meekmadmel

[meekmadmel]

Chapter 23/

That Which You Refuse To Give

Far Cry 5 Montana's Feral Alchemist

Rook is Jacob's prisoner. Jacob invites John to share in the spoils.

...“Are you in much pain?” Jacob asked, sounding genuinely concerned. She didn’t respond, she remained looking away from him. “Rook, when I ask a question, I expect an answer.” His voice remained kind, but his hand returned to her wound and he began to squeeze her thigh. His fingertips became like claws, pressing in...

Agony stabbed within the Deputy’s brain preceding any thought. Her eyes fluttered and were blinded by harsh light. A splinter of memory then twisted and roused her consciousness. Panic surged within and her limbs suddenly spasmed. She was restrained, her wrists and legs tied to a chair and despite the swell of adrenaline she did not move more than an inch in any direction. Her eyes adjusted to the light and she scanned her surroundings. She was enclosed in a cage that was centralised within a room. There were no windows, beyond the bars that surrounded her she could see extensive piping and duct work, a basement she suspected. Realising she was only wearing her shirt and underwear she looked at her thigh and saw that the arrow was gone, still this was the source of her pain. A pristine bandage was present.

Rook heard the opening and closing of a door behind her and steady footfalls that approached calmly. Fear blossomed within her and her powerlessness made her feel sick. Images raced through her mind, memories of her youth. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. You’re here. Stay here.

Jacob had a small smile at the edges of his mouth as he approached the cell’s bars. He withdrew a chain with a key from around his neck and unlocked the cage. He closed the cell door behind himself before approaching and standing before her. His eyes surveyed her restraints. As the Herald looked down at her bandage on her thigh he knelt before her. His hand extended and stroked over the wound firmly causing her to flinch. Jacob’s hand then strayed towards her inner thigh which he petted softly, distractedly. Trembling, Rook began to feel shame. His eyes then raised to meet hers and she looked away. “Are you in much pain?” Jacob asked, sounding genuinely concerned. She didn’t respond, she remained looking away from him. “Rook, when I ask a question, I expect an answer.” His voice remained kind, but his hand returned to her wound and he began to squeeze her thigh. His fingertips became like claws, pressing in.

“Yes-yes, it’s painful.” Rook managed. Sweat had beaded on her forehead and she felt nauseated. Jacob’s hand softened and left her thigh, revealing that blood had freshly bloomed from the wound.

“Look at me,” Jacob’s voice remained soft.

“Untie me.” She countered a small tremble in her voice.

His voice was irritatingly calm, serene. “You know I’m going to hurt you, don’t you Rook? If you fight me, it will be much worse.”

She looked at him then, her eyes sterile and defiant. And she growled. “Show me worse.”

The Herald smiled at her then. “I will submit to your will, of course. And Pratt will be there to watch. Maybe participate? Tell me. Would you enjoy that? Would you like him to hurt you?”

Rook’s mind began to spin, not knowing what he was threatening. Her head was thundering.

“And maybe if I’m satisfied he’s hurt you enough. Well, I might be happy to let him go.”

The Deputy’s eyes closed for a moment. Opening her eyes again, she looked down at her lap, the blood still seeping out, reddening her bandage.

“I should be dead. Your brother nearly drowned me. But he didn’t. Faith provided me with a peaceful way out, and then took it away. You should have shot me dead with the bow–” Her voice trailed off and she shook her head gently.

Finally she looked at the Herald again. Her voice was sincere, full of pain. “What do you want?”

He inclined his head and then softly answered. “I’m sure the same thing John and Faith wanted. That which you refuse to give.”

Rook was livid then, rabid even. Struggling senselessly against the restraints, her surge of energy surprised even Jacob. He stood and walked behind her to a table where he recovered a bottle. Opening it he doused some of the contents onto a cloth. He grabbed her head from behind and held the cloth over her nose and mouth. Rook recognised the curious and noxious smell of Bliss and laboured to free herself from his grip as the tell tale signs of intoxication began to consume her. She fell unconscious and Jacob began to untie her from the chair.

As he finished loosening her restraints he called out, “Peaches, come help care for our pet!”

Pratt had entered the basement with Jacob, but obediently had stayed silent, still just inside the door. He had been sick listening. But that was the point. As he approached the cell, Jacob was lifting her and laying her across the wooden table central in the room.

Jacob stepped back and then looked at Pratt. “She’s unconscious. You could do anything you like.” Pratt looked from Rook to Jacob who was smiling serenely at him. “Really. She would never know. I would probably never tell her.”

Nauseated, Pratt shook his head and his gaze fell to the ground.

“No?” Jacob shook his head feigning disappointment. He returned to appreciate the Deputy’s state of peace. “Change her bandage. Get her ready for our guest.” ____________________________________

When Jacob called him, John could tell he was excited. His brother was generally stoic and more likely to express pride in his accomplishments. This time his voice was rife with exhilaration.

“I’d like to share something with you. I went hunting. You were right, she has terrible nightmares–”

“You have the Deputy?” John had felt thrilled at the knowledge.

Jacob enjoyed sharing, “yes. She mentioned you nearly drowned her. Is that true?”

“Sometimes I get carried away with my work.” John offered. He still felt conflicted about the event.

“I understand completely,” Jacob answered. “Come to the Veteran’s Centre. Joseph directed me to exercise restraint. Perhaps together we can both enjoy our sport while tempering one another from acting upon our more extreme impulses?”

So John eagerly accepted the invitation. Often he would recall his interactions with the Deputy, however brief. Her eyes always edged in sorrow if not drowning in it. He had felt cheated when she had escaped him after her baptism. There was so much left unresolved. More than that–He simply missed her.

He had listened intrigued as Jacob described the events leading to the Deputy’s imprisonment. How he had watched the Deputy’s assault on the Baron Lumber Mill. How she and Grace Armstrong had masterfully taken the outpost. Jacob had subsequently tracked her through the forest, stalking her while she slept. He had listened as she tossed and turned in her sleep. Finally, he recounted the excitement of shooting her with the bow while she ran frantically through the woods.

John savoured the whiskey as he threw it back mirroring his brother. He and Jacob sat at opposite ends of the long dining table. The great hall was essentially empty except from the servants who brought them food and drink. John found the Veteran’s Centre austere, a perfect reflection of Jacob’s priorities. He had walked the grounds earlier viewing the prisoners in their cages. Their haunted faces peered from between the bars with eyes fading in duration of spirit to lesser and greater degree. Their torment whetted his appetite for what was to come.

Pratt approached the table timidly. His hands clasped together before him, his head slightly inclined. John watched him approach with curiosity. “This must be Deputy Pratt?”

Jacob huffed, “Fucking speak, Peaches,” he growled.

“She’s coming around.” He said softly.

Jacob made a dismissive gesture and Pratt left. Jacob rose from the table and poured himself and John another shot. They tossed them back. And then Jacob started towards the great front doors, the whiskey bottle’s neck strangled firmly in hand.

John walked beside him, his hands clasped behind his back. “Where are we going?” He asked as Jacob led him towards a truck.

“There’s a place in the woods I’ve prepared for us.” As Jacob rounded the truck he raised his arm and gestured. John followed Jacob’s lead and entered the passenger side of the cab. Then he saw the Deputy being carried across the yard, her hands bound behind her back and her ankles shackled. She was dressed in a t- shirt and jeans. A small smile touched Jacob’s face. “Sorry John, you might have to make room for Rook across your lap.”

Jacob’s men pushed the Deputy up into the cab as John pulled and guided her. She was still under the influence as he positioned her sitting on his lap, her eyes translucent. Rook blinked and recognised him. “John? I still have your key.” She shared dreamily, her voice just a whisper. John observed her and pulled a chain from around her neck and there was the cabin key. She leaned into him, “I miss the cabin,” her voice still a whisper filled with regret. He stroked her face as her body folded into his. The sensation of her willing proximity, manufactured or not, was intoxicating. His mouth strayed to her throat and he kissed her. The taste and smell of her was consuming.

And as he considered her possession of the key kept close to her heart, he couldn’t help but wonder. Had she missed him, too?

[meekmadmel]

Chapter 22/Monstrous Things

Far Cry 5 Montana's Feral Alchemist

Grace and Rook attack...Jacob stages a uniquely personal hunt. The Deputy x Jacob

...She was curled, sleeping on her side, one hand drawn up near her face. He tilted his head to the side as he observed her. The Herald felt at home in the woods. The Deputy’s preference to sleep amongst the trees he revered stirred him. He looked up and marked the stars he could see through the forest canopy. Jacob knelt beside her then and felt a distinct sorrow...

The Deputy didn’t sleep again after Jacob’s transmission. She worried that he knew what their target was, that he was referencing just that with his ‘go ahead and play a bit’ comment. In the morning Rook and Grace started a small fire, made coffee and ate a breakfast of stale rolls, aged hard cheese, mustard and salami. Rook didn’t share the details of Jacob’s personal message. Instead she told Grace that she had received a report that Jacob’s men knew they were in the area. With that intel of course, they had to consider if they knew that the Baron Lumber Mill was their target.

“What d’ya think?” The Deputy asked. She was inclined to barrel straight ahead. But she didn’t want to risk Grace if she thought it was ill conceived.

Grace considered. “We stick with the plan. Let’s stake it out, see what we’re dealing with. We stay on target, though. We drive straight there and don’t attract attention. You know what I’m saying, Dep?” She looked hard at Rook, uncertain if she could temper her impulses.

“I hear you Grace, we’ll do it your way.” She would not betray Grace. She had allowed Grace to see the edges of her dissolution and she had not turned away. She felt as close to Grace as anyone.

They packed into the van and headed off. As they drove it was clear that Jacob had a stranglehold on the Whitetail Mountains. There were bodies disfigured, bound and hanging from road signs and the like with burlap bags over their heads. Jacob’s soldiers had a presence along the roads. And the Deputy saw her first Judges. It was difficult not to stop at each provocation. Grace watched the Deputy from the corner of her eye when they would pass pockets of the enemy. She knew it was difficult for her to control her inclination to attack. They parked the van a ways off and slowly approached the lumber mill. After investigating the perimeter they reconvened to talk strategy. There didn’t appear to be any increased enemy presence and Grace was satisfied to go ahead.

As they discussed specifics they were unaware of Jacob watching from a distance. He found the Resistance pitifully weak. As individuals most of them were unwilling to make true sacrifices and therefore as a group they were destined to fail. He had only needed to capture a single man who had spilled everything he knew within the space of ten minutes. Afterwards, he had stabbed him in the eye with a pen that he snatched from Pratt’s chest pocket. He had felt a particular loathing for the man as he had betrayed Rook. How could the Deputy fight alongside such weakness? How could she expose herself to such danger?

Jacob had decided to let them attack. He longed to watch the Deputy work. So he had staked out the best vantage point he could find in the predawn hours and wearing his ghillie suit, patiently waited. His sniper rifle affixed to a tripod. Rook was clearly in good company with Grace. He could tell they had familiarity, they worked well together. They began their assault and he admired their tactics. Grace worked at a distance while Rook had a tendency to boldly run into the heat of fire. It was if she had to look her prey in the eyes prior to pulling the trigger. She moved instinctively. In the end they succeeded in taking the outpost.

The Herald watched as they freed the prisoners and removed signs and any other vestiges of Eden’s Gate. They then prepared for a modest celebration just as the sun was beginning to tip down. He lost track of the Deputy for a while until he broadened his scope and spied Rook slipping away from the mill and walking towards the woods alone. She had a pack over her shoulder and a flask in her hand that she sipped from as she disappeared into the tree line.

John had told him that the Deputy preferred to sleep outside. He remembered how he had then struck John with an accusatory look. John shrugged unashamed. “She also has terrible nightmares,” he had added, reflecting on the knowledge with a subtle gleam in his eye. His younger brother would share some of his secrets, but not all.

The Deputy felt a rare happiness. Seeing Jess freed and hearing her talk to her Uncle Dutch gave her hope. She resolved to attempt to turn away from her ruminations. Perhaps the pain that threatened to consume her was just a poison that resulted from the fission of thought.

She hiked through the woods looking for an ideal place to camp. Jacob’s words came back to her, seeming to float through the trees.

The home you’ve been waiting for. I’ve prepared the way for you.

Out of context they were such tender words that spoke uniquely to her.

At last she found a clearing and set about making a small fire and unfurling her sleeping bag. In the darkness she sat upon her bed, her knees drawn up and admired the fire’s peaceful dancing glow. She sipped her whiskey and relaxed.

After seeing the Deputy slip into the woods Jacob left his vantage point and returned to the civilian truck he had tucked away a small distance from the mill. He tossed the Ghillie suit into the cab and left his rifle behind. The Herald’s knife was on his hip and he pulled from the cab a bow and his quiver full of arrows that he had specially prepared. He then headed off following her path.

As the sun finished its descent he spotted her fire. Jacob approached cautiously, closing the distance only until he could see her face between the trees. Eventually the Deputy laid down and he stalked closer still until he could see her chest rise and fall to determine when she was asleep. At last he threaded silently through the trees until he stood over her. The small fire illuminating her face. She was curled, sleeping on her side, one hand drawn up near her face. He tilted his head to the side as he observed her. The Herald felt at home in the woods. The Deputy’s preference to sleep amongst the trees he revered stirred him. He looked up and marked the stars he could see through the forest canopy. Jacob knelt beside her then and felt a distinct sorrow.

