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writingformyblorbos · 2 years

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It's cloudy above (Part 4)

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Jake Lockley/Steven Grant/Marc Spector × gn!Reader (hints of Layla × Reader in the future?) Summary: Harrow is alive, which means Ammit is as well. You have to find him before it's too late. Warnings: Things are going to get a bit angsty. Canon typical violence (guns, stabbing, wounds, murder in general), mentions of DID and anxiety. A somewhat grafic wound description. Not proof read (I don't know if I don't get my things proofread because I'm too lazy to ask or because I'm afraid of being judged by others. Guess we'll never know) Word cound: 4.3k (don't ask me how I did it, idk either) a/n: I want to thank Jennifer Saunders for making the I need a hero cover for Shrek 2, otherwise I would’ve had no idea on how to vizualize the action scene, which would’ve led me to give up on ica altogether. Also it’s probably going to be bad, but I beg you to please cut me some slack, it’s my first time writing a fight scene. Anywho, please enjoy!!!

If you had asked yourself a few days ago what you would be doing Wednesday evening, your best guess would’ve been watching a movie, reading a book, perhaps going out for some drinks with Colt if you were feeling a little bold. However, getting ready to infiltrate a cult to try and get some information on its leader’s whereabouts who posed a worldwide threat was definitely not something you planned on adding to your schedule.

You’d had your fake story revised by Layla, Steven, and Marc: your name was Sunny, and you had just been kicked out of your flat because you couldn’t afford rent anymore. You were one of the many people lost in the Snap, and once you’d returned, your life had been turned upside down. Your job? Terminated. Your parents? Dead. With no support system, you were an ideal target for a cult. You only hoped the fanatics would find it convincing enough.

Marc and Steven had stayed back at their flat, most likely coming to terms with the fact that there was another alter within their system, Jake. While they were doing that, Layla was driving you to your home to change into different clothes.

“I had a feeling,” Layla revealed to you as the doors of the elevator closed, “About Jake’s existence.”

You pressed the button to take you to the ground floor, “How so?”

“In Cairo, Harrow’s men were shooting at me, and he was about to kill Marc. But then, something changed in him. It’s like… he wasn’t holding back anymore.” The elevator dinged and its doors opened. “He took down everyone, including Harrow. After things died down, he said he’d blacked out,” Layla stepped out of the elevator alongside you. You opened the door for the both of you and exited the complex. “I only hope the three of them figure things out.” You nodded in response.

Layla walked to a motorbike parked next to the building. She grabbed one of the black helmets and handed it to you, “Put this on, you’re gonna need it.”

The air was hitting your face as you drove through the streets, gripping Layla’s shoulders for dear life.

“How did you meet Steven, anyways?” she looked at you through the rear-view mirror.

You proceeded to explain the whole Tesco situation, how that led you to get Steven’s number and going out on a date with him.

“A date?”

“It was going well, actually. Best date I’d had in a while. That was, of course, until he got stabbed.”

She laughed, “I wouldn’t want my date to be stabbed, either.”

Her motorbike came to a halt as you got to a red light. Layla quickly glanced back at you, “You’re gonna fall off if you keep holding onto my shoulders, you know.”

You knew hugging her from behind would be more efficient, but you didn’t want to be inappropriate. “Wait, can I…?”

It was obvious what you were proposing, and Layla nodded, “Yeah, don’t worry about it.” You carefully slid your arms around Layla’s abdomen, feeling the warmth emanating from her body. “I’m happy for Steven,” she looked at you once again through the mirror, “You’re quite the catch.” You felt blood rushing to your cheeks in light of her comment. The traffic light turned green, and you were both once again on the move.

Once you arrived, you led Layla into your small flat. Signs of the hurried escape you made yesterday were evident, your suitcases still laid out on the couch.

“Sorry for the mess,” you apologized to Layla, “Last time I was here, I was in a bit of a hurry.” She shook her head and insisted you not to worry. You frantically started clearing the couch for her to have somewhere to sit, “Would you like some water, tea?” you asked, not wanting to be impolite in front of your guest.

“(y/n), I appreciate it, but we have to be quick.” That stopped you dead on your tracks. Right, you weren’t there to clean up. Her words stung, but you knew she wasn’t coming from a place of malice. You apologized and hurried back to your room.

You opened your closet and got to work. After a while, you managed to combine some old clothes you hadn’t worn in years along with dirty clothes in order to make an outfit that would fit ‘Sunny’. You exited your room and saw Layla examining the shelf behind the armchair, fixated on a particular picture frame you knew all too well. She noticed you out of the corner of her eye and jumped, excusing herself for prying. “It’s ok! I’m sorry for startling you,” you told her, trying to soothe her worries.

You looked at the picture as well. It was a family photo, a much younger version of your parents holding your baby self. You remembered the many lonely nights you’d clutched the frame tightly to your chest, crying your eyes out, hoping that maybe your parents would someday return.

“I lost them to the Snap,” you stood next to Layla, “That day, after seeing many of my co-workers disappearing into thin air, I called them to see if they were okay. When they didn’t answer…”. You felt your heart sink into your chest as you said the last sentence, yet you couldn’t quite put your pain into words. The hole you felt in your heart when your calls went unanswered. Opening the door of your childhood door to be greeted to the heart-breaking silence. You knew it was over, that they were back, but the gaping wound that remained open five years was only beginning to heal. A tear ran through your cheek, “I kept it to remind myself that they would’ve liked me to go on with my life.” You were thankful you had stuck with that philosophy, otherwise you would’ve never moved to London.

