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fluorescentpipedream · 1 day ago

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"Rhys! You're up."

Morgan sighed and pushed himself off the bench where he'd been told to wait and walked slowly toward the massive sliding gate. It clanged against itself, and he jolted slightly. For ten years, he'd been hearing that damn gate, and it still made him jump. Fuck...had it really been that long? He shifted uneasily, wearing the standard beige jumpsuit, and stopped in front of the gate, holding his wrists out in front of him as instructed by the large black guard. She was a kind woman, one of the few he actually liked since he'd been moved to minimum security about five years ago. Her name was Yolanda, he'd met her the first day when he'd been brought over from the other prison, and she'd given him the 'tour' of the place, as she called it. His bunk was more open in this one, no big bars on the cells, though his block mates left something to be desired most of the time. He spoke to a few of them, but no one with whom he really made a familiar connection. Morgan dropped his head to the side and rolled his neck to the side to get his blonde hair out of his eyes, not that it did much good, and fell back almost immediately.

Yolanda reminded him of that one sassy nurse every hospital seemed to have when he had first met her, and she was one of the few who had actually been nice to him during his incarceration. She gave him a slight smile now, though it wasn't welcoming, warm, or anything else you'd expect a smile to be. He nodded back to her in recognition and gave her a soft look. One of the other inmates here said he always looked like he was going to cry, or he wanted to claw someone's eyes out. In the beginning, it was probably the first one, but these days, a more homicidal look had taken up residence in his blue-grey eyes.

"You got someone comin' for you?"

"No."

She frowned at how quick the answer came, and he felt a pang of guilt. He didn't have family anymore, and the one person he had loved was either dead or disappeared into the nothingness he'd failed to follow her into. He cleared his throat as he walked through the gate and heard it clatter shut behind him. Letting out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, Morgan turned on his heel and looked back at it for a moment before swiveling back toward Yolanda so she could remove the shackles on his wrists and ankles.

"The bus to the housing center will be to your right, I'd take it if I were you. It's a bed, and those places are pretty nice..." For his part, Morgan only nodded as she began walking again, and he caught up to her relatively quickly. She paused at a small window and told the waiting clerk his name and number. Morgan watched as the man disappeared into the back for a moment, only to return with a small, folded bundle and a plastic bag containing miscellaneous trinkets. He took it, turning the bundle over in his hands, and looked at it.

"God..." It had been so long since he'd gotten to wear anything civilian. Yolanda motioned to a bathroom that was to the right of the last door of the hall, and he disappeared into it, changing back into the clothes he'd had when he'd been arrested: a formerly loose-fitting Static shirt and jeans that had been too big for him as well. The beat up leather jacket he opted to carry instead of wearing, it was too damn hot outside for it, he knew that much. In the little bag was a wallet, a small ring on a ball chain, a pair of black aviator-style sunglasses, and a pack of cigarettes with the lighter tucked inside. Miraculously, there were still a few left in the pack. He pocketed the wallet and cigarettes and put the chain around his neck, touching it softly before dropping his hand. Looking at his reflection in the streaked mirror, he barely saw much of a difference between the kid who had come in and the one who was leaving.

"I have more scars." He said to his reflection, running some water through his hair, and walked back into the hallway. Yolanda was talking to another guard, Todd, who gave Morgan the once-over before handing him a clipboard and telling him to sign his name.

"I better not see you again, boy."

"Don't take this the wrong way, but I don't want to see you again either, Todd."

There was a look from the two of them that Morgan couldn't read, and then he was ushered outside. The heat of the Californian sun beat down on him as he walked the remaining distance from the prison exit, through the chain link walkway, and out the other side. Ten years. It had been ten years since he was arrested and sentenced for male prostitution. A tacky ass woman had offered him $300 for a quickie in her shabby hotel and it was only after the act that she turned out to be an undercover cop. Ten years since he had been given the worst lawyer in Cali. A little whelp straight out of law school who didn't even try to defend him. It wasn't until he requested new counsel that he got to take the cop down with him; she had abused her sting op to get her rocks off, paid for sex, and then afterward she came out and tried to say he'd forced himself on her. He was a 19-year-old kid who weighed around 150 pounds, soaking wet. It hadn't ended well for her, but those ten years were ridiculous. Something that should have resulted in a 90-day suspension and a fine...

Ten. Fucking. Years.

Morgan snorted absently as he squinted up at the sun and took his sunglasses off the front of his shirt. After putting them on, he took the cigarettes out of his pocket and found one that wasn't broken. He lit it and took a long drag, looking around as he did so.

The bus that Yolanda had mentioned was supposed to take him a little ways out of town to a low-income public housing development. It was similar to some setup that was going on in New York, she had told him. Someone had come in and was making waves against the senators in the Big Apple, so now there was more affordable housing for those on the lowest rungs of society. The homeless, disabled, non-violent parolees and low-income individuals were now being given the chance to get off the street, get a roof over their heads, and their feet on the ground so they could find a job and have a chance at life. Not to be outdone by NYC, the new senator of California had decided that they would do the same thing in their state, but it would be better than the one in New York. Here, you can find a fully furnished apartment in a location that has received a substantial government-funded grant to support those in need, working towards the elimination of poverty and homelessness in the process. If you were coming from the prison system, you got either a studio or 1-bedroom apartment, rent covered for two months, and it had all the bells and whistles you could want in a starter home: most were fully furnished with cable and internet hookups, and some had laundry facilities as well. The one Morgan was going to had a laundromat attached to it and had once been a no-tell motel that was converted when the original owner either died or otherwise abandoned the property.

He nodded at the man who was waving to him and half-jogged over to the bus, taking another drag from his cigarette before putting it out on his heel and slipping it back into the pack. Getting on, he moved for the back and dropped into the bucket seat that reminded him of his school bus from NYC. He must have fallen asleep with the early morning sun bearing down on the palm trees because he was woken up by the driver lightly tapping his shoulder.

The apartment complex was a shabby, bright blue metal with gold accenting in places that made no sense. However, there was a nice-looking little courtyard area with a playground to the side and what looked like a pool in the back. Morgan pursed his lips together as he stepped off the bus and met a tall, slender Hispanic woman out front of the office.

"You must be Morgan Rhys. My name is Ximena. I'm going to be your court liaison. I'll make sure you get settled here in the Esseff Estates."

"Ximena? That's...unique."

"Thank you." She was a lovely woman. He took her hand and gave it a firm handshake as he was led into the office. The only thing he could say about the man in the rickety chair behind the desk was that he could smell him before he saw him, and it was an odious combination of body odor and some kind of aquavelva. Morgan said nothing to him as the man gave him a look that made him shiver inwardly.

"You look like you fell out of an '80s flick."

"Yeah...I've heard that one before." His tone was dry, and he was already bored with this. The man handed Ximena a set of keys with a jangly keychain and told her the apartment number, muttering something about a surfer jerk getting the ocean view. The laugh the man held back in his throat made Morgan want to roll his eyes. He instead turned his back to the man and followed Ximena out the door and down the walkway, looking around a little as she started to speak again.

"The landlord back there, his name is Josef. He's generally harmless, but if he gives you any trouble, let me know and we'll remind him exactly what he's getting by working alongside the program." Her tone caught Morgan off guard, and he couldn't help but laugh.