I cannot be kind. I cannot show you mercy, he thought. The world will be on fire. And if I mean to save you, then I must harm you.

Jacob then retreated from her side, further off into the woods and awaited the night to pass over. Eventually he heard her suffer in her sleep. Her voice cried out, her distress met by the gentle trees that surrounded her. He imagined pulling her close and discovering the words to whisper into her ear that would banish her torment.

Finally the sun crept back into the woods, the light bright and sharp striking the forest floor. Jacob readied his bow, drawing the tainted arrow tight as he heard her rouse. He saw her rise from her sleeping bag and lazily stretch. She was the most revered quarry Jacob had ever sought to hunt. He felt his heart begin to thunder in his chest at the anticipation.

The Herald stepped from the trees then and aimed his bow at her. The crackle of Jacob’s footsteps caused Rook to spin. He was a large man dressed in fatigues, a shock of red hair roughly tousled contrasting with his icy blue eyes. Despite her shock she dove for her gun which he had stolen away while she slept. The Herald stood still, his eyes piercing. The only tension being the pull on the bow and Rook stumbled back a step grasping the hopelessness of her plight. Her confusion and pain nearly weakened his resolve.

He shook his head, acknowledging her distress. And when he spoke his voice was soft, curiously kind.

“Run Rook, I’ll let you run.”

She was off then–So swift she was as she leapt and ran amongst the trees and brush. He allowed her to run farther still in pure admiration of her spirit. Still his shot was true and the Bliss dipped arrow pierced her thigh. Her hands clasped about the arrow in shock and agony and she stumbled to the forest floor. At last he stood above her and watched as her consciousness drifted away. He stood over her for a time feeling anguish once more. Then he lifted and placed her over his shoulder. He carried her back through the woods to his truck. And then he began the drive back to the St. Francis Veteran’s Centre. ____________________________________

Pratt watched from the kitchen window as Jacob pulled Rook from the cab. He hoisted her over his shoulder and carried her away. There was an arrow lodged in her thigh. Pratt’s hand went to his mouth with horror as he realised how much more monstrous things would become.

[meekmadmel]

Chapter 21/The Wooden Skull

Far Cry 5 Montana's Feral Alchemist

Rook and Grace travel to the Whitetail Mountains, Jacob is pleased.

...The thought of rescuing Dutch’s niece sharpened her determination. She would cease to shackle her fury. If she could not peacefully drift away from this world, then she would set it afire...

The Deputy walked back towards Hope County Jail realising her life was slowly becoming less her own. She had been holding her shoulder against a door and with all her strength attempting to hold back what angrily summoned her from the other side. Her denials were unravelling. Rook threaded through the underbrush and trees, a path of her own choosing? Could she turn away from her belief that she was here merely at the mercy of chance? The trees parted and she could see the bleeding edge of the sunrise. She paused to watch the colours so precious and pure slowly surge in defiance of any rationale.

At the jail Rook packed her belongings. Dutch had located his niece. She was a prisoner at a lumber mill in the Whitetail Mountains. One of Jacob Seed’s monstrous detention centres apparently. She hesitated to ask for Grace’s help as the woman approached. In the end there was no need.

“Where we goin’?” Grace asked as Rook double checked her supplies.

“Cult outpost, the Baron Lumber Mill.”

“Jacob’s territory.” Grace considered. “The White tail Mountains are crawling with his soldiers and Judges. It’s not gonna be easy.”

“It’s Whitetail Militia territory, too.” Rook said, suddenly embarrassed by her optimism as Grace’s eyes flashed up to meet her own. The Deputy had not seen any judges, she had only heard descriptions. The perversion of the wolves into creatures enslaved to Jacob’s will sickened her. It was believed he had extended his experiments to people and that his methods were abhorrent.

“Eli Palmer is a good man, I can’t picture anyone better to lead the Whitetails. He’d give you the shirt off of his back. But until we prove ourselves, he’s not going to risk his men helping us.”

“Maybe this is our chance to do just that.”

Grace nodded, “I’ll go get my things.”

The Deputy was grateful for a new objective. She wanted to put the Henbane behind her for a time. She was conflicted regarding Faith. Had the youngest Seed ever really had a chance? Rook countered her sympathy thinking of the mindless angels she had wrought as slaves to her service and of her prisoner, the Marshal. Still, Faith could have simply allowed her to slip away on that peaceful hill. Whether she was under the influence of Bliss or not, Rook couldn’t deny that at times her despair ruled her heart.

This is not your path.

The Deputy wondered, had Faith been benevolent or cruel?

Rook abandoned her thoughts as they unravelled, threatening her resolve. Coffee, she thought. Lots of coffee and then she and Grace would head off. The thought of rescuing Dutch’s niece sharpened her determination. She would cease to shackle her fury. If she could not peacefully drift away from this world, then she would set it afire.

The Deputy as a rule was fairly stoic as Grace was herself, but she did occasionally display curious attributes that surprised the sharpshooter. Rook had preferred they set out walking along the road and commandeer a vehicle for the journey to the Whitetail Mountains. They came across a Bliss field and the Deputy exclaimed, “that’s perfect!” The only vehicle present was a cultist’s truck resplendent with towering speakers.

“What? Oh hell no.” Grace shook her head.

The Deputy was already climbing in and cranking the radio as Grace irritably stood observing. “C’mon Grace, give me this!” Rook loved the cult’s music, but also delighted in the sheer obnoxiousness of the vehicle and its ability to blare far and wide. At last Grace’s resolve weakened and she joined Rook in the cab.

“...They'll come loud and they'll come fast But we shoot first and we can last Keep your rifle by your side Singing, "Oh, Lord, this Earth was made for us" Singing, "Oh, Lord, this sinful life just ain't enough…"

Their time in the vehicle was blessedly short lived as the Deputy couldn’t help but use the truck as camouflage to get close to other cult vehicles as a prelude to running them off the road. The first time she couldn’t resist pulling up alongside the white sedan and waving. “Wave to the nice cultists Grace,” she encouraged with a maniacal smile.

“Hell, no!” Grace refused, as Rook cranked up the music even louder..

“...So we'll take a stand 'Cause we must protect our land Keep your rifle by your side They'll come day and they'll come night They'll have our children in their sights But if they don't have Faith their eyes are blind They can scream and they can shout But they will never smoke us out Keep your rifle by your side Singing, "Oh, Lord, this Earth was made for us…"

It was only as the cultist raised his hand to wave back that he realised his error. Rook then slammed the truck into the other vehicle, relishing the extra heft provided by the sound system. The cultist’s vehicle spun off the road rolling into a ditch. She slammed on the breaks then and sprinted towards her first catch. She shot him between the eyes and then emptied his pockets.

The Deputy continued her spree for three more vehicles. She didn’t quit when the truck started to smoke. But when the speakers ceased to play, she dishearteningly abandoned the truck. “I’m picking the next vehicle.” Grace announced. Rook shrugged, acknowledging that it seemed fair. At last they were driving towards the Whitetail Mountains in earnest in a van of Grace’s sober choosing.

Eventually the trees grew taller and more dense. Rook remembered camping as a child. The mystery of the forest. Even then she had sensed danger. She walked amongst the trees, the ground cover becoming thicker. The sun had dipped low and the light horizontally revealed her path. She hadn’t known what she was seeing at first. The strange tree seemed to have stepped forward from amongst the others to reveal a dark truth. Its trunk was disfigured, a strange cancerous like growth emanating towards her. She moved closer still and she could discern a deer’s skull encapsulated within the wood, its antlers weathered and chipped, extending in an attempt to approximate branches. How long had the animal suffered before succumbing to the tree’s cruel appetite? Did the tree regret its savagery? Or did it delight in its self-inflicted scars? She ran her fingertips over the deer’s imprisoned skull and hoped he had found peace long ago. Surely his spirit must have escaped and trailed further still into the secret recesses of the woods where at last wild souls were not subjugated.

Grace slept in the van at a remote rest stop while Rook chose to sleep rough in the nearby woods. They planned to stake out the outpost in the morning. The Deputy tossed and turned. Her mind was plagued by memories. ____________________________________

The deer walked softly and slowly through the woods. Rook followed obediently. Its body was whole, but its head was only a skull encased in rotted wood. Its antlers were uneven, splintered. Deeper it led her into the woods. At last it paused and looked over its shoulder at her. She knew she needed to go the rest of the way alone. Ahead there was only blackness and silence. She was rife with a familiar fear. She took a small step back and hesitated as the deer then turned and faced her, its head inclined. The empty sockets insistent. The deer’s head burst into flame, and it turned once more, venturing towards the blackness, before looking back at her. The flames licked higher and higher, until at last the forest surrounding them was beginning to burn. She then passed the deer and walked into the blackness. She couldn’t see anything, but could feel the familiar scratch and roughness of tree trunks as she explored. The sensation of trees began to thin and the bark smoothed, becoming cold and hostile. Her hands seemed to burn. Suddenly she was surrounded by a vicious scrawl of sound– ____________________________________

The Deputy awoke roughly to the caustic sting of bouncing static. “My beautiful Whiskey, I hope you’re listening,” Jacob sighed, a gutterance of pleasure and anticipation. “I understand you’re ready to come home?” His voice was soft and deep. Strangely soothing. “The home you’ve been waiting for. I’ve prepared the way for you. Go ahead and play a bit, and I’ll see you soon.”

Jacob switched off the radio, pushing it away and remained reclined on his bed. Topless he stroked his hand distractedly across his abdomen. His skin was patterned by scars of various character. And as he touched himself there were areas that triggered pain. He would have to temper his desire, take his time.

The thought of merely breaking the Deputy no longer satisfied him. Jacob wanted to pull forth her wildness and share with her his own.

[meekmadmel]

Chapter 18/Desperate To Jump

Far Cry 5 Montana's Feral Alchemist

Grace worries about Rook, Faith reflects upon her initiation into the Seed family... ...“Tell me, Faith, do you appreciate my fine work? I mean now that you’ve had the chance to sleep on it…” His eyes chiselled into hers as his hand traced over his own chest and then trailed to his low abdomen mapping the location of her wounds. “The bite, now, well–that’s all Jacob’s.” He then picked up his newspaper and opened it with a dramatic flourish...

The Deputy and Grace had set out early from the Hope County Jail. Rook was intent on freeing hostages, attacking Peggies and destroying cult property as they followed the roads. Grace would have preferred a more explicit target but she had come to accept that the Deputy’s methods were often more spontaneous. At times Grace felt Rook was too impulsive. Then again, she had to concede that sometimes her brashness was the key to success.

“Peggies!” Grace warned, spotting a white truck up ahead. Behind it was a civilian's vehicle. Two people on their knees. “I’m going to get a better angle.” She headed towards the embankment opposite, threading into the trees for cover. There were three enemies total. Two with guns and an Angel meandering around the vehicles and occasionally into the road.

This will be easy, Grace thought. A little stealth, some good planning–

Rook had barrelled directly towards the lot of them, her sawed off shotgun at the ready. She shot the cultist nearest to the captured and he went up in flames screaming. As she sidestepped the disoriented running inferno she then closed the distance between herself and the second gunman, shooting him dead centre with her .44 Magnum Canon. Finally she spun swiftly and the sprinting Angel fell just before her, a bullet lodged in its skull. She paused for a moment to survey the scene and then set to freeing the hostages.

Grace approached and then she, the deputy and the rescued shared what intel they had. The civilians had been on their way to join the resistance when they had been detained and Grace and Rook expressed their thanks. As they parted ways Grace observed Rook as she went through the enemies’ pockets. Grace was a woman of few words. Funny, in Rook’s company she was a fucking magpie. Grace sensed that the Deputy sometimes threw herself into action just to avoid the entanglements of familiarity. Since she escaped John, Rook had grown more distant. Her unpredictability was mounting. But what worried Grace most was that she felt the Deputy was developing an appetite for slaughter.

The Deputy met Grace’s eyes and saw her concern. Rook bowed her head and rubbed the back of her neck. Her tell, Grace thought.

Rook then met Grace’s eyes. “I’m fine,” she insisted, planting a hand on her hip and looking away.

“Yeah? What happened out there, Dep?” Grace’s head inclined regarding Rook as if she were a dog that might bite.

“Fuck, Grace. I was high on Bliss, I–” Rook stopped. Her arm outstretched mid gesture dropped hopelessly to her side. She drew her hand across her mouth examining the pavement.

“John Seed nearly drowned me.” She said finally, her voice flat, still unable to meet Grace’s eyes. “And,” she swallowed, silent for a moment again. “And I felt I deserved it.”

Grace approached the Deputy, and placed her hand on her shoulder. “I’m worried about you Dep.” Her voice was gentle, yet firm.

“I’ll be okay.” Rook insisted. “There was chatter earlier about a road block further ahead, let’s check it out,” she said as she began to follow the road once more. Grace paused and then followed after her.

“I’ve got your back, Dep.” ____________________________________

Faith was naked reclined diagonally across her bed. She petted the Marshal’s head as he nuzzled the scar on her inner thigh. Intermittently he dared to kiss her sex and she would gently tap him then, a reminder that she had not given him express permission to do so. It was a game which delighted her. At last she extricated herself from Burke’s devotion and donned her white lace dress. She viewed herself in the full length mirror, tying and smoothing the ribbon bow at her waist behind her.