You could sense grief in Layla’s honey eyes, as if she empathized with your feelings, but couldn’t quite vocalize her sorrow. Nevertheless, she eyed you from head to toe and reached for your forearm, “Looking good, Sunny,” she smiled and headed to the door, “Let’s go.”

You were a few blocks from where the neighbourhood started, standing next to Layla’s motorbike while she was on a call with Marc. She hung up and made her way to you.

“Marc and Steven are on their way,” she grabbed a flip phone from her pocket, “If you get in trouble, call us or text us. This phone has both of our numbers” she handed you the phone and you took it from her hand.

“What about my phone?” you thought it would be easier to add her number to your phone and take it with you.

“They might try to take it away, it’s better if you use this one” She offered to keep your phone in the meantime. “Be careful. They are armed and dangerous. Never let your guard down.” Her warning gave you chills. Were these guys really that bad?

After walking a few blocks more, you arrived at the place, expecting to see everyone dressed in the same attire, maybe people sitting in a circle, chanting something in an unknown language around a fireplace and whatnot. Instead, you were met by some kids playing football on the streets, neighbours chatting in the stairs of their apartments and tending to the small community garden out on the street. By all means, this seemed to be a pleasant place to be at, not quite the cult-like environment you’d expected. Regardless of everyone acting normal, you stuck out like a sore thumb as you walked through the street. You seemed to have caught the attention of many of the people there, staring at you like as if you were carrying a grenade in your pocket. Despite this, a young lady appeared to have pitied you, approaching you tenderly.

“Can we help you?” she examined your face, “You seem… lost.”

You took this as an opportunity to begin playing the role of the lost lamb. “I am,” you nodded, “I… I need help.”

“That’s alright, love,” she stroked your back, “Come with me, I know someone who can help you,” she beckoned. You felt guilty for abusing the woman’s generosity, but you kept telling yourself it was for the greater good.

She ushered you down the street and asked you your name. You replied with your fake name, not wanting to give away your real identity. She nodded and walked towards a small pen where a man was tending to goats. “Marvin, do you happen to know where Bobbi is?” she patted your back, “Our friend Sunny here needs help.”

“Lynn!” the big man greeted the woman, “Yeah, she’s in the diner, I believe,” he said as he scratched the goat’s head. She thanked him and led you to a few steps further to a large brick building.

When you entered, you could spot a communal diner, more potted vegetables, and an area with a makeshift cinema. With her hand still on your back, she walked you to a tiny gathering of people. You were able to make out a bit of the conversation they were having “… need to find a way to get our hands on that Stela. Also, make sure to keep sending money to Chicago. We need to make sure that maniac doesn’t get to—”

“Bobbi!”, Lynn called out. “I believe we could use some help,” she squeezed your arm, “right?”

Bobbi gave some orders to the individuals she was talking to and they scattered. She walked towards you, reading your every move. “Don’t be scared,” she beckoned you towards a table, “Let us talk.”

You both sat across each other, Simple Twist of Fate playing faintly through some speakers. “Tell me, what’s your name?” she crossed her hands on the table.

“Sunny.”

“And what brough you to us, Sunny?”

You tried sounding as miserable as possible, “I… feel lost. Ever since the blip, really.” You continued telling your pre-made sob story, trying to channel some of the very real feelings you’d felt, hoping it would make your story more believable.

Bobbi listened carefully to your every word, clueless to the fact you were lying. “It’s still baffling I lost five years of my life.” You tilted your head, facing the plastic tablecloth of the table you were fidgeting with.

“You won’t have to worry about material things anymore, Sunny. We have clothes, warm food and a place for you to sleep,” Bobbi stood up from the table, encouraging you to do the same, “Just one thing, before I show you around, Can I hold your hands?” she held out her palms so they faced upwards. The tattoo of the crocodile scales on her forearm was now visible, tormenting you. You reluctantly agreed, placing your hands inside of hers. She held them tightly and you saw the tattoo begin to move. Panicked, you tried pulling away, but Bobbi made sure to keep you in place, “Shh, it won’t take long, I promise.”

The tattoo finally stopped moving, turning green and returning to its original state. Despite you thinking this was something good, Bobbi looked wearily at you. “Why don't you come with me?.” You had a bad feeling about following her, provoking you to quickly send a ‘SOS’ text with the flip phone. You walked through a set of wooden stairs and arrived to a storage room worthy of a horror movie. It was full of what you hoped were mannequins wrapped in cloth and plastic, but knew deep down were most likely dead bodies. A man pinned you to a wall and started emptying out your pockets, including the phone Layla gave you. He then pushed you into the floor, and the doors slammed shut behind you, leaving you to your own devices. “Enjoy your stay, ‘Sunny’.” Bobbi mocked you through the door, and you could hear the sarcasm in her voice when she mentioned your made-up name. How had she found out, though?

“No, no, no, wait!!” you began banging your hands on the wooden door, hoping someone would be able to hear you. You leaned into the door and heard Bobbi giving instructions to the people outside the door. “… with Khonshu’s avatar. Whatever happens, make sure they stay there. Station people outside that window as well. You two, come with me. We need to find Khonshu and Taweret’s avatars.”

