat. ‘I think you’ve got it,’ she says, voice hoarse. She hasn’t moved back yet, standing nearly chest to chest. Fingers intertwined. Even as Jester thinks it, she feels Beau step back. Draw back, away from Jester. Slip her fingers out from their laced hold.

Watches Beau take two shaky steps away, toward her bed, back turned.

Jester follows suit, matching Beau’s steps still. Lays down in her own bed and waits for sleep to take her, even if when she closes her eyes all she can see is Beau lit by lamplight, and hear the distant strains of music, and the constant hammering beat of her heart that, for a short while at least, moved to a three beat rhythm.

[gumnut-logic]

One Wednesday Night

balter (v.) - to dance artlessly, without particular grace or skill but usually with enjoyment. (from these wonderful prompts)

Just a random fluffy scene that got a little out of control. I claim no sanity.

Spoilers & Warnings: Fluff, alcohol, 3924 words.

Many thanks to @scribbles97​ for the read through and for putting up with my crazy.

I hope you enjoy it :D

Everyone knew Virgil was the musical soul in the family. He played, wrote and occasionally bled music. It was a constant in their home and the few times it was missing due to illness or absence, it was painful.

The man could sing if he wanted to, but that was a rare thing. He could dance with the grace of any ballroom dancer, his rhythm and style even outshining his eldest brother, Mr Lady-swooner himself.

Music was part of Virgil’s soul.

So, what happened late one Wednesday night after one too many rescues and ten too many drinks was quite surprising to them all.

The Tracy brothers weren’t big drinkers. They couldn’t afford to be due to their occupation. Both Scott and Virgil had been known to down a late night sniff of whisky on occasion. John had his boutique beers, but honestly, he wasn’t home very often to drink them, and space and alcohol was never a good combination.

Gordon fancied an odd cocktail from time to time and had the liquor stash to back it up, but most of the bottles were dusty and a couple well past their expiry dates. They just didn’t have the time or the opportunity to really let rip.

But it was Wednesday. The last rescue of five had been an avalanche and they always sucked. The boys had congregated in the living room…and it was a living room, not a damned comms room because International Rescue was down for a good forty-eight hours, Grandma’s orders.

They were all exhausted, but none wanted to sleep. They wouldn’t admit it, but there was fear in what they might find behind closed eyelids after such a shitty day, so they just sat together.

At first it was quiet. One or two words, fragmented debrief, until Virgil put an end to it and demanded John come home. Now!

Fifteen minutes later, the middle brother, just as exhausted as the rest, slunk into the living room and made a seat his own.

But there was little talking, each caught up in their own thoughts.

“Screw this.” Gordon jumped to his feet. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.” And he disappeared around the corner.

Scott didn’t pay much attention, his eyes on John, assessing his condition and fast coming to the conclusion that his brother hadn’t slept in at least the last twenty-four hours judging by the bags under his eyes.

“John, have you eaten.”

Turquoise darted in his direction. “Have you?”

A blink and Scott realised he hadn’t. He had been too occupied keeping track of tired brothers. “No.” Honestly, he wasn’t hungry.

“Then you understand.”

A glare in his brother’s direction. John just turned away.

Scott’s lips thinned, but then his attention was taken by Alan, who was slowly tipping sideways on his couch, eyelids drooping. ���Alan, you should go to bed.”

“Don’t wanna. Wanna stay with you guys.” His head landed on the couch cushion and two seconds later he was snoring.

Scott sighed.

“I have cake. I have popcorn. I have drinks.” Hurricane Gordon slammed into the sunken lounge and a pile of popcorn, chips, a rather large cake and a bucket of candy landed with him. The whole mess was dumped on the table and the aquanaut disappeared again.

Scott just stared at the pile of food.

“Well, that’s the healthy option.” Virgil’s voice was pure sarcasm.

“Do you really care?” Honestly, Virg.

“Not really, but the principle is there.”

Scott rolled his eyes. Just in time for Gordon to reappear with half his alcohol stash, several of John’s beers and whisky. Glorious, golden whisky.

Now that was a very good idea.

