#[ in character :: she spits molten steel ]

[empirelead]

" ... "

[empirelead-a]

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“THE RESULTS ARE IN:  I’ll be telling them to go fuck themselves.”

[walking-talking-irony]

My first ever Friday Night Fights entry! @promptsforthestrugglingauthor

Writing Prompt #1032

“You told me you loved me.” A tear rolled down his cheek, looking up at her. She was beautiful, despite his swollen eyes marring the view, despite the tear in his chest.

“I’ve told you a lot of things I never meant, darling,” she scoffed.

Hopefully, this will help me get out my slump, and this seems like a really cool prompt! Thanks to @mattathecreator for helping me name the characters and being my beta!

"Jade? What are you doing?" Nicholas glanced at the gun in her hand; he was sure it hadn't been there a moment ago.

"Following through," Jade cooly replied in the Russian accent she had been disguising as she clicked off the safety of her pistol. Nicholas' bruised eye throbbed at the memory of their first conversation; I always follow through, she had said. "You weren't the only person to approach me with a job, nor were you the highest bidder. You weren't even the first of the day." Nicholas stood stock still, staring speechlessly at Jade. And then a whisper came, soft as an autumn breeze.

"You're just like her." Nicholas seemed surprised by his own words, as if he were shocked they had the audacity to exit his mouth. They made Jade furious. In the space between one blink and the next, Jade was standing over a crumpled Nicholas, having jabbed the handle of her pistol in his previously uninjured eye.

"A poorly calculated mistake on your part, sweet pea," Jade said, devoid of emotion. "Now that you've brought my mother into this," she crouched down to bring herself practically nose-to-nose with the prone man, "it's personal." Seconds ago, one would have compared Jade's dark gray eyes to pure, cold steel. Now, they were molten and fiery - the eyes of a person who had failed to extinguish a burning, unending rage.

Jade placed a knee on Nicholas' sternum, applying enough force to keep the injured, dizzy man pinned. A click as the safety of her pistol was re-enabled. A clang on the stone floor as it was tossed aside. The unmistakeable sound of a blade being unsheathed.

The squish of that same blade slowly sinking into Nicholas' chest.

"You...You told me you loved me.” A tear rolled down his cheek, looking up at her. She was beautiful, despite his swollen eyes marring the view, despite the tear in his chest.

“I’ve told you a lot of things I never meant, darling,” she scoffed. Jade slowly twisted her dagger inside Nicholas' chest, cracking the ribs it was wedged between. "I also said I had a terrible childhood. Truth is, dearest," Jade slowly pulled her blade free from her target's chest as she spoke, "I'm just a stone-cold bitch." As Jade cleaned her blade, and as Nicholas took his last, shaky breath, an older woman who was the spitting image of Jade stepped out from the shadows, blocking the only doorway.

"He was right, you know," she told Jade. "You're just like me, dear." Jade sheathed her blade, retrieved her pistol, and walked through her mother as if she weren't even there. After all, she wasn't. In fact, in Jade's mind, her mother was dead.

[spookyspaghettisundae]

Keening of the Glass King

The scanner at checkout beeped with slow and revolving repetition. The cashier listlessly pushed the groceries over the scanner, one by one, her eyes glazed over with boredom and her gaze trained on the digital oblivion displayed on the small screen attached to the system. The smell of disinfectant, plastic, and a blend of artificially sweet smells hung in the air.

Harper experienced a state of mind of complete emptiness. Just absorbing the sights, sounds, and smells of her environment without as much as a passing thought. Such an unfamiliar sensation to her. Lost in the moment.

And then the moment was gone. Harper’s feet hurt. It had been a long day. Hell, it had been a long week. As she—in her mind—went through all the things she still had to do once she got home, she started to get impatient while waiting in line. Only one more customer in front of her having her shopping cart’s contents processed.

When the guy checking out fumbled around to pay for his groceries, Harper spotted something odd. Rather than spitting out a number that the cashier read out loud with the enthusiasm of a broken woman whose soul had been crushed under the weight of corporate oppression, the small screen displayed text.

LOOK UP

Harper blinked, making sure that her mind was not just playing tricks on her. But it didn’t seem to be. The screen still did not display the total amount of money tallied up from the guy’s purchases. Instead, the words on screen flashed a few times, as if trying to grab Harper’s attention.