"So I'm guessing there's some good rewards for helping the dregs of society?" There was vitriol in his words, but Ximena only nodded.

"Something like that. It looks like you are in 215, right on the corner up there. And if I'm looking at it right, you got one of the ones with a balcony."

Morgan didn't say anything, and she looked back at him as though she was expecting something, but eventually gave up, continuing on, motioning for him to follow her up the stairs. The apartments beneath him all had little flowers outside, a few of them had kids' toys scattered around, and there were a few that had pool towels sitting on plastic lawn chairs. He smiled a little, following the woman up the neon blue and concrete steps as she wound her way around to his new apartment. The door didn't have much on it except for a little gated window that served as a lookout and a hook above that if you wanted to hang up a wreathe for the holidays. It looked like whoever lived her before had put up Christmas lights at one time, there were hooks all around the door frame. It was actually quite a bit larger than he was expecting, and Morgan realized that the hotel had been reconstructed, so two rooms turned into one apartment. He had a fully functioning kitchen with a full-sized refrigerator, a small bar top with a few stools beneath it, and, as he realized after the fact, a dishwasher hidden under the linoleum counter.

Ximena was still talking to him, but he really only heard a little of what she was saying. For what had happened and everything he'd seen over the years, this place was almost too nice. A teasing, somewhat mocking female voice went off in his head, and he sighed, pushing it out of his mind.

"Ximena...not to interrupt but..."

"Oh...I'm sorry, this is probably overwhelming. Anything you need to know about the program is in the folder on the coffee table. The TV has cable, and you have internet, although you'll be responsible for your own computers, streaming devices, or any other devices you may use. There are standard dishes, cooking utensils, and the like in the cabinets, and one of the residents was nice enough to go get you some basic groceries. I'm not sure what she got you, but it's in the cabinet and pantry, respectively. I've taken the liberty of putting your parole officer, therapist, and my number on the fridge. If there's anything else you need, Mr. Rhys..."

"Morgan."

"Of course, Morgan...we at Many Mansions want to make sure you can get your feet on the ground and expand your horizons."

She beamed at him, and he offered her his hand again, which she took. She then dropped the keys into his open hand before bidding him a good morning and leaving. Morgan was left standing in the living room, finally alone. He let out a breath and walked over to the door, slipping out of his shoes and setting his coat on the back of the loveseat that faced the window. He turned the lock until it clicked, briefly opening the little window before closing it again and latching it. He'd probably never open that thing again, if he was being honest with himself. As Ximena had said, a welcome basket containing fruit and a folder with a pamphlet was on the coffee table. Across from the table was a mid-sized flat-screen TV with a plump couch opposite it. A small booklet was inside the folder, which he took out first, and was greeted with a cheerful picture of a happy family waving at him. He picked it up as he sat back on the couch, resting one of his feet on the edge of the table, and read the title aloud.

"Welcome to Esseff Estates, Santa Monica." He couldn't help the laugh that escaped him. "If this is an estate, I'm the lost Lindberg baby." He continued.

This government housing project was initiated by Many Mansions and is in collaboration with Monroe Industries and its subsidiaries. Our mission is to provide a safe environment for the newly released and help you achieve your goals. Whether you are a low-income family, just starting out with a family, or part of our rehabilitation program, we hope you will find your home here with us at Esseff Estates!

"Blah blah blah..." Morgan frowned and tossed the pamphlet away onto the table, glanced at the basket, and the bigger, sturdier folder that was still on the table. He leaned forward on the couch, taking the pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and staring at it for a moment before he got up and walked to the back of the apartment, casually picking up an empty plate from the counter and carrying it out with him. The balcony was small, barely wide enough for the pool lounger that was on it, but it had a pretty nice view of a sliver of ocean. He could hear it better than see it. Straddling the lounge chair, he sank down onto it and lit his cigarette, taking a drag and closing his eyes as he lay his head back. This wasn't how things were supposed to go.

Ten years ago, he had been 19 years old, carefree, young, and dumb, and looking for absolutely any way to get away from the life that he was slowly trudging through. He had gotten involved with a street kid named Lilly J and had tried to live her life, keep up with her, and be that kind of person, but...as she had said so many times, that wasn't his world, he didn't fit into it. He was a pretty little rich boy whose mommy and daddy never loved him, and it showed. He hated to admit it later on, but she was right. When he had found out that his parents had moved out of New York and his older brother Robbie had gotten married, he had thrown what ultimately amounted to a tantrum and left everyone and everything behind. He'd been angry and hurt, and he broke the one person he had ever loved. He wrote a stupid fucking letter to her and left in the middle of the night, abandoning her all together. He was foolish; he knew it now and wanted nothing more than to find Lilly and apologize for his idiotic behavior.

Of course, he hadn't been able to go home; there was no home to go to, and in the end, he had wound up here. Whoring himself out for petty cash to keep his head afloat while trying to trace what steps he thought he could to get back to Lilly. It wasn't going to happen, and he'd come to terms with that in his 4th year of incarceration. He wasn't cut out for that life, but then again, he wasn't cut out for much, it seemed. "Wah wah wah..." He muttered to himself and got up again, wincing slightly as he did so, his hand going to a spot on his lower left hip. Nothing like being stabbed because you didn't fight back. Prison was fucked up.

Putting out his cigarette, Morgan walked back into his new apartment and once again found himself just standing in the living room for a moment or two. This was going to take some getting used to. He finally moved, sitting back down on the couch and picking up the heavier folder, flipping through it. There was a small packet of coupons for local stores offering discounts on groceries and carry-out from restaurants, as well as a collection of places hiring individuals who represented his particular demographic. "Criminal." He filled in the small blank space with a pen from the small elastic loop. "I'm going to end up a barista at Starbucks."

He scoffed, but the thought was funny to him. The thing that caught his eye next was a checklist, which he immediately got up and put on his fridge, between the list of phone numbers and the emergency contact list. It was the standard stuff: find a job, buy a plant, get a pet, make a friend...things he and his therapist had talked about as well. Things he was never good at before, and something told him after all these years, being locked up wasn't going to make him any better at it. Morga opened the fridge to find it stocked with Dr. Pepper, bottled water, and unsweet tea, of which he took one and proceeded to see what else was in the cabinets. The man who had done the shopping for him was a neighbor from down the hall; he had left a little note on the counter that simply said he had guessed at what Morgan would want. When I got out, all I wanted was a cheeseburger and a beer. My husband said you might want something else. He's responsible for making your bed and setting up the bathroom. Enjoy. -R

Morgan wondered what the R stood for, but the man was a neighbor, so he might find out one day. He took his drink and locked his front and back doors before going into the bedroom and looking around. It was a reasonably large room, all things considered, with a full-sized bed that had standard blue sheets and a nice duvet cover folded neatly. R's husband was likely a nurse, given those corners. Morgan set his tea on the bedside table and walked into the bathroom. There wasn't much that stood out about it, but there were already soap and shaving supplies in it, which he guessed was the gift as well. Generally uninterested in all of it, Morgan left the bathroom and sat down on the edge of the bed before lying back and staring at the ceiling, falling asleep faster than he would have expected.

