dhaston

[dhaston]

Paper Tiger

The familiar sound of a tape deck whirrs to life at the press of a button filling the room with a soft hum of silence before the noise of boots stepping along earth and rubble, crunching whatever came before them under their heels echoed out from the speakers. The walking kept going for what seemed like hours but was mere minutes, calming in a way actually as the only sound that came was the boots. That is until the light drip of water passed along the speaker till it faded out and was followed with a heavy creak of wood being pushed away to allow Dhaston to enter what ever place he was headed to.

 “Still a damn mess, huh.” 

 The scoundrels voice rang out and bounced off walls of the large chamber he stood in.

 “Well, better than it was. Least the bodies are gone, shit’s still on the floor though.”

 A thump was heard, a boot connecting with heavy lumber. Then came a heavy breath, a sigh of exhaustion caused something ailing the man.

 “This place was somethin’ when it was around, The Red Lamb it was called. Always wondered why she named it that but it was somethin’ about weak folk bein’ led to their end, paint the wool in blood, some deep meanin’ that I ain’t ever got. Big damn arena packed to the rafters with people screamin’ and cheerin’. Callin’ for blood from the fighters here and showerin’ the winners with praise and desire for them.  I was one of them winners, got damn good with my fists, made a name in the whole bareknuckle boxin’ scene down here. Or well I had one when I had my head in it, fell out of it when I got...Complacent as I was told.”

Dhaston let out a soft grumble that was low enough to be picked up by the speakers but the sound that came next was much more important that the recording picking up a man dealing with his thoughts. First came the low stomping of boots bouncing about the area, echoing through what probably was a tunnel till the sound got louder and louder and then mingled with the next noise.

“Well look who it is. If it isn’t our old pal Dhaston Braddock come back to check up on things.”

The voice belonged to what sounded like an older gentleman with a self-serving tone dancing about with every word he spoke. His voice was a bit faint as if there was some distance between him and Dhaston but it wasn’t just one man. The same sounds of boots continued on their journey closer and closer to the recording device causing the audio to get louder and louder. What seemed like one pair shifted in to multiple. 

“I ain’t here for problems Harlowe so you can just turn yer ass around and take yer boys with you.”

“You don’t tell the boss what he can and can’t do.”

The next voice was young but gruff and deep; like the sound of rocks dragging across the ground.

“Harlowe you put a leash on your pet or I’m gonna have to do it for ya.”

“That’s enough, Bryson. Dhaston here is all bark and no bite. He wouldn’t do anything anyway. Which is funny because he’s here right now, in the place where fighting always happened...Fighting that he was very much a part of. But now look at him, lost in the dark and talking to some dumb box.”

A chorus of one sided laughter filled the room while the low growl of another man crept above it due to being so damn close to the recording device.

“Thing is boys as much as Dhaston does love fighting he didn’t even put up any after all his friends were killed. You see Dhaston here, whole crew was executed. His boss, Serena--I heard she was found in his home, bullet in her fucking head, hands cut off and teeth gone. Damn shame though.”

Harlowe tsks softly as the sound of him walking a bit closer towards the recording device came through the speakers.

“She was such a pretty woman. But it’s astounding that the whole damn city saw those fires, saw all those bodies yet you still stand Dhaston. No fight. No...Repercussions from you. Just silence. But then we hear stories of you hanging about a new woman...That, what was she, daughter of that family that Serena took over in Kul Tiras. Doing nothing except another woman’s bidding.”

“Sounds like he’s some bitch, boss.”

“Oh no no, Bryson. Dhaston is far from a bitch. He is scary, or well, he was. You know there was a time that, I saw it with my own damn eyes, that he killed a man with a broken mug.”

“A mug?”

“A fucking mug. Snapped it right in half, jammed it right in the man’s gut and carved him up like a pig. Vicious son of a bitch he is...But now he’s doing nothing. So it makes us wonder, makes every one wonder why didn’t he die fighting for Serena. Why didn’t he fight back...But you see Dhaston isn’t a bitch, he’s what we call a paper tiger.”

“A what?”

Dhaston’s voice finally rang out from the speaker. The anger dripped from every letter, every word, every sound that came from him.

“A paper tiger, Dhaston. You have no claws. No roar. No fangs. You are merely a shadow of your former self but you always were weren’t you. You got too lazy, enjoyed life too much and let your name be the threat. Not you.”