What happened after the appearance of the alcohol involved a movie Scott didn’t pay much attention to, far too much carbohydrate…c’mon, caramel popcorn, yes…and a lot of alcohol.

After all, they were down for forty-eight hours guaranteed and how often did that happen? This was an opportunity for them to focus on themselves and despite their exhaustion, there was finally a little relaxation in front of…the Enterprise?

“Who gave John the remote?!”

“I did.” The feminine AI’s voice danced through the room in amusement.

“Eos! That’s cheating!”

She giggled. “I thought Gordon was cheating when he stuck it in his drink.”

Scott turned to his aquanaut brother who was dressing the sleeping Alan’s hair with popcorn. “Gordon!”

“What?!” The cocktail in his hand had an umbrella and a remote control garnishing it.

“You drowned the remote.”

“Huh?” He looked at his drink. “Oh.” And he pulled it out of the concoction and started licking it clean.

“Augh.”

A blur of red plaid and Virgil snatched the gadget from Gordon’s fingers and flicked it into the nearest pot plant.

Gordon appeared forlorn for its absence for a whole second before turning to his drink and sculling it all in one go.

“Gordon!” This time it was Virgil yelling his name.

The aquanaut had blue curacao for lipstick. “What?!” It was a direct echo of his same exasperated response moments earlier.

“Take it easy.”

“I don’t want to take it easy. I’m having fun.” With that he grabbed a bottle and dumped something red into the same glass with the blue, resulting in a rather unpleasant purple.

Scott groaned.

Which only earned him an assessing stare from Virgil.

A sigh. “Relax, Virgil. We’re home, we’re safe. Let your hair down a little.”

He was going to regret those words later.

The stare turned into a glare, but moments later, Gordon was ribbing Virgil about drinking and somehow he got under the engineer’s skin because there was a drinking contest.

Unfortunately for Gordon, swimmer’s physique or not, apparently Virgil was more brawn and could simply just absorb the stuff.

Gordon ended up snoozing in a sea of popcorn beside Alan.

John started giggling.

Scott raised an eyebrow at the small pyramid of empty beer bottles beside his space brother.

“How many have you had?”

“It’s a tetrahedron. Work it out.” John placed a single bottle at the top of the pyramid and smirked at Scott.

This was definitely a very bad idea.

His own whisky glass was only half empty. He needed to fix that.

It was warm going down.

Gordon started snoring, loudly.

“Okay, that’s it. Time for bed.”

“Don’t wanna go to bed.” Virgil put on the soppiest puppy dog face Scott had ever seen.

John cracked up laughing.

Oh god. “No, bed, now.”

“Okay.” And Virgil stood up.

And took a quick step to the left, then the right, before managing to stabilise himself somewhat upright, but listing slightly to one side.

It was that moment that the movie playing on the holoprojector burst into music.

Music? What the hell were they watching. He stared up into a haze of rebooted retro nineteen fifties and a song about a car and lightning.

“Ooh, I like this one.”

What?

And Virgil was suddenly dancing. Well, it could be considered dancing in some circles, but it mostly consisted of a lot of poorly coordinated butt wiggling and a lot of horizon pointing arms.

The jumping on the couch was really not called for.

“Virg?”

But his brother was lost to the music and dancing his heart and his coordination all out.

“C’mon, Scott, get up and boogie!”

Of course, Virgil was loud enough to wake Gordon, who took one look at Virgil and fell off the couch.

There was far too much butt wiggling happening.

“Virg, come down from there.”

He was completely ignored.

Scott needed more alcohol.

The bottle of golden oblivion smiled at him.

Screw it.

He wasn’t quite sure what happened next, but the result was a broken lamp and Gordon on the floor laughing hard enough to break a rib.

“Eos, play Jailhouse Rock.” John managed that between giggles. Scott idly noticed that the tetrahedron had become modern art and was attempting to defy the laws of physics.

It failed with a smash and rolling of bottles two minutes later.

And Virgil was still dancing.

Classic Elvis Presley at full volume, enough to wake up every lifeform in the caldera.

The butt wiggling had morphed into hip waggling and some kind of leg shaking that threatened to faceplant his brother on the floor.

“Virg, please get off the couch.”