You were at least glad you’d managed to warn Layla before they took the phone away.

You began scanning your surroundings, tying to find an exit in case neither of them arrived. The giant window was sealed of by wooden planks, and the stairs that lead to the terrace were far too high for you to reach. You came to the scary conclusion that the only way out would be through that door, otherwise, you were trapped there for good. The ambience of the desolate and eerie room started making your anxiety flare up; you could only wish they were already on their way.

Every minute gone by felt like an eternity, awaiting any sign of their arrival. You were sat in a fetal position, your head between your legs. You were beginning to feel lightheaded, your breathing increasing in pace, when suddenly sounds of a fight on the outside became evident. Then, BAM! The door flung open, the masked figure with the formal white suit coming right through it and greeted you with a “Hello there.”

“Steven!” at this point, you could’ve easily recognized his voice, even if it was miles away.

He ran to you and offered his hand to help you up, “Let’s get you out of here, shall we?” Two men entered into the room and stormed at you. Steven kicked one of them in the chest, and he knocked the other one throwing his baton at his face as you watched from a safe distance. He then went to the door and locked it from the inside.

“How are we going to get out of here?” you turned to him.

He eyed the sealed window and looked at you. “I think I’ve got an idea.”

Steven began ripping the wooden planks off the window, grunting as he did, leaving the glassless window exposed. “Marc?”

Almost as soon as Steven asked for Marc, the suit vanished and turned into the mummy-like costume.

“On it,” Marc exits through the broken window, gesturing you to do the same. You do so and stand on the window ledge next to him. He grabs you by the waist, positioning himself to jump off the edge. “Hold on tight.”

“What?!” Before you get an answer, he leaps down the building, with you hugging him as tightly as you can.

Harrow’s people notice your landing immediately and start shooting. Marc shields you with his cape. He finally pulls away and throws one of his moon-shaped darts into one of the man’s chest, charging and punching the other one.

“Come on, let’s go!” he turns around and grabs you by the arm, running off with him. You made your way down one street, only to find it barricaded by men with guns. “Over here!” Marc shouted as he dragged you down the other street, except there were more people. You were surrounded from both sides.

You thought that would be the end of you, until a pair of golden wings pierced through one side of the armed crowd.

“This side is clear!” Layla yelled as the bullets bounced off her wings. The three of you headed that way. You could feel your heart leaping out of your chest as you ran. The rest of the mob was catching up with you, though. You grabbed a crowbar laying on the street to defend yourself. As the swarm of angry fanatics got nearer, Layla looked at Marc. “Right?”

“Left.”

Soon enough, both of them began taking down the group of people, Marc occasionally switching to Steven and vice versa.

Someone charged at you, and out of instinct, you fiercely struck them in the head with the crowbar. You paused to look at what you had just done. The man laid there, unconscious.

BANG!

You began feeling an intense burning on your thigh, the pain so intense you fell against a wall. You’d never felt anything like that in your entire life. The stinging sensation didn’t cease even when you pressed your hand against the source of pain. Your eyes grew wide as you freed your grip from your thigh, your palm now covered in crimson red. Layla swiftly ran to your aid.

“Leave me here! You two go!” you cried out to her.

She instantly shook her head, “What?! Not a chance!” and dragged you to a corner. Marc seemed to have noticed her since he followed the two of you.

As soon as Marc spots you and Layla on the ground, something seemed to have snapped inside of him, as if the gravity of the situation was dawning on him. He throws his head back and, once again, his costume switches to the version you were very familiar with. Jake's costume. A cult member tries to ambush him from the back, but he throws him on the ground and immediately slices his throat, blood gushing all over his costume.

Layla shares the same dumbfound look in her eyes as she sees Jake hurries towards you. He lifts you off the floor bridal-style, and asks Layla, “Where’s your bike?”

“We’re almost there.”

He adjusts you in his arms, and both of them start sprinting out to the street. Fortunately, Layla’s motorbike was close enough. You were hastily sandwiched between Layla and Jake, with Layla at the wheel. You dashed through the streets as you held onto Layla with one arm, you other hand preoccupied with your wounded leg. You began feeling a cold spot where the breeze was hitting your blood-ridden trousers.

After some time of going through twists and turns all over the place in what you assumed to be an attempt to lose anyone following you, you deicded to speak up.

“We’re going to the hospital, right?” you asked Layla, the pain from your leg refusing to die down.

“We can’t. Harrow has people all over the place,” Jake interjected, “Imagine this, you're hooked up to an IV. One of Harrow’s followers cranks up the morphine and boom, you’re a goner. Let’s just get back to Stevie’s place and I’ll patch you up. You’ll be good as new on Friday; you have my word.”

He could be right, but you didn’t want to die from an infected bullet wound, “Thank you, but no thank you. Please take us to a hospital, Layla”

“Don’t! This whole plan’s going to shit if you get killed,” he yelled.

“I won’t! I’ll notice if they mess with my dosage!”

“Oh really? What are you now, a doctor?” he teased.

“No, but I’d rather be treated by a professional, not Mr. Mercenary over here.”

Jake scoffed, “Now that’s real nice of you. Remind me who dealt with the guy that mugged you on Sunday? That’s right, Mr. Mercenary himself! Now Layla, would you be so kind as to—?”