Instead of doing as told, she looked around to see if anybody else was seeing this.

The five people in line behind her did not. They were all lost in their own little worlds: one of them endlessly doom-scrolling down the display on their phone, another scratching his head while staring at the cold hard floor, another playing with her baby sat on the shopping cart, and so forth.

Harper’s sights returned to the display and it flashed one more time.

LOOK UP

So she did.

An advertising sign hung low over the checkout line.

DRINK BOOZE. SPIN TWELVE TIMES. SHOUT ROO-AGH PAIR-AGH TO THE HIGH HEAVENS.

It looked exactly like an advertising sign should, complete with the attractively garish color palette and carefully measured proportions. But the words did not fit at all.

Harper did a double take and the sign looked nothing like it did a mere second ago.

SAVE. EARN. SHOP. COLLECT POINTS AND WIN FREE GROCERIES.

She blinked again and it continued to look normal.

The beeping from the register stopped and the tired-looking cashier stared at her. She mustered a feeble smile and nodded at Harper, expecting her to scoot forward and get through checkout. Because she was holding up the line.

While waiting, accompanied by the rhythmic beeping of the machine, Harper looked around for other oddities. Anything that stood out. The man fixated on his phone, waiting behind her in line, looked up at her while she scanned the environment but then averted his gaze, seemingly startled and nervous—returning his undivided attention to the device in his hand. Everybody else remained oblivious to her and the strange signs she started spotting everywhere.

A magazine on the rack had a strange logo.

THE GLASS KING NEARS

Blinking cleared it up for her and revealed a fairly typical magazine brand logo and boring headline. As it should.

From the corners of her eyes, focused on a bouquet of flowers wilted on a stand nearby, Harper believed to see the little monitor flash with words that did not belong.

PAY ATTENTION

The storefront logo and its current slogan emblazoned on the wide front window did not read as it should. It instead said something bizarre.

DO AS YOUR KING COMMANDS

And in smaller lettering beneath that line: REAP THE REWARDS AND REJOICE IN YOUR SILENT HEAVEN

Harper shook her head. Every time she focused on one of these strange messages or blinked or shifted her weight and tilted her head, she saw what they should look like. The inconspicuous, bland-by-design normalcy of corporate consumerism.

Was she going insane?

She had been pushing eleven hours a day at work and six day work weeks for the past two months, and it must have been getting to her. Harper convinced herself of that. Or at least, she tried.

The cashier read the tally of her shopping cart’s contents off the screen and waited for her to pay. Harper did and left the store quickly.

Ferrying things across the parking lot with the wheels rattling over asphalt, loading her groceries into the back of her car, and slamming the trunk—it all passed by her in a blur. Felt like forever, flowed like molten butter, just ended with barely any time having gone by.

A man in a denim jacket over a beige hoodie approached her, pushing a cart along.

“Should I return that for ya?”

He pointed at the empty steel cage of her shopping cart. She looked him over and the empty cart he had been pushing along himself. Looked like he was just bringing his own cart back to the lineup where the others were gathered, and offering to take hers along for her.

It took her longer than it should to register the simple kindness he offered. Harper flashed him a smile and nodded and he mirrored the quiet expressions. While shoving their empty carts together, he side-eyed her and spoke in a monotone, “The Glass King’s soldiers can win the battle but not the war. Power through faith is what his subjects are for. Through servitude to him we flourish. His divine favor us does nourish. Roo-agh pair-agh.”

The carts rattled and clattered with agonizing volume as he began pushing them away from her, moving along.

Harper blinked and had to know. Had to know she wasn’t going crazy. “What did you just say?”

The stranger paused and craned his neck. Tilted his head. Arched a brow and stared at her with confusion written all over his face, slack-jawed.

“What?”

They stared at each other for another brief lapse in time.

“I asked if you want me to return your cart for ya?” he asked in response. Like he had never uttered the other strange things.

She flashed another smile at him, though in retrospect it never reached her eyes. And how could it have ever been an honest expression of gratitude? Yep, going bonkers alright, Harper thought to herself.

He pursed his lips, broke eye contact, and carried on; walking away from her with the two carts in front of him. They rattled and clattered and bounced when he shoved them over a pot hole.