“I am having fun, Scott.” Each word was enunciated clearly as if the man was having trouble putting the syllables together. “Letting my hair down.” A grin and Virgil shoved his fingers into his hair and completely messed it up until it was sticking out in all directions. Suddenly a hand was almost in Scott’s face. “Join me?”

There was something in his brother’s deep brown eyes, something beyond the alcoholic haze, something desperate, something…sad.

Scott never could refuse a brother his help. So, a moment later, he found himself standing on the couch as Virgil shifted his dance moves into something that involved some shoulder rolling and a goofy grin.

Scott found himself grinning in return.

John said something half drowned out by the music and the room was suddenly filled with an old dance favourite from his teens.

Virgil actually let off a laugh and moved into a sloppy dance routine from their childhood.

Scott couldn’t help himself and at some point, he just let go.

-o-o-o-

Alan woke from one of the weirdest dreams of his life. It involved music and Thunderbird Three dancing to a beat, her arms waving about.

It took him a moment to work out exactly why.

The dream was saner than reality. Scott and Virgil were standing on one of the couches…dancing.

Alan blinked the sleep out of his eyes. Was that the Macarena? It was hard to tell. Virgil was so uncoordinated, he could have been servicing Two in his sleep for all Alan could discern. Scott was smoother, but he was leaning at a teetering angle.

Frantic eyes located his two other brothers.

John was sitting on the floor beside a pile of empty beer bottles. He had a dob of cake frosting on one eyebrow.

That left Gordon.

The strawberry blond was sitting on the floor in front of Alan’s couch.

“Gords? What’s going on?”

Gordon turned around and a soft smile curved his lips. “Big bros are letting their hair down.” The music suddenly paused and Gordon sat up straighter. “Eos, Dance Party 2054.”

More music erupted from the overhead speakers and vibrated the glass walls.

Alan found himself bopping to the beat.

Virgil climbed up off the couch and onto the hardwood floor, apparently so he could really let loose. His plaid shirt was undone and swirling around him as he moved.

Scott tripped over the top of the couch and almost faceplanted on that same hardwood, but he saved himself the bruises with those half-sharp reflexes of his. A moment later he was up boogying with his brother.

It was an odd sight.

“Are they okay?”

Gordon’s voice was quiet. “No, but they will be.”

“What about John?”

Gordon shrugged as they both eyed the slouched astronaut. “Not sure he has it in him, fresh down from Five. He’s safer on the floor.”

“What about you?”

Gordon snorted. “I’m good.” He chucked down the remains of his drink before turning to face his little brother. “Wanna dance?”

Alan’s eyes widened. “How are you?” His eyes bounced to the empty bottles on the table, the stained glasses and limp umbrellas.

“What? Do you really think I can’t outlast Virg? The man is a drinking wimp. Only took two good ones to get him dancing with the fairies. Letting him win was the hard part.”

“Win what?”

A snort. “Virg thinks he can drink me under the table. He’s small fry.” The aquanaut stumbled to his feet and Alan eyed him. Gordon had definitely had a few. “You aren’t allowed to kill brain cells. However, you can have fun, dear little brother.” He held out his hand. “May I have this dance?”

He blamed sleep fog for the automatic yes that found him up and out of the sunken lounge, careening around the room laughing his ass off.

-o-o-o-

“John, what is happening?”

The astronaut blinked dopily. Maybe he had had one too many, but with each one, the voices faded just that little bit more. Calls for help he was desperate to answer.

And the silences that followed.

“They’re dancing, Eos.” It was obvious really.

“I’ve never seen them act like this before.”

“Doesn’t happen very often.” If ever. What was Scott trying to do with their father’s chair? “Eos, could you please close the doors to the balcony.” Gravity did suck after all.

He took another swig of Swedish beer as the giant glass doors slid smoothly closed.

“Can you access the room lighting?”

“One moment. I have control, John.”

“Good. Reference the 1970s disco movement and see if you can replicate any of the lighting involved.”

“FAB.”

A few moments later and the room’s lighting went nuts. The holoprojector flickered and shone dancing rainbows on the rafters. The atmosphere changed radically as the whole room pulsed and flickered in beat with the music.