“Will the two of you just shut up?!” the motorbike brusquely stopped on the side of the street next to an apartment complex. She stood up and made her costume disappear, whipping out a set of keys from her pockets. “We’re staying here for the night. I have things to treat that wound upstairs.”

You both stayed silent from the shock for a moment. Layla unlocked the main entrance of the building, “Are you two coming or what?” she shouted from the door.

“Yup, sorry,” you muttered

“Sí, señora,” Jake replied soon after, “O bueno, más bien señorita,” he said under his breath

He made his costume vanish and carried you once more bridal style through the entrance. After an uncomfortable elevator ride, you finally made it inside Layla’s apartment. Jake waited for Layla to place a towel underneath the leather couch. After she did, he carefully laid you down. He took off his jacket and threw it on the other couch.

“I’ll get the med kit,” Layla announced.

Jake followed suit, “Yeah, I’ll go wash my hands.”

You took this moment alone to scan your surroundings to distract you from the pain. Unlike Steven’s place, Layla’s home was all tidied up, although it still carried the maximalist aesthetic, having many trinkets and books placed neatly on shelves and bookcases. On the sideboard near the entrance, you spotted a framed polaroid picture of who you supposed to be a younger Layla besides a man you assumed was her father, with some sort of archaeological site behind them. Perhaps that’s why she was drawn to the family photo you had on your bookshelf. Next to it was another picture. This time, it was Layla with a flowy, white dress, holding a bouquet, and the person next to her wearing a tuxedo was… Steven?

Layla appeared from the kitchen with a box and a glass of water, her hair now tied up. “Sorry I couldn’t take you up on that water back at your place,” she handed the glass to you, “It would’ve been nice to simply sit there and chat,” she placed some pills on your other hand and muttered, “This should help with the pain.”

You took the pills and watched Layla as she knelt on the ground to lay out the contents of the med kit on the coffee table. The photo of Steven and Layla kept nagging your conscience, so you decided to do something about it. “I know it’s none of my business but…” it was sort of your business, since Steven did agree to go on a date with you, and if he was married, it meant he had either cheated on her, or they just had open relationship, “A-Are you and Steven… married?” you couldn’t help but stumble on your words.

She diverted her focus from placing things on the table onto you, smiling and shaking her head, “No, I was married to Marc,” she stood up, “And we officially ended it about a week ago. Although we had been separated for a few months now.”

She went on to seat next to you on the couch . “We realized we needed time alone to figure things out.”

Before you could reply, Jake came bursting out from the bathroom. “Alright, let’s get this over with.”

He knelt next to you and inspected the wound. “Luck seems to be on your side today.” you would argue otherwise, but at the very least that meant he had good news, “The bullet doesn’t seem to have hit any arteries, it’s mostly superficial.” He sprayed you with lidocaine, “Let’s fish this little bastard out.”

Layla offered her hand for you to squeeze, but you refused, not wanting to hurt her. “The lidocaine won’t do much,” she insisted, “Wanna see who’s stronger?”

You acceded to her proposal, unsure as to what she was referring to, and began squeezing as soon as Jake started the recovery efforts. To counteract you crushing her hand, Layla, tried to squeeze as the same amount of force you were. That’s what she meant by finding out who was stronger.

“In the meantime, tell me: did you find anything?” she asked. You had almost forgotten the reason you’d gotten shot in the first place.

“I did,” you managed to say through gritted teeth, “They said something about getting their hands on a Stela.”

“Did they specify what Stela?” Layla inquired. You shook your head.

“They also said something about sending money to Chicago to— Ouch!” you angrily turned to face Jake.

“Can’t you speak without moving so much?” he argued for himself.

You carried on, “To keep some maniac away from someone.”

Layla concluded, “That’s probably where Harrow is.”

After a while of doing who knows what, Jake, at last, recovered the bullet from your thigh with a proclamation of victory. “Congratulations!” he announced as if he was talking about a new-born baby, “It’s a bullet. And his name will be… Carlos!” You couldn’t help but giggle at his silly comment.

After Jake stitched and bandaged you up, Layla excused herself to her bedroom. Even though she’d offered her bed to you, you had declined. It’s not like you could’ve moved much, anyways.

Jake, on the other hand, had occupied the spot next to you on the couch once you were sitting. He sprawled out his limbs and closed his eyes. For a while, you thought he was asleep. That was until you heard the faintest ‘I’m sorry’ escaping his lips.

"I'm sorry for earlier," he paused, "And for threatening you yesterday". Jake didn’t look like the kind of guy to be very open and vulnerable about his feelings, which made his apology appear even more sincere.

He most likely wasn’t expecting you to hear him because of the look he gave you when you replied, “It’s okay,” he straightened his position on the couch, scooting closer to you. It seemed he doubted what you were saying.

“Besides, you’ve saved my arse twice now,” you smiled and moved closer to him as well.

You hadn’t noticed how little space had been left between the both of you; you could practically feel his breath on your face, hear his quickened heartbeat. Warmth and desire were radiating off you both, it was only a matter of either of you closing that gap with a kiss.

You could imagine every ounce of him pressed against your body, every strand of hair on his head brushing softly against your forehead, his lips pressed up against yours.

It would be easy, really, just to close the gap, easy to give in.

The dream like trance you were on dissipated as quickly as it had appeared when Jake stood up from the couch and headed for the door.

“Where are you going?” you mentally ask yourself if you did something wrong.

