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bitletsanddrabbles · 2 years

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Two in One Day!

Apparently my brain has decided that finishing short things is something we can do? Who knew! Another some-day-chapter, this one rougher than the last.

I figured since @alex51324 made Wilberfoce because Patches wouldn’t fit in, I’d make a stand in for another much loved member of the cast...

Cut text because this one’s kinda long.

“I say, Thomas, you haven’t seen any sign that Gordon was planning on running away again, have you?” Kit asked, sotto voce. The two of them were walking down to the newspaper, apparently alone except for a few birds looking for nest material, so there was no real need for him to keep his voice down that Thomas could see, but he did it anyway.

“No.” Thomas frowned, not bothering to lower his own voice. “Why? Did he say something to you?”

Kit looked around, as if afraid the topic of conversation might spring up from behind a bush and object to their talking about him. When nothing of the sort happened, he continued in a normal tone. “No, but a couple of people have noticed things. There was that spat with Morrow over taking Wilberforce past his room, for instance. Why would a dog suddenly take an interest in Gordon’s room? And Fitzroy noted that he’s been buying up tins of sardines, generally three at a time.”

That couldn’t be right. “Gordon hates sardines.” While the former street urchin could be counted on to turn up at the pub every fish-and-chips day, he was of the firm opinion that fish should never go in a tin.

“Precisely!” Kit continued, earnestly. “And he’s been frequenting the kitchens more often again too, from what I’ve heard.”

“And I caught him trying to sneak a sausage out from breakfast the other day,” Thomas mused. “I thought he just meant it to be a snack later, but if he’s hoarding food...” As soon as he said it, he saw a problem with the idea. “But why would he be hoarding meat? Last time it was bread and biscuits, things that didn’t go off so fast. That makes more sense.”

“Mr. Braceridge is always on about the importance of meat when you’re in the wilderness, isn’t he?” Kit suggested. “At least he was on that last camp out.”

There had been several camp outs a year since Thomas had arrived on the island, and by this one everyone on the newspaper staff had been on at least one. “You have a point. I can’t imagine Gordon being too keen on living off of grubs.” He stopped in his tracks, half turning to look back at the Main House. “And since he has his own room now, there would be no one to notice.”

“Unless he waited too long with the sausages and it started to smell, then no.”

“And Wilberfoce loves sausages...” Frowning, Thomas turned back toward the Main House. He couldn’t believe that Gordon would try running off again, not now that he knew the boats were the only way off the island, but something was, undeniably, afoot. “Come on. We’d better figure out what he’s up to before anything does happen.”

With Kit trailing along behind him, Thomas headed back up to the house. The two of them garnered a few odd looks from people who had just seen them heading in the other direction, but no one stopped to ask what they were doing. They probably thought one or the other had simply forgotten something. The last Thomas had seen, the printer’s devil was on coal scuttle duty with one of the new blokes, but when he stuck his head in the smoking room, it was clear they were finished. Gordon was nowhere to be seen, the coal scuttle was full, and the other fellow was sitting in a chair with one of the mainland magazines, enjoying a smoke. “Hey,” Thomas said, “any idea where Gordon’s gone off to?”

The other man shrugged. “Not a clue. He went slinking off just as soon as we finished.”

“Maybe the barn?” Kit suggested. “Or the kitchen.”

“Let’s start with the kitchen. Save the barn for last.” Unless Gordon was trying to hoard eggs as well as sausages, Thomas couldn’t think of any reason out of the ordinary for him to be at the barn, which meant they weren’t going to catch him at anything. Assuming, of course, that there was something to catch him at. There could, in theory, be a perfectly innocent reason for the boy to be hoarding perishable food products, and sardines. Thomas couldn’t think of one, but outside of ‘running away’, he couldn’t think of a nefarious one either, and the more he thought about it, he’d have expected the boy to get bully beef rather than sardines.

Gordon had stuck his nose in the kitchen, only to have it near taken off with a butcher’s knife, so he’d cleared out in short order. He wasn’t in the dining room. After a minute’s debate, they decided to try his personal room, on the theory that if he had managed to nick something before the kitchen staff sent him packing, that’s where he’d go.

Thomas and Gordon, and Morrow as it turned out, all had rooms on the top floor. Thomas, used to running up and down all of the stairs at Downton Abbey had no problem with it, but Kit, whose family house has apparently been on a smaller scale (and probably had upstairs staircases that weren’t as steep as your average back stair), and who was housed on the same floor as the dormitory, was a bit winded by the time they got to the top.

“Hold up a second,” the other man panted, leaning against the railing.

Thomas smirked at him. “Perhaps you should start joining the RAMC lads in their training exercises. Toughen you up a bit.”

Kit gave him an unimpressed look. “I’m in perfectly good shape, but you took the last flight two at a time, show off.”

“I figured time was of the essence.”

“How’s he going to get past us if he decides to leave from up here?” Kit countered. It was a fair observation. “If he climbs out of his window into a tree or something, I’m not chasing him down to the ground.”

Thomas wasn’t even certain there was a tree close enough to allow that. “Wouldn’t expect you to, but if he’s not here, I don’t want to spend too much time up here.”

“Down is easier than up.” Straightening and pulling his waistcoat into place, Kit nodded. “Right. Let’s see if our quarry is here.”