Morgan woke up to the sound of kids outside the apartment and sat up, looking around a little bleary-eyed. It took him a minute or two to remember what had happened and why he was there, though, when he heard another kid shout something inaudible from a few down, he came back to the new reality. It was after 4, if the clock on the table was to be believed. He had slept the whole damn day away an had hardly noticed. Getting up slowly, he rubbed his side absently, walking out the front door and leaning over the bars, watching some of the kids mill around down in the play area and courtyard. He didn't say anything, but held his hand up when one of them noticed him, in a silent hello before walking back into his apartment again. He picked up the folder again and flipped through it again, rereading a few interesting parts, and sat back on the couch with a drink. He was going to need clothes and a haircut before he could get a job, but he was likely going to need a job before he could get those things.

Letting out a sigh, he reached forward and turned the TV on. He clicked through the stations before settling on some obscure-looking cartoon family, snickering to himself about a bunny-eared child and her brother's comment.

#character #new #characters #James Spader #Old character

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fluorescentpipedream · 18 days ago

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Tracii stood on the edge of the breaker, looking over the pier's edge, watching the waves crash ahead of him. While his eyes seemed fixed on the roiling tide, his mind was far and away from it all. He hadn't meant to be this transfixed on anything, and least of all a woman.

He had a million things on his mind at any given time these days, trying to keep track of "Joey's Kids" as they were called and of one he had once been considered. They were a ragtag bunch of homeless kids living in an abandoned car park in Avenue D, most of them scattered like rats whenever the police, who dared come down there, would appear, only coming out again when they were sure the coast was clear. It was him, Caps, Erin and Myuki who were the so-called "originals" and the ones in charge now that the damned DEA agent had taken Joey out. No one knew what happened to him, and it wasn't in their best interest to poke their noses into anything either. For his part, Tracii had been living in Alphabet City most of his life. He had turned up there from unknown parts when he was only a young boy and immediately ran down with the vagabonds. He had the soft puppy eyes that got him the most attention and the most sympathy, but he was also kind and gentle. As he'd grown up, he'd found a knack for sleight of hand and was the best at ripping off foreign and local businessmen; he even walked away with the Rolex once. Of course, everything he got was taken back and hocked for whatever he could get for those younger or sicker than himself.

It was a mess down here; anyone with redeeming qualities was often lost among the rest. Phyre, Shadow, and Rockefeller...all made-up names in most cases meant to hide themselves among the rest of the garbage, it worked for everyone and no one simultaneously. If you needed drugs, you went looking for Shadow, a former pharmaceutical genius now working with chemicals that could either destroy a whole block in noxious fumes or keep the kid down the road from dying of pneumonia. Phyre could get you the dangerous shit and somehow he managed to do it with the grin you'd never trust. Rockefeller was the devil himself but if you wanted a fuck, he could get it for you, no matter what it was. No questions. There were never any questions, and you would NEVER want the answers if there were. Tracii had talents of his own; one moment he was there, and despite his 6.5ft and relatively muscular frame, he'd be gone the next. He was a runner for Shadow and Phyre, often disappearing into the crowd the moment you turned around. But despite everything, he had a heart of gold and did whatever was in his power, or sometimes beyond it, to ensure those around him were cared for. That was the rule down here: you take care of your people.

Alphabet City existed in two worlds. One was the gentrification brought on by the richer people moving into the first four avenues, but anything past Avenue D wasn't acknowledged. Anything past M was a nightmare, lovingly or threateningly called the Narrows. And for good reason. Rockefeller lived on O. Police wouldn't go past M. And if you lived any lower than that, no, you didn't.

Rhianna, her mother, and siblings all lived in one of the more damaged buildings near the border of D and E. And for the most part, Tracii had lived in it as well, if he ever truly lived anywhere. At least that was until a few months ago. Rhianna had been the first and probably the only member of her family to be accepted into college. Now she was living in the dorms at New York University and going to school for something to do with law, but he wasn't entirely sure. But she was like so many others down here, she wanted to be better than where she came from and wanted nothing more than to get her mother and seven siblings out of the hell they lived in. Tracii had stayed a bit longer, but their relationship faded like a light after a while; they're friends more than they were ever lovers. Granted, Rihanna did have a bit of a possessive flare when it came to him, but that was true about a lot of things down there. You find your people and you keep them.

Tracii rolled back on his heels, holding onto the bar and leaning into the strong wind that blew his hair back, squinting his eyes against it, he was still focused on the waves. The sky was getting darker, it was going to start raining soon, and he was supposed to be making sure the younger kids would be returning soon. How the hierarchy worked was tricky for an outsider to understand, but they all had their purposes. Caps and Robin were up near Central Park this week, trying to elicit some kind of sympathy from people, though it might have been real, Caps was getting sick again. Robin was relatively new to the game; he had been a stockbroker when some massive firm took a header and face-planting, taking everyone with it, and now he was slumming it with everyone else. Erin was in the art district, trying to sell his paintings though there was another mess associated with him, Honestly these days Tracii couldn't keep track of what his friend was going through. The older ones were living on Avenue A and taking what they could get when they could. As for Tracii's mind, it was still flitting around, focusing where it shouldn't be more often than not.

Her name was Alana; that was all he knew of her besides her being Rhianna's roommate. There had been some animosity there originally; she was a pretty little blond thing that had moved into the dorm with Rhia, and his friend had been short with her for a while. She would wake up crying for some reason, screaming...there was a creeper older guy that hung around her and things that she wouldn't tell anyone about who she was, where she came from, or what was going on. It had taken Rhia's mother, thwapping her with her shoe to knock some sense into her, before she'd started talking to her roommate and spending more time with her, that something had finally broken. She had family drama, which was the best Tracii had gotten out of Rhia, though he knew she knew more than she would tell him about it. Sworn to secrecy, and that meant something down here. It had been a strange break-in at their dorm, nearly everything was gone through, and Alana's weird bodyguard had wanted her out of the school, which had caused Rhia to bring her down to the one place no one would look for her.

"Trust me, when you want to hide something, you put it in the last place anyone will look. What business would a little thing like her have going down into Alphabet City?" Rhia had said of it while helping her newfound friend get packed and disappear, while whoever had been looking for her was hunted down. So she hid in plain sight with Rhianna's mom and siblings. That was how he had met her. When he had been running a dose up to her brother, he'd seen the beautiful angel of a woman sitting on the couch while three of Rhia's sisters were Rapunzel-ing her hair. All that long blond hair was tied up neatly in braids, crossed along the back, and made into something even more stunning. At first, he had been flabbergasted by her, forgetting his mouth was open until Rhia had come up and closed it for him. Something about her was breathtaking.

"She's too much woman for you," Rhia said teasingly, moving around him to get the bags he had brought, which was probably true. Her blue eyes had fallen on him, and he felt like his soul had shuddered. He wanted to fall into her eyes like he would the blue of the ocean in front of him now. He had gotten to say one or two things to her, a simple hello and a very brief introduction, before all of the kids had clamored for him and they were overwhelmed, all hellos and nice to know yous lost to the insanity of that way too full apartment. He had said he would come by again, but never got a chance to. That was a week ago, and he still hated how he'd been rushed around and unable to get what he wanted to say to her. She was stunning, beautiful, and lost...she'd never want something like him.