“I have a car not far from here. I’ll sleep there,” he turned off the lights, opened the door and left, not even saying goodbye.

Alone in the darkness, you couldn’t help but wonder what it would’ve felt like kissing him.

Another a/n: I'm sorry I left you guys hanging there!!! I promise a kiss will be coming soon. In the meantime, thank you so much for reading!!! Taglist: !!IMPORTANT!! The crossed out usernames are ones Tumblr wouldn't let me tag. Please check your visibility settings, since that may be the reason I can't tag you. @dont-feel-so-good-peter @stilllivindue2spite @dreamtogether2000 @simonsbluee @sunnysidesidra @harrys-tittie @n0ripeaches @soggumm @victoriacourone @beebslebobs (Btw, if you want to get removed from the taglist, feel free to dm me and I'll do it right away, no strings attached.)

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fanatic-07 · 6 months

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◡̈⋆ʜᴇʟʟᴏ(●’◡’●)ﾉ

You can call me Fanatic! I am a traditional artist

Welcome Home

If I'm not posting ship art than I'm posting about my Welcome Homes aus

-Bullyiful neighborhood Au

-Rainbow Disease Au

-Home Location Au (sister location)

- Welcome Farm Au

I would also post doodles I make and sometimes what I post in Tiktok!

Brawl Stars

I like to draw my favorite Characters

-Colt

-Bull

-Brock

-Poco

And others as well!

#about myself #things to remember #introduction #intro post #welcome home #welcome home fandom #brawl stars #Brawl stars fandom

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wasted-my-time · 2 years

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The ballad of Janie and Billy. Part one: Janie's Got a Gun.

Warning: Swearing, description of a corpse, angst, mentions of murder, most of which including a teenager (Janie is 17).

Artwork graciously offered by @hungercityhellhound who also requested it, along with @lord-of-the-weird and @potaeto-writes-on-wp

-Billy, I really need your help, now! Janie begged on the phone.

-If it's your father again, I swear I'll kill him!

-No need to, I just did. She stated as coldly as if she was talking about doing the dishes. That's why I'm calling.

An explosion went through his mind as he thought of all the trouble he was getting into

-... Oh boy, we shouldn't talk about this on the phone, I'm coming over, don't do anything before I arrive.

-Alright, thanks, I love you. Emotion pierced through her voice in the greatest contrast with her last statement.

-Love you too, my angel. He sighed as he hung up the phone.

Billy ran to his building's parking lot, only taking his keys, some cash, and of course, his Colt Python that never left his side. He jumped on his Cafe Racer and took off like a rocket.

On his way, every stop at a red light lasted an eternity, and with every eternity passing by, his mind raced: What if Janie had already been caught? One does not simply kill Frank Spencer, the biggest gang leader in New York and walks away with it. Be he (well, in this case, she) the daughter of the said gang leader. The Old Man's (As he was nicknamed) friends don't call the cops and it would literally be nothing to them to hide another body!

When he finally reached her father's Long Island domain, he stopped half a mile from the gates and hid his motorcycle in a bush among the wooden area of the enormous property.

Billy then walked his way to the intercom, of which he fanatically hit the button while staring straight at the camera looking over him like an eagle watching his pray.

-What is it? Asked an annoyed voice through the microphone.

-I'm here to see Janie. He answered on the same pitch of voice.

-Are you so broke you came all the way here on your feet, kid?

-Public transportation and hitchhiking are things, you know!

-I can't believe that The Old Man is letting you around his daughter!

"The Old Man wouldn't be able to keep me from doing anything, right now, asshole!" he thought as the wrought iron gates opened. At best that meant they haven't found the body, at worst it was at trap to blame it on him.

At every step he took on the paved alley, it felt like the revolver, which was at its usual place stuck in his belt, was pushing a hole through his back. Not able to go any further with the perforating sensation, he switched the gun to the pocket of his perfecto jacket with the muzzle aiming right to the front: Not as discreet, but ready to be used right away, especially with his hand already in the pocket. He knew it shouldn't be comforting him, but the feeling of being ready to fire had been already implanted in his mind for years.

As he got closer to the villa, everything seemed calm, as if nothing happened, could the phone call just've been a bad dream? Was this just a normal spring day, or was there a corpse waiting for him in one of the rooms?

By the windows of the balcony, he saw Janie sitting on one of the sofas, her long black hair in a total mess, and her blouse halfway open and splattered with blood, both of her hands also covered of it.

Janie's got a gun, Janie' got a gun, Her whole world's come undone, From lookin' straight at the sun,

Her lack of reaction when he stepped inside only alarmed him more, she was still staring straight in front of her, her eyes looking dead. She nearly jumped when he reached to her hand.

-Billy! I'm so sorry I got you into this! My father... He, he was gonna do it again and I just, I just...snapped. She jabbered before catching her breath. I tried to go to the police, but they sent me back to him, I couldn't stand it anymore!

-Hey, it's alright, a lot of people would have done it way before, you've got to be strong to bear those things for years. You're a saint, more than that, you're an angel. The world is a better place now, because of you. He tried yo comfort her while kissing her trembling hands.

-Okay, what do we do now?

-First, tell me where is your father, and where is the gun.