They walked down the hall to Gordon’s room and Thomas pounded on the door. “Oy, Gordon. You in there?”

“It’s Thomas and Kit,” Kit added, far more politely, as if Gordon cared about manners.

The door didn’t open, but there was a muffled reply of, “Wha’d you want?”

“Oh good,” Kit muttered. “At least we don’t need to go back down the stairs immediately.”

Thomas ignored him. “Nothing much,” he answered Gordon, “ just want to talk to you for a minute. Could you come out here?”

There was a scuffling noise and then the door cracked open. Gordon’s face appeared in it, then the rest of his body, jammed into the crack like a rag stopping a leak in a pipe. “Wot?” he demanded.

Thomas and Kit exchanged bewildered glances. “What are you up to?” Thomas demanded back.

“Nothin’.”

“Nothing,” Thomas parroted. His tone made it clear he didn’t believe a word of it. “Nothing has you fighting with Morrow and trying to sneak sausages at dinner?”

Helpfully Kit chipped in, “And buying up all of the island’s sardine supply.”

“You hate sardines, so what are you up to?”

The boy withdrew a bit into his room, scowling. “Wot? I’m payin’ for them, aren’t I? Can’t get in trouble for buying something.”

With a sigh, Thomas fought the urge to take a page from Theo’s book and pinch the bridge of his nose. He felt a headache coming on. “No, and you’re not in trouble,” he said, gathering up as much patience as he could muster. “But you are obviously up to something, and we want to know what in case it’s something you could get in trouble for.” With a flash of insight he references Kit’s earlier concern. “You’re not thinking of running away again, are you?” There. Maybe if the boy knew how things looked he’d be more forthcoming.

“What?” Gordon scoffed. “No. Where would I go? I can’t manage the boats m’self and there’s nowhere else to go.” Tully had taken the urchin with him when they’d mapped the island properly, so he was under no illusions about what was out there.

For a second it seemed like he was going to say something else, but instead he gave a bit of a yelp and looked sharply downward. Following his example, Thomas dropped his eyes in time to see something small and furry apparently oozing between the boy’s leg and the door. From there, several things happened all at once. Gordon shifted his leg, trapping the furry thing against the door frame, which in turn caused it to give a distressed squeak. Kit, who had also looked down, gave a louder yelp than Gordon had. There was a soft thudding noise from his direction, which caused Thomas to turn and make sure he was alright. He was. The thud must have been a heavy step, or perhaps he’d jumped a little.

When he turned back, he found Gordon looking at them with one of his jaw-jutting bulldog looks and holding a small, very indignant looking... “Where did you get a cat?”

“‘Es more of a kitten, really,” Gordon grumbled, pulling the animal closer to him. “I dunno where ‘e came from. I think off the boat, somehow.”

There weren’t, Thomas knew, cats already on the island. There had been a lengthy debate between Father Tim, Mr. Braceridge, and Mr. Dale, who was in charge of the barn, about the wisdom of getting one. On the one hand, the barn had mice, and it wasn’t at all unlikely that with the boat going back and forth it wouldn’t have rats before too long as well. On the other hand, cats ate birds as well. When writing an article on the subject for the paper, Thomas had been treated to a lengthy lecture on the fate of the dodo bird. He now knew more about the potential dangers of cats and rodents than he’d ever wanted to.

Kit broke through Thomas’s thought process with the triumphant cry of someone who’s just put two and two together and come up with four. “So that’s why Wilbeforce is suddenly so interested in your room.”

“He mostly just sniffs around,” Gordon admitted. He turned and dropped the kitten, who was starting to squirm, back into his room and then came all the way out into the hall, shutting the door behind him. “But he’s barked a few times, and I don’t want to know what would happen if they actually met. I mean, once the kitten’s full grown, sure...”

Thomas thought of the salmon incident, now several years past. “Yeah, not a bad idea to keep them apart. But you know, Morrow might be a bit more understanding about it if you actually told him the problem, rather than just yelling at him about his dog all of a sudden.”

Gordon had the grace to look sheepish at that. “I didn’t know if the doctors and Theo would let me keep him.”

Truth be told, Thomas didn’t either, but Kit reasoned, “If Morrow can keep a dog, I don’t see why you couldn’t keep a cat. Besides, taking care of an animal is a big responsibility. They can hardly object to you getting more responsible, can they?”

Thomas was about to agree with him when an idea suddenly struck him. “Er, speaking of that, where has it been relieving itself?”

For a moment there was utter silence. Finally Gordon mumbled, “I’ve been cleaning it up.”

Both Thomas and Kit winced. “Alright, no. Kit’s right that they should let you keep a cat if Morrow can have a dog, but Gordon, that’s unsanitary.”

The boy had the good grace not to argue that point. “But where else can I keep ‘im?”

“The barn?” Kit suggested. “They have been talking about a barn cat, and there would be plenty of mice about so you’d not have to waste all of your money on sardines.”

“Or maybe Mrs. Wallace would like a cat about the laundry,” Thomas reasoned. “Or maybe someone knows how to keep a cat in your room without it making a mess on everything. But first things first, we should let Theo know. If there’s some reason you can’t have a cat, better to find out now than after you’ve gotten really attached.”