She got in the car and left before he could return to where she had parked. Drove home. Everything just flew by, time flew by. She focused on the lines in the middle of the road, on the steel giants that were the other cars in traffic, and their hypnotic motions. On the street lights, and less the signs. It worked, because she was intimately familiar with this route. This life. She had done these things thousands of times before—the usual rote motions and actions that constituted her everyday life.

Really, though, she tried to avoid looking at any street signs. Any billboards. Any license plates. Really, she tried to avert her eyes from locking onto any single damned thing that featured text, letters, numbers, or anything that even remotely resembled written language in any shape or form.

It was time to get things over with for the day, kick back, drink something, and sleep.

After unpacking at home and going about her chores to tidy up her lonesome apartment, she sat down in front of the television set. She sighed, feeling relief—she had banished today’s strangeness. No more signs anywhere. Food packaging looked like it should, so did the magazine covers, the local newspaper—even device labels.

Overworked and tired as she was, it kind of made sense for her to be hallucinating. She had heard and read of weirder things happening to people who struggled with a poor work-life balance and chronic exhaustion.

Harper had plenty of work-related crap to put behind her, anyway. Whenever thoughts of that work bubbled up from the pool in the back of her mind, she dispelled them by thinking mean things about her supervisor and then of the co-worker she hated who always contradicted her but agreed wholeheartedly when she heard a man say the exact same thing Harper had said.

“Fucking middle management, man,” she muttered at the TV.

IT IS TIME, read a string of letters on screen, superimposed over the advertisement of some lame small-time lawyer firm.

PERFORM YOUR SERVICE

The words on display made no sense in context of the rest of the things and people being shown.

Cryptic, ominous messages.

She blinked, expecting the strange signs and orders to vanish. But they refused to.

YOUR KING NEEDS YOU!

Harper switched channels to some edgy-looking TV series. Hectic cuts, dramatic music, low contrast and muted colors. The character actor turned to the camera and looked her straight in the eyes, piercing the veil of the screen as if he was gazing through the dimensions from his fictitious world into the real one.

“If you don’t do your part—if we don’t all do our part, perform our service to the Glass King—the world will end. We can’t let that happen,” the man in the show said in his cartoonishly gravelly voice.

Harper swallowed an empty lump stuck in her throat, a wad of nothing that felt like it had assumed the size of a fist. Her insides churned and she started feeling dizzy.

Whatever this guy on the TV show had just said, it might have fit into whatever silly narrative he served, but it also fit right in with her hallucinations.

Or were they not hallucinations at all?

And what had that sign said?

“Drink booze. Spin twelve times, then shout ‘roo-agh pair-agh’ towards the sky,” said the actor. The cheesy soundtrack died down, leaving his words to die in an awkward silence that felt out of character for this particular show. He continued to stare Harper in the eyes, as if expecting her to do something. Like the show had just ground to a halt, awaiting her cue.

Waiting for her to do what she had to. What was expected of her.

Harper got up and the room spun around her. She had already taken some meds to help remove some edge and fall asleep more easily.

Should she mix alcohol with those drugs?

Whatever, she figured. She was already dressed in pajamas. Ready for bed. Would it kill her to try?

Maybe if she gave in to this string of odd hallucinations, they would stop. Under normal circumstances, that train of thought would have made no sense to her, but she chalked it up to the bizarre dream logic she was experiencing.

Only thing being, none of this was a dream, nor would it be particularly fun to unpack in upcoming therapy sessions. She already considered never talking about it if this never happened again.

Harper grabbed a half-filled bottle of wine from the fridge and returned to her living room. The show on TV continued as it should, depicting the usual melodramatic schlock that she would normally expect it to be doing.

She uncorked the bottle with a loud plop, chugged some of the wine, put it down on the coffee table with a loud clank, and took a deep breath. She was already feeling dizzy, so spinning around might have posed a problem.

But she did it anyway.

Twelve revolutions. One by one. Starting slow, picking up on speed to more quickly get it over with. The world spun ever faster, teetered and swayed in ways that made it difficult to maintain her balance. Her heart raced as, for a moment, it seemed like she might crash through the glass of the coffee table and cut herself badly, or stumble somewhere and break a bone in a bad fall, or worse.

“Roo-agh! Pair-agh!” Harper yelled at the ceiling.