Silence fell over the tape and only the faint ambient noise of water dripping, wood creak, the possible chitter of a rat; that was the only sound the machine picked up for what seemed to be eternity. But then came the shifting noise of boot across dirt that grew louder as if the two men had bridged the gap between the device and them.

“You both better sit your five gold piece asses down before I make change.”

Still that anger was easily heard through the recording but it was worse now. It was louder, harsher, words were like daggers stabbing the listener even if they weren’t aimed their way.

“There’s a lot that I owe you for Dhaston. A lot I owe Serena but she isn’t here, luckily you are. So I do have one question before we collect...How good must that pussy be for you to not even defend Serena’s corpse.”

It was as if a switch were instantly flipped and the situation being played out took a  turn for the worse. The sound of Dhaston growling in pure rage peaked the audio just as a loud BANG came through like the box came crashing down to the ground. The sound of fist on flesh came next, bodies connecting with one another, clothes rustling fast. Voices were mingled with anger and pain filled grunts.

“Fuck off me!”

Dhaston was the first to cry out followed by more fists connecting with flesh then the heavy thud of a body falling like lumber to the ground. Another loud cry came from the Scoundrel but not in frustration but in pain.

“Beat him fucking senseless, Bryson!”

Harlowe screamed over the fight that was being heard. Then came a wet smack followed by another. A body being beaten worse than it probably had ever taken before. It wasn’t until the screech of pain from the young gruff man filled the room followed by what sounded like something snapping in half did the fight seem to stop.

“Fuckfuckfuck! He fucking broke by goddamn leg! FUCK!”

That gruff young voice wasn’t as hard as it was earlier. Now it sounded like a young boy in pain, crying out.

“Yeah now I'm gonna break your goddamn /neck/!”

The crash of bodies came swift after the call for more blood by Dhaston was heard. Thump after thump peeked on the track but stopped with the noise of a gasp of pain and what seemed to be a body being dragged off.

“Leave Dhaston. He ain’t worth this shit!”

Harlowe’s voice faded away  as did the shuffling boots down what ever path they came in leaving the just the faint white noise of nothingness to be heard. After a moment or two the silence was broken by the sound of heavy breathing, from Dhaston to be exact. Like he was trying to catch his breath or trying to make sense of what just happened to him. Still nothing came from him, just the huff and puff of a man pushed to his edge lingered upon the audio track. 

The tape finally stopped with a soft click due to the button rising back up. There had been many fights in the Red Lamb but only one man can say he was the champion of the last one ever. That man is Dhaston Braddock. A paper tiger who’s claws are beginning to grow back in.

[dhaston]

That dream

“Alright lemme see if this--” 

The device that plays back the gruff voice of the scoundrel stops for a moment, the tape still continues but it’s as if the man that made the recording didn’t fully understand how this worked. Thankfully the whirring of the item kept going and once again Dhaston’s voice rang out.

“Fuckin’ dumb switches...Alright..”

Wood dragged across wood, legs of a chair sliding across the floor that it sat upon before the heavy huff of a man dropping right into the seat was heard. Soft sounds of clothes shifting about skin, a rustle of fabric followed by what one would assume is the clink of ice jingling about in a glass; liquid sloshing this way and that within it. “So this is a first for me. I actually don’t know why I’m doin’ this really? This--It was a joke aimed at me but I was *told* to write a book. Obviously that ain’t happenin’. So I got this damn box,”

Two heavy thuds came out through the speakers like a finger hitting the play back machine. After that deep reverberating noise rang out the soft sounds of city alive could be heard. Faint waves in the distance lapping against a surface, crashing the water apart against it in that special greeting the ocean gives to land. A distant yell here, a few laughs there, and the hum of music being played off in some near by tavern

“Records what I say and figured I can use it. Maybe vent or somethin’.”

Dhaston let out a low chuckle that was quickly cut off by the sound of what seemed like lips taking in the pleasures of a drink. Again the jingle of cubed ice dancing about in glass was picked up before a calm still befell the recording for a few moments.

“I had that dream again. It always starts the same, always with me starin’ at that damn chair in the middle of the livin’ room. It’s a nice chair--Or well /was/ a nice chair. Threw that shit out as fast as I could after I scrubbed it down, still wouldn’t be the same.”

Another pause came and then deep heavy sigh escaped the scoundrel.