Hearing a crack of thunder, Tracii suddenly pulled himself out of where he was and back into reality. Pulling his mass of hair out of his face, he put his thumb and index finger in his mouth and let forth a shrill whistle, which automatically got the attention of a few of the little ones milling around in the sand. When it stormed like this, they went to Milly's for dinner. Now that woman was an angel...probably literally too. As he scooped up one of the smaller girls and set her on his shoulders, he smiled. He still wanted to talk to Alana. She and Rhia were back at the dorms, and if he remembered correctly, Rhia had told her mother she would be in the library all night; she had some research to work on for one of her classes.

In another hour, Tracii stood outside the dorm room with a plastic bag in one hand and the other hand, having just knocked on the door. He looked like a delivery guy, and he knew that. His hair was wet and held back with the help of a very old pink and orange scrunchie. His eyes were bright, but there was still that hesitation. He was nothing and no one. This woman was something, and everyone but him seemed to know it. He just wanted to know her.

He knocked again.

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fluorescentpipedream · 18 days ago

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Scott & Jory

SCOTT:

“I thought you liked it when I was a grouch?” Scott teased and watched her carefully as she snapped through her pictures. He was far and away though, thinking about this and that but mostly about how he found Jory and somehow he’d come to love her. Spending time with her made the hours fly by, it was strange for him after being alone for so long. Usually his angry outbursts or long sullen silences drove people away but she seemed oddly used to it.

His mind shifted again to story ideas, bringing back the Nightingale character again, the long lost bird, symbolizing an everlasting love, of course. She’d died in one of his last books but hearing Jory’s teasing words he imagined her the Nightingale, suddenly lowering her camera and smiling against the sunset. It made him smile, really and truly.

Jory pushing against him suddenly brought him back to reality and he sucked in a breath. She smelled of jasmine mixing with the wood bourbon and sandalwood of the cologne she had bought for him. He had teased her about it, mock whining it was too musky but he had liked it more than he wanted to let on.

“I like the one with the reflection in the glass…that last one though…” the one of his genuine smile. “that one stays with us.” He paused and wrapped an arm around her waist, almost cradling her.

“I have an image, after all”

JORY:

She snuggled into Scott as he looked through the photos and said that the one smiling stayed between them. She knew he had a reputation as a 'moody author', and some of his readers found that part of his charm. She wasn't going to ruin that. Honestly, she was just happy he still tolerated her presence.

She moves and saves the photos and looks up at him.

"I'm gonna show your publisher this one." She turns the camera around to show him looking over his shoulder, looking all modified.

"I don't know why you don't want anyone to see you smile, You have a wonderful smile. " She looked up at him and gave a gentle smile. She loved it when he smiled at her, or at something she'd done, or really just looked in her general direction.

Jory was honestly glad they met three months ago, and she's been able to help him get here to New York to finally see his publisher. He'd also been writing again, which was wonderful seeing too.

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fluorescentpipedream · 18 days ago

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Sara & Guy

GUY:

“I know you are, but it doesn’t mean I can’t worry about you still.”

Guy hadn’t meant for this tryst to continue, in all honesty. He played cat and mouse games so often with her, Robin and the rest, it was hard for a while to differentiate between the game and the feeling in his chest when he saw her. Sara was unlike anyone he had met and he loved her, against all better judgement.

Hearing her he frowned softly and leaned back, looking out the window at the expanse of dead or dying fields before closing the shutters and facing her again.

“Oh? And here I was hoping you’d just be mine for a while.” He sighed, combing a hand through his hair and beginning to unhook his tunic. He paused when he saw the look on her face and his tone dropped.

“What’s wrong? You have that look…”

SARA:

Sara moved and untied the front of his tunic slowly, her fingers playing with the strings. She wished this was a social call; she wished it was because she was cold and wanted to keep him warm, but they'd been hearing 'rumors' of an inquisitor. And Sara didn't like the news she'd gotten.

"I've heard...." Her fingers stilled on the strings of the tunic's front. "Of someone coming that the Sheriff is very excited about.."

Sara knew he'd have questions about how she even heard about that, but because of all she'd done, it's amazing who would talk to her who works directly in the palace.

"Any idea who...that is?" She hoped Guy was feeling up to sharing because this person who was coming did NOT sound good.

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fluorescentpipedream · 18 days ago

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Evelyn slipped quietly down into the back of the dimly lit lecture hall of NYU. Only three other students sat in various places around the room as she began to unload the brown wicker Marc Jacobs tote bag. The words on the side blazing TOTE BAG was probably the stupidest thing Evelyn had ever seen but she liked it nonetheless and used it for her school stuff.

Opening up the silver shelled macbook, the screen lit up to reveal a dark green and blue tinted forest scene, the moss clinging to branches of the bare trees. It was one of her favorite backgrounds, moody and dark like her. She brushed a stray strand of dark honey colored hair from her pale face and took a deep calming breath, it was hard to not see the Shadows in the corner, the darkness creeping in, the dead faces peering at her from them. She moved taking a pill bottle out of her bag taking one of the translucent red pills out and taking it with water, in a few minutes that darkness would be gone and so would the faces, at least for a little bit. Evelyn Monroe, 29 years old, was starting over again, having just been released for the third time for treatment of delusions and schizophrenia. The pills were a new experimental drug by a new company that had considerable promise. So far, they were working, but not great. She still wasn't sleeping well, but they were helping to decrease the shadows and the voices that felt like she was being rushed by a tidal wave. She was also one of the wealthiest women in the world, inheriting not one, not two, but 6 fortunes. Both her parents, her brother, her sister, and an Uncle, all of whom perished in a plane crash in the Swiss Alps, and Albert Watson, a popular Historian and researcher who had built his own fortune. He was murdered by someone, and Evelyn still didn't know who. She was also called a Black Widow; each of her lovers has disappeared or perished in some tragic manner, all starting with Lynston Mancuso, her first Husband, a tragic artist who took his own life in Watson Manor.

While she wished she was back being a young student like she had when she first moved to New York at 18 she was instead doing a favor for the sitting Professor who was out after having a mass removed from his Spine, an old colleague of Alberts who trusted Evelyn to make sure his TA was doing a good job in his stead. It was the first night of classes, so there were still 4 months left. But it got her out of the house, and honestly, she loved to learn, and Art History was one of her favorites. Afterwards, she would go home to the big dark townhome on the Upper East Side and attempt to have dinner and sleep, but she would more than likely pass out without eating and wake up sick again. It was an endless cycle. At times, Evelyn barely felt connected to her body. This was her state of being since everything fell apart 10 years ago. She just wanted to enjoy herself, even for a moment. She just wanted some peace. Her eyes shifted to the doors as people started to file in, some whispering because she wasn't as anonymous as she had hoped. But she was sitting far enough away that she would try to ignore them.

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fluorescentpipedream · 1 month ago

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fluorescentpipedream · 1 month ago

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Leiland watched as the young woman relaxed a little and nodded his head. "Believe me, I've been hit much harder over the years, it's fine." He chuckled again and looked over her as she started putting her stuff back out on the desk again and reached forward, catching one of the pens before it rolled off the table, setting it back next to her bag again, somewhat absently wondering if these tables were level and making a note to check it later. It wasn't his job, but if he were sitting here all year, he didn't want to play the 'here's your pen back' game the whole time. Looking at her again, he smirked to himself. Maybe he did want to play that, if it was with her.