Once she finished those twelve revolutions, she fell onto the couch, twisting her left hand and gritting her teeth right after a sharp intake of air to mask the sudden sting of pain. She fell sideways, slumping into the soft fuzzy cushions, and the world continued to spin, leaving her with a sick feeling in her stomach, spreading out in every direction and into every last extremity.

Someone or something thumped. Thud, thud.

“Shut the fuck up down there,” said someone above, muffled through the floor. Angry neighbor. Typical for that asshole. Complained about the smallest things, but always blasting loud music every Saturday morning.

Harper closed her eyes, still feeling the world spinning around her. Her stomach felt like it had unhinged itself from her insides and decided to whirl around in the opposite direction. She swallowed many times, painfully and deliberately, fighting the urge to vomit.

When the spell of nausea ended, she opened her eyes. The show on TV had gone silent, though the screen still flashed with shifting images. It looked like a completely different series now. The colors were vibrant and bright, the lens through which things had been shot distorted the environments along the edges of the screen, and the set looked surreal in its dimensions.

On screen, a woman in a fancy dress walked through a strange, long hallway, steadily and slowly approaching a simply-clothed man who sat on a stool next to a large set of double doors. The angles relayed a sense of paranoia, and the lingering shots on the actors’ faces made Harper feel uncomfortable.

The bald man sitting on the stool, his hands folded on his lap—his expression eerily calm—spoke into the camera. Past the woman approaching the double doors. He spoke not to that woman, but to Harper.

“The Glass King thanks you for your service. Should you fall in this war, know that your sacrifice will not be in vain. This world will continue to exist. You will continue to live your life as you have,” said the man. His voice rolled out like silk; soft and soothing.

The corners of his lips twitched until they shaped into a timid smile.

The woman stepped past him and grabbed hold of the brass doorknob on one of those doors. The moment she gripped it and twisted, she did not open the door.

She screamed.

A blood-curdling, bone-chilling scream. So loud that the neighbor upstairs continued complaining. Thump. Thump, thump.

“—said, shut the fuck up!”

The scream never stopped. Harper held her hands over her ears and cringed, clamping her eyes shut. She did not dare to see what happened next, so horrifying was that scream. She could hear the shriek piercing her ear drums even though she covered them up as good as she could. It pierced her mind, sliced into her soul, cut deep into her consciousness, feeding fuel into the flames of future nightmares.

“You will have your answers,” whispered the bald man on the stool. But it was not from the television set. He was in Harper’s dream that followed. As if she had gone there. Into that strange hallway.

Her uneasy rest left her feeling more tired than before she had fallen asleep. She awoke on the couch and something tasted funny. She blinked and realized where she was, struggled to remember what exactly she had dreamt beyond seeing the man from the weird TV show in her dream say that one thing, and swallowed again. Tasting blood.

Something had crusted over on her lip and face and checking in the mirror revealed that to be a thin line of blood. It had trickled down from her left nostril and across her lip and cheek as she had slept on the couch, all crumpled up.

Harper almost panicked when she realized that she needed to hustle to make it to work on time. She went through the motions in a haze, rushing through every step. Coffee would have to wait, brushing teeth, make-up, slinging on some clothes and straightening them out on the way to her car, slamming the door shut, going just enough above the speed limit to win some time and not draw unwanted attention, and so forth.

After clocking in at work, she sipped her coffee and enjoyed a short breather.

It was going to be another long day. She chalked the previous evening’s strangeness up to a weird fever dream.

Or something.

She held the back of her hand against her forehead to see if she was running any fever and dismissed the thought. The less she thought about getting sick, and the more she believed she was not sick—that stopped her from actually getting sick, right?

Her co-worker—the one she hated—got a coffee from the machine and turned to her.

Nodded in greeting to meet the bare minimum of social conventions maintained between them. She sipped from her cup of coffee as well. Looked Harper in the eye.

Vacant stare. Something odd about it.

“You saw the signs, too, didn’t you?” she asked Harper. Hushed tone, then she murmured more into her mug, “The Glass King nears.”

“What?” Harper asked. Paralyzed.

With fear.

The blood drained from her face and her mind reeled with the possibility that everything she had dreamt was, in fact, real.

Nicole gulped her mouthful of coffee down and her gaze hardened into a striking stare.

“You heard me, bitch,” she snapped at her. “James experienced it too.”

The clock on the wall behind Harper ticked away, filling the air of silence growing between them.