“I suppose.” With a sigh, Gordon cracked the door open and popped his head in. “I’ll be back to soon to give you your sardines, Tom.” He closed the door again and jutted his chin at them both. “A’wright. Let’s go.”

“Tom?” Kit asked. When the only answer was Gordon stomping past them toward the stairs, he chuckled. “Very imaginative.”

“Shaddup.”

#downton abbey #downton abbey fanfiction #island of the gays #fanfiction of fanfiction #thomas barrow #kit norridge #terrance gordon #yes i'm having too much fun over here #why do you ask?

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5hfanfiction · 7 years

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Parting Shot Episode 5: Walls

I had never been on a proper date before. I had convinced myself that it was simply for lack of trying, but the truth beneath was that it just wasn’t me. I had no intention of meeting any kind of stranger at a neutral location, exchanging small talk and sitting in awkward silence while a candle between us wore down to it’s waxy death. I had no intention of paying for a dinner I didn’t enjoy, or walking through a moonlight park only to end the night with an awkward peck on the cheek and a broken promise to call soon.

On this particular night however, I found myself standing in front of the full length mirror tacked to the inside of our bedroom door and looking myself up and down. Examination was only the second of a two part cycle that included circling nervously around the room and sidestepping every stray pile of clothing Camila had chosen to adorn the floor with at the time. I had chosen a loose top with a soft purple hue, a last minute rush purchase that I was now wishing I hadn’t made so prematurely.

“Lauren, cut it out.” My subject of interest whined from the bed. She had finished with a late afternoon at work, and was now mauling a banana from it’s peel. Her hair was tied up in a ponytail, the length of which was looped over her head and dangling in front of her face. “You’re making me dizzy with all the pacing.”

“Do I look okay?” I questioned, facing her and opening my arms like a statue of Jesus in front of the town’s only church. One side of Camila’s cheek was bulging with banana, the chewing avidly as the light from her phone screen consumed whatever attention was leftover. “Camz!”

“Hm?” Brown eyes blinked up at me. “Oh, yeah you look hot.”

“You don’t sound sincere about that at all.”

Placing the half empty peel down on the bed, Camila jumped to her feet and padded over to me, swiping up a small palette of eye-shadow and trapping a brush between her teeth on the way. She then began to slowly unbutton the shirt, pulling it off my shoulders and letting it fall to the ground. “What are you doing?” I questioned, watching her grab a black article of clothing from the floor and shake it out.

“Black.” Camila mumbled through the brush between her teeth. “Not purple. You’re hot as fuck in black.”

I remained quiet, nodding as the brunette went up on her toes so she was a touch taller than me. The hand holding onto the palette landed on my shoulder, the brush sweeping delicately over my eyelids. “Do you have any idea what you’re actually doing right now?” I asked her softly, receiving a gentle press of her finger against my lips as a sign for silence. “I’m just saying.” I mumbled regardless. “I’ve seen you do makeup all of two times in the history of forever.”

“You’ve seen me do makeup more often than that.” Camila giggled, finishing up on the lids and using the very tip of her finger to remove a glob of mascara from my right lash. “There. Much better.”

Admiring Camila’s handiwork in the bedroom mirror, I caught her eye in the reflection. “I promise I won’t be too long.” I assured her. “It’s just a quick dinner, maybe a movie, I’ll walk her back home, and that’ll be it.”

“Lauren, you can take however much time you need, don’t feel like you need to rush true love just to be home on time.” Camila assured me, backing up to the bed again and reassuming her lazy position nested in the comforter with the other half of her banana in hand. I gazed down, watching her chew thoughtfully while a long block of text scrolled by on the screen of her phone.

“What are you reading?”

“Me?”

“No, my imaginary friend.” I smiled, sitting down on the edge of the mattress and reaching out to poke the side of her head. “Yes you.”

“My talk with our english teacher got me thinking the other day.” Camila chewed, turning off the phone and curling around to look up at me. “I want to get into more classic literature, more than just Wordsworth, Hemingway and their life lessons of humility and love. Where there any famous horror writers?”

“Horror?” I frowned. “Since when are you interested in anything remotely scary? The last time I tried to get you to watch a horror movie you curled up and hid behind me like a five year old.”

“I figure writing a horror story is a different sensation than watching one.” Camila stretched out down the bed, every inch of slender limb flexing and relaxing in post snack haze. “It’s a different feeling when I know what’s going to happen, nothing can jump out me bite my head off my shoulders.”

It took me a moment to sort through the scarce library of writers and poets in my head. “Lovecraft was a horror writer.” I told her suggestively. “Shirley Jackson. Stephen King. If you want to get kids where it hurts the most, you can always fall back on clowns ripping off the arms of innocent children from the confines of a storm drain.”

“Did that happen?” Camila sat up with a start.

“Not in real life, but Pennywise has definitely haunted the dreams of a few baby boomers in this town.”

“Is that why clowns have such a scary connotation now?”

“That, and John Wayne Gacy.”

“Who’s John Wayne Gacy?”

I pressed my tongue to the inside of my cheek. “He was a serial killer slash rapist who was active through the 70s. He had something like thirty teenage boy victims, a bunch of which were executed through this persona he had for parties, a clown named Pogo.”