The doe eyes were disarming for all their sweetness, and she looked lost and flustered. Hearing her joke about the bag, he laughed again, lightheartedly. "I've seen those bags a few times, most of the people that have them tend to wear glittery yoga pants with the word "juicy" on their butts." He'd only been out of prison for a few months and he'd seen more 'juicy' asses in Times Square than you could want in a life time. Usually, on tourists, and almost always, they had big TOTE BAGs with tiny dogs in them. It was...odd.

Leiland let the air sit for a moment before he held his hand out to her. "My name's Leiland...and you are?" It had been a long time since he had been in the world. He didn't remember many of the high society people, and honestly, he never really rubbed elbows with them anyway. A snicker from the peanut gallery beneath them and some whispers made him frown.

"That group seems to think I should just -know- who you are..." He didn't like to tell people who he was completely, anyone who heard the name Cortland now seemed to have one of two ideas go through their head, 'ahh, the criminal' or 'ahh, the sellout.' Either way, it wasn't a conversation he liked to start with.

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fluorescentpipedream · 1 month ago

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That kiss nearly shattered whatever resolve Guy may have had left. he felt Sara's lips crush against his, but before he could react with impulse, the sword hit him across the head, and he let out a gasp, breaking their contact. Groaning when she punched him in the gut, he more dramatically stumbled back, falling against the bed as the tapestry fell. There was still a scuff mark on the windowsill, and it looked like someone had tried to escape. It didn't take long after the cloth had gone still against the wall again before Roan had clashed his brute force into the door, cracking it open to find Guy in the window, one hand on his stomach and the other on the sill. There was a small trail of blood running down the side of his face.

The Inquisitor joined him by the window with only three or four brisk steps. Something about the man made Guy want to shrink back and cower, and he wasn't one prone to acts of fear.

"I see you're keeping all the fun to yourself, Gisbourne?" The man's voice was tinged with malice and somehow entertainment. Guy winced as Roan reached out and touched the drying blood, getting some of it on his fingertips and rubbing them together, seeming entranced by it for a moment. He wondered what this man really was, because he didn't act like he was human. Leaning against this window, he started to speak when the guards were suddenly clamoring around, two of them had been knocked out in the stables, and someone was fleeing to the forest line.

"Fuck." Guy tried to keep his voice stable when he cursed, and he and Roan shared a look that Guy couldn't read. For his part, Roan was looking at the scuffing of the window, the drag marks on the shingles of the roof and the slight dip in the tiling where someone could have slipped off the side, if she was small enough, quick enough she could have followed the roof around to the side where it was sloped more, jumped on the soldiers and taken them out before making a dash for the trees. These men were quite stupid; they never looked up when they were supposed to be standing guard. He'd noticed that when he first arrived. But there was something else...this all felt staged, and he hated that. If he learned Gisbourne was playing him for a fool, there would be hell to pay.

The fire near the forest's edge got both of their attention, and they stared at it for a moment before bolting from the room. Guy took the stairs quickly, but Roan somehow beat him out the back door, and both raced to where the fire was catching from the small carriage and into the nearby trees. The men were rushing to put it out before it spread too far, and it didn't take long to get it put out, but it was a fine distraction. Roan had seen something similar once before, and all he could do was laugh.

He said that speaking to no one in particular and yet directly to someone he knew was closer than she appeared. "You need to find some new tricks, little Outlaw. I'll find you, I always do."

Sara & Guy

GUY:

“I know you are, but it doesn’t mean I can’t worry about you still.”

Hearing her he frowned softly and leaned back, looking out the window at the expanse of dead or dying fields before closing the shutters and facing her again.

“What’s wrong? You have that look…”

SARA:

"I've heard...." Her fingers stilled on the strings of the tunic's front. "Of someone coming that the Sheriff is very excited about.."

Sara knew he'd have questions about how she even heard about that, but because of all she'd done, it's amazing who would talk to her who works directly in the palace.

"Any idea who...that is?" She hoped Guy was feeling up to sharing because this person who was coming did NOT sound good.

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fluorescentpipedream · 1 month ago

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"The demons are trying to make everything a mess again." He half whispered into her neck and snuggled her tightly, wrapping himself in her again. Jory had been a completely different thing than he had ever expected; she'd come out of left field and taken him over entirely. His sister had found out about her early in the relationship and had tried to poke holes in everything. Still, when he sat with Maggie and wanted to tell her everything good that had happened since he'd met Jory, he was surprised by how much better he was doing.

Jory had helped him see that his medications were making him worse, not better. He'd started eating better and was actually going outside for walks. He had a trainer now and had built up more muscle than before. He was sleeping better, and now they had a kitten at home that spent most of her time trying to chew on his pens and fingers whenever he would sit at his desk. He felt more alive than ever, not just in recent years. And it was thanks to this woman who came into his life on what was supposed to be the last night of his life.

After their first night together, something else had broken open. He had finally started writing again, essentially figuring out a way to retcon his last book so his character hadn't died but was instead transported to the land where the Nightengale sang, finally turning that strange, enigmatic constant in his books into the supernatural thing it was always supposed to be. He found out from Jory that one of his books, one of the 'best of the series,' had somehow fallen out of print, and they were re-releasing it now. He'd agreed finally to a leather-bound, illustrated set of the six-book series...about to be seven series. This young woman had found him at his worst and loved him anyhow, saw the man buried under all the death and despair. And when he was having a better day, she still loved him...it wasn't a passive thing, she didn't just care about him when he was broken, and that was what he needed.

His ex had only loved him when he was stable and coherent; she never wanted to see the darkness he held, and for years, he had tried to keep it hidden beneath everything. All that had done was turn the monster into something so much worse than it had ever been. Now he was finding that it had done more harm to him than good and was learning how to banish the beast, bring it out into the light, and let it live with him. Depression and bipolar disorder had collided into aggressive agoraphobia, making it nearly impossible for him to get out of bed, much less to live. While a part of him had hated it and wanted to be the man he had once been, there was too much holding him back. And yet...now he was lying in bed in New York City, getting ready to go to interviews tomorrow to discuss the turn of his books, and the return of his career. It was mindboggling.

Scott smiled softly at her words, nuzzling her softly and holding Jory tightly against him, letting her words wash over him, trying to imagine her touch and voice like a literal water, washing all of the darkness off him again. It took a few breaths before he opened his eyes again and looked down into hers. "You came to me at a time I thought I was going to be taking my last breaths...I always dreamt up the kind of woman I would want to be with, and you...you're her. It took a while, but my Nightengale finally got to me. I love you so much more than I have the words for."

Scott & Jory

SCOTT:

“I have an image, after all”

JORY:

She moves and saves the photos and looks up at him.

"I'm gonna show your publisher this one." She turns the camera around to show him looking over his shoulder, looking all modified.

Jory was honestly glad they met three months ago, and she's been able to help him get here to New York to finally see his publisher. He'd also been writing again, which was wonderful seeing too.

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fluorescentpipedream · 1 month ago

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"Ahh okay, that's good to know." Tracii loved learning from whoever would give him the option to do so. There was a school in Alphabet City but like everything else here it was just out of reach for a lot of the people who lived there. Especially the street kids. "Thanks for that, I like learning new words for things." He repeated the word a few times to himself so he could tell the little ones about it too. Miyuki would take it and make up a story about some kind of beach witch living deep beneath the waves, she was good at that kind of thing.