“What—” Harper’s voice cracked. She cleared her throat and tried asking again. “What does any of it even mean?”

Nicole cradled the cup in her hand.

“No idea, but I think there are even more who saw the signs. Just nobody really talkin’ about it. Like they’re all afraid of something.”

Harper cleared her throat again. It felt like phlegm was building up in there, clogging everything up with a tedious stickiness.

“What about rewards? You get anything?” she asked Nicole.

Her co-worker smirked but the mien quickly vanished.

“Learned something about you. Something you probably would rather keep secret,” Nicole finally replied.

Harper licked her lips. Not only had the blood drained from her face, she now felt hot and cold at the same time. Like she was flush with sickness, like a sheen of sweat was on the verge of breaking out of her pores. Was she really sure she hadn’t gotten a fever or something?

“Don’t worry. I won’t tell anybody,” Nicole said. She winked at Harper.

Walked away, leaving Harper awash in her confusion and growing sense of dread.

By the time Harper took her seat at her desk, her body was trembling all over. She got to work, tried to distract herself, but her thoughts kept circling back to the odd events. It started cutting into her work.

So she started researching online.

Her body turned ice cold, the cushion of her chair beneath her becoming more uncomfortable than usual. With sweaty palms, she clicked her way through discussion threads, past posted transcripts of live chats, and wound up browsing through terrible-looking websites that looked like conspiracy theory wank assembled by unhinged lunatics. But everything reflected her experiences. Almost to the letter of some of the signs she had seen. And other people were digging through the web, just like her. Looking for an answer. Struggling to understand.

She continued to click, incapable of stopping. Filled with an unquenchable thirst for knowledge, yearning to comprehend what was going on.

The world spun around her again. The dizziness had returned.

What filled her with dread was the final realization.

Many people were being mobilized. Some got more specific instructions, being sent somewhere in Nevada. Investigating strange weather patterns that appeared to orbit around Las Vegas.

What she had experienced was not unique. Not limited to her and two of her coworkers. They were not the only ones in the city. They were not the only city. They were not even the only country with people to experience this.

To see those signs. To follow the instructions.

To know, as it was repeated over and over again: the Glass King nears.

—Submitted by Wratts

[pastel-flapflap-blog]

The Holy Grail, ch3

Thea sat on the grass next to Mads for a long moment, still more than a little shell-shocked over Rick’s complete one-eighty in temperament. She didn’t know what to do next: continue her trek into the back woods to hide in case they did find Negan, or stay and hope she could pretend to be innocent as long as they were around searching the area. Or, did she come clean and point them directly to the upstairs closet?

She’d be rid of one stranger and hopefully the three others looking for him would forgive her for lying when they asked her about his whereabouts. But, if Negan ever escaped from them or he had people that figured out what happened here today, she could kiss her sweet life in the suburbs goodbye.

It was a tough call—not the first one she’d had to make today—but she decided to stay and continue to feign innocence. She could think of all sorts of ways that running could bite her in the ass; in her mind, she could see all paths diverting from that timeline ending violently with either Rick finding her or Negan’s men finding her, or the loss of her home in the cul-de-sac which she had fought so hard to secure and maintain. If she stayed, she could ensure the best ending for her and Mads.

Thea took a moment to mentally steel herself by squeezing Mads’ scruff through her fingers and taking a few deep breaths before she hefted herself to her feet. She grunted with the effort it took; she was neither fat nor out of shape, but she was beginning to wear down from the stress from today. She could really use a glass of the cheap red wine she pilfered from two doors down when she first found the cul-de-sac. A bubble bath wouldn’t be half-bad, either, but she would have to make do with the wine.

She dusted off her pants, grabbed her knife from where it had fallen beside her in the grass, and headed around to the front porch again. She stomped up the steps as loudly as she could. Mads followed her quietly, only making a small groaning noise when she eyed Rick begin to follow them up the steps. Thea ignored him as long as she could, but when she sat down on the swing, she acknowledged the man with a sigh. “Yes?”

“I take it this is yours,” he said. His blue eyes swept across the front of the house before meeting hers again. The previous threatening demeanor had disappeared completely and was replaced with a hesitant politeness.

“You’re correct,” Thea answered. Her words were short and crisp, but he didn’t seem to notice or care. She had her fingers on the crown of Mads’ head, scratching lightly. Mads enjoyed the small attention and Thea used the touch as an anchor so she wouldn’t drown in the anxiety that was bubbling up in her chest.