She recalled when Joseph had first presented her with the dress. She had been attending Eden’s Gate services for some time. She was still Rachel Jessop then. Like most she was drawn to Joseph. In his presence not only did she feel love, but she felt worthy of it. As the weeks and then the months went by she found herself advancing from the pews farther back until at last she admired his sermons from the very front, her hands clasped together in devotion. She was seventeen when he invited her to his home at the Seed Ranch and she marvelled at her fortune to share a family dinner with Joseph, Jacob and John. They made her feel so welcome. John had held her chair out for her, while Jacob had captivated her with a story about charming a wolf.

As the meal and the conversation drew to an end, Joseph stated that she would be family as well. John and Jacob sat silent and observing as Joseph rose from his seat and then held his hand out to her. “Come with me, child.”

Rachel took his hand obediently and he led her upstairs to a bedroom. She was apprehensive and confused. His eyes were piercing as he stared at her. He reached for her and held her face with both of his hands as he kissed her, his tongue coarse and cruel. She pulled away from him, anxious to leave. Shaken, she crossed the room towards the door and opened it narrowly before Joseph followed her and slammed the door shut with both hands outstretched over her head. Turning, Rachel was trapped between the door and Joseph. His cold silence and sudden flat expression frightened her. Joseph left her trembling by the door and proceeded to withdraw a syringe from the bedside table. Rachel had been clean for over a year, her days as an addict still haunted her. The sight of the syringe horrified her and she began to cry.

“Ssshhh. This is not the poison you sullied yourself with. This is Bliss, this will allow you to realise your purpose.”

“Please let me leave,” she cried.

“Tracey’s making a new life for herself, I hear…” Joseph’s gaze wandered away from Rachel to the window, the syringe still firmly held in his hand. “What a shame it would be if she fell to harm after all she’s endured…”

Though she and Tracey had parted ways, she still loved her, and the thought of her being hurt was unbearable. “Please Father, forgive me…”

He met her eyes coldly and sat on the edge of the bed. “Sit beside me, Rachel,” he demanded. She trembled as she crossed to him and at last settled next to him.“I’m going to fill you with my faith.” He said as he extended her arm and injected her. “You will become angelic. You will assist my brothers and I in the propagation of The Project. That is your destiny.”

After the injection, she lost hours. The evening had come and gone and when she regained consciousness the sun was harsh and brutal, judging as it streamed through the window and causing her eyes to ache. Joseph stood looking out the window dressing himself. The scars and tattoos on Joseph's torso had never appeared more raw to her. As he buttoned his shirt he watched her from the corner of his eye. She began to stir and sit up in bed. Joseph approached and pulled the blood stained sheet back that covered her. He was content to watch as she violently ascended from her sedated state and looked down at herself. “FAITH” was carved deep into her chest and across her abdomen “GLUTTONY, LUST” and “SLOTH.” Only then did she begin to feel the pain gnawing and burning.

Joseph looked out the window as he spoke to her, his voice cold and adamant. “You are no longer Rachel Jessop, you understand? You are Faith Seed. I’ve left you a dress there. Clean yourself. Bandage your wounds well and then meet me at the church.” He left her then to discover the extent of her torments. There were bruises tracing over her entire body, rope burns about her ankles and wrists. Showering was painful, a solitary bite mark on her inner thigh. She cried as she dressed herself. The pristine white of the dress seemed to mock her defilement.

At last she descended the stairs, pain hindering every step. John was sitting on the couch and met her eyes as she rested on the final step. His mouth was smiling, but his eyes were shadowed, cruel. “Tell me, Faith, do you appreciate my fine work? I mean now that you’ve had the chance to sleep on it…” His eyes chiselled into hers as his hand traced over his own chest and then trailed to his low abdomen mapping the location of her wounds. “The bite, now, well–that’s all Jacob’s.” He then picked up his newspaper and opened it with a dramatic flourish. “Hurry along, dear sister. Joseph’s waiting for you.” She felt a wave of nausea rise. So bitter, and crippling that she felt her legs weaken. She steadied herself then, placing her hand over the banister. She struggled to breathe, her chest aching and tight. John smiled at her once more, noting her hesitation, delighting in her pain. “That’s it, dear. Just breathe. And by the way, that dress suits you perfectly! I chose it myself, you know. Aren’t you just the picture of innocence and light…”

Now the dress was her totem, she was no longer a servant. Faith pirouetted before her mirror and settled in a plie her hands held behind her back. She closed her eyes and pictured Rook. Faith was eager for that first touch, she wanted so desperately to soothe the Deputy’s soul.

Oh so gently she would nudge Rook. She would guide her to the precipice. And in the end, she would not need to push.

No.

Faith was certain that Rook would be desperate to jump.

[meekmadmel]

Chapter 15

The Devil Must Have His Paw Over It

Far Cry 5 Montana's Feral Alchemist

Rook is becoming a destructive force, both worrying and angering John. Jacob grows more intrigued...

...When at last he subjugated her, he would not fail to to impart to her his displeasure at the flagrant display of her many offences. The Deputy would have to endure, to suffer significantly. John swallowed, feeling his mouth fill with saliva and his heart with abject anticipation...

Grace had heard chatter about the Deputy. She wasn’t certain all the tales being shared were true, but she didn’t care. The resistance benefited from the telling of her successful exploits which highlighted cunning, brutality and at times, even whimsy. It gave hope and provided inspiration. Having assisted with driving the Peggies out of The Lamb Of God Church was no small feat. And as far as Grace was concerned, the Deputy had lived up to the burgeoning folklore admirably.

“Fuck…!” Rook exclaimed, then clenched her teeth once more, determined to stay still.

Grace was probing for the bullet in her right shoulder. “Almost got it,” she reassured. And then with a smile she removed the forceps and bullet with a smooth, precise and swift motion. She thoroughly irrigated the wound prior to suturing it with dental floss and a sewing needle.

“I’m lucky that I got shot in your company.” Rook exclaimed as she admired the pristine sutures prior to Grace applying a bandage.

“Yeah, you are.” Grace agreed without any arrogance. She cocked her head to one side, “drink?”

She didn’t have to ask twice. ______________________________________________________________

John had sent his people to destroy the veteran’s graves at The Lamb Of God Church. He wanted to wipe away the old world and in particular, the heroes of the old world. Destroying the manifestations of their corrupt society, he would leave the ruins to rot and sever the sinners from any remaining hope of retreating to their old ways.

When the faithful reported that Grace Armstrong was alive and well and defending the Church and the veteran’s graves within the yard he became livid.

“Double the faithful,” he demanded. Monitoring the battle chatter from the ranch he attempted to quiet his frustration. Afterall, in the end, they would prevail. His focus had begun to stray to planning his next session of confessions when the sound of a succession of massive explosions could be heard followed by increased agitation and panic.

“The Deputy’s got a rocket launcher! We’ve lost two trucks and scores of men!” ______________________________________________________________

Rook had been embracing her archetype of Hell with a rabid enthusiasm. Reports of her activities had been spreading like a rash all over Holland Valley with no clear preference of distribution. She was adept at sheltering in the woods and used them as her base from which she traversed the Valley. The Deputy would then erupt erratically into a fresh clustering of hives defying an effective defence.

At the Seed Ranch Jacob had expressed his open admiration for her guerrilla tactics. “She’s becoming more bold. You see that, don’t you?” His fingers drummed over the surface of the table, alternatively smoothing the maps and documents John shared with him. “She’s developing a real taste for it…” Jacob’s voice had drifted off as his eyes moved from the evidence detailing her successful attacks across the room to the fireplace. He remembered the invitation he had extended to her. It was doubtful she had understood how serious he was.

I didn’t know how serious I was, Jacob thought.

An ache had penetrated the eldest Seed’s reflections. He determined he would radio her again. He hadn’t told John or Joseph about the initial contact. For the moment he savoured the intimacy. A secret he didn’t want to share. ______________________________________________________________

John felt a sudden stab of panic. Instead of worrying for the potential loss of the objective he found himself sick with worry for Rook. As she had destroyed Eden’s Gate property and murdered countless faithful across the Valley, John had grown weary of his inability to focus past the inconvenient reality of the Deputy.

He had spoken to Joseph, telling him everything. He felt sick while unburdening his soul. Instead of a rebuke, Joseph seemed curiously pleased. Still he dismissed John’s fears. “The Deputy will not die like that,” he soothed, placing a hand on John’s shoulder. “She will transcend. She will be in New Eden.”

“Whoo! The Deputy has been shot!” The random exclamation rang out over the radio and John was sickened. He stood leaning over his desk, his hands wide supporting himself and closed his eyes. He breathed, squeezing his eyes shut.

He picked up the radio, “this is The Baptist. Is she dead? Over.”

Static exuded meaninglessly for several moments before there was a fresh crackle and a voice, “Unknown, sir. It’s chaotic here. Over.”

John’s voice was suddenly soft, his words delivered slowly with a pristine enunciation: “I want to fucking know. I want her alive. That’s your priority now. Acknowledge. Over.”

“Yes, sir. Roger. Out.”

The Baptist’s worry was at odds with his burgeoning caustic anger for the Deputy. He had known she was a sinner from the moment he met her, of course. But now she was in the throes of her sin, shamelessly encouraging it to flourish. The kindness he had shown her in the past now sickened him. When at last he subjugated her, he would not fail to to impart to her his displeasure at the flagrant display of her many offences. The Deputy would have to endure, to suffer significantly. John swallowed, feeling his mouth fill with saliva and his heart with abject anticipation. ______________________________________________________________

Jacob had listened to the transmissions as the standoff at the church proceeded. There had been no subsequent denial or confirmation of the Deputy’s death. Ultimately, the faithful had been repelled from the church. Apparently the church grounds had been left littered with countless bodies. He distracted himself walking amongst the cages of those being slowly cleaved into the dichotomy of his preference: The weak and strong. Judges walked alongside him, jockeying for position. To be closest to him was a place of high honour.

At 0300 Jacob was awake in his bed. He stared at the ceiling and resolved he was through with his attempt at falling asleep. The clinking of his dog tags and rabbit’s foot accompanied him as he sat at the edge of the bed for a moment. Jacob stood then and went to his desk, clearing away the paperwork and pulling the radio forward. The shot of whiskey he poured himself was as close as he would come to a prayer. Holding the shot glass he appreciated the amber colour, before tossing it back. As he swallowed he envisioned the Deputy’s haunted eyes. The Herald relished the smooth burn, and acknowledged it was a toast: One warrior to another.

He flipped on the radio and dialled the channel. “Whiskey, Whiskey, this is…Not Raptor. Come in. Over.” Static. He poured a second shot and closing his eyes the sound of the static seemed to dance distractedly within his room.

“Whiskey, Whiskey. Are you out there? Come in. Over.” More static. More time. He breathed.

A crackle, a surge of electricity, and: “I’m still considering your offer, you sick fuck!!” Then static and silence.

Jacob drank his second shot, and content, the Herald smiled.

[meekmadmel]

Chapter 14/Concrete & Apple

Far Cry 5 Montana's Feral Alchemist

The Deputy has a brief chat with Jacob...

...Jacob was laughing. “Beautiful Whiskey…You’ve nearly moved Pratt to tears, here. Huh, I think you might have just fucked him up more than I ever could. You’re someone I could learn from. I admire that. Really and truly.”

Cloying silence, impregnable and sickly as the blackness that slicked her vision. Rook drowned into her recurrent nightmare, recognising its substance. Still, she had grown weary of acquiescing to its prompts. Refusing to crawl as she once had, she lowered herself to the cement floor, her naked chest shuddering against the glaciated surface. Arms extending forward she remained prostrate and mute. She knew soon the air would thin and she determined she would not panic. 

I will not plead to wake up. I will lay here and die immune to your cruelty. 

Perhaps I will never wake up again. 

A warm touch descended, gossamer and gentle feather strokes dappling the backs of her hands and then her arms. She squeezed her eyes shut, refusing to acknowledge any promises of hope. Her defiance withered as she began to feel the ripples of shallow water coursing beneath her. Rook’s left hand stretched forth, the tips of her fingers anxious for clarity. 

A smooth organic surface yielded to her touch and stretching further still was then bound within her grasp.

Her eyes opened and traced along the length of her arm, and then she opened her hand. An apple serene and unblemished rested bathed in a warm light. A branch hung low, laden with pink blossoms, the petals of which continued to dance. Buoyed by a gentle breeze they whispered over her hands and arms–

______________________________________________________________

The Deputy awoke suddenly, there were voices in the near distance.

“The Deputy can’t have gone far.” 

“Doesn’t seem worthy to me–” 

“--That’s not for us to say. She is to be delivered untouched.” 

Rook had slept in a thicket covered with leaves. Extricating herself quietly she then used the binoculars to ascertain the location of the faithful. They were across a field following along a tree line. She had returned to Holland Valley in the hopes of seeing Fall’s End liberated. Returning had proved more dangerous than she had anticipated. She couldn’t help but attempt to free those she came across being accosted by cultists. In the course of doing so she had inadvertently attracted too much attention. Despite being out of uniform she had been recognised. 

Tempering herself was difficult. When her thoughts strayed to Pratt, Burke, Earl and Joey she felt anger and guilt. How could she not attack every cultist that crossed her path?

She readied her pack, checked her gun and considered her next step. She hardly recognised the streets anymore as they were polluted with grotesque displays of corpses. There was an abundance of roadblocks and patrols. Eden’s Gate vehicles predominated the roadways. She decided she would head further into the woods, she needed to radio Dutch, relay intel and plan. As she hiked silently penetrating further into the trees her mind strayed to her dream. For a brief moment she wondered at the change of imagery and then refused the distraction. 