He sat in silence for a moment watching Alana shift nervously and wondered if he was the one making her nervous or if it was just the situation. She usually had a bodyguard with her or even Rhia to some degree, she was never completely alone with anyone. He wondered if he was making her uncomfortable.

"Yeah...pretty much. I got picked up by Joey and some of the originals that used to run the streets...they still do, those that are alive. I'm kind of one of them now." He chuckled softly, though his face changed when she shut down on him, and he moved, gently laying his hand on hers.

Alana...it's not that bad once you figure out how to make yourself valuable to it. Alphabet City is an entirely different beast than the rest of the city; it runs like it's a free-standing place. We've got people that have their purposes...most of us are so poor down there, we make a living with whatever we can find." Granted, there were things he wished he had readily available, it wasn't something he'd never want to leave, but at the same time, it was how he was used to living. Some made it and some didn't.

"There's a cafe in there, I think you'd like. It's vegetarian mostly, but they're pretty cool. It's part of the city they tried to gentrify before giving up, and we reclaimed it. One of our 'elders' claimed the building and made it into their own thing." The cafe was on Avenue D. The city had tried a few years ago to reclaim a large swath of Alphabet City, but they just ended up pushing more people into poverty until the gangs down there got the upper hand again and pushed back. It was run by the leader of the Slayers' daughter; she had a college degree and everything, which is an accomplishment for someone down there.

Leaning back on his knees, Tracii smiled softly at Alana. "So...tell me about you...you're from Hawaii, I heard about what happened to the royalty there." He paused for a second before continuing. "I didn't know there was still a royal family in the US. What's that like?"

He knocked again.

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fluorescentpipedream · 2 months ago

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Alright, so he wasn't expecting to get slapped. He frowned and leaned back, only for her pencil to roll off and the notebook to slip off and hit him, too. Lei couldn't help it; he laughed. Nothing in what he had said or done was supposed to come off as aggressive, but he was also aware that he was a tall man, with big hands and dark eyes, and might have come across as somewhat threatening. Even if he hadn't meant to.

After a moment, he leaned forward and picked up the fallen pencil and notebook, setting them carefully back in front of Evelyn. He wasn't angry, if anything, maybe a little confused, and actually more worried that he somehow offended her.

"I didn't think the crack about your bag was THAT bad." Lei chuckled again and started to say something else when he heard one of the other girls make a sound he could only describe as the twitter of some obnoxious bird. He rolled his eyes. He knew that one from another class and made the quick association that the only way she would graduate was if she could find some way to fuck the professor. Looking away from her, he turned all his attention back to Evie.

"I'm sorry if I scared you....are you alright?"

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fluorescentpipedream · 2 months ago

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"Fuck!" Guy cursed and tried to move before one of two things happened: the Inquisitor opened the door or Sara got his sword. Of course, he hadn't succeeded in the second one, losing the sword to her. As she hissed at him, he growled low in his throat, not a pleasant sound, but nothing about this moment was. He hadn't sold her out to this monster; he was supposed to be going after Marian and Robin tonight, but of course, you can't trust anyone like the creature out there on the stairs. Truthfully, Guy wasn't certain that was even a man; some of the things he had in mind for the outlaws were so barbaric that there was no way a human would have concocted them.

"Sara..." Guy's voice hinted at his deception, and he realized he only had a moment before she was out the window and having to fight the soldiers outside. Without thinking of himself, since she still had his weapon, he moved for her and caught her arm. His eyes gave him away. He was worried for her, and hearing her words had cut him more than that sword ever would. He dropped his voice and spoke as quickly as he could.

"There's another way out..." He gestured with his head towards a large tapestry against the wall. He had found it once by accident, and she had even mentioned it when they had been in bed together; there was a draft from that side of the room that no one could place. "There's a door hidden behind the tapestry, it seals tight, you'd never know it was there...follow it down and around, it leads down into a grain cellar, from there it goes left and it'll take you to the forest." He didn't tell her that if you go right, it goes straight towards Nottingham, but he hadn't thought that far ahead. Outside the room, Roan rapped his knuckle on the door and called in a sing-songy, mocking tone.

"Come now, Gisborne, open the door...we know she's here."

Guy hissed at Sara and almost dragged her to the tapestry, pulling it back from the wall and pressing on a small, innocuous flower that blended with the rest of the wall. Sure enough, it opened only slightly and without making much sound.

"Hit me, before he comes in. Hit me and run." In his eyes, he was trying to say everything he couldn't. This hadn't been his idea...he did love her, as much as he didn't want anyone else to know it.

Sara & Guy

GUY:

“I know you are, but it doesn’t mean I can’t worry about you still.”

Hearing her he frowned softly and leaned back, looking out the window at the expanse of dead or dying fields before closing the shutters and facing her again.

“What’s wrong? You have that look…”

SARA:

"I've heard...." Her fingers stilled on the strings of the tunic's front. "Of someone coming that the Sheriff is very excited about.."

Sara knew he'd have questions about how she even heard about that, but because of all she'd done, it's amazing who would talk to her who works directly in the palace.

"Any idea who...that is?" She hoped Guy was feeling up to sharing because this person who was coming did NOT sound good.

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fluorescentpipedream · 2 months ago

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Scott used to spend so much time wrapped around with his past selves and wading through the darkness and muck that he had felt like it would have been better for everyone if he just disappeared into that hellhole he'd dug for himself. It was selfish, and he knew that now, just like if he had actually carried through with his original plan and hadn't done what his therapist referred to as turning right. He changed his course at the last minute, which meant that he was now standing here with this amazing young woman sliding down his body; he was finally standing on his own again, stronger than ever.

Each kiss was filled with passion, more devotion than he could handle, and it felt like his whole heart would swell too big for his chest. After a few more moments of those earth-shattering kisses, they resumed walking, getting their dinner to go and the promised cheesecake, returning to the hotel in another hour or so. Scott hadn't wanted to wait long, but there was something about sitting there, laughing and talking to Jory about what they were going to do while they were in the city, after his book signing, the meetings and all the things they 'had' to do, he wanted to take her to the museums and see parts of the city he had never gotten the chance to. She had never been to the Met, though she knew about the Gala, but when it wasn't shining with celebrities and the throngs of cameras, it was just the Metropolitan Museum of Art. He actually wanted to go to it, if only because he wanted to see that little light in Jory's eyes as she found something that could enrapture her mind like she did to his spirit.

After dinner and Jory had set the bags outside the hotel room, he had scooped her up in his arms, carrying her into the bedroom, and proceeded to spend the next few hours mapping out her body. He used his tongue as much as his fingers, taking all the time in the world, burying himself in her just to hear that soft gasp and whimper escape her parting lips. He loved that sound; it always hung over his ears even after they were done. A tangle of sheets and bodies, Scott lay on his back staring up at the ceiling, and just took a moment to feel the pinpricks of sweat on his shoulders and Jory breathing steadily beside him. He wasn't completely cured; that part was well known to him. The voices in his head still tried to creep back in once in a while. She doesn't really love you. She's just using you. She's just amusing herself until she finds something better...You're a waste of space. This book isn't going to be as good as the others. Scott covered his face with his hands and sucked in a deep breath before letting it out slowly, finding the calm again. Instead, he rolled over onto his side and kissed Jory's shoulder, curling against her, returning to where they were only a few hours before.

Scott & Jory

SCOTT:

“I have an image, after all”

JORY:

She moves and saves the photos and looks up at him.