Virgil froze for a whole five seconds in the middle of the room, staring up at the glass ceiling before bursting into a massive grin and throwing himself into a full on fit of dancing to the song that was screaming out of the speakers.

Scott was pirouetting with his father’s chair in great rotating circles.

Gordon was attempting some kind of retro-breakdancing. Though at this point, the only thing that was going to be broken was pot plants.

Alan had a grin on his face and was the most coordinated of them all, jiggling along to the beat with a grin on his face.

Another figure appeared in the entrance to the room. It took John’s entire remaining intellect to realise that it was Grandma.

Something stirred in the back of John’s head, something about getting in trouble, but he had no coordination to connect the dots so gave up. Besides, the Grandma figure was only standing in the doorway watching.

“What is the purpose of all this activity?” Eos’ voice was ever curious.

“It’s fun, Eos. An attempt at stress relief.” To wash the pain away.

-o-o-o-

Virgil was vaguely aware that he was being ridiculous, but he was beyond caring. The music pulsed through him and lifted him up. He just let it all go and rode the beat.

He was too exhausted to care about anything.

Except his brothers.

He always cared about his brothers.

Scott was astride their father’s chair and was riding it across the room in a completely undignified manner. Gordon was laughing his ass off at the sight and Alan was beside him in that. Even John was grinning as the eldest coasted past.

Virgil spun and let the air stream around him.

Round and round and round.

Oh dear, too round.

He staggered to a halt, but the world kept going. He stumbled.

A hand caught him. “Take it easy, honey.”

The blur turned into his grandmother in her dressing gown.

“Grandma!” He drew her in to a massive hug. “I love you, Grandma.”

Her tiny arms hugged him back. “Virgil, you’re drunk.”

“No, no, I’m dancing. Wanna dance, Grandma?”

She was looking up at him with concern on her face.

“Smile, Grandma. You need to be happy.”

He needed to be happy.

She reached up and touched his face, her hand cupping his cheek.

He closed his eyes and leant into her palm as the beat throbbed around him.

-o-o-o-

The sight of his grandmother sobered Scott immediately. The chair beneath him drifted a few more feet before he brought it to a halt.

Grandma caught Virgil as he stumbled and they were hugging. Something about that simple gesture clenched his heart.

He clambered off the chair and staggered awkwardly. Okay, maybe he had a few too many. He forced himself upright, kicking some spine into his vertebrae and made his way over to his grandmother.

Virgil was all plaid and gentle eyes as she cupped his cheek.

“Grandma?” Scott’s voice wavered with his step.

Eyes as blue as his own turned towards him. “Scotty, you need to sit down before you fall down.”

He frowned. He had a chair a moment ago. He looked around.

A hand caught his cheek and drew his gaze back to his grandmother and those blue eyes.

A red arm wrapped around him and drew him in. “Scott, you are my big brother.” The statement was declared with so much love as he was pulled sideways into Virgil.

They almost fell in a heap. It was Grandma who steadied them.

“You boys need to go to bed.” A concerned frown and she called out to the ceiling. “Eos, kill the light show and the music.”

The silence that fell was so sudden, Scott almost fell with it.

Virgil stumbled and Scott held him upright.

An almighty crash off to their left and Gordon upended one of the large pot plants near the glass doors. Potting mix scattered across the floor. Gordon rolled over and sat up covered in the stuff. “Who turned off the music?”

Grandma straightened. “It is time for bed, young man.”

The dopey aquanaut looked up at his grandmother and squinted. “Grandma, is that you?”

She ignored him. “Alan, come here, sweety.”

Alan, who was yawning fit to break his jaw, wandered over as bidden.

“Yes, Grandma?”

She snaked an arm around his waist and drew him in. “Time for bed, Allie.”

Virgil reached out an arm to snag his littlest brother, but suddenly Gordon was in his way and he got an arm full of fish instead.

Virgil did not seem to mind. “Gordo! My wingman, my copilot, my fish in a barrel.” Red plaid squeezed tight. “Love you, bro.”

Scott blinked. That was three. Where was the other one?