It doesn’t matter.

Two hours later she settled amongst the vegetation to eat and attend the radio. She turned the radio on, making sure the volume was low. She, Dutch and other resistance members had a few agreed channels. At first she simply searched channels at random, hoping to pick up chatter that might be of benefit. Finally she dialled an ally of the Whitetails. Eli still didn’t recognise her fully, and wouldn't share all information freely. She understood the need for caution. For the time being she shared with the Whitetails what she learned in the hopes that it would be of benefit.

“Raptor, Raptor, this is Whiskey. Come In. Over…” Static. She carved another piece of hard salami and popped it in her mouth. She chewed slowly savouring the taste.

“Raptor, this is Whiskey. Come In. Over…”

“Whisskeey…” 

The male voice was unfamiliar. Curiously strong, yet soft and smooth, “Rook, yes…? We haven’t been introduced properly. I’m sorry about that. I’m Jacob Seed. I’m afraid Raptor has come to, ah, harm.” He sighed loudly. “Don’t worry. I’m gonna monitor this channel from now on. I want us to be friends, after all. Friends first, and eventually we’ll be family. Over.”

Rook pulled out her water bottle and drank. Motherfucker. She determined she would call Dutch next as she took another drink. The radio then spun up another round of soft static.

“C’mon Whiskey, don’t shut me out. I can be sensitive. Almost as sensitive as Peaches, here…” There was the sound of shuffling, something falling and a loud jarring slam that caused the radio’s static to bounce.

“Fucking talk to her!” Jacob yelled in the background. The malevolence in his voice was brutal. 

“Rook, it’s Pratt.” Her eyes widened and she suddenly felt exposed. He sounded broken.

Jacob’s voice thundered in the background, “You have to say Over!”

Pratt’s broken voice again, “Over.”

“Pratt, are you okay? Is anyone else with you!?” She was suddenly desperate asking illogical questions in a panic, that even if answered were unlikely to be representative of any truth. She crushed the radio against her head, feeling sick. 

Say what you can, she thought.

“Pratt, I’m sorry. I haven’t forgotten about you or the others. Over.”

Jacob was laughing. “Beautiful Whiskey…You’ve nearly moved Pratt to tears, here. Huh, I think you might have just fucked him up more than I ever could. You’re someone I could learn from. I admire that. Really and truly.”

“On a different topic, my little brother John is really fond of you. And I guess you feel the same, because before Raptor’s, uh, accident, he told me you’re there in Holland Valley. Still, I understand you’ve been quite the free spirit. Yeah?”

The Deputy cringed, uncertain where Jacob was going, all the while worried that she might incite him to harm Pratt further. She held her breath.

“Joey is pretty, like a little doe. Isn’t she Pratt?”

Rook was suddenly terrified for Hudson.

“Here’s the thing, Rook.” A pause and then Jacob’s voice suddenly dropped, becoming a growl. “I think you and I might have more in common. Let me show you. Come to the Whitetail Mountains, and we can hunt.”

“I’ll be waiting for you. Out.”

______________________________________________________________

Jacob sat at his desk with his feet up, his hands folded in his lap, considering. He had originally intended to press harder, to threaten Peaches more explicitly. He kept seeing the Deputy in the Church when she arrested Joseph. He drew his thumb across his lower lip, remembering how she had squeezed her eyes shut for a moment and when they opened, she had appeared–Haunted. 

[meekmadmel]

Far Cry 5 Montana's Feral Alchemist

Chapter 13/A Wretch Like Me

The Deputy fortunately meets Dutch, Joey unfortunately meets John...

...The Deputy remained silent, feral and rightfully so. Dutch considered the danger of harbouring her. His niece was still missing. He suspected she had been captured. There was the possibility he could swap the Deputy for her freedom…

That is if you could trust those fucks...

Amazing A painful mosaic of images ravaged through the Deputy’s unconscious mind. Grace The faithful clinging to the helicopter as it was rising, throwing themselves onto the rotary blades, the vapour of blood and the ensuing crash. How Hudson’s screaming, pulled from the chopper by Joseph’s fevered devotees and severed from Rook’s desperate grasp. Sweet Erupting flames, escape from the confines of the burning chopper and the ensuing frenzied run through the woods. The Reunited with Burke, now behind the wheel, racing, cultists in pursuit, gun fire and dynamite. Sound The vehicle’s violent descent from the bridge. That Panic. Drowning. Ascension. Scrambling upon an unfriendly shore. Confused, she heard Joseph’s voice reverberating against the surfaces of a small room as finally her eyes opened and she found herself zip tied to the leg of a metal bed frame. Saved There was water still lodged in her lungs which burned as she sputtered and coughed. The radio’s tin, in and out of her slur of consciousness contorted, its volume errant.

A wretch like…

Jesus, am I alive?

The floor beneath her was concrete and panic bled along her nerves. The shock of her dreams seemingly having transcended reality caused her to surge to vigilance. She fought against the zip ties desperately before her eyes settled on a man’s form.

Richard “Dutch” Roosevelt standing, his back to her as he clipped Joseph’s broadcast short with a defiant tap of a switch.

“You know what all that shit means?” Dutch crossed towards Rook and sat in a chair, looking down at her with irritation. “It means the roads have all been closed. It means the phone lines have been cut. It means there’s no signals getting in or out of this valley.”

“But mostly it means were all fucked!”

Dutch observed the ‘wayward soul’ before him. When she had struggled against the zip ties her feral nature surfaced raw and brutally apparent. Now she regarded him with her head low, her body fixed and tense, akin to the posture of a wolf.

“Goddamn Collapse. They all think the world’s coming to an end now. They’ve been waiting for it for years. Waiting for somebody to come along and fulfil their prophecy, and kick off their goddamn Holy War. Well, you sure as shit kicked.”

The Deputy remained silent, feral and rightfully so. Dutch considered the danger of harbouring her. His niece was still missing. He suspected she had been captured. There was the possibility he could swap the Deputy for her freedom…

That is if you could trust those fucks.

His eyes ventured back to the lone wolf. She had survived. She did not beg or expect mercy. “Fuck.” Dutch could not deny the Deputy her freedom. He raised from the chair and opened his switchblade. He saw her tense in anticipation of the fate he had determined she deserved. She remained silent as he then bent to cut the zip ties and set her free.

Dutch stood over her, considering what was next. “Get out of that uniform–We need to burn it. There’s some fresh clothes there,” he shrugged, indicating a small closet in the corner of the room. “When you get changed you come and see me.”

His temperament softened, “we’ll see if we can un-fuck this situation.” He then left the Deputy alone.

Rook stood up slowly and briefly surveyed the room. A bunker. She approached the wall across from her as she removed her gloves. Her hand extended and she allowed herself to touch the surface with her finger tips. Swallowing, she pressed her hand flush with the wall. The sensation of the concrete sickened her. The sooner she got out of here the better.

She dressed in tactical pants, a t-shirt and flannel. Her boots were still damp. She changed her socks and shoved a second dry pair into a pocket for later. She wandered the rooms briefly. Fish? Her host suddenly seemed gentler. There was an infirmary, plentiful books. None of the amenities mattered. The thought of being trapped within the solitude of these walls horrified her. She tried to distance herself from such thoughts. She then looked in earnest for her host.

Dutch explained that he had been piecing together what had happened in the aftermath of the arrest attempt. He couldn’t be sure, but it seemed likely that Rook’s partners had been split amongst John, Faith and Jacob. She felt Dutch’s eyes examining her expression.

“You want them back, I get it. I got friends that’ve been taken, too. Problem is, there ain’t no help comin’.”

Rook breathed deep as she listened to Dutch explain the way things were. It became clear that there was no swift path towards liberating her partners. She appreciated the calm of his voice, he was level as he discussed a possible way forward. Together they began to flesh out what the beginnings of a resistance might look like.

John stalked the periphery of the room, his eyes set upon Deputy Hudson. She was tied to a chair blindfolded.

“Who’s there?” Her voice trembling and small delighted him. He approached and stood just before the chair. She recoiled as he stroked her hair.

“There, there, Deputy Hudson. You are on the precipice of salvation. There’s nothing more to be frightened of,” his voice chimed as he ripped off the blindfold.

Her eyes were swollen from exhaustion and crying. While the room was dim, the sudden light still stung and she squinted as her eyes adjusted.

“I’m John,” He smiled largely as he pressed his splayed hand to his chest, his blue eyes twinkled gleefully as he met her focusing gaze. A pair of sunglasses were perched perfectly on his head over his well coiffed hair. A central light embellished with antlers glowed amber overhead. As she looked around the room she saw tables littered with an assortment of tools. A hammer, ice pick, pliers and an industrial stapler sat on the table nearest to her. Just within John’s reach. What appeared to be blood stained clothes littered the room randomly. She suffered to breathe.

He allowed her time to interpret the purpose of the room before asking, “tell me, what’s your first name?”

“Joey,” she whimpered. She saw no reason to withhold her name.

“Ahhh, yes. A lovely name,” he stood and began to calmly pace before her. “Joey, Rook is a very good friend of mine and I’m terribly worried about her given all the recent upheaval. She can be prone to dark thoughts and acting rashly.” As he spoke there was a subtle agitation rising in his tone.

“In fact, I’m not certain how she’s managed without my help for as long as she has.” He stopped mid-pace in front of Hudson who was having difficulty catching her breath. Her ragged breathing annoyed him.

“My dear, look up at me…” Her eyes slowly met his. The lie of a smile still clung to the corners of his mouth, but his eyes had grown humourless. “You’re going to tell me everything you know about Rook. You understand? I need to find her in order to save her from herself. Now that’s my priority,” his fingers drummed on the ragged wooden table nearby before he slammed his hand forcefully flat causing the ice pick to roll and fall to the ground. Hudson jumped.

He knelt before Joey and reached out to gently stroke her face. He ceased to feign smiling and suddenly took hold of her jaw, his fingers cruelly hooking under her mandible. She attempted to pull from his hold and he tightened his grasp, his nails breaking the skin.

“Don’t do that, Joey. Don’t defy me,” he shook his head with disappointment. She remained still then, although trembling. He released her jaw and smiled again as he petted her head, “that’s much better.”

“Now a little bird told me something that I find shocking and difficult to believe…” John admired the small amount of blood caught under his nails.

His eyes then flicked up and seared into Hudson’s gaze with a venom that froze her. “Is it true? Have you been fucking my unstable, vulnerable friend?”

[meekmadmel]

The Walking Dead/The Sanctuary

Chapter III/Knowing

Ellis is attacked as she begins the slow process of acclimating to the Sanctuary.

...Negan’s voice was calm as he turned away and tossed the ice pick across the room, the roll of which echoed until it cracked sharply against a wall with menacing finality...

Dwight guided Ellis down the stairs, finally descending into the basement half of which had been converted to cells. He noted that where Jake had grabbed her arm there was swelling and bruising. So he held her other arm. Dwight didn’t trust Jake. He’d been there since nearly the beginning. Lately he appeared to be developing the belief that he was entitled to special privileges, beyond those already afforded him. Ellis seemed to be blessedly in some degree of shock and didn’t ask Dwight any questions. He was relieved.

“What do you have here, Dwight?” Virgil was stuck guarding the basement, a boring post for the most part so undoubtedly any activity was thrilling for him. Dwight faced Ellis towards the block of cells and then turned back to look at Virgil. He didn’t speak, but raised his free arm and pointed up at the ceiling, with a ‘you get it expression?’ on his face. Virgil nodded then. His face suddenly became serious. Dwight had seen and read the clues enough to know that Negan wanted this woman looked after and he wasn’t going to be pleased if she was spoiled.

“Watch her Virgil, I’m going to get some blankets and food for her. She’s a little shook up, don’t let it bother you.”

Virgil met Dwight’s eyes as he took control of the prisoner. “We’ll be just fine until you get back.”

Dwight eventually returned with bedding, an older woman following behind him with a tray of food. As they approached Virgil and Ellis, the older woman smiled, “Is this her, Dwight?” Dwight nodded.

“I’m Margaret Mead, I’m Jimmy’s mother and I owe you such a debt–a debt I can never repay really.” She wasn’t bothered by Ellis’ silence given the circumstances. “Now, Dwight told me you need to eat and I’ve got like three different dinners here, so you can pick and choose or eat it all if you’re able. Only the best for you, hon’.”

“Thanks, Margaret, I’ve gotta’ get her settled now.” Dwight watched Margaret leave and then set to assembling the bedding in the cell, he set the tray on the small utilitarian table. The cells were solid metal, including the doors save for a small square window large enough to accommodate a face. He undid Ellis’ handcuffs and led her to the cell, he could feel her footsteps slow, hesitating.

While Dwight would have preferred to escape without speaking to her at this time, he followed his gut, “Things aren’t as bad as they seem, it’s just rough now. It’ll get better.”

“What time is it?” She asked, her voice small.

Dwight found her query out of context, it was as if she had slipped into an attempt to make small talk. He guessed it was her mind attempting to distance itself from all that had transpired, desperate to approximate something normal. However, there was another possibility. Her watch had been confiscated and with no windows, it would be impossible to guess the time of day. Was she gathering what information she could? Dwight checked his watch, “it’s 1900. You just eat and try to sleep, okay?” She allowed him to guide her into the cell then and he closed the cell door, standing aside for Virgil to lock it.