"I'm gonna show your publisher this one." She turns the camera around to show him looking over his shoulder, looking all modified.

Jory was honestly glad they met three months ago, and she's been able to help him get here to New York to finally see his publisher. He'd also been writing again, which was wonderful seeing too.

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fluorescentpipedream · 2 months ago

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"A what?" Tracii tilted his head at Alana when she used the word kupua; he hadn't heard that one before, though he could imagine it meant something supernatural. Most people described Milly the same way, which was funny because she wasn't what typically came to mind when someone thought of angels. She was a plump woman with almost neon red, curly hair that bounced. She wore gaudy plastic jewelry that made a clackity clack sound whenever she bustled around, and her place had more rainbows than anything else. She had a handful of kids, but no one ever knew if she was married or if she just sprouted children full-grown every 18 years or so. He smiled as Alana took a fry and chuckled softly.

"I always figured he was an angel or something...unless you piss her off and then she's the most horrific creature you've ever met." He'd only seen Milly angry once, and it was not something he ever wanted to see again.

"I love this kind of weather though...yeah alone it can be a bit of a pain." And the place he was staying in leaked, too. But he didn't tell her that part. "You don't have to thank me, I just knew I had said I was going to come back and then never did...I figured since Rhia was gone for the night, you and I could finally talk." Though he didn't know exactly what they were going to talk about, they probably had nothing in common.

Hearing her ask about his childhood, he nodded. "Yeah, as far as I know, I was born here, though I'm not really sure." He raised an eyebrow. "Why would I get mad? It's a perfectly acceptable question..." He shrugged and shifted how he was sitting, pulling his knees under him while pulling a hand through his long hair, taking it out of the scrunchie, and then putting it back up again in a slightly tighter ponytail. The damn thing was losing it's elasticity finally so it wouldn't hold long, but it'll do for now.

"Honestly...the first thing I remember was being told by a man to stand right here, " he gestured slightly to the left, "near Avenue C, and told to wait. He had another kid with him, though he was more like twelve to my four. He left me there, and when he didn't return sometime at night, I wandered further down the other direction. I was stopped by a guy named Joey who used to work and live down there. He asked me where I came from, I told him, and he asked me if I wanted something to eat and took me to Milly's."

Tracii had vague memories of warm weather and palm trees before he was brought here and dropped off, but he didn't really think much about it anymore. Kids were dropped off and kicked to the curb here so often that it was almost like how they would abandon dogs on the side of the road; it happened down here more than anyone would want to talk about.

"Grim...I know." He took a bite of his burger and chased it with a quick drink. "But I've made it work over the years...there's a bunch of us vagabonds, as one of the newer guys called us. We basically run the city." He chuckled. "What about you...where are you from?"

He knocked again.

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fluorescentpipedream · 2 months ago

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To say Leiland Cortland was a mess would be to leave out so many details of the man's life. He was 42 years old and had been out of prison for only two months after serving 15 years of a potential life sentence. Lucky for him, his sentence had been commuted once someone had the decency to actually look at what he had been trying to do when he had held up the First National Bank of New York and stolen only one safety deposit box with an air-soft gun. At the time of his trial, he had been 27 years old, all alcohol and belligerent anger directed at his younger brother, father, and anyone else who got in his way. The truth was simple: Leiland had been named the sole heir to the Cortland Family Watches fortune, after their grandfather, with whom he shared a namesake, had passed away in his sleep. Leiland was going nowhere in his family. He refused to go to college. According to his father, he was squandering his trust fund on anything that moved faster than he did: women, drugs, cars...whatever.

He was bored most of the time, the women meant nothing, but the cars weren't his; they were his brother Wesley's obsession. When he had found out that their grandfather had died, Leiland had been heart sick and then immediately sent into a whirlwind because all anyone cared about was who was going to get what. Where was the money going to go? Who was getting the company? What would happen to X, Y, & Z that had to do with the Cortland fortunes? There were houses worldwide, and there was the watch empire, which the Cortland name had a monopoly on, and nothing could rival it. Everyone was scrambling for the will, and when no one could find it, they just decided where things were going without actually waiting for anyone to step forward.

Leiland knew where the will was, but when his father cut him off, he also made it nearly impossible for him to access the bank where it was kept. That was why he held up the bank. He was trying...and ultimately succeeded in getting the box he needed. It wasn't listed as being owned by a Cortland and that was because of his grandfather...they had worked it out together, because Cortland senior knew his son was useless, his youngest grandson was going to be just as much of a waste of space, he wanted his eldest, his favorite to take the company and run it the way it should have been from the start. Leiland had plans; he had things he would do and places he would go. He just had to get there...yes, he was a mess right then, but he was a 27-year-old rich kid with a trust fund and was not a care in the world at the time. When the world crashed, he went with it, screaming obscenities along the way.

That was 15 years ago, and he had served his time. While incarcerated, Leiland had done what he should have done in the first place. He got sober first of all, no more alcohol, though he still smoked when he could get the cigarettes, and when he couldn't, he dealt with it, usually by getting gum from one of the guards. He made friends with a few of them, and after he'd calmed down, they realized this wasn't some hardened criminal. He spent a lot of time working in the prison library, reading whatever he could get his hands on and attempting to avoid any of the bullshit going on around him. He never understood the politics of the prison and never became someone's follower, he was no one's bitch and never would be, despite appearances. Lei was a tall, lanky boy who grew into a tall, lanky man with grayish blue eyes and dark brown, almost black hair. He had long, piano players' hands and a penchant for classic rock music, which he found he was "allowed" to listen to when he worked with one of the other inmates in the library. He eventually saved up enough "good boy points" to be given access to the computers and was allowed to start an online college program in art and architecture. Around the sixth year of his sentence, he attended an online graduation for the same program, receiving his Bachelor of Science degree from the Boston Architectural College. Not bad for the family fuck up, right?

While working towards his degree with a life sentence, there was not much hope of him ever actually using it in the real world. Leiland also contacted any lawyer who would give his story the time of day. It had just so happened that he managed to accidentally get in touch with one of the toughest district attorneys in all of New York City, one Craig Saunders. Saunders spent three years gathering all of the testimonies, the stories, the past indiscretions, and the absolute truth of what had happened when Leiland was arrested, and after a very lengthy trial, Leiland was finally able to walk out of the courthouse jangling a mysterious key around on an antique ZZ Top keychain, shaking hands with his lawyer and walking away, free as a bird. The DA had discovered that the "gun" used was an air-soft gun, the man who was supposed to have been shot with it had taken a pay off from one Arnold Cortland, Leiland's father, to throw his eldest, worthless son into jail since he refused to give up whatever he was really trying to do in the bank. The only thing left to do now was wrest control of Cortland Watches from the hapless Westley. Or so had been the plan initially. Ultimately, Leiland had given up on that for the time being; he was more interested in finding an apartment and a job. And besides, Cortland Watches was now a subsidiary of Rolex, and Westley was slowly running it into the ground. The company wasn't worth anything anymore. And as sad as that made him, Leiland didn't care enough about his brother to try to save him.