A glance at the lounge found John sprawled on the floor up against one of the lounges, fast asleep.

“Oi, Johnny!”

Scott jumped at Virgil’s yell and so did John. Bleary turquoise peered in their direction.

“Get over here, little brother, group hug!”

Wha-? Scott’s head was so foggy.

But John was stumbling to his feet. Something told him this was a dangerous thing. As the astronaut wobbled over, Scott moved to help him, but found himself snagged by cast iron red plaid.

Fortunately, Alan picked up on his fellow spaceman’s difficulties and hurried over to give him a hand. A few moments of wobbly astronaut and John was standing with them.

Virgil immediately reached for him. “Johnny!”

Unfortunately, he didn’t let go of either Gordon or Scott when he did and, damn, Virgil was strong. They ended up in a huddle, Alan and Grandma awkwardly caught up with them.

“I love you guys.” Virgil’s voice was muffled up against John’s shirt. Scott had caught Grandma and Gordon had grabbed Alan. Virgil had his face mushed into John’s shoulder.

John looked like he had stuck a finger in an electrical socket and didn’t know why his hair was on fire.

“We love you, too, Virgil.” It was Gordon’s voice, muffled by Alan’s hair.

Something lodged in Scott’s throat and he found himself hugging the pieces of brother and grandmother he could reach.

Apparently, it was something they all needed, because they stayed there holding each other for a full minute.

Just long enough for Virgil to fall asleep against John’s shoulder and let off a snore. It took Gordon and Scott to catch him to prevent them all from falling in a heap.

The group hug dissolved and the focus became getting certain brothers to their bedrooms. Grandma hovered and helped where she could. Scott took Virgil, while Gordon switched to helping Alan with John.

The family went their separate ways.

Grandma followed Scott up to Virgil’s rooms. The engineer faded in and out, declaring his love for any and all brothers several times on the way up. But by the time they made it to Virgil’s room, the engineer was getting heavy.

“C’mon, Virg, not much further.” Scott was ever so glad of that as his head was still trying to swim against the current.

Letting him gently down on his bed, the man immediately curled up into a ball, fully dressed and obviously not caring. Scott undid green shoelaces, dumped boots on the floor with a clatter and yanked the covers up and over his already snoring little brother.

A hand smoothed crazed hair back into its more familiar style and Scott unfolded from the bed.

A glass of water appeared on the bedside table and he turned to find his grandmother looking at him fondly. He blinked. He had forgotten she was there.

She held out a hand and as he took it, he was drawn into a quiet hug. She was ever so little up against his bulk. “C’mon, Scotty, let’s get you to bed.”

“I’m okay, Grandma. I need to check on the others.”

She sighed, but let go a single nod.

As they left Virgil’s rooms, she didn’t leave his side.

A visit to John’s room found him in bed, but the wrong way around, his feet on the pillow, his head hanging off the end. It took some prodding and yanking, but Scott re-orientated him. A quick check of the gravity support systems in his clothing were functioning properly – the alcohol probably wasn’t helping. Grandma materialised with another glass of water which was placed on John’s bedside table.

Quietly. “Eos, are you monitoring, John’s systems?”

“Of course. He is well, Commander. Do not concern yourself. I will watch him.”

Scott’s eyes closed without permission and he had to force them open again. “Thank you, Eos.”

The AI didn’t answer.

Grandma took his arm and led him from the room.

A check on Alan found him on the floor, but that was nothing unusual. Gordon had probably dumped him there. The kid preferred the rug to his bed and Scott meant to talk to him about it, but…life.

Gordon had fallen asleep in the corridor outside his room.

Scott rolled his eyes. He wouldn’t be surprised if the brat had done that on purpose. After all the entire night’s fracas was obviously engineered by the aquanaut. A fond sigh of exasperation and he pulled his little brother into his arms and dragged him into his rooms.

Dragging fish was considerably easier than dragging two hundred pounds of engineer.

Scott threw Gordon onto his bed and covered him up. Fingers brushed hair off his face.

Scott sighed again and had to prevent himself from curling up beside his brother.

“C’mon, Scotty, your turn.”