“Serena was sittin’ there lookin’ right at me with those piercin’ blue eyes of hers. Long black hair hangin’ down past her shoulders, bangs dancin’ in her face which made me laugh because she’d always complain about them. Her clothes pressed and lookin’ like she paid more than someone should have for her outfit. Even with all that she was still lifeless, dead, just like I found her. There was that bullet hole right between her eyes trailin’ long red streaks of blood down across her face. And she just kept starin’ up at me with those pleadin’ eyes like I could’ve done somethin’ to help her. But I can’t, I’m just standin’ there watchin’ and not bein’ able to move. Fuckin’ helpless...All I can do is look down at my hands and strugglin’ with them to try and get them to do somethin’....But I fuckin’ can’t.”

A loud creak of wood was heard; mingled in with the sound of the scoundrel exhaling like he was leaning back in his chair. 

“I look back up she’s gone and instead it’s the boy. Same look as Serena but not as pretty. His face...His face was swollen, just a fuckin’ mess. Bruises the color of deep purple, dried caked blood around his mouth and nose. He was exactly how I left him that night, a problem I’ve lived with over these, what, three four years? But that’s when I feel it, I feel my hands shakin’ and I look down at ‘em and they’re just covered in blood, lookin’ exactly like that fuckin’ night. So I squeeze my damn hands closed tryin’ to will that mess off ‘em, tryin’ to get ‘em clean but it won’t. Fuckin’. Go. Away.”

The sharp sound of teeth being sucked upon rang out like it were some mark for Dhaston to take his pause and think things over.

“I couldn’t stop myself then. I just fell into that trap of lettin’ myself go on some poor fuckin’ kid that meant nothin’. Meant no goddamn harm and yet I snuffed his life out. But when I look back up he’s gone but she’s there. Heh, like she’s always been to me..Those honeyed eyes starin’ at me with that lazy unimpressed look she gives me. Her split brow clear as day and those golden locks framin’ her tanned skin. I ain’t sayin’ she ain’t gorgeous cause that woman is but I get a fire boilin’ up in me that makes me look past all that. Like I can’t even /see/ that woman I’ve let my eyes watch. That’s when my hands always rush to her, grab her throat as tight as I fuckin’ can and squeeze hard. But no matter how much I do, no matter how much my muscles strain she ain’t fuckin’ feelin’ it.”

The familiar sound of a chair moving and a body rustling clothes was heard before the same voice that had been speaking grew a bit louder and deeper like the scoundrel moved closer to the device.

“And I’m fuckin’ grippin’ like a son of a bitch right now. I’m growlin’ and screamin’ my anger at her like I was some fuckin’ Worgen out for blood. I should be makin’ her eyes roll back but they fuckin’ ain’t. They keep watchin’ me unimpressed with me, tired of me. But gods what she does next...She holds up a damn lighter and a cigarette like it ain’t no thing to her. Like I was just a breeze kissin’ her cheeks and she was in no danger. She plops that damn stick between /those/ lips and she. Just. Lights. Up.”

A faint huff is heard before came the rumble of a frustrated chuckle. 

“She takes in one long pull from her cigarette and blows the smoke right in my face like it was nothin’ to her. But then I hear that smoky voice of hers say the thing she says to me every damn time in this dream...At least you tried. All it took was just that to make my hands pull back from her like she was a damn fire. But I feel like I have to try again, feel like I gotta do somethin’ but I can’t. All I can do is reach for her again but it ain’t to hurt her. No, I touch where I had grabbed just to see if anythin’ was left. Any fuckin’ marks, any signs of pain or a dent or I dunno. It was like she was some damn doll and I didn’t want break it. But she’s still starin’ at me, still watchin’ me with those golden eyes of hers. All I can think about now is her words, at least I tried.”

Silence fell over the tape for what seemed like eternity but it was just mere moments. The distant music and sounds of the ocean filled in for the man’s voice knowing he was in quiet contemplation. The errant sound of chair squeaking and a glass being sipped danced about with the ambient noises being picked up till finally the deep strong voice of the scoundrel made itself known.

“That’s when I wake up, always the same endin’, never anythin’ past that point. I tried to do right by her some time ago and I failed, she made me see that. And I should’ve done what I told her I’d do but I can’t. She is--She’s...She’s stronger than me. She’s everythin’ I could’ve been and everythin’ I want; guess that’s why I follow her...Or maybe I’m just a fuckin’ fool.”

One final laugh came from him as a kiss goodbye to the tape letting the machine know it was time to stop playing back.