Like a cartoon character, Camila eyes slowly widened in fear as I spoke. “Fuck you Lauren, just go on your stupid date before I get even more terrified and demand you stay here with me all night.” The brunette fell back against the bed, turning her shoulder blades to me with a visible shiver. I laughed, rising to the door.

“Make sure you don’t fold any paper boats without me.” I called on the way out, leaving Camila curled in a very confused ball on the bedsheets.

***

Lucy lived a few blocks north of the school, the surrounding neighbourhood a little more bright and privileged than the rest of the town. I parked a block away, scanning the numbers on the doors before landing on the address I had well memorized. It was a three or four story home, standing tall at the end of a quaint cul de sac and boasting a rather manicured lawn and primped flower arrangement. Walking up and across the expansive path through the greenery, I didn’t give the butterflies in my stomach a second thought before rapping hard on the smooth finish of the front door. A few seconds passed, and following the sound of small footsteps scuttling across the floor, it opened. I found myself staring down at a girl no older than seven or eight with dusty brown hair and a naturally tanned complexion.

“Oh, hello.” I forced a smile down at her, my distaste for most children kicking in quick. The girl was holding a brown overstuffed teddy bear under one arm. “I’m looking for Lucy?”

“Hello.” The girl said back, granting me a sweet smile. Her voice was layered with a very heavy accent. She nodded, backing up and hurrying away. Lucy appeared no more than a second later, dressed in a tight black dress that was perfectly casual for a simple dinner.

“Hey Lauren, sorry come in.” She smiled. “That was my little sister Elena, she doesn’t speak very much English.”

“What language does she speak?” I asked, stepping through the door and looking around.

“Spanish.” Lucy smiled, the adorable curves at the corners of her mouth becoming more defined as she did so. “She’s actually my stepsister, my older brother and I lived in Miami for a while so we’re both pretty fluent, but she never left Colombia until now so she hasn’t got as much practice.” Gesturing me further inside, I let the front door close carefully behind me. “You look good by the way.”

“Not as good as you.” I shoved my hands into my pocket shyly. “You’ve got a nice house.”

“It’s not too bad.” Lucy shrugged, moving to the sliding doors of a hallway closet and parting them before pulling a long grey cardigan off it’s hanger. “Let me just get my shoes and we’ll go.”

“No rush.” I turned at the sound of a child’s voice, just in time to see a small boy run down the hall, approach the front of the house then turn around and start climbing the stairs as quickly as his little legs would let him. He looked almost identical to the girl, and had a chubby hand wrapped around a small toy airplane. “He’s cute.” I noted, smiling as he reached the mid-landing of the staircase and sat down to take a breath.

“Pedro.” Lucy addressed him over her shoulder. “Can you say hello to Lauren?”

“Hello.” Pedro waved with a shy smile, spending no more than a split second on me before turning and rushing up the remaining steps.

“Sorry.” Lucy chuckled. “This house usually isn’t so loud and full of children, they’re typically in bed at this time but it’s a Friday, so things are a little more casual.”

“No worries.” I watched as she strapped on a pair of fancy sandals and slid the strap of a purse over her shoulder. Walking down to the car, I inhaled at sweet scent of garden flowers gracing the cool night. “I don’t really have anything particularly fancy planned for tonight.” I informed her, catching her dark eyes. “Actually there’s not much fancy that you can do around here.”

“I haven’t had the chance to tour around at all, we’re still in the process of moving in.” Lucy admitted back. “So really, anything you’ve got planned is perfect for me.”

What I had planned happened to be a candlelit dinner at a small, family owned Italian restaurant with the world’s best garlic bread. Playing off what Camila tended to prefer on the nights we treated ourselves, I ordered for us both, slipping a subtle ten dollar bill to the waitress and getting her to serve us a few vodka infused glasses of cranberry juice. “So hey, my friend mentioned that your Dad was a pretty big time musician.” I mentioned as we scanned the desert menu together. “Is that true?”

“You could say that.” Lucy shrugged, setting the menu down. “Carlos Vives. He’s working on studio album number eighteen, and wanted a nice quiet place in the middle of nowhere to act like his cabin in the woods. It meant moving the entire family from a place we all knew really well to somewhere completely unfamiliar, but I guess if it gets the creative juices flowing then I can’t really argue.”

I did the same in order to get a better look at her. “Wow, eighteen albums?”

“Eighteen and counting.” She nodded back. “He’s really more known in Latin America.”

“And you said those two were step siblings, right?”

“That’s right. He might not have been half bad at writing music, but the man was never good at being able to stay faithful to one woman. I don’t hold it against him anymore, my mom was pretty crazy. It all worked out, she’s got a multi-million dollar mansion in Miami, he’s got a lovely new family.” She took a long sip of the glassy red liquid in front of her and looked up at me. “But enough about me, tell me about yourself. What are your parents like?”

“Oh, I don’t have any.”

Lucy blinked, lifting a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “You what now?”

“I mean— sorry.” I forced a soft laugh. “I guess it just seems that way so it’s what I tend to tell people who ask.”

“It must be quite the adventure to live on your own.” Lucy seemed to understand the implications of my answer, instantly stopping any further questions regarding my family tree.