-Right here, she said as she lifted a cushion, revealing a Smith & Wesson Model 29, also known as a .44 Magnum

"Even if this is a .44 Magnum, the most powerful handgun in the world, it could blow your head clean off, you get to ask yourself one question: Do I feel lucky?" He remembered the famous line from Dirty Harry.

-And for the body... Upstairs, first door on your right.

-Good, I'll take a look at it, go change yourself, put everything that has blood on it in a plastic bag, wear something practical, God knows what we'll have to do. He indicated before picking the weapon and heading to the stairs.

-Billy, it's not too nice to see, you know.

He turned back and smiled

-Don't worry I probably seen worse.

Before getting into the room, he took a deep breath, despite years of working for his private detective of an uncle and finding quite a dew corpses, he still had a weird gut feeling before seeing one, as if it was the fact if not knowing what was there that disturbed him.

He finally pushed the door open, dropped the .44 on the dresser, then looked at the corpse and what he found wasn't under his expectations: Shot at point-blank range, the head bursted like a tomato, spilling blood all over the wall behind him, the silk sheets and pillow cases, not to mention the so-called victim's white bathrobe.

-Well, he probably didn't feel lucky... Billy joked to himself.

It did explain the splatters on Janie's clothes, but her hands looked soaked like she tried to dig up the bullet.

Then he noticed the towels placed underneath the remains of his head.

-Fuckin' hell, she didn't really do that, didn't she?

Yes, she did, and it proved to be a good thing, because when he lifted the fitted sheet, the mattress wasn't drenched.

-Let's wrap it up! He said, clapping his hands.

Although he was more used to looking for dead bodies than hiding them, he knew how things worked. He took the cleanest of the two pillows and inserted the head in the cover, then turned the body around so that it laid the other way across the bed. Next, he wrapped the sheets around it, making Spencer look like some kind of an antique mummy.

A knock on the door nearly made him jump out of his skin. He put his hand in his pocket and took a firm old of his Colt, then slowly opened the door. To his great relief, it was only his girlfriend.

-Can I come in?

His eyes ran from the pack of sheets to her, then he realized that she's already seen it all in it original state.

-Sure.

He moved from the opening to let her in, she was now clad of a pair of kaki pants, black Converse shoes and a cream-coloured blouse under a leather jacket. Her now clean hands held a garbage bag containing her old clothes.

-What do we do with this basterd, now? She asked while picking up the towels and putting them her bag

-We can dump him on a railway, if a train passes on him, maybe they'll think it's a suicide. But the train driver is probably gonna' call the cops if he sees someone laying on the rails. Oh, and we burn the sheets and everything that's bloody.

-Good, I'll fetch something to clean the wall, you finish to pack it up.

-Yes, ma'am.

By the time she came back, everything was ready and he went sneaking around in the adjacent bathroom where he found something quite useful.

-Janie? He called her when she stepped in.

-What?

-You know that there is no way back, if we do that?

-Yes, and it's fine, I don't ever want to have anything to do with this place, this family and all the bullshit that comes with it! She affirmed as she started to scrub the wall.

-Good, then, I have something for you, come here.

-What did you... Oh! She exclaimed when she entered the other room.

He stood there holding her father's shoulder holster for her to take.

-Take off your jacket, I'll help you adjust it! We better be both armed, just in case.

Although it was all tainted with the fear of an hypothetical danger, she couldn't help but chuckle at his enthusiasm as she obeyed his instructions and turned around to pass her arms through the straps.

-Why are you so happy about it?

-In the Bronx, a holster is some kind of a sign of social status, most of people who have a gun carry it in the back of their pants. He explained while tightening it. Are you comfortable like that?

-Yes, it's okay.

She walked out and came back with the gun hanging in the holster.

-At least, I don't have to show you how to use it. He joked with an half smile

-If only you were funny... She sighed and put her jacket back on. Does it make a hump?

-No, but zip halfway, so your jacket won't open wide, but can still reach under it. He instructed. Yeah, that's fine!

They quickly finished to clean the room and took their macabre packages to the garage.

-Hell, we would be more discreet with a fuckin' firetruck! Billy exclaimed when he realized there were only luxury cars sitting in there.

-Wait, could the one on the far right do? Janie asked pointing a brand new grey Alfa Romeo Spider 1300 Junior.

-I guess it's the best it gets!

Once they got closer, they saw it wasn't that bad of an option, the car being a convertible, they just had to open the roof and drop the body in the back. Plus, with it closed, nothing could be remarked from the outside.

Billy opened the garage door, then took place on the driver seat while Janie was turned around on the passenger one, tucking the garbage bag under the backseat. He picked the keys from the dashboard and turned the engine on, waiting for his girlfriend to be facing him.

-Are you sure that you want to do this, we can find another way, say that I did it all, and... I don't know, fake that I kidnapped you so they wouldn't suspect you.

-I already told you so, I don't ever want to come back here, besides, you don't have to protect me,if I was able to kill him, I am able to deal with the consequences. She retorted.

-Alright, let's go. He said before starting the car and driving towards the portal.

"Good Lord, please can we go pass this gate" Janie anxiously thought as Billy pressed the intercom's button.

-Nice car you got there kid, at least you're not taking the damsel out on your two feet.

-It would be great if we could actually get out, don't you think?

-Well given the fact that the car is worth about twice your life, I say your ride has been long enough.

-Fuckin' Hell John, leave him alone and just open the God damned door. Barked Janie.