Rick made a small noise of affirmation before placing his hands on his hips and cocking his head slightly as he looked at her. “We’re gonna need to look inside,” he said. He wasn’t asking permission, and Thea hated it.

“This is my home,” she said. “Just because it’s the end of the world, doesn’t mean you can barge inside someone’s home whenever you damn well please just because you’re looking for someone—who I haven’t seen, by the way—and that person happened to run in my general direction.” Rick opened his mouth to say something, but Thea cut him off before he could utter a single syllable. “But go ahead. Invade my privacy.” She threw her hands up in exasperation.

Rick paused before awkwardly nodding and opening the door to walk inside. Thea felt hot tears of anger tingle her eyes and she furiously rubbed them away with her palm before they could fall. That familiar ache that had begun to blossom in her chest was spreading all the way throughout her body again. She felt stupid and scared and hated that she might be showing that to these people.

Once her tears were gone, she crossed her ankle over a knee and spread her arms behind her on the back of the swing. If she couldn’t feel indifferent, she could at least look like it. Fake it ‘til you make it.

She eyed the cul-de-sac as she began to swing back and forth gently as she had an hour ago before this whole mess had started. Mads was lying down, massive head in her paws, and making small noises when sword-wielder would exit a house and enter another one. When Daryl came back around their house, the wolf-dog lifted her head and groaned loudly. It wasn’t quite a growl, but it was a noise that nonetheless made the archer pause for only a moment before coming back around the porch to the steps.

<I don’t like him at all, Thea.>

“No arguments there,” she replied.

“Wha’dja say?” Daryl had begun up the steps and stopped midway, face screwing up slightly as he started hard at Thea and the wolf-dog.

“I said, you’re an asshole.” Thea felt fire in her veins and found it difficult to say everything that was on her mind.

“Yeah, well, tell me somethin’ I don’t know,” he said. He began to move the rest of the way up the steps when Mads began to growl in earnest at him now.

<Should I rip his face off?>

“Call off yer mutt,” the archer demanded. “I’m going inside.”

“Oh, are you? Your friend is probably just fine by himself tearing my house apart looking for some asshole I’ve never met,” Thea said, the fire in her veins turning into molten lava. She remained as casual as she could, still swinging back and forth.

“What’re you doin’ out here all alone, anyhow? Seems real fishy to me,” he said. He squinted at her again and she knew that he was studying her face for any tell of the lie she was propagating. It made her angry again that he just assumed that she was lying; she was, of course, but he didn’t know her from Adam. What had made this group of people so distrustful of other human beings? Sure, she stayed away from people in general, but she wasn’t sure if living in such a way that made one mistrustful of everyone they met was any way to live. It must be hell on the psyche.

“I told you, I don’t like people. They mostly turn out to be assholes.” Thea paused, wondering if she should continue to goad him; she paused only for a moment—a blink of an eye—and she knew that there was just something about this redneck man that made her want to piss him off. “Today just proved it. I should let my mutt rip your throat out and be done with you.”

Mads felt the stress build in the air and began to snarl again but stayed put next to Thea’s legs. <I’d very much like that.>

Daryl’s stare was deadly and he took another step forward. Mads stood, hackles raised. Thea had second thoughts about egging the situation on, but she maintained her heat and glared right back at the man in front of her; she leaned slightly forward, ready to spring into action if Mads pounced for him again. She had no doubt that he would kill her friend in order to protect himself—one didn’t really get to live this long in the apocalypse without taking a few lives in exchange for their own.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Rick said from the doorway. He stepped through the door and Mads stopped snarling, turning her head so she could look at both men without having to move but an inch or so in either direction. Thea leaned back again, as if she hadn’t been having homicidal tendencies and tried to look unaffected.

<I kind of like that one,> Mads said, her tail very lightly sweeping the porch behind her. <He seems like he’s smart.>

Without thinking, Thea hummed in agreement. She didn’t miss the archer’s questioning—slightly less angry—look. She instead turned to Rick. “And the verdict is?”

Rick sighed and looked toward the man in front of him. “He’s not here. We have to keep moving.”

Daryl spit on the ground beside him, right where Thea’s would-be hydrangeas would have been. Thea clenched her fists in her lap, but kept her mouth closed. “I think you need ta look harder,” he said.