“I actually don’t.” I smiled, pointing wordlessly to the creme brûlée and tiramisu on the menu. The waitress, who was already familiar with mine and Camila’s typical order gave me a knowing nod and dipped off into the back kitchen. “I live with my best friend, we’ve got a really crappy place that seems to do the trick on the south end of town, we’ve been together for about a year and a half now.”

“Oh wow, that’s pretty cool. No rules, no adults, no little siblings.”

“It’s perfect.” I agreed as the dessert arrived to the table. The dishes were about the same size, one glazed with golden layer of cooked brown sugar, the other a cream colour dusted with coca powder. “You’ve got to try these both, if there’s anything worth preserving when a giant tornado wipes this town away it’s the desserts. And the burgers. And the fish and chips. Just try before I have to put my foot in my mouth.”

Laughing, Lucy dipped a small dessert spoon into the tiramisu on the left and lifted a perfect combination of every handcrafted layer. “So how did the two of you meet?” She asked, popping it into her mouth and becoming visibly taken aback at how good it was.

“It’s complicated.” I tapped idly at the hard surface of the creme brûlée, wondering how many details I was . “We were both in the same place at the same time… geographically and emotionally. Everything sorta fell into place because of fate, and just stuck that way. I’ve learned that it’s really important to find someone you can lean on, and when you do you shouldn’t let them get away. Camila’s just that person.”

“Camila?” Lucy was busy cleaning her spoon, and it was becoming cuter and cuter to watch as the lights in the restaurant dimmed. “Oh, the girl you were with at lunch? She seems really nice.”

“She has her moments.”

The two of us hesitated very little when cleaning off the rest of the desserts, promptly paying the cheque and taking a slow stroll back to the car. I had been given the ripe opportunity to lend her my jacket, keeping the stark breeze off her shoulders and taking it on my own. After Lucy’s final year in high school, she wanted to remain in the states, and keep her attention halfway between her Latin American roots and Miami childhood home. She had chosen New Orleans in Louisiana, and when I asked why gave me a rather interesting answer.

“It’s horror factor.”

“It’s what?” I cranked up the heat in the car, pulling from the restaurant parking lot.

“It’s horror factor.” Lucy repeated, giving me a sweet smile across the gearshift. “You’ve never heard of Delphine LaLaurie and her mansion? She was featured on American Horror Story Coven by Kathy Bates.”

“I know who Kathy Bates is.” I curled my lip in thought, gazing out the front window at the lack of traffic on a quiet Friday night. “But I’ve never heard of Delphine— what’s her name?”

“LaLaurie. She was a socialite of New Orleans in the 1830s who had this central position in society after her third marriage to a young physician.” Lucy explained. “There was a fire in her giant mansion on a rich side of town, and when the police got there they discovered it was set by her seventy year old cook who was chained to the stove and afraid of being sent to an upper room of the house.”

“Afraid?” I had to reach over and set the keys into the ignition, but the raspy tone that Lucy had in her voice was sending an uncharacteristic chill down my back. “Why?”

“Police broke down the door to find seven or eight slaves tortured, some murdered others still barely alive.” She replied, the darkness in her eyes swirling. “There was a woman whose stomach had been cut open and intestine wrapped around her like a corset. Another man had a spike drilled through his head and his brain was all stirred around, and a third with his mouth stitched shut. The citizens discovered her treatment of the slaves, and drove her out of the city. She fled to France.”

Quiet fell over the car, and I finally managed to bring the engine to life. “Should I be worried about you?” I shot her a playful smile.

“Nah, I’m harmless. I just love dark, messed up things.” She smiled back. “I believe that when the zombies rise up and kill us all, we’ll finally have world peace.”

“Because of the common enemy?”

“No, because we’ll all be dead.” She shrugged. “I like Madame LaLaurie’s story because it shows that despite the slavery and mistreatment of African Americans at the time, there was a really powerful sense of humanity in the people. The entire population of New Orleans trashed that mansion, driving her out of the city and stripping every ounce of social status she may have had. They ruined her.”

“I like the way you think.”

Lucy grinned, lifting her arm and using her fingers to carefully part her light brown hair over one shoulder. “It would be awesome to study something like philosophy and social issues. I love history, going back to things in the past and understanding how they managed to shape the way they are now.”

On the ride home, I let Lucy open up about the things she was passionate about. Remaining quiet, her voice washed over me like a stress-free lull, the passion in her words about issues that so many of a close-minded town would never consider throughout their daily activities. Lucy spoke about women, politics, some of the world’s greatest leaders and their superficial counterparts. She detested labels, insisting that no soul on earth could pin her down and define who she was, and that no one had the right to call her anything she wasn’t willing to call herself. By the time we arrived back in the north end of town, I was not-so subtly disappointed that our time together had to come to an end.

Walking her up to the porch once more, I accepted my jacket back and stood in shy anticipation as she unlocked the front door. “Do you want to come in?” She asked, gesturing to the warmth of the front hallway. “You don’t have to if you don’t want, I just thought—“

“Of course, I’d love to.” I cut her off, a fuzzy feeling washing over me as the brunette took my hand with a soft laugh and led me into the house. She took me on a quick tour of the ground floor, a wide open space consisting of a grand piano, some smaller keyboards, and a plethora of unpacked boxes still sealed with tape. Apologizing profusely for the mess, she showed me the vast backyard space, perfectly trimmed and adorned with a variety of russet red flowers.