They heard him grumbling something about female hormones and the gates finally parted.

They rolled East to Rockaway Beach, then took Cross Bay Boulevard until they turned to some small path probably only used by railway workers. It ended right before the tracks, just beside the waters of Jamaica Bay. It offered a view of the JFK airport and of the reflection of the sunset behind them on the newly built World Trade Center towers rising high above the reed planted shore line. This could have been a truly beautiful landscape if it wasn't for all the scrap metal laying on the ground around them and the dirty job they had to do.

-What a shame... Janie said as they got her father out of the car.

-What do you mean?

-Such a beautiful place for such an horrible man. She explained.

-You're right. Now drop his feet, I'll do the rest. He indicated when they got only a few feet away from the tracks.

She followed his instructions and took a few steps back.

He held the corpse in an almost upright position and untied the sheets wrapped around it, then pushed him forward, retrieving the pillow covering the head at the last moment. For a split second, it seemed like Frank Spencer was still alive and was about to take a step, but he just fell over, his smashed skull hitting the ground right on the cold metal.

-May you rot in hell, you fucker. Billy whispered before spitting all his disgust on the back of the dead's head.

-And now we run away, like two criminals. Janie asked.

-Yeah, it's all we have left to do. He answered before throwing the sheet and pillow in the car.

-Then we have some bodywork to do on this car, we have to make it look more normal, she said, while picking an iron bar from the ground.

She took a swing and hit the right headlight with all her strength, she then traced a long scratch all along the side of the vehicle, ending it with a huge dent on the back fender. With a amused smile, Billy got his Colt out of his pocket and knocked off the left rear view mirror before doing the same with the logo on the front of the car.

-Great idea, my angel, 'cause we're going to the Bronx!

Janie's got a gun, Her dog day's just begun, Now everybody is on the run, Janie's got a gun,

-------------------------------------------------------

Coming soon (well, sooner or later) part two: The Bronx.

#Fan art #Janie's got a gun #Billy's got a gun

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collectingall · 18 days

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∀ Jonathan Taylor Signed Framed In Black 16x20 Indianapolis Colts Photo Fanatics http://blog.collectingall.com/T7ccbW 👉 shrsl.com/4fuj5 👈

#RareCards #LimitedEdition #CardShow #CollectorLife #CardCollecting

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lyonsfamilytreecare · 2 months

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10 Reasons Why People Love Lakeland FL

Lakeland, Florida isn't your average Sunshine State city. Sure, it boasts warm weather year-round and access to stunning beaches, but this charming metropolis nestled between Tampa and Orlando offers a unique blend of urban vibrance, outdoor recreation, and historic appeal. Here's why Lakeland might just be your perfect Florida paradise:

Lake Life Paradise: Where else can you say you live amongst 38 glistening lakes? Lakeland's crown jewel, Lake Mirror, offers a scenic walking path, the picturesque Hollis Garden, and even resident swans! Boating, fishing, and kayaking are just a few ways to commune with nature on these freshwater gems.

Thriving Downtown Charm: Lakeland's historic downtown is a delight to explore. Munn Park, lined with early 1900s architecture and antique shops, transports you to a bygone era. The Saturday Farmers Market bursts with local produce, artisanal crafts, and the sweet sounds of street performers.

Cultural Gem: Don't be fooled by Lakeland's laid-back vibe. The Polk Museum of Art boasts an impressive collection spanning pre-Columbian artifacts to contemporary masterpieces. Florida Southern College, a Frank Lloyd Wright architectural wonder, offers stunning tours and a glimpse into the famed architect's vision.

Outdoor Adventure Awaits: Calling all nature enthusiasts! Lakeland caters to your adventurous spirit. Hike or bike the scenic trails at Colt Creek State Park, or challenge yourself at the thrilling Carter Mountain bike trails. Adrenaline junkies can test their skills at Elite Cable Park, a haven for wakeboarding and watersports.

Family-Friendly Fun: Lakeland is a haven for families. Lakeland Explorations Children's Museum provides hours of interactive learning fun, while Explorations VKB National Wildlife Refuge allows for close encounters with alligators and native birds. Splash pads, parks, and a vibrant community calendar of events ensure there's never a dull moment.

Foodie Paradise: Lakeland's culinary scene is booming! From fresh seafood at local spots to trendy gastropubs and international flavors, your taste buds will thank you. Don't miss the chance to savor a juicy steak at a historic Lakeland eatery or grab a gourmet coffee and pastry at a charming downtown cafe.

Affordable Sunshine: Compared to its flashy cousins on the coast, Lakeland offers a haven of affordability. Housing costs remain reasonable, allowing you to live comfortably and enjoy the Florida lifestyle without breaking the bank.

Sports Fanatic's Dream: Cheer on the Detroit Tigers at their spring training home, Publix Field at Joker Marchant Stadium. Catch a thrilling game and soak up the electric atmosphere – a must-do for any baseball aficionado.

Convenient Location: Lakeland's central Florida location is ideal. A short drive puts you on the world-famous beaches of the Gulf Coast or amidst the theme park thrills of Orlando. Enjoy the best of both worlds: relaxation and excitement are always within reach.

Small-Town Community, Big-City Amenities: Lakeland offers a unique sense of community. Friendly faces, local events, and a strong sense of civic pride create a welcoming atmosphere. Yet, you'll also find all the conveniences of a larger city, from top-rated hospitals to excellent schools.