Ellis refocused once she was in the cell. The only way that she could tolerate anything that was happening was to believe that she would escape. First things first, she set to eating. She was surprised that the food was in fact amazing. She ate more than she should have yet still couldn’t eat it all. She hydrated herself until her piss was practically clear in the toilet.

I’m gonna get the fuck out of here.

She began reviewing what she had seen so far in terms of the lay out of the building. She was determined to continue to flesh out her mental map of the building as she had additional opportunities to do so. She imagined it might very well be a long game getting out. It was difficult to settle her mind, but she wanted to be well rested. Eventually she laid down. The bed was actually comfortable, which aided her as she fell asleep.

Jake laid in his bed one arm folded under his head staring at the ceiling. He checked his watch: 0200. His mind kept straying to Ellis. Her scent lingered in his mind, as well as her lovely neck. After he had put her weapon into the armory he had seen Dwight taking her down towards the basement in cuffs. He sat up on the edge of his bed. If she was special she wouldn’t be locked in a cell. What did it matter what he did? He made up his mind, put on his boots and set out for the basement.

Virgil stood at his post, acknowledging Jake as he approached. “What are ya’ doing here?” Virgil queried.

“Turns out that new stray might have lied about being alone. Might be part of a group–She’s for questioning. Right away.”

“Fuck, well alright.” Virgil unlocked the cell, “time to get up.” His voice was sharp.

Jake went past Virgil into the cell and began to drag her out. Ellis awoke disoriented, having to remember where she was and then her eyes burned as she was dragged into the bright light. Jake threw her against the basement wall, her hands braced her impact, but nonetheless her breath was knocked from her. He handcuffed her wrists behind her back. Squinting against the light she stumbled as Jake pushed her towards the basement door. They began to ascend multiple flights of stairs. Ellis felt the anger in Jake’s grip. What had happened? She guessed that only a few hours must have passed. The halls were mostly empty now.

“Where are we going?” Ellis asked, confused and frightened.

They made the final landing and Jake shoved her chest against the wall, his hand gripping her neck as his body pressed against hers. She felt the heat of his breath on her ear. His voice was a harsh whisper, “I’ll let you know when you can talk…or beg for that matter.” He grabbed her then and forced her to the end of the hall.

Jake unlocked and opened the door, throwing her to the floor. Locking the door behind them he flipped on the lights. Relaxing against the wall he appreciated his quarry. Ellis struggled to sit up given her restraints and once she did Jake remained leaning against the wall by the doorway. He enjoyed watching her as she devised the purpose of the room. The walls appeared to be solid concrete. No windows. Racks along the walls suspended various tools, many of which appeared well worn, even rusted. Saws, screw drivers, knives and the like. A large wooden table, a work bench of sorts, sat in the middle of the room with metal restraints attached at each corner. Two chairs also equipped with restraints seemed to comfort each other as they sat face to face. A large metal forge dominated the corner to her left. There was a large galvanised garbage bin in one corner overflowing with what appeared to be mostly blood stained clothes. A mop bucket sat next to it. The mop propped between the two was crimson. She began to see the patterns of blood that stained the concrete floor, walls and ceiling.

Ellis felt her breathing begin to catch and she looked back at Jake, still relaxing against the wall, his arms crossed in front of him. “I wish I had come across you out there in the woods. As it is, I’m afraid we might only have a few precious hours.” His voice was thick with threat and he had a sickly smile as he left the wall and approached her slowly. She cowered when he reached for her and pulled from the ground.

“Please, tell me what I’ve done–” Ellis’ voice shook and then broke off as Jake threw her against the table. She couldn’t soften the impact given her restraints and felt the crack of some of her ribs upon the impact. She struggled to breathe as Jake’s body pressed harshly against her. Her wrists strained helplessly against the cuffs. One hand holding her neck, she felt him reach around and begin to unbutton her pants. She attempted to struggle only to have him slam her head against the table. Ellis’ field of vision began to turn white.

There was a loud bang that echoed across the concrete room, and Ellis was aware of Jake letting her go. She breathed deeply, desperate not to fall unconscious. Her vision began to normalise and she was able to lift herself from the table and turn to lean against it, still feeling bleary. Jake stood only a few feet before her facing the door that upon being flung open had banged harshly against the wall. She recognised Negan and Dwight, but not the other three men in their company as they entered the room. Their guns were trained on Jake.

“What the fuck, Jake?” Negan had a wooden baseball bat perched over his shoulder embellished with barbed wire. “Are you in the habit of throwing private parties and not inviting me?”

Jake’s hands clenched. “No–I just realised that she was probably part of a group. I wanted to get the intel as soon as possible so I could track them down tomorrow first thing.”

Negan lowered the bat from his shoulder and bounced it tenderly against his leather-gloved palm. His eyes descended to appreciate the bat’s uniform grain and balance as he seemed to consider Jake’s explanation. He smiled serenely. “Such initiative,” he murmured peacefully. He gave the bat one final authoritative tap into his palm, as if coming to a decision.

Negan turned and faced one of the other men behind him, “Roy, tend to Lucille here, for me–” He tossed the bat gently, it vaulted gracefully prior to Roy catching it. Negan began to walk leisurely towards one of the racks crowded with tools. “Dwight, bring Ellis here.”

As Dwight approached Jake, about to pass him to retrieve Elllis, Negan spoke again– “And bring me Jake’s gun and knife would you?” His voice was still gently level. Dwight relished the fear building in Jake’s eyes as he disarmed him. He then pulled Ellis from the table and worried when he heard her intake of breath rattle with fluid. She spasmed coughing and blood speckled the floor. He pulled her arm around his shoulder and assisted her to cross to Negan.

The silence of the room seemed dream-like to Ellis. She was mildly dizzy, her head throbbing and her chest on fire. Her fear was replaced with an aching emptiness. Her eyes were downcast as Negan reached out and gently raised her chin, inclining her face towards his own. “Look at me, Ellis.” Her sense of self preservation insisted she comply. Meeting his eyes he towered over her, as he had earlier in his office. She couldn’t read his expression.

“I’m not part of a group,” she whispered, pleading weakly, having struggled to muster the breath to speak at all.

Negan stroked her cheek, realising she was too injured to grasp what was transpiring. She was begging him for her life. He leaned forward and whispered in her ear, “It’ll be okay. You’re safe.” He let go of her face and approached the rack retrieving an ice pick, before closing on Jake.

Jake’s fear overwhelmed him and he was unable to voice a final plea as Negan ran at him. He threw Jake over the table where only shortly before Ellis had been restrained. He held him by the throat and stabbed him repeatedly in the belly, arcs of blood ribboning in the air. He was careful to avoid Jake’s heart, not wanting him to die swiftly and then watched him slowly slump and fall to the floor. Negan’s voice was calm as he turned away and tossed the ice pick across the room, the roll of which echoed until it cracked sharply against a wall with menacing finality. “You’re going on the wall, Jake. Hope you enjoy thinking about that while you die.”

He returned to Dwight and Ellis, her eyes were closed. It was doubtful she had known what transpired at all. “Give her to me,” Negan lifted her in his arms. “Clean this mess up!” He yelled over his shoulder as he left the room.

As Negan carried her towards the infirmary he considered that it was probably preferable that she had been exposed to such violence. Both the assault and the knowledge of the existence of the torture chamber were going to change her. He had thought to draw her close slowly, to only eventually expose her to the realities when at last he imagined she would be unable to break away. But to begin with her knowing what she was a part of. To have her submit then–

He entered the infirmary and laid her across the trolley. She was unconscious, but breathing. It was still predawn, he would need to rouse the Doc. Before leaving her side, he leaned in close, his eyes tracing her face. Lucille’s voice echoed through his memory from many years ago, quoting Bukowski from her favourite poem:

“…I loved you like a man loves a woman he never touches, only writes to, keeps little photographs of. I would have loved you more if I had sat in a small room rolling a cigarette and listened to you piss in the bathroom, but that didn’ happen…”

Negan gently kissed Ellis’ soft lips and went to look for the Doc.

[meekmadmel]

The Walking Dead/The Sanctuary

Chapter II/Lucky

Ellis arrives at the Sanctuary and rightfully so fears for her freedom.

...Negan looked up and regarded Ellis again. “Uncuff her Jake, don’t be such an ass hole to our guest.” He stood and rounded the desk and then sat on the edge of it, his hands on either side gripping the edge, his legs extended and his feet crossed, heels anchored to the floor. As Jake undid the cuffs, Dwight noted that Negan had left Lucille essentially hidden behind his desk. A sign that he was feeling benevolent...

As they crossed a narrow paved road with dense brush on either side Ellis worried for Jimmy. She placed a hand on his shoulder and met his eyes, “I think you need to rest. I’m good with the bow, let’s make camp and I can go hunt. You need to eat, you need protein to heal.” As far as she could tell they were still a ways off from anything.

Jimmy paused and studied her face. The worry in her eyes was touching, an emotion that he had not seen in so many years. “I’ll always be grateful for your kindness, Ellis. I’ll help you as best I can.” Watching the confusion cloud her gentle face was more painful than he thought it would be. Guilt ground deep into him as he raised his arm over his head and signalled. He knew they would have been watching for some time. From the trees three men approached with their guns drawn and pointed at Ellis.

“Jimmy! What d’ya’ got here?” One of the men exclaimed as he moved closest. “Drop the bow darlin’, and toss the bag.”

She felt a wave of panic and froze.

“Don’t make me anxious, darlin’...” The playfulness in the man’s voice had decreased, a trace of anger rising.

“Easy Jake,” Jimmy began, “she’s just been out there alone for a while.” Jimmy approached her then, “it’s alright, it’ll be alright.” His voice was soft. He pulled the bow from her and lifted the pack and quiver from her shoulders.

Jake lowered his gun and stepping behind her he cuffed her hands behind her back. As he did so he leaned close and smelled her admiring her delicate neck. Judging from her arms she had been starving for a while. She smelled lovely though, clean and earthy. He could feel her tremble then and savouring her fear he ran his hand over her shoulder and down her arm, “you’re in good hands, now. Nothing to worry about.” He took hold of her arm then and began to lead her towards the truck parked further up the road.

As they approached the truck Jake hollered “head’s up, Jimmy!” And threw him the keys. “You’re driving, ya’ll can squeeze in the cab and I’ll keep our guest occupied.” The tailgate down, Jake lifted Ellis until she was sitting, and then once in himself pulled her up and had her sit with her back against the cab. He sat beside her, studying her. She stared at the truck bed.

“What happened to Jimmy?” He asked. She was silent, still looking shocked at the turn of events. “C’mon,” he laughed slightly, attempting to reassure her, “you can talk to me.”

“Some of the dead came at him and he fell on his knife. I stitched him up.” She spoke while staring at the truck bed, her voice flat.

“I swear that fucker has a rabbit’s foot up his ass,” Jake said shaking his head with disbelief. “Then again, if he was really lucky, I guess he wouldn’t have fallen on his own knife–” He focused on her again. “Ellis? Is it? Well Ellis, having skills like that means a lot where you’re headed. You’re lucky, too.” _____________________________

When at last they arrived at the Sanctuary, Ellis looked up at the large factory building and found the edifice depressing. She was hardly aware as she was being pulled from the back of the truck and led towards the main gate. Upon entering the building there was a surge of activity and the sheer number of people present caught her off guard. The immediate interior of the building was a great hall that surged up many floors with walkways. Ellis studied the people’s faces. Some of them appeared beaten down, a nervousness about them as they hurriedly went wherever they were going. Others had weapons and moved about with confidence. Sensing the dichotomy filled her with dread. Still it seemed that everyone's basic needs were met.

As Ellis was escorted across the hall, her hands still bound, a sudden shout rang out descending from above–”Jake!” The murmur of voices dimmed slightly, and Jake halted abruptly as he looked up. She felt his hold on her arm hesitate.

“You know how much I like to greet new visitors. Bring her and her stuff to my office.” The owner of the voice was an imposing figure. He was leaning over the railing, his arms folded over each other. It was a posture that feigned approachability. His smile was at odds with the hard focus of his eyes. His hair was dark and he wore a leather biker jacket. “Jimmy, you join us. I wanna know what the fuck you got up to. At least it seems you brought some charming company.” He turned and disappeared from view then, another man on his heel.

Jake called after him, “yes, Negan.”

Jimmy regarded Ellis as Jake guided her up the stairs. Her defeated expression caused his guilt to surge again. She would be okay, he thought. She’ll just need time to settle in.

They weaved amongst people, ascending more stairs until at last they were at the top floor. Jimmy rapped on the door.

“Come!”

Jimmy opened the door and himself, Jake and Ellis entered. The office was large, a heavy wooden desk dominated the space. Windows revealed the distant landscape and Ellis couldn’t help but wish she had never run towards the scream. She continued to look into the distance not noticing the eyes focused on her.

Dwight shut the door behind the trio and then slowly rounded the desk until he stood beside Negan who leaned back in his chair contemplating the young woman. Dwight found her curious. Scared, sure, but she nonetheless had a calm emanating from her that was at odds with her current predicament. He worried that her not acknowledging Negan would move him to act rashly and he didn't want to see her hurt unnecessarily.