“I had the option to be homeschooled like my little siblings, at least until I graduated and we could head back down south.” Lucy explained, pulling two glasses down from an upper cupboard in the kitchen. “Neither of my parents work, so they have tons of time to spend at home… I guess choosing high school was my way of getting out of the house and away from their watchful eye.”

“I’m glad you chose high school.” I accepted the second glass with a smile. “Just really glad.”

“You’re sweet.” Lucy gestured for me to follow again, and we headed up the stairs. “Everyone’s room is on the second floor, I assume they’re asleep by now.”

“So where are we going?” I asked, glancing up to see the staircase happened to wind up even higher.

“To the upper room.” The girl looked down at me, a devilish smile creeping onto her face again. “The one that’s always locked… that no one goes into for fear of never coming out again.”

I blinked, the image of my intestines wrapped around my stomach like a gruesome fashion ornament suddenly giving me a very severe headache. “Lucy…” I warned, her name dancing off the tip of my tongue as if had not for a few measly hours, but for years.

“I’m kidding.” Lucy landed on the top floor and pulled the door to a rather spacious room open wide. “It’s just my bedroom. “My dad keeps all his recording stuff up here as well, there are a few rooms within other rooms with soundproof glass, padding on the walls, microphones and mixing boards.” I stepped inside, relieved to see a room that was half unpacked from cardboard boxes, a double bed and a tall chest of drawers. There was a shiny laptop sitting open and charging on the blanket, and a wide television backed against the wall opposite. “Sorry about the mess.” She added. “I’ve moved before, but never as far as we did this time. I had to pack up more than I anticipated.”

“It’s no problem.” I eyed the flat-screened device. “You have your own personal TV?

“It’s still yet to be inaugurated.” Lucy clarified, turning her back to me. “It was a gift from my stepmom who believes buying expensive items with my father’s money will make me love her. Could you unzip me?”

“Sure.” I stepped over, clearing a small pile of school supplies and slowly bringing down the zipper on her dress. It hit me in the brighter, more unflattering light that Lucy was strikingly small. She had to be barely over a hundred pounds, her shoulder blades pronounced and the plates of her spine almost countable beneath her skin. There was a faded line that was a touch darker than her complexion moving down the line of her spine, a clear hospital incision that had been stitched up and healed over. Without thinking, I brushed the outside of my knuckle against it, making a small noise of curiosity.

“It’s gross, I know.” Lucy had gathered her hair over one shoulder and peered over the other. “I had really bad scoliosis when I was a kid, and when I had the operation it was risky because I was so small. The correction process was terrifying, but I got through it okay and it’s healed properly now. The scar is still fading.”

“It’s not gross.” I watched as she made her way to the other side of the room, scooping up a pair of soft sweatpants and an off-shoulder sweater off the floor. “It makes you unique.”

“You’re cute, but a huge percentage of kids develop scoliosis just before hitting puberty.” Lucy dipped into the attached bathroom and nudged the door, leaving only a few inches worth of space open. She began to change, her back to the room’s entrance. “It’s kind of like osteoporosis and rickets in industrial England. There was so much smog and pollution in the air that kids were developing bowed knees and brittle bones by age seven. Talk about your terrifying corrective surgeries.”

“You seem to know a lot about the events of the past.” I mentioned, finding myself a standing in for the hero that always peeked at the pretty girl. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the way her back and shoulders flexed as she moved, noticing the tattoo that graced the side of her back, just beneath the arm. “Could they do surgeries like that in industrial England?”

“Likely not.” Lucy turned around, leading me to quickly divert my gaze. “They were just recovering from the era of bloodletting, so modern medicine was still pretty far off.”

“What does the tattoo on your ribs mean?”

The girl hopped back over another pile of clothes and started to the TV, summoning an old looking DVD case from an open box. “Hm?”

“The words.” I tried to clarify without sounding too creepy. “It looks like a different language.”

“Oh, the quote.” Lucy had removed a disc from the case, sending into a sleek player positioned just beneath the screen. “It says for the happiness of nations, we should, philosophers be kings and kings philosophers. It’s in the original Greek.” I tried for the next few seconds to recall who was behind the circular statement, but nothing seemed to hit me. As the television screen flickered to life, Lucy spoke again. “It basically means that if we want to find peace and happiness, those in power need to lead in a way that has regard for the human mind, and those who understand it need to step forward as leaders. That we all have a sense of responsibility to better the greater good based on our strengths.”

Plato? I thought silently. The menu of a terrifying looking horror movie flashed across the screen, the arrow hovering over the play option. “I’m going to run downstairs for a bowl of popcorn, make yourself comfortable.” Lucy told me, vanishing without acknowledgement out of the bedroom and down the stairs. I did so, placing my jacket on the back of a desk chair and sitting down on the perfectly made bed. Whipping my phone out, I took the time alone to send a quick text half intending on checking up on Camila, half to occupy myself from snooping around.

how’s it going? I typed, waiting for the three animated bubbles to pop up. They did, and moments later,

Camila: Oh, not bad. Just sitting around waiting for Barnum and Bailey to kidnap me in the middle of the night and lock me in a cellar to feed on my brains. How’s the date?

the ringling bros would never do such a thing camz, they’re an American treasure. the date is going really well, she’s got a really nice house

Camila: You’re at her house?