Lakeland, Florida, is a city that truly offers something for everyone. Whether you crave outdoor adventures, cultural immersion, or a family-friendly atmosphere, Lakeland promises a lifestyle steeped in sunshine, charm, and endless possibilities. Come discover why Lakeland might just be your perfect place to call home.

Taking care of your trees is crucial for maintaining a healthy landscape and a beautiful property. But when it comes time to hire a tree service company in Lakeland, FL, you want to make sure you choose a professional, qualified arborist. Here are some key things to consider:

Qualifications: Look for a company with licensed and insured arborists on staff. ISA Certification demonstrates a commitment to professional tree care practices.

Experience: Ask about the company's experience with your specific needs – tree removal, trimming, pruning, or storm damage restoration.

Safety: Inquire about their safety record and observe their practices during consultations.

Communication: Ensure clear communication throughout the process, from initial estimates to project completion.

Reputation: Read online reviews and ask for referrals to get a sense of the company's customer service.

By following these tips, you can find a reputable Lakeland tree service company that will provide exceptional care for your trees. Lyons Family Tree Care is committed to these values and would be happy to discuss your tree care needs. Contact us today for a free consultation!

Lyons Family Tree Care 8819 Park-Byrd Rd, Lakeland FL 33810 (863) 262–7979 https://lyonsfamilytreecare.com/

#tree service #trees

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recentlyheardcom · 9 months

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INDIANAPOLIS -- Jim Irsay has been a vegan, on and off, throughout his 64 years. He's been vegetarian, too. And, at some points in his life, he has been a meat eater. The Indianapolis Colts owner says he doesn't judge anyone on what they choose to include in their diet.That's a personal choice, Irsay said."I'm not a fanatic about it. I'm not a judger," he told IndyStar on Wednesday. "Whatever people want to eat is fine by me. I am not here to point fingers."But lately, Irsay's been trending toward the vegan way of life, in major ways. And that has a lot to do with his girlfriend, Michelle Paul, who has been vegan for 22 years.Paul is a 52-year-old lawyer from Los Angeles and a "sweet animal activist," Irsay said. And she has been helping him take the animal-loving spirit that's been inside of him all his life to a new level.Irsay and Paul met in June 2022, when she was living in L.A. She came into his life to help Irsay with holistic health, a passion of hers. Around that time, Irsay bought a new plane, and he asked Paul to help him re-decorate it. She was up for the challenge, and she inspired Irsay to transform that jet, vegan style.Every piece of leather and wool inside Irsay's private plane was torn out, and there was a fair amount of it. From the carpets to the seats to the walls, every bit of it was replaced with animal-free materials, replaced with vegan leather imprinted with the Indianapolis Colts logo.After the transformation, Irsay renamed his jet the Blue Vegan."I think it's exciting, because people see this beautiful aircraft and it's, 'Wow, that's so cool.' But then it raises awareness toward such a good cause," Irsay said in a video interview with PETA (People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals) released Wednesday.Paul not only helped Irsay overhaul his plane to vegan friendly, but he said she inspired him to make menu changes inside Lucas Oil Stadium, where the Colts play their home games.The offerings now include vegan chicken tenders, smoked tofu couscous and cauliflower “wings." PETA recently named the stadium the third most vegan-friendly NFL venue in the nation, touting the vegan LightLife Indiana Burger, rice bowl with black beans, vegan fajitas and veggie hummus wrap.Paul also encouraged Irsay to bring vegan food into his suites and on his planes. "He, actually, really likes it all," she said."There's talk about (when you're vegan) you can't get the protein," Irsay told IndyStar. "Our football players, some of the strongest men in the world, are vegans and you're able to derive plenty of protein from eating vegetarian or vegan."Paul has helped educate Irsay, and she has shown him all the vegan options available."The food out there now that is made, plant based, it is so good," Irsay said in the PETA video. "There is just no way you can tell. It's just so unbelievable. It is so good."NFL owner, animal loverBeyond being an advocate for PETA and the vegan lifestyle, Irsay works relentlessly to help the cause of animals, those close to him and far away.Earlier this year, he gave $20 million to help relocate an aging orca, Toki (also known as Lolita), from a concrete tank at the Miami Seaquarium to a seaside sanctuary in her home waters where she was abducted 53 years ago. Toki died in August after spending more than five decades in captivity."But through Irsay’s pledge, Toki’s suffering gained international attention," PETA said, "shedding light on the plight of captive wild animals worldwide."In his personal life, Irsay dotes on Drake, his Maltese-Shih Tzu mix, who goes everywhere with him, including training camp at Grand Park and Colts games, home and away."God or the higher powers that be, they sent Drake. That's obvious. It didn't happen by coincidence," Irsay said in the PETA video. "I call him my holy dog because they are just part of the core family."Irsay said he has plans to open an Indiana shelter to help animals, which will be named Drake's House."We know that Jim has enormous compassion and love

for animals, and that he’s consistently used his influence and resources to reduce their suffering," said Moira Colley with PETA. "He was ready to move mountains to help Lolita and, by bringing more vegan options to Lucas Oil Stadium and veganizing his private plane, Jim has clearly demonstrated his commitment to making animal-friendly choices more accessible."Irsay said that his love of animals has helped him find peace and comfort.“I think through caring for animals, it’s like St. Francis says, ‘