Unfortunately, his record was still hanging over his head, and few respectable firms wanted to hire someone who received their degree in prison for armed robbery, whether it was commuted or not. Two days after being released, Leiland had returned to one of his old haunts and was pleasantly surprised to find that his former girlfriend had kept that damned safety deposit box after all these years. She had never been able to open the damn thing, and no one ever came looking for it but she hadn't had it in her to get rid of it either. She was married with three kids living in Greenwich Village, yet her husband was cool enough to let her gangly ex sleep in his basement. Her husband, Robert, seemed pretty okay with the whole thing. Their youngest daughter had been determined to make Leiland sleep with one of her stuffed animals, which he never did, but he took it into the basement with him and would sit on the air mattress they put out for him whenever he left in the morning to give her the illusion that he had. He needed something snuggly. She was three, and it was cute. Lei only stayed with them for about a month while he got his feet on the ground, and with Robert's help, he was able to find the apartment he had now, along with a job at an architectural firm. Unfortunately, he wasn't an architect here, but he had at least his foot in the door. Before getting a real job, he had to take a few updated classes in diagramming, which had changed a bit since he had taken his initial courses.

And all of that was why he was now sitting in this Art History class at NYU. In order to get to the classes he needed, there were a handful of other refreshers he was going to have to take, drawing I & II for starters, and a few electives to pass the time. The one he was looking forward to had been this one, though he had been hoping it was going to be with an actual professor and not with a TA half his age. Leiland wrinkled his nose as he got settled into the seat in front of a young woman with auburn hair and a look in her eyes that almost screamed that she would like to be anywhere other than where she was. He was instantly drawn to her, though he couldn't quite figure out why...he'd like to say it was because he was lonely. After all, he'd been without physical contact for 15 years but if that was the case he could have had any number of the other women he'd encountered today either for the night or...in the case of one of them, she struck him as more of a "by the hour" kind of girl.

He pushed the thought out of his head as he sat down and took a notebook and a rolled leather case with his pens from an old-looking Jansport backpack. The bag looked like it was almost as old as he was, and judging by the Goodwill he bought it at, that might be the case. He was wearing jeans and an old Static shirt, one of his from high school, so it was a genuine vintage. Leiland turned to say something to Evelyn, and before he could stop himself, his eyes fell on the bag beside her.

"So...are the words ironic, or is that so you remember what it is?" Seriously, a tote bag called TOTE BAG? Fashion always confused the fuck out of him, even when he was younger. Correcting himself, he held a hand up to her, his watch falling slightly to one side, the only real Cortland watch left from what he knew. "Sorry...I'm Leiland, and you are....?"

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fluorescentpipedream · 2 months ago

Text

"I know it..." It was all Guy had managed to get out of his mouth before there was the soft clattering sound on the stairs and the sounds from below. He growled low in his throat, he had told the damned Inquisitor that he would handle this...but now he was being put in a position he didn't want to be in. Does he expose himself as the lover of the outlaws, the one who has been letting them get in and out of the castle in Nottingham, the one feeding them information, or did he risk losing the only woman he had loved by lying to her and feeding her to the wolves? Guy could only hesitate there momentarily while he tried to figure out what he would do. The air around him was stiflingly hot as he mentally weighed his options.

His eyes glanced towards his sword and then back at Sara. "That's..." he was cut off again, but this time by the voice of the Inquisitor from underneath his black hood. It rumbled, low and cruel like a wild animal stalking its prey.

(Charles)

Kaerl, or Roan as he was using these days, had been on this god forsaken planet for longer than anyone else he'd encountered yet, save one or two others, also touched by a certain girl. His story was one he didn't speak of; he had learned after meeting his first, but in no short way, his last death, that you simply don't talk about those things with people not like you. He had been a berserker in his northern village, set far up in what would one day become Denmark and Sweden. A wild man from the North, he preferred to allow his hands to do his talking rather than wasting time with anything else. He was a staunch follower of Tyr, his people's god of War, and bore his mark on the back of his neck, and now across his face. A scarification he had done to himself when the great one had tasked him with hunting down a particularly cunning little creature. He knew of her Great Game and what role he was supposed to play. It had been 400 years since he had last seen the girl, though, and while he had committed his own series of crimes in that time, he had learned and honed his skills, making himself stronger, faster, better than whatever they could throw at him.

Kaerl had changed his name a few times, either because he was attempting to avoid others like him, followers of Loki, or another more annoying thorn in his side in the form of a magician and the father of a fashion of the same girl. He and Yorgi had crossed paths some 200 years before he'd found himself again in England; they'd clashed over some other war, fighting nearly to the death of one another before they both crawled off, presumably to die. Whatever the outcome, he assumed he had been the only one of that battle to walk away successfully, and as far as anyone else knew, that was the truth. He made a name for himself on this strange little island. His people had once been hell bent and determined to conquer it but it seemed that they had eventually resorted to just fucking the populace and becoming farmers. Such a depressing outcome for the once mighty people, but then again, he never saw much in Ragnar Lothbrok and his ilk anyhow. They were farmers and would always be the same.

While living in this place, he fashioned a new persona, taking the name Roan and using his skills to become the new "Inquisitor". A better title was still Berserker, but it didn't quite flow off the tongue like these "decent" people would want, so he went with their word. "Torturer" fit better as well, and after he was summoned by the mousey little man that the people of Nottingham called Sheriff, he promised nothing short of a show when he found the outlaws and made them beg for death by the end of it. He wanted an exterminator, someone to deal with his little issue, the worst of which appeared to be a young woman now leading the little band of miscreants. The sheriff believed that his right hand man was sleeping with the enemy, which was something that wouldn't exactly surprise Roan, he had seen it quite a bit with those you're supposed to be condemning and end up screwing instead.

For his part, Gisborne was as oblivious as the sheriff. He either didn't care or didn't believe that this new Inquisitor was as dangerous as he was cautioned to be. Whatever the case may be, Roan didn't really care. He had a job to do, and he intended to do it. He didn't know why the voice of his god in his head had sounded off about this particular job and as it had been so long since the little prey had shown up, he actually doubted highly that it had anything to do with her, he just thought it was something to keep him busy, maybe have a little fun?

As he stood on the stairs leading up to Gisborne's chambers, he tapped the knuckles of his right hand against the wall in a familiar rhythm: four taps, a pause, then four more. He paused for a moment, the dark rim of his cloak shielding his face. His hair was dark and hung around his shoulders, though even with all the years, he kept it in the tight braids of his former people. He had earned those braids; he wasn't about to let them loose now.

"Gisborne, you disappointed me with this game. You gave up your little prize too quickly." His voice was dark, low, and taunting. He wanted the other person to give themselves up first.

Guy couldn't help the shiver that ran, unbidden, down his spine. Few things in the world scared him, and that man embodied almost all of them. Guy sucked in a breath quickly and made a move for his sword, though he wasn't sure if he was actually going to help Sara or capture her to save himself in that instant.

Sara & Guy

GUY:

“I know you are, but it doesn’t mean I can’t worry about you still.”

Hearing her he frowned softly and leaned back, looking out the window at the expanse of dead or dying fields before closing the shutters and facing her again.

“What’s wrong? You have that look…”

SARA:

"I've heard...." Her fingers stilled on the strings of the tunic's front. "Of someone coming that the Sheriff is very excited about.."

Sara knew he'd have questions about how she even heard about that, but because of all she'd done, it's amazing who would talk to her who works directly in the palace.

"Any idea who...that is?" She hoped Guy was feeling up to sharing because this person who was coming did NOT sound good.

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