I figured it’d be impolite to say no.A touch of guilt flashed through me at the prospect of leaving Camila for much longer. There was a stash of cigarettes taped to the inside of our toilet tank, and for the longest time I knew the girl had assumed I’d either never seen them, or chosen to ignore them. Counting the number of individual smokes left in the pack every time I cleaned the bathroom had turned into a chore, but it was worth it considering how hard she had worked to quit only a few months earlier.

Before I could read Camila’s reply, Lucy stepped back into the room with a large bowl of popcorn balanced on one arm and something wrapped in colourful foil between her teeth. She had a shrink-wrapped remote in her hand, pouncing playfully onto the bed at my side while sliding the laptop out of the way. The lights went off, her shoulder brushed mine, and for the first time in the night I felt a genuine pang of nervous energy surge through the room. “I was thinking about a classic.” Lucy informed me, starting to tug the plastic protective coating off the remote after placing the bowl of popcorn down in my lap. “Have you ever read It, by Stephen King?”

I glanced at her briefly, taken aback by the coincidence. “I had been thinking about that book earlier today. What made you choose it?”

“It’s my type of horror.” Lucy finally rid the remote of its plastic before setting it between us, pulling the foil wrapped item from her teeth and summoning a small lighter from the pocket of her jeans. “I like the deepest forms of psychological fear. Maybe if everyone has their greatest fears chasing them through the night we would all be on the same wavelength of kindness.” She held out her hand, extending what I could now discern as a rolled joint. “Do you smoke?”

“Once and a while.” I nodded. “But only when the occasion is extra special. It’s an expensive habit.”

“I agree, but you’re not driving very far tonight, are you?” She smirked, holding the unlit joint out in one hand and the lighter in the other like a dual offering. Glancing momentarily at a series of dark opening credits and deep red ominous font, I accepted the neatly rolled cluster of weed and held it over the lighter. Lucy smiled, firing up the joint then hurrying off the bed to lift the side window and banish the scent away with a crisp fall breeze.

The movie was different from the book in a number of ways, most of which my mind had involuntarily set on the back burner as the typical ghoulish images of a literary masterpiece had been played out by the characteristic cinematic charm of the early nineties. The marijuana had done well to bid away any unease I may have had watching a horror movie in the middle of the night, as did Lucy’s comforting presence. We found ourselves talking softly through most of it, discussing everything from characters to set design, poor acting to mediocre makeup.

“So if that was your kind of horror, what other kind of horror is there?” I asked once the credits had rolled and I felt like I’d been somewhat scarred for life. The last thing I wanted to do was get up from the cloud-like bed I had snuggled into and drive across the town, but I had no intention of leaving Camila on her own for much longer.

“There’s the more cookie-cutter, vampire, werewolf, ghost-story one.” Lucy replied. “The one that involves magic, and seeing dead people… paranormal activity and alien invasions.”

I grinned. “You’re telling me that if aliens came down and started to abduct people, you wouldn’t even flinch?”

“I would whip out my camera.” The Latina smiled back. Her expressions were so pure, simple and straightforward as if the emotions she felt had never been anything but true. Lucy didn’t seem to mask any sort of feeling, speaking her mind, refusing to conform and charming me through the night in a way no date had before.

“I should get going.” I laughed, stealing the last popped kernel from the bottom of the popcorn bowl and wishing I had a refill. “Before I fall asleep here.”

“That wouldn’t be too bad.” Her dark eyes sparkled. Deciding to only agree silently, I tipped her over playfully and rose, gathering my jacket. The two of us floated silently back down to the first floor, and the moment I stepped out to the front porch I couldn’t help but turn around. Lucy was leaning against the frame of the door, her hands tucked away into the sleeves of her sweater and a shy look on her face. “I had a really great time Lauren. Thank you for tonight.”

“So did I.” I agreed, matching her smile. “I learned a lot from you… I look forward to learning even more.”

“I’d like that.”

Knowing it was my move to make, I took a small, timid step forward and lifting my fingers to her chin, tilted it up. “I really want to kiss you right now…”

“I really want you to kiss me.” Lucy echoed back without missing a beat. “Right now.”

The sensation of her kiss, much unlike the entirety of the night was pleasantly surprising breath of fresh air. I found myself melting into the contact, her body coated in a thin layer of muscle and warm to the touch. Much unlike myself, Lucy knew what she was doing. Her movements, the way she went up onto her toes so we were eye level and pressed the palm of her hand to my cheek, everything seemed so perfectly practiced.

“I’ll get to see you again, right?” I questioned softly, unwilling to wake any member of the house, young or old.

“We have history together.” Lucy grinned back, running her fingers through her hair.

“I wish.”

“Goodnight Lauren.” She said with an amused lilt in her voice. I nodded, taking a small step backwards and slowly returning to the car with a brief glance over my shoulder to see she had remained on the porch, watching me go. The walk gave me just enough time to accept that I had been wrong about judging the art of the first date.

***

After a car ride home deep in my thoughts, I arrived back to a silent and pitch black house. Sidestepping a cluster of shoes, and shedding my jacket to the back of a kitchen chair, I then tiptoed into the bedroom to see it fared to better. Crumpled balls of yellow paper from a rather sad looking legal pad were scattered across the floor, the bed, and every foreseeable surface of storage space.