Negan smiled gently as he observed the woman stare out the window. He recognised the look. She had a wild nature, and now being trapped her eyes sought the only objective that was of true value to her. He pushed the papers on his desk to the periphery then held his hand out for her bag. Jimmy handed it to him and he began to carefully empty the contents onto his desk.

“And who’s this, Jimmy? Who’s the new friend?” Negan asked as he sorted the bag's contents, not looking up.

“This is Ellis. She saved my life, actually. Five walkers came out of nowhere and I fell on my knife–” Jimmy was embarrassed to recount all the details, but he wanted the best for Ellis. “She heard me scream and came for me, killed the walkers and stitched me up, too–”

Negan looked up at Jimmy, he noted the bow and quiver over his shoulder. He had since removed the revolver from her bag, noting the one bullet. “She shot them with the bow?”

Jimmy nodded, “She’s good with the bow. Hunting n’ the like.”

Negan returned to examining the contents of Ellis’ bag. Her pack was dense with nearly everything having multiple purposes. And nothing useless. The medical supplies she carried indicated her further skills in that arena as well. There were two journals, hand written and essentially identical it seemed. As he thumbed through the pages he appreciated the detailed notes and instructive drawings. It was a collection of instructions and recommendations regarding medical care and procedures in the austere environment that was now the world as a whole. He saw there were hatch marks next to some of the entries divided into columns of ‘successful’ and ‘unsuccessful’.

Negan looked up and regarded Ellis again. “Uncuff her Jake, don’t be such an ass hole to our guest.” He stood and rounded the desk and then sat on the edge of it, his hands on either side gripping the edge, his legs extended and his feet crossed, heels anchored to the floor. As Jake undid the cuffs, Dwight noted that Negan had left Lucille essentially hidden behind his desk. A sign that he was feeling benevolent.

Once she was free, Negan raised one hand and snapped his fingers, “Over here, Ellis.” He still had a slight smile, but his voice had slightly hardened with the tone of demand. She rubbed her wrists and met his eyes. She had a kind face, still obvious despite her current expression of disillusionment. Her brows had a high arch that framed her eyes. Her hair was dark, relegated to two long braids. “Well Ellis, you’re lucky you came across ole’ Jimmy here. And it seems that you are going to be a welcomed addition to our community. I appreciate you letting me look through your pack, there. I just need you to show me a bit more.”

Dwight bit his cheek and looked at the surface of the desk, before returning to regard her face and the confusion blooming there. Ellis shrugged, “I don’t have anything else.”

Negan exhaled and stood taking a few steps towards her until he was standing just before her. “Take off your shirt.” His smile was gone and his eyes bore into her own. Dwight rounded the desk and positioned himself behind her with Jimmy and Jake.

Ellis stepped back, afraid.

Negan enjoyed the panic he saw in her face. She was back in the room at least. “Shhhh. It’s for our safety and yours, isn’t it? You could be bit. You could have something stashed in your clothes. Hell, there’s more reasons why than why not.”

She retreated a few more steps and Jake took a harsh hold of her arm, his nails digging into her skin. Negan shook his head at Jake, made a subtle wave gesture with his hand indicating to let her go. Jake did so at once.

He looked back at Ellis and met her eyes. His voice was low, soothing. “You’ll feel better if you do this yourself.”

Dwight felt relief when Ellis began to unbutton her top. He could see her trembling and she struggled with the buttons. She removed her shirt and Negan held out his hand for it. She passed the shirt to him stiffly. Beneath the shirt he had only a sports bra. She crossed her arms in front of her chest. Negan approached her, circling her. She was grossly underweight, her ribs protruding and he was impressed knowing all that she accomplished despite her weakness.

Negan then retreated to his desk leaning against it again as he investigated her shirt. Just within the placket on the inside of the shirt there was a small plastic sleeve sewn in. Opening it he retrieved a small folded photograph. As he unfolded the photograph he was aware of her discomfort. It was an image of Ellis and a similarly aged man both of them smiling on either side of a horse. “Who’s this, I wonder?” Negan asked as he looked back at her.

She was beginning to fragment. Redness seeped into her eyes and a single tear traced down her cheek. His jaw clenched and he almost regretted his cruelty. He wasn’t upset when Jimmy offered, “might be her brother. She lost him a while ago.” Ellis remained mute, seemingly unable to respond.

“Alright, let's finish this.” Negan folded the photo and replaced it in her shirt. His voice softened, a suggestion of reassurance. “Take off your shoes, socks and pants. And once I’ve checked everything you can get dressed, okay?” _____________________________

Fully dressed again Ellis still stood with her arms wrapped about herself. Fearful of what was next. Negan crossed to the window where Ellis’ attention had originally been drawn and looked out as he spoke, “Jimmy, Jake leave me and Dwight with Ellis here. Jimmy, take one of those journals of hers to the Doc to review. Jake take her pistol to the arsenal. Mark it as hers, understand?”

When it was just the three of them Negan remained at the window and he was not surprised when she spoke.

“Just let me go.” Ellis pleaded suddenly. “Keep all of my stuff. Can’t you just let me go?”

He turned and faced her. The threat to her freedom was crushing her. Negan realised that taming her was going to take time. “You’re going to have a good life here, Ellis. You just can’t see it yet. As much as I’d like to put you into a comfortable apartment to stay in right now, I can’t trust you yet, can I?”

She didn’t realise Dwight was just behind her until he handcuffed her once more.

Negan crossed his arms leaning against the window. “Dwight, make the cell comfortable, yeah? And feed her well.”

[meekmadmel]

Far Cry 5/Montana's Feral Alchemist

Chapter 12/The Intent To Harm

Time to arrest The Father, Rook is beginning to glimpse her future...

The white and diseased horse slowly limped forward. Here and there its flesh decayed, the strips of which flailed inexorably upon the fiery diminishing air burning in her throat. Rook knew that she was dreaming as she brought her hands to her face. A sanguineous film then descended, heightening her vision. She looked upon her hands and saw that they were saturated with blood. The horse was now immediately before her. It levelled its eyeless gaze upon her, its dry and withered lips then nuzzled her throat and face tenderly. The animal then turned and began to shamble towards the burning forest alight on the horizon. It paused and then briefly looked back at Rook. The Deputy knew to follow. And as she took her first step it wasn’t fear she felt. But lo and behold, a venomous poison tainted the saliva now brimming behind her teeth, set and sharp. And having whetted her appetite, she sought to keep pace with the beast.

As they reviewed their plans and packed the helicopter, Rook couldn’t shake the feeling of dread. Intermittently she felt Burke’s eyes fall upon her with distaste. Maybe he was right to doubt her. Her mind was a riot of thoughts and feelings. In part, her worry stemmed from her belief that nothing could alleviate this happening now. They had been creeping towards this event for sometime, hadn’t they? Everyone was accountable. Rook thought of John and wondered if she could have intervened? Was there something she could have said in the beginning? That wasn’t the path she had taken. Why had she not even considered it?

The memory of her dream came back to her. While the imagery had faded thin and translucent, the divine taste of fury remained fresh and lingered curiously upon her palate.

“You okay, Rook?” Marshall Burke caught her alone as she packed her bag full of weapons and ammo. She straightened and met his gaze. His shaved head and sharp eyes insisted no bullshit.

“Absolutely,” the Deputy managed assuredly.

“I don’t think it will come as a surprise that I don’t like you. I don’t completely trust you. Whitehorse vouches for you and I’m fucked, because I still need you to round out this mission.” She appreciated his honesty and unfortunately felt his assessment might be fair.

“I understand, Marshall,” was all she said. Burke seemed satisfied, not being one for lengthy discussions or explorations of human motivation. He gave her an astute nod and that was that. The helicopter was up within fifteen.

“Crossing over the Henbane, now,” Pratt announced. Joseph Seed’s statue seemed to glow in the early pre-dawn light, a billowing shape both alien and ancient in temperament. Rook swallowed. The cement likeness was the embodiment of inevitability subjugating uncertainty. She felt as though she might choke. She avoided looking at Burke who sat directly opposite her.

Despite the Sheriff continuing to question the wisdom of proceeding, Burke remained steadfast. As if by magic they were suddenly leaving the confines of the chopper and walking through the compound, past the faithful and towards the church. Whitehorse and Burke were still at odds as the church loomed before them. The Sheriff asserted how they would go about the arrest before breaching the church’s grand doors.

“Hudson, on the door. Watch out backs. Don’t let any of these people get in. Rookie, on me.” Whitehorse then considered the Marshall, “and you, just try not to do anything stupid.”

“Relax Sheriff, you’re about to get your name in the paper,” Burke assured. Whitehorse and Hudson were not impressed.

Hudson met Rook’s eyes, “You’ll be fine.”

Entering the church the group moved slowly, steadily towards Joseph’s voice as he preached. The faithful rose from the pews with concern as they observed their passage. Joseph’s voice grew louder and angrier as his sermon rebuked their presence and what it represented. The Marshall could not contain his determination to assert his authority. As he reached the pulpit he disregarded Whitehorse’s calls for calm and patience and he presented the warrant. As he held the document up and announced the charge, Rook’s eyes remained on Joseph. He observed the Marshall with a combination of brutal menace and contempt.

“There they are…The locusts in our garden, you see they’ve come for me…” As he continued the faithful began to crowd about the pulpit forming a barrier between themselves and The Father. Calls and anger rising amongst them. Whitehorse attempted to keep the peace, but it was unravelling swiftly until Joseph himself disrupted the building agitation.

“We knew this moment would come. And we have prepared for it. Go. Go…” The faithful were hesitant, but obedient. Adequately reassured they filed from the church peacefully notwithstanding the anger burning across their faces. “God will not let them take me.”

Rook had been unaware of John’s presence until he began to cross to the centre of the pulpit behind his brother. She met his eyes and the condemnation she found there rendered her raw. Faith appeared perfectly balanced and unaffected as she joined John to stand barefoot with her head slightly inclined. She was the very essence of benevolence. Rook shuddered. The deputy had never met Jacob. As he joined his family he crossed his arms emanating an abundance of loathing.

Joseph continued to sermonise: “I saw when the Lamb opened the First Seal, and I heard as it were the noise of thunder. One of the four beasts sayin’ ‘Come and see’--”

“Step forward!” The Marshall demanded, still attempting to assert himself and his power.

“--and I saw…” Joseph’s eyes moved to the Sheriff, “and behold it was a white horse…”

The deputy felt as she often did in her dreams, unable to act, unable to extricate herself from events that had been carved long ago into a tapestry that would not yield to the pleas of mortals. When Joseph cast his visage upon her she felt a thundering within her own being. Something that had been destined to break was now fracturing through to a dangerous depth. A rift that would never mend.

The Father held her eyes and extended his arms to her, “...and Hell followed with him.”

“Rookie, cuff this son of a bitch,” Burke directed.

Tell me about your nightmare…

The memory of Joseph’s question exsanguinated from beneath the layers of Bliss that Faith had suffused her mind with. Transfixed and drowning further still she remembered kissing him. Desire that had burned oh so brightly. She squeezed her eyes shut for a second.

Had she ever experienced a moment more beautiful than that?

“God will not let you take me…” She opened her eyes again and then Joseph was sure that she had remembered. Her lips were parted almost imperceptibly and although it was dim he felt certain he could see the flush of her cheeks. Still more glaring was the pain that descended in her eyes.

“I can still lead you to touch the divine, Deputy.”

The collective eyes of the room were suddenly predative.

I am alone, she thought.

“Rook! Put the cuffs on him!”

The Deputy breathed and abandoned her attempt to think through all that enveloped her weary mind. After all, this had been the plan all along.

She put the cuffs on Joseph Seed.

[meekmadmel]

Montana's Feral Alchemist Chapter 9/Church On Time

Female Deputy & Joseph

...Her naivete to The Bliss was beautiful, Joseph thought. Such a small dose. Her eyes shone bright, glistening a hazy white rimmed with green. Her rapture glazed her gentle features as she observed him with a desperate longing...

Rook came to on the floor of the Church, under her head was Joseph’s folded jacket. He knelt beside her holding a wet cold cloth to her forehead. The Deputy lurched to sit up and Joseph pushed her, albeit gently, back to the floor. “You fainted.” His voice was curiously flat. Rook felt immediately threatened to be caught looking upon his countenance once more. He stared into her eyes before his gaze drifted along the length of her body and then out through the front doors of the church.

“Faith has gone to call Sheriff Whitehorse. You said you felt sick. Should I call a doctor?” His white shirt buttoned all the way up and the black vest neatly fitted framed the gravity of his expression perfectly.

“I’m okay now. I just need to sit up and breathe a bit, I think…” He watched as she sat up. “How long was I out?” She asked as she rubbed her hands over her face.

“Ten-fifteen minutes.” He handed her a glass of water which she took eagerly. Joseph watched her drink and he swallowed tightly. He stood then and crossed to the church doors, closing them and securing the lock. He felt her watching him and turned back to savour the confusion that would only briefly cloud her face as he leaned back against the doors.

“Before you woke up, Deputy, you were having a nightmare.” He began to walk towards her again. His voice was so smooth, velvet and inviting. “You couldn’t breathe. You were so desperate and alone in your agony.”

Something she was forgetting…

“I kissed and breathed my love into your soul. I could taste the sin that’s been suffocating you…”

Enthralled Rook stared as he approached, the periphery of her vision sparkling. He appeared as a vision, his edges dipped in the colours and magic of a kaleidoscope. She ached to touch, to feel and to know more as came closer still and then knelt before her once more.