Scott mumbled something even he didn’t fully comprehend and let his grandmother lead him out of his brother’s rooms. One of the aquariums blurped at him as he walked past.

And finally, he was in his own rooms and his own bed. Grandma handed him a glass of water. He guzzled it before burying his face in his pillow.

He opened his eyes as a hand brushed through his hair. “We love you, Scotty. Don’t you ever forget that.”

He blinked slowly and managed a smile up at his grandmother, but her fingers caressed the side of his face, forcing his eyes to close again and he drifted off.

His dreams were kind.

And full of loving family.

-o-o-o-

FIN.

[criohyer]

here is only room in her heart for one. canine jaw ajar, razor-sharp teeth kindred to granitic glass formed by the rapid cooling of lava bare themselves. its chassis a crossbreed with an unripe emerald snake as it's impetuous forked tongue wraps her within it. opprobrious intent, it swallows her as easily as i could drink from my veins as if it were from a goblet. decimate her soul into several pieces as it kills in large numbers like mutineers from the roman army that wish to engorge her, no mauling opposition is capable to prevail its disarm. deep in the cell of her heart, she's a prison to her own body, she could only weep for the still-pulsing blood organs in her that will not stop. she wouldn't notice if her head were to collapse, her mind is elsewhere to separate herself from the pain of living, the pain of being a prisoner to man.

the truth is, she doesn't want neither of us. neither myself or god in her heart. whomever she was has disappeared and in her place is overgrown ruins. merely, she is the artefact of the girl that is glad to go. if a song dropped from the dark unsure if it were death and it sung her to sleep, she would be quite happy not to wake up. cast out into a casket buried with roses but death isn't like that, it isn't rest. it's just rot.

only i would teach her to desire something else entirely. something very simple. and that is to not wake up on her own. through the weeks that i had left her, rope burning her wrists as shadows absorb her sense of feeling. she forgets what fingertips feel like, what a voice sounds like, what warmth feels like. when she is closed and used up and i am stretched at my fullest width ready to give she wants to jump into me and feel this life as i do perhaps then she could give as i do, perhaps then she could live as i do. she merely is yanking me into her for the very reason that the one thing that is more sought after than her own death is not having anyone at all while she knows impenetrable desolation.

i am inside her blood pumped diamond and nobody else. i am in her head, all she can hear is my whispers that sound like the slithering of a snake on the underworld. there is no space for anyone else and if anyone tries to find an abode in her bones i will smash their teeth to smithereens by stomping their head onto a gutter. if god tries to test me with blood swimming in my mouth from sore gums, my last word will be her name while i nail god himself and his henchmen on crucifixes, set them alight and have the bloodhounds devour their left over carrion. then and only then will i rip out the roots of the holy testament from the dirt in the ground and drain the earth of its light.

hell has risen, can't you see? it's in the air. you're breathing it in. it's on your tongue. you can taste it. the sky is as black as infuscate wings fluttering into darkness. can you hear it? before dawn, trembling in air down to the old river the sound of the earth curdling, convulsing, rupturing. some said the sound of thunder called the lurking fear out of hiding while others said it was its voice.

there is a screaming to be heard in the corridors of a russian asylum. in a dimly lit room with a steel bed, a twist of the bones and a bend of the back, the spine textured like two pebbles grinding and all there is to be heard is anguish correlated within the slabs of the brickwork. three nuns stand at the bed frame while a priest is stood at the foot, he is holding a vile of holy water and a rosary in one hand with the bible in the other. between the caterwauls there is the chanting and shouting of verses to rebuke evil. the demon mocks and the shadows snigger. there is bloating of internal organs that has them belch up fluids from inside the lungs of the demon and it convulses in throat to spurt outside the mouth on chin. ублю́док! у твоего отца была дворняга, кажется, ублюдок из породы бульдогов. (your father had a mongrel. a bastard from the mutt breed of bulldogs.) words of ridicule rip from the demons lungs and it refuses to relent.