“Camila?” I asked the darkness, keeping my voice low.

The mass of paper on the bed shifted, and from the debris poked a very sleepy looking mass of brown hair. “Hm?” She yawned, rubbing her eyes. “Lauren? What are you doing home, I figured you were just going to spend the night.”

“No, I didn’t want to risk running into her superstar father in the morning and have to explain who I was.” I explained, crouching down and picking up one of balls of paper. “And I would have felt bad for leaving you alone all night… what’s going on in here? Have you moved since I left?”

“No.” The brunette yawned again, lying back against the bed. “I’ve been trying to write a scary story, but nothing’s coming to mind. I’m just too cute and fluffy.”

“You are both of those things.” I smiled, clearing away a few balls of paper from the bed so I could perch onto the edge and tug off my socks. “Have you eaten anything?”

“No.”

“Camz, it’s past midnight!”

“I wasn’t hungry.” Camila shrugged at me.

“But you’re always hungry.”

“Help me.” The girl ignored me, holding out what was left of the yellow pad in one hand, a pencil in the other. Accepting both, I looked down at the prompt she had written out. A horror story about a girl with otherworldly abilities on a nation where she is virtually alone. Undergoing a dark feeling that something unpleasant is about to happen, the protagonist must use the passion she has for her origins to prevent disaster. She will do anything to make it so, no matter how dark.

I was instantly reminded of Lucy’s preference for horror, for the darker, more gruesome emotions that her interests played off of were very different from Camila’s idea of a horror story. One preferred to dig into the victim’s psyche and extract it with a spoon, while the other steered her creative track towards a premonition and a world of loneliness. I couldn’t in the moment, choose which one I preferred. Something drew me to both, but in very different ways.

Walls. Thirteen year old Jeanne Carter has all her life been labelled a bio-terrorist. With the elusive ability to manipulate the emotions and bodies of even the strongest personalities, she is both revered and feared, locked away and admired like a caged animal. Thinking back to the unease I’d felt on the way back from dinner, I decided to blend their worlds, embracing a new type of fear. When a threat to social security looms over the nation, Carter is forced to envelop the people who hurt her most, dominating the minds and bodies of the most powerful members of government and make decisions that will inevitably rescue the nation from her premonition. She uses her greatest gift to play out sacrifices, death, conflict and decay while shouldering the hate of so many within the four walls of her cell. Carter succumbs to her own exhaustive demise alone, aided only by the letters passed through the bars by an anonymous source.

“Why are you so much better at this than me?” Camila asked when she finished the brief paragraph. “That’s genius.”

“A girl with unknown origins, beginning her life alone, ending her life alone, yet making so many sacrifices and life-saving decisions to so many people along the way.” I focused my gaze on the very tip of the paper. “And doing it all while locked up and put on display like an animal in a cage.”

“What kind of sacrifices?” The brunette asked, curling up into an adorable ball and resting her head in her hands. “Would she really kill people in order to be the un-sung hero?”

“Sometimes political leaders are so corrupt that they can’t see anything in front of them but the potential to exert their power and money over those who are crippled.” I replied. “There are people that just can’t be reasoned with… minds that are so dark and twisted that the only way to remove them from the picture is to light their lives on fire and drive them from their homes.”

“So you want a person who despite being different, fights to make the dark and twisted right again.” Camila purred. “Someone who doesn’t bother with the pain of labels and acts by her own morals.”

I stood up, granting her a small smile on my way down the hall and into the kitchen. It was hard to describe my confidence level with this particular plot-line. It had too much been infused with the level of insight from my first proper date. Arranging a piece of toast slathered in peanut butter and a banana, I returned to see Camila doodling over the piece of paper, her gaze brushing across the ink. She thanked me, nibbling happily on the late-night snack while I changed out of my clothes.

“It’s a shame she dies in the end.” The brunette mentioned quietly, now buried under the comforter and licking the peanut butter off her fingers. “Wouldn’t it be more heroic if she made it out alive and got to live a full life in the world she managed to save?”

“Maybe.” I agreed, tying my hair into a loose ponytail. “But a silent messiah doesn’t just win in the end, especially when they’re a heroine, not a hero.”

“True.” Camila folded the paper in half and tucked it beneath the pillow. The effects of the weed from earlier had managed to continue lingering as I joined her under the covers.

“Why did you write out a prompt that you had so much trouble following through with?” I asked, letting her snuggle up and inhale whatever was left of the weed scent on my skin.

“I was secretly hoping you’d come home so you could write it for me.” She admitted. “Is that lame?”

“Not at all.” I assured her. “It’s incredibly cool.”

“Good.” Dark lashes fell flush against the spaces beneath her eyes. “Goodnight.”

I drifted off thinking about the evening, glad that I had made the decision to return home; hoping I would always have such a precious choice. A noise in the middle of the night got me up and checking the house, making sure no raccoons were climbing up the kitchen walls. While I was up I decided to check the bathroom, quietly lifting the back of the toilet up and peering into the tank to see the pack of cigarettes taped to the inner porcelain.

It had remained exactly where I remembered, completely untouched.

***

#UPDATE #series #AU #slash #camren #angst drama #submission #Parting Shot

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