“We don’t have time for this,” Rick said, stepping closer to the man and leaning in. Thea could barely hear him and tried to hear what was being said without looking like she was interested.

“I’m tellin’ ya to look again. I didn’t see no signs of him out back.”

“And I’m telling you that we’re wasting time here,” Then men seemed at odds with one another.

“The trail ends here,” Daryl said. The two men stared at each other for a moment before Rick sighed and lowered his head, hands on his hips again. He turned to Thea.

“You’re sure you didn’t see anyone run through here?”

Thea scrunched her face. “I told you,” she said in a condescending tone. “I didn’t see anyone. I saw your group and tried to hightail it before you even knew I was here.”

Rick searched her face and seemed to believe what he saw. Either she was a damn good liar, or he was a poor judge of character. Maybe a little of A, a little of B. He just nodded and turned back to Daryl. “We’re going. We can’t afford to waste any more time here. Maybe he doubled back.”

“He didn’t double back,” Daryl said forcefully. “I ain’t leaving ‘til we find ‘im. He’s here.”

Rick just shook his head and started walking down the steps. Daryl darted one last dirty look toward Thea and Mads before following him. The two men talked animatedly with each other but didn’t come back. Thea stayed outside long enough to see them meet up with the dark-skinned woman and begin to head back into the woods across the cul-de-sac before she got up and turned to walk inside.

<We’re just going to believe that they’re done with this place?> Mads followed her through the door. <Even if they don’t find him, there’s still plenty here that they could probably use for their camp, wherever they’re from.>

Thea locked the deadbolt noisily and headed back upstairs to her ward. “They’ll have to break down the door or a window if they come back tonight. He’s hurt and I want him out of here as soon as possible. I can’t do this anymore.”

Mads began to pant as they reached the top of the stairs. <You should never have agreed to hide him in the first place.>

“If he had been Toby and no one had helped him—” Thea began.

<He isn’t Toby, and plenty of people tried to help him. Things happen. You have to get over it.>

Thea felt hot with shame and didn’t say another word to her friend on the way to the closet. Negan must have tried stacking what he could up against where the entrance to the hidey hole would be before shutting himself in, because Thea had to shove aside more than a few boxes and empty luggage before she could get to the small hole in the wall where she could open it.

She grunted when she lifted the piece of the drywall away and met Negan’s dark eyes with her own. He looked ready to start swinging and when he realized it was only Thea, he broke out in an uncertain smile. “Well, doll, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

Thea nearly rolled her eyes before looking down at his chest. “You didn’t bleed all over my shit, did you?”

“I don’t know what shit you’ve got in this fucking shit-hole, but yeah. I probably bled all over it.” The corner of one side of his mouth turned up in a smirk and Thea fought a groan.

“Well, come on then,” she told him, putting her hand out to him. When he grabbed her forearm, she put all her weight into pulling back before he was ready for it, causing him to topple over on her stomach. She did groan then, more out of frustration than annoyance.

“Fuck! Ever hear ‘one, two, three, go’?” He sounded like the wound in his chest was painful. She could hear the smirk in his voice when he said, “Although, this is mighty fuckin’ comfy.” He moved an arm slowly up and it brushed Thea’s thigh. She swatted it away and pulled herself out from beneath him, causing his chest to slam on the floor. “Fuck! Easy on the merchandise.”

“You’ll be fine,” Thea grunted as she sat back up. She crawled to the entryway of the closet and stood, holding her arm out to him again. “One, two, three, go?”

Negan gave her a half-cocked smile and grabbed her forearm again. They were successful the second time around and Negan was now standing in front of her, his shoulder slightly hunched in where she had seen the blood. She moved toward him and grabbed his jacket, shoving it aside. “Damn, babe, no foreplay? I gotta tell ya, it’s a little unorthodox but I’m hella into it.”

“Oh, shut up and take off your shirt.” Thea saw him grin again and had the grace to look mortified. “I just want to check your wound.”

“As long as you’re okay telling yourself that,” he laughed. Damn, he had a great smile. Thea shook her head as he slowly shrugged off the leather jacket, taking care of his left shoulder, which seemed to be the source of the bleeding. The sooner she was sure that he could make it on his own, he was gone. She’d gotten away with lying and risking Mads’ life; she wasn’t going to make it a moot effort by having him die of infection before he got to where he needed to go.