Her naivete to The Bliss was beautiful, Joseph thought. Such a small dose. Her eyes shone bright, glistening a hazy white rimmed with green. Her rapture glazed her gentle features as she observed him with a desperate longing. He stroked the side of her face, and as her eyes closed he felt a soft shudder move through her body.

He withdrew his hand to test her.

“Please touch me…” Her voice was smaller than a whisper, still the longing was frantic. Her clouded eyes opened again and searched his face desperately for a reprieve.

Joseph drew his fingers along her jaw before leaning in to kiss her. Her lips trembled with anticipation, her hands reached for him gently. He kissed her, tasting her mouth. Then stroking her throat he observed her. He savoured the sensation of her submitting to him, despite her acquiescence being manufactured.

“Tell me about your nightmare.” Joseph’s voice was so gentle within Rook’s mind, coaxing her to relent.

The euphoria permeating her features dimmed, becoming obscured with hesitation, “I can’t…”

The green rimming her irises had become more prominent, but still she was deeply within the thrall of the Bliss. Her ability to deny him her truths both impressed and displeased him.

He pressed, “Why not?”

She remained mute as she blinked at him.

He was tempted to keep her. To cage and rule her as his inclinations dictated. Beginning now. Joseph felt the raw collision of his many sins as he attempted to understand his anger. He breathed with measured frustration into the near silence of the church.

No. He would deny himself for now. The Deputy was a menace. In his visions she was a force majeure, a judge and executioner. His pride and lust had dominated his choices today. There was a path forward, although the exact steps still eluded him.

“I have to let you go for now, my dear Deputy. I have to take from you this memory of all I’ve shown you…” Her face saddened, still deeply awash in The Bliss. ”Sshhh,” he soothed.

He left her and then opened the church doors, the signal for Faith to return. When would he see the Deputy again? He would carve the loathing from her sober visage that he wrought in her. No matter the time or the cost.

Faith entered the Church and stood obediently one hand clasped in another her bare feet in plie awaiting instruction. He directed Faith to suppress Rook’s memories and return her to her cabin. “Minister to her, make sure she’s fully restored before you leave her.” Faith nodded as she knelt beside the Deputy and petted her face gently.

Joseph left wary of the magnetism impairing his departure from the church and the Deputy. Letting her go was more difficult than he anticipated.

Soothing himself he thought, soon enough.

[meekmadmel]

Far Cry 5 Montana's Feral Alchemist

Chapter 8/Call Me Faith

The Deputy meets Faith and Joseph for the first time...

...His eyes were blue, unblinking and seemed to gather all of the light from the church. Such a ravenous calm emanated from his eyes as if demanding serenity. She held his gaze for only a moment and felt at once a combination of nausea, fear and unbridled anger. He smiled subtly and extended his hand, “My brother John has told me nothing but good things about you.”

“Miss Jessop,” Rook began–

“Please call me Faith, Deputy.” She smiled widely and exuded a calm that caused Rook to feel entirely uncomfortable. The Deputy has hesitated to enter the church. It was empty as the two women entered, their voices chiming as they echoed against the walls. When she arrived at the compound it was so much worse than what she expected. So many guns, so many people and the air thick with zealotry. Where was all of this headed?

There was a single landline associated with Eden’s Gate. The Deputy called ahead and had left a message asking for the opportunity to speak with Faith briefly, assuring her that she wasn’t in any trouble. She stressed that she could refuse: “My hope is that will grant me this opportunity, but I have no means by which to compel you.” She had thought there would be no response.

“Deputy? This is Rachel Jessop–Faith…” Faith’s voice over the phone had been soft and lilting.

“Yes–Hello, thanks for calling me back.”

“Of course. I was hoping you might come out to The Project At Eden’s Gate and we could talk. I imagine you’re concerned for my welfare and I think if you see me in person…Well, I think it would be more reassuring for everyone involved.” Her voice was soothing, each word like a feather floating serenely towards the floor.

Rook was anxious to see the compound. Her inner tactician was already savouring the opportunity to map out further details beyond what surveillance had been gathered at a distance. This was tempered by a sense of dread. Sheriff Whitehorse argued she shouldn’t go alone. “I can’t show up with backup. That could set things off. I go alone and this can be over quickly and cleanly.” Whitehorse was irritated that he couldn’t summon a good argument to challenge her.

“Faith, I understand that there is…Disharmony, between you and your family. A stress that your mother acknowledges…” Rook was aware of who she believed to be Joseph Seed entering the church as she began to speak. “All I can say is that she expressed to me that she just wants to know you’re safe. I see that you have made a new life here and you’re an adult. I am asking you to consider it as a kindness, just let your mother know that you’re okay.”

Faith was surprised by the Deputy’s soft hand, the sincerity she possessed. She sensed in her a dangerous depth of sorrow, a pervasive shadow from beneath which she viewed the world. Curious. The Deputy would benefit from the comforting embrace of The Bliss.

“Deputy, I understand and I will reach out to her. You don’t have to worry.” She saw the Deputy take a breath, retrieving relief. “You have been so gentle in your manner of intervention into this matter, hasn’t she, Father?”

Rook had largely been looking at the floor as she spoke. The expectation of a possible altercation had been looming in her mind. She had been so relieved with Faith’s response that she had forgotten about Joseph. Now he stood just before her beside Faith and everything Whitehorse, Hudson and Pratt had told her was suddenly flesh and blood.

His eyes were blue, unblinking and seemed to gather all of the light from the church. Such a ravenous calm emanated from his eyes as if demanding serenity. She held his gaze for only a moment and felt at once a combination of nausea, fear and unbridled anger. He smiled subtly and extended his hand, “My brother John has told me nothing but good things about you.”

What had John told him, she wondered. That I’m a drunk? That I accused him of being part of a cult? She was shocked to find herself speechless, but then she managed to extend her hand–Her right hand–to shake his own. He took hold of her hand and she felt his fingertips subtly stroke the back of her hand. She met his eyes once more as she attempted to pull her hand away.

Joseph held it fast for a beat longer.

“I think we’ve met before Deputy.” Rook felt her stomach twist, revulsion billowing.

“No, I’d remember…I’m sorry, I don’t feel well." Her heart was thumping in her throat and her head felt as if it were on fire. “I should go.” He released her hand and watched as she turned to leave the church.

“Would you?” He asked.

“What?” The Deputy felt as if everything was suddenly shrinking: The space, her field of vision, the amount of available air…

“Would you remember?” She heard Joseph say the words as her mind continued to fold in on itself like some malady of origami. She was blinded. Seeing nothing but white and then she lost consciousness. She did not realise that Joseph Seed had shadowed her steps as she turned to leave. She was not aware that he caught her when she fell.

[meekmadmel]

Far Cry 5 Montana's Feral Alchemist

Chapter 11/As It Were The Noise Of Thunder

Rook and Hudson share an intimate moment.

“...You don’t love me. Is that what you want to say?” Hudson asked the question sincerely as they held one another. The hurt on Hudson’s face was painful.

“I love you,” Rook said, “but it doesn’t change who I am or what I can do.” She stroked Joey’s face feeling cruel as she admired the gentle soul reflected there. Rook sighed, her eyes fell to admire Hudson’s delicate neck. “Let me let you go, Joey...”

Marshall Burke drank the burnt coffee eagerly as he reviewed the maps, photos and notes detailing the compound. Nancy had carefully arranged an assortment of donuts, butter croissants and muffins with ample butter and jam. The coffee she served was shit, but Burke was simply pleased that there was plenty of it. He had never met Sheriff Whitehorse before and found his lack of enthusiasm for the impending arrest irritating. The deputies seemed capable enough, if perhaps soft from working in such a historically peaceful environment.

He had minor reservations about Rook. Her hands splayed across the map refusing the curling edges as she described the compound. He had noted intermittent tremors ailing her fingers when they raised from the parchment. More than that, she appeared haunted. There was something behind her eyes forbidden from spilling forth past her lips to manage an explanation.

And she was relatively new to the department. Another red flag.

“Rook’s fucking fine,” Whitehorse angrily proclaimed behind closed doors. “You’re the one I’m worried about, Marshall. You’re not seeing this for what it potentially is.”

Burke shrugged, he was tired of tempering his annoyance. “What do you suggest, Sheriff? Offer Joseph Seed a do over?”

As the Alphas circled one another working towards an understanding in Whitehorse’s office Rook pulled on her jacket and made to leave the office.

“Where ya’ goin’?” Hudson called after her.

“Shooting range,” Rook had hoped to escape alone. When Joey exclaimed she wanted to join she managed to sound pleased. The range was an hour’s drive away. A desolate field with a hefty embankment to corral the bullets. They made the drive in near silence in Rook’s scarred truck listening to what music managed to meet the antenna at such a distance.

“...Help me faith Help me faith, shield me from sadness From worry and madness Lead me to the bliss And as I grew up I could never be free 'Cause the shackles I wore Can't be touched to be seen My heart never loved And my soul couldn't laugh So much hate in my life Couldn't make out the path Help me faith Help me faith, shield me from sorrow From fear of tomorrow Help me faith Help me faith, shield me from sadness From worry and madness Lead me to the place…”

“What’s been eating at you?”

Hudson’s query dropped sharp and simple as she took aim at the target. They had been shooting for an hour or so. The bullet ripped through the paper’s centre mass, seeming to demand an honest response. Rook wanted to be able to explain herself. In the beginning her nightmares had been all about fear and then the subtle details of Joseph and the diseased trees that ascended had coiled her terror ever deeper.

Now the nightmares were worse. She had begun to worry that she understood them.

“Not sleeping well.”

Joey regarded her, “No shit. You look like, well…Shit.”

“Yeah, sorry ‘bout that.” Something between a grimace and a grin crossed the Deputy's face. She bowed her head for a moment before taking her turn and aiming her pistol. Centre mass achieved. “We’re good, aren’t we?” She smiled weakly, trying to make light of it all. She knew Hudson wouldn’t let her get away with it. Joey holstered her gun and Rook mirrored her.

Joey approached Rook, shaking her head and expressing vague concern. She reached out and stroked the Deputy's shoulder and then her face, searching her tired eyes for an explanation. They had slept together a few times and Hudson remained disappointed that things never seemed to advance. She kissed the Deputy's mouth gently at first, feeling the tremble of hesitation. Before she pulled away Rook’s arms embraced her. The Deputy pulled Joey closer as she leaned back against her truck. Her mouth opened with yearning. They kissed deeply for a moment.

“Joey,” she paused, registering the look on Hudson’s face: She was in love. The Deputy had never had an explicit relationship.

“You don’t love me. Is that what you want to say?” Hudson asked the question sincerely as they held one another. The hurt on Hudson’s face was painful.

“I love you,” Rook said, “but it doesn’t change who I am or what I can do.” She stroked Joey’s face feeling cruel as she admired the gentle soul reflected there. Rook sighed, her eyes fell to admire Hudson’s delicate neck. “Let me let you go, Joey.”

“No.” Hudson swiftly unbuttoned and removed her top, then slipped out of her bra as she alternatively kissed Rook’s throat and stared demandingly into her eyes. She undid her pants and drew the Deputy's deft left hand to her.

“Fuck me, Rook.”

The sun was beating down and had heated the truck’s corroded surface. Rook could feel the heat burning through the back of her shirt as Joey leaned into her. As Hudson kissed her throat Rook felt a welcome calm imbue her mind and body, “You’re fearless, Joey,” she murmured.

An hour later the Deputy held Hudson in her arms, stroking her braid. “Good thing I had my sleeping bag with me,” she mused.

Joey laughed. “You can’t sleep in the back of your fossil truck forever, Rook.”

The Deputy shrugged, smiling, “I’ll get a shell–You’ll fucking love it.”

Hudson shook her head, feigning disgust. She didn’t want to spoil the moment, still it was painful to subvert her desire to ask the Deputy to move in with her.

“I’m happy here with you, Joey.” Rook paused, “I don’t have the right–”

“--You don’t have to say it, it's okay as things are.”

The sun was lowering as the two women readied to return to town.

[meekmadmel]

The Walking Dead/The Sanctuary

Chapter I/Alone

Ellis walked along the field focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. She hadn’t eaten in four days. She had a can of soup remaining, but it was her reserve. She held her bow with an arrow ready in hopes of spotting game. The fact that she had seen none worried her that there could be a herd nearby. In fact, she hadn’t seen another living thing for a week straight and she was beginning to wonder if somehow the dead and the living alike had crumbled to the Earth leaving her alone to wander pointlessly.

Could I do that? Could I just live out my life all alone?

Her brother’s voice came back to her. “Promise me you‘ll try. You’ll find someplace, have a friend. Maybe a home?” At the end he wanted to believe she would go on to find the things they had sought together. Ellis made her promise and hugged him as he faded. He kissed her forehead. “I’m ready.” She steadied the revolver in his hands and turned away as they had discussed. She would often wake up hearing that same shot, the echo of which seemed to propel her forward.

The weight of the revolver was heavy in her pack, even with only one bullet left.

Ellis realised suddenly she had been looking at the ground, not the horizon. Foolish. At last the grassland appeared to give way to dense trees up ahead. She found herself hoping to find a squirrel or two. Anything at all, really. Her appetite buoyed her energy and she began to walk faster, eager to make the tree line before dusk.