katerina's fate is similar. she has a demon that has latched onto her and it has an obstinate wish to never give up a vessel. it will never relent. unfortunately, she is not quite like nettles with dust that are lost except to prove the sweetness of a shower. for katerina to become cleansed of her impurity she is to be wrung out dry and void the swollen red from the horizon. inflammation to gnaw the gloaming blue. bleaker clouds have bruised and sever to the lances of dying sun. hung bedsheets balter on as all else grows stagnant. the evil has taken her, and she is not coming back. that is the real tragedy.

i promised i would stay. have you made this promise before? you know, katerina. if i am to really have you i am to rid you of every other man who has touched you. every other man that you have lied to and loved.

she pushes further into me and i feel the curvature of her sink into me like she might be laying on a duvet wishing to get warmer, i listen to the way she responds as i touch her. one of my arms snaking around her ribs i tighten her into me like a corset the moment i feel her hand atop of my own as it restricts around her throat. she says yes, but her body says something entirely else. it piques my interest, the further i unravel her the more i am fascinated. what does she really want?

she turn in my lap climbs to face me, my hands situate on her hips and my jaw ajars forward in the direction she desires. because i love you. my breath becomes caught in my lungs. i should have captured as much as i could before i would have to breathe again. apple in throat visibly swallows, and my heart blooms. suddenly, an asteraceae is able to grow in a bed full of toxins. something festers in the stomach of the cabin, erodes its linings, eats the guises of its ghosts. 'fore fingertips find the brass lion and baroque style manor i own at home, those vestiges of scab, ash and dust are glamoured after a den. lampshades cast a lulling light over the floorboards and furnishings, walls flanked with mahogany columns, inviting prey inside. what had i really captured? am i the prey and once she is done with me i will be disintegrated.

if she is playing me for a fool, should i be tricked anyway? the lull in her eyes is hypnotising. it's the matter that only instinct wishes to settle in and take over, take guard in case she decides to rip my heart out.

"i know you said you wanted to die. now that you love me could you bare to leave me in a world without you when you take your life?" nimble digits reach for one of her wrists where he sees the bruises and rope burns around them, he presses his lips against the skin where it is wounded. "i want you to love me, i want you to want to be with me. i want to feel like i can open the door of this cabin and let you roam without you trying to run from me." furrowed eyebrows, hands rest on her thighs as my gaze drills into hers.

"i want to know that i won't come home to you threatening to kill yourself. i can't find you not breathing in this cabin. i need to know that what i offer you is enough to make you change your mind about self destruction." desperation heard in my voice. "if you want ruin, leave me in ashes. rip me apart. god knows it's the most i deserve."

"there's something inside of you kate. i seen it at the bar, i seen it in your eyes in the woods. i think i was wrong about it then. now i think you will stop at nothing to slaughter yourself if i don't do it for you." i'll wake one morning and she will have forced a knife in my hand, piercing cry at me to do it. get rid of the screaming meemies. she's just bones in a box and i have to wake up.

baby, why are you all wet? i approach her and she's sitting on a gazebo next to the lake, her body damp and her clothes soaked. she's drowned our children. any happiness we could have had. i'm searching a body of water, there's nothing but an empty nihility. i drag bodies out from the lake. i have never dragged out bodies that weren't my own victims. perhaps this is the price i pay thinking i could be capable of love, katerina would have to be just as sick. i crouch aside them, she crawls into my lap. deranged, ailed in the mind. she wants to dry them off and dress them. black earth and silt sat in the papillae of my tongue, the wet and rotten tissue that makes a voice for malaise. "if you ever loved me, katerina. please don't speak." you have to let me go. set me free. there's a bug clicking across her skull, its driving her mad. bright red blood trickles and trails from the wounds, sullying everything as it flows. it oozes, warm and silent. you'll never know its there until you look. you seek it out.

i'll shoot her in the chest and cry into the bloody hole laid against her torso. what good is love that nobody shares?

"i love you." i breathe out a weight on my lungs, my head hangs low as i look down at her her body and i bore my head into her chest. "i trust you." i linger there for a awhile in silence. "i don't want you to be afraid of me. i want you to feel like you aren't helpless of what i can do to you."

"i see how you look at weapons..."

sifting a pocket knife from my jeans, i abruptly held it against her neck, not grazing the skin. "do you want to learn how to use them?"