<Oh, he’s handsome.>

“Shut up.” Thea glared at Mads.

Negan had the shirt halfway over his head, so he didn’t see that Thea wasn’t talking to him. He just gave a grizzly chuckle as he took the shirt completely off.

<I’d love to use my teeth on him,> Mads said suggestively. Thea felt her face burn as she wondered why the hell her wolf-dog was talking like that.

“Sit on the bed. I’ll get the first aid kit.” Thea’s words were clipped and robotic, and her movements were stiff as she turned to go to the adjoined bathroom. She didn’t see his face, but could imagine his suggestive smirk. She sent an icy look toward Mads, who didn’t notice and was sitting next to the bed where Negan sat. She was panting and her tail was thwomping on the floor behind her. Traitor.

She returned with the kit and sat next to Negan, pushing Mads out of the way with her leg. <Hey, hey. Don’t get mad because I was about to get pets from him.>

Thea did her best to ignore her twitter-pated words and the thwomp of the tail on the floor; she tried to concentrate on wound care but as soon as she placed a hand on his broad shoulder, she became flush again. He really was built quite nicely.

To his credit, he didn’t once make a lewd comment. When Thea looked up him through her lashes as she cleaned the area, she noticed he wasn’t even looking at her. He was probably just some tough guy who did a lot of pretending and grandstanding. Fake it ‘til you make it. The words went through her mind again as she looked down at his shoulder.

“What got you?” she asked, attempting conversation to get his mind off of whatever pain he could be experiencing and to alleviate some of the awkward tension she felt all the way in her bones.

“Fucking arrow,” he nearly growled. Whether it was caused by the memory of being shot or the stinging of the alcohol she was using to wipe over the small hole in his chest, she didn’t know. But she immediately thought of the archer and shuddered.

<Well, I guess it’s a good thing he didn’t shoot at me,> Mads said, continuing to pant.

“Yeah,” Thea said. As soon as she saw the strange look Negan gave her, she regretted it. She quickly turned to grab some gauze from the kit beside her. “I don’t really know how to do this,” she admitted. She refused to meet his eyes when she covered and taped up the wound.

“There,” Thea said, getting up quickly and collecting her kit from the bed. Negan smiled and looked like he was about to thank her, but she didn’t let him get the words out. “When it gets dark, you should leave.”

<Damn, girl. That’s harsh.>

Thea left the room before she could hear or see his reaction. The sooner he was gone, the sooner she and Mads could back to being safe.

[empirelead]

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN? It's not that hot right now."

[empirelead]

Whoever came up with an idea of this ridiculous holiday is TRULY INCONSIDERATE , after all , not every daughter or sons are fortunate to have people ( a mother and a father ) who cares about their well-being. The tip of her tongue tasted vile —— poisonous ; her head spun and the world seemed to move in a motion that forced her to sit. She's forced to abandoned the pile of paperwork that gathered up on her desk in a neat stack , wishing to lock herself away from the world for this day is NOTHING TO CELEBRATE. She cares not what the others do on this day ( their personal lives brings not much to what she is trying to accomplish ) , but not everyone was born to the people who are suppose to love and care for their creation.

[empirelead-a]

“NOT ALL MOTHERS  are light spirits that can offer protection  ——  they can be as despicable as the monsters that hides under a child’s bed, but  MOTHERS CAN BE SO MUCH WORSE.”

[empirelead-a]

“Don’t let this  DAY OF ROMANCE  distract you from the fact Republic City is land stolen from my people.”

[empirelead-a]

“It’s  A NEW YEAR  ——  another year for the Earth Empire to continue to prosper.”

[empirelead-a]

*walking back to the dash with jasmine milk tea with honey boba, less sugar and ice*

[empirelead]

"There will be NO FIREWORKS in the Earth Empire."

[empirelead-a]

“The  EARTH KINGDOM  is unforgiving  ——  merciless after the years my people’s needs have went ignored. And I shall be as  UNFORGIVING AND MERCILESS  to those who will try to stop me.”

[empirelead-a]

“I hereby  BAN BIRTHDAYS. They simply do not exist.”

[empirelead-a]

“A year has gone by, which means it is a new year where the  EARTH EMPIRE  will continue to prosper.”

[empirelead-a]

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