As she entered the forest she felt less alone. The trees seemed to accommodate her passage, encouraging her progress and sharing in her hope of finding sustenance. She was alert for noise. At last a small rustling grabbed her attention and she lowered to the ground behind an old tree stump, her bow drawn taut. The rabbit’s mere existence delighted her. Her shot was true and recovering the carcass she felt a small happiness.

Light was quickly fading and she set about making camp. A small fire provided illumination as she field dressed the rabbit. She proceeded to skewer the meat and cook it over the fire. Her water was getting low, tomorrow she would need to focus on finding a source. Still, to have a full belly was worth a small celebration. Ellis removed her flask, still half full and took a swig of the whiskey. She savoured the smooth fire of it, before tucking it back in her pack. She strung up her string with three small bells around the perimeter of her campsite and then settled to sleep.

Awaking at first light Ellis began to dismantle her camp, packing everything away. She felt her energy had improved and was confident that she would find more water. Her hunger abated; she had a renewed sense of optimism. She began to walk in the same direction through the forest listening for any water sounds, the creeing of frogs and the like. Ellis also scanned the vegetation, looking for ferns and moss, the telltale signs of water in near proximity. At last she stumbled upon a fast moving creek and filled her water bottles. Scanning the sky she estimated it was midday. Checking her watch: 1150 to be precise.

It was as Ellis began to make her way through the woods once more that she heard the scream. Sudden and sharp, some distance away. Instinctively she lowered to the ground and drew her bow taut. Although the safe thing to do would be to run from the alarm, her heart guided her and she began to sprint in the direction of the scream. Ellis felt the cautioning whips of branches against her arms and face as she progressed. A howl of pain echoed amongst the trees, so close now–And then there was the low discourse of the dead.

“I’m here! Come towards my voice!” Ellis yelled as she continued to venture forth. Within another minute she heard the running steps of the one she had hoped to save. She ran towards the sound and through the trees a man roughly in his thirties appeared. A large hunting knife was lodged in his lateral abdomen and there was a worrisome amount of blood. He stopped short once his eyes were on her.

The woman appeared like a vision to him, in her twenties he guessed. Long dark hair that fell in two braids and eyes that were large and kind. She had a bow at the ready. Ellis grabbed him and pulled him past her. “That way–Head straight that way, I’ll catch up to you,” her voice was firm but low as she pointed towards the direction she had come from. “Leave the knife–” She added, “you’ll bleed out if you pull it out now.”

As he made headway she began to retreat walking backwards with her eyes following the sound of the dead drawing closer. There were five and the trees once again were her allies, hindering and staggering their progress. Allowing her to shoot each one in turn. Satisfied, Ellis then went to rejoin her new companion. He had made it as far as her campsite from the previous night. “Had you seen more than five?” she asked as she guided him to lie down on his back.

“No. I’m Jimmy,” he said as he focused on her face again. She was concentrating on opening her pack, pulling forth supplies.

“I’m Ellis, Jimmy. I won’t leave you if you have. But have you been bit?”

“No. They got the jump on me, surprised me and I fucking fell onto my knife! Can you believe that?” He was disgusted with himself.

“Actually it's a pretty common type of injury,” she countered. “Jimmy, if you’re willing, I’m gonna pull the knife and suture the wound. Usually, I’d want to irrigate it first, but you’ve lost too much blood. Hopefully that extent of bleeding in and of itself has cleaned the wound well enough.”

“You a doctor?”

“I was a nurse practitioner, worked in emergency. What d’ya say, Jimmy? I don’t have any pain medication. And I’m gonna have to do multiple layers of sutures to get this to close properly. It’s gonna hurt like a bitch.”

“Fuckin’ do it.” _____________________________

She made him drink all of her water prior to letting him fall asleep. She worried he might have lost too much blood. Only time would tell. Returning to the river she replenished her supply. Back at the camp she cracked the can of soup and heated it over the small fire she rekindled. Ellis was able to rouse Jimmy and assisted him to eat before letting him drift off again. Ellis couldn’t risk sleeping that night. She hoped he would make it. The night passed with her tending the fire and periodically checking on her patient.

Ellis couldn’t stifle a smile when Jimmy asked what time it was. She checked her watch. “It’s 10:30.” Jimmy sat up and his colour appeared good enough. “I’d offer you breakfast, but I’m out of food. I’ll go hunt, now that you’re up.” Jimmy went on to explain that he was part of a nearby group and that she would be more than welcome especially given how she had helped him. She couldn’t believe how fortunate she was. Ellis went on to explain how long she had been alone, how she had been looking for people. As she talked she didn’t notice the trace of sorrow crossing Jimmy’s face.

In the end I’m still helping her, he thought. She can’t stay out here alone. Chances are eventually she would run across something worse…

They headed off for The Sanctuary, taking it slow to allow for Jimmy’s injury.

[meekmadmel]

The Slide/A Poem By John Seed

A poem written on a cocktail napkin at the Spread Eagle by John Seed after one whiskey too many...

More painful than you thought, you slip and fall and slide The ground is brutal and bites.

You raise up and breathe through your open wounds– You scamper like a spider and spit poison

Your spine is icicles The angel spreads her wings and murmurs in your ear

“....There on the horizon rises hope. Will you destroy? Will you confide? Will you coil your body within the soil and flee…?”

You were born with rot within your rhythm. You chime and you cry. You rise and you wither.

Never mind the storm, the warnings or the worry…

Lie atop the tracks and stretch towards the heavens.

Allow yourself to slide…

[meekmadmel]

Missing Person

“Mrs. Jessop, you have every reason to be upset and angry. And you can hate me. That’s okay. But I can’t help you or your daughter if you don’t work with me.” Rook felt for this woman who sat across from her.  She had lived a hard life that was etched miserably deep into the lines that crossed and then crossed again upon her face. The woman then was sobbing, followed by a wailing akin to a wild animal caught within a trap. The Deputy rose from behind her desk and knelt before the woman as she cried. She reached up and gently placed her hands over the woman’s own half expecting her to slap the gesture away. Instead the woman then pulled the Deputy’s hands to her chest.

“This is my fault, y’know? I’ve been a horrible mother…” She looked Rook desperately in the eyes then. “People make mistakes. I don’t need her to forgive me, but I have to know she’s safe.”

The Deputy nodded, “I understand and I want to help. You tell me what you know and I’ll ask some questions…After that I should know where to start looking, okay?” She watched as Mrs. Jessop gathered herself, her palms smoothing her dress over her lap. The woman nodded briefly as a familiar stoicism encapsulated her visage. 

Rook returned to her desk and set about the work of finding Rachel Jessop.

Faith clasped her hands behind her back and leveled her gaze when confronted with the missing person poster. She sensed Joseph’s displeasure but was uncertain as to how deep it wounded. She opened her mouth to speak and his eyes flicked with disgust from the poster to her face. 

“Don’t speak. You reached out to someone. Maybe you wrote to someone? You broke promises and now we might be drawn into some shameful and pointless distraction that I haven’t the stomach to imagine.” His anger cracked like a belt reverberating against the walls of the simple wooden church. 

“Father, I’m sorry–” The back of his hand, sharp and merciless, whittled her apology and she fell to the floor before him. She dared not move.

He gestured towards her, his hands angular and sharp, “I placed my faith inside you, so that you might become angelic. Tell me, did I defile myself when I touched you?” 

“No,” she whimpered. “Forgive me.”

His head cocked to the side and he observed her. The Faiths before her had eventually come to ruin and he felt that this Faith would also fall prior to the glory of New Eden. Still, she had accomplished more than those who served before her and now they were coming so close. 

He breathed deeply. “Come to me child,” He held out his arms wide and she arose grateful to share in an embrace. He pulled her face to his bare chest and felt her tears as they traversed geometrically over the many scars adorning his body.

“I forgive you. But you need to find a way to forgive yourself.” 

She nodded into his chest. “Penance.”

Joseph then held her at arm’s length appreciating her simple beauty. He pulled one of the church benches from its’ formation and bade her to sit. “Take off your shoes,” he whispered, not letting go of her eyes. The ballet slippers shed easily and Joseph raised both feet, holding her delicate ankles in one hand. Tenderly he kissed each foot. His free hand feather stroked her legs. She leaned back into the bench, her eyes narrowing, exhaling, suddenly feeling safe again. Joseph noted the trace parting of her thighs. He petted the pale flesh there, not succumbing to her beckon to venture further towards her sex.

The church was old and weathered, many years without windows and the wood was the texture of dry, degrading bones. It was a clear day and the sun burned large rectangular shapes over the floor and walls. Faith’s countenance caught by this light caused Joseph to catch his breath. So beautiful now. The Ecstasy of St. Teresa alive and sculpted in flesh. Divine love required pain, just as St. Teresa’s heart was pierced by an arrow…

“Are you ready for your penance, my Faith?”

He watched her eyes sharpen as his grip on her ankles tightened. He felt her twitch. “Don’t move, don’t speak” he hissed, his eyes emotionless now. Methodically he pulled from the floorboards splinters, curating those that were roughly the length of her baby toes. Then slowly he pushed the fifteen or so splinters deep into the soles of her delicate, pristine feet. 

When he had finished he stood over her and wiped his bloodied hands on his jeans. 

“Faith?” She met his eyes, now flat and empty as his own.

“Yes, Father?” Her voice somewhere between a whine and a whisper–

“You may go to your room now, here at the compound. You understand, you’ll walk from here to there on your bare feet.”

“Yes, Father.” He followed Faith’s slow and agonising steps, her own personal pilgrimage and felt no sympathy. He determined he would never touch her in kindness again. And should she require correction, it would be the last time he would touch her at all. 

[meekmadmel]

Not Really A Rookie

At college Rook had eagerly pursued knowledge. She didn’t care if the instructors or the authors whom she read were arguing things she didn’t agree with. Within the shadows of negative space was where she found her greatest truths. In the past she imagined herself like an archeologist. She had sought to understand humanity. In the end, however, the husks thrown off from the genesis of human brilliance rotted away in the Earth until there was nothing left to exhume. So at some point she ceased to dig. 

A singular axiom remained for Rook: Humankind would not sustain. She mitigated this cynicism with the knowledge that life was brief. There was such peace in that reflection. 

Being a deputy enabled her to focus on the present, where most people lived. Some more than others were consumed by struggles that complicated or even threatened their lives. For some their here and now was almost daily fucked, whether by their own hand or another’s. Rook didn’t see herself as a savior. She simply felt that she could offer help to the individual, and this simple task tempered the loathing she felt for people when regarded en masse. 

It also tempered the loathing she felt for herself.

Rook fought against the natural inclination to judge. She knew she would herself crumble beneath its harsh and probing gaze. Leave the judgements to the courts, be an offense great enough to warrant review. Whitehorse operated within similar confines of simplicity. Preserve the peace, protect the people and hopefully garner their trust. 

The Sheriff’s station was functional. Rook pushed open the door and was greeted enthusiastically by a woman standing at the front counter. Eyes wide and eyebrows competing with blunt bangs for forehead real estate Nancy explained that she split her time between managing the office and dispatch duties. “Those are my official duties, but I’m here to help with anything that pops up!” Nancy suddenly seemed flustered. “...You just let me know.” She finished with her voice losing its vigor as she eyed the new Deputy. 

Rook could feel her teeth set on edge. She couldn’t shake the distaste she felt rising like bile.

“Thanks so much,” Rook managed with a cursory grin. 

The Deputy was relieved to set about straightening her desk and reviewing local policies. Pratt agreed to join Rook for a drink. He wasn’t awkward when she asked. “Okay. But it’s not a date,” he joked without being creepy. She liked him straight away.  Deputy Hudson had to work and warned Rook, “Make sure he brings his wallet,” within earshot of Pratt. “That was one fucking time,” he moaned as he shuffled by her desk. 

“First round is definitely on you!” Rook called after him, laughing. 

Deputy Pratt looked younger than he was. His shaggy hair and lanky body exuded enthusiasm. He had grown up in Hope County and there had been countless girlfriends, but no long term commitments. He remained friends with most of his exes which at times was a cause for agitation amongst some of the locals. He kept his mouth admirably shut though, never salting any wounds, so those storms would typically quickly pass. 

“How long did you work with Sheriff Pater?” Pratt queried, setting down pints for Rook and himself before settling in his seat at the table.

“Three years.” She sighed looking into the beer. Her eyebrows raised and she added “Three great years.” She knew that Pratt knew the story from Whitehorse. She felt Pratt’s eyes examining her expression. “I’m not going to start crying.” She lightheartedly huffed before meeting his eyes and Pratt smiled gently. 

“Why does Whitehorse still call you a rookie?” He asked. 

“It's a nickname. Pater told me I would always be his Rookie.” She sipped her beer pondering the pool tables and the tender truths she kept tucked away. Some were close to the surface challenging the tensile strength of the ocean’s surface encapsulating her mind. Others were deep in the rotted silt and threatening to float despite burial cairns that she continued to tend. To win at eightball and to maintain your sanity you need strategy.

Pater’s voice was welcomed echoing across her memory: You know you’re a daughter to me. You’re my family. When I’m gone it will be the same. 

Pratt liked Rook, she was friendly and quick with a comeback. He sensed her intelligence. But despite her apparent openness he sensed raw edges. He attached this perception to the loss she had sustained in Pater. Mourning, he supposed. And while this was in part the basis of the darkness he sensed he was fathoms from the sorrow that knotted her anchor and held her to place, albeit the anchor was moving. A slow and painful trawl flaying the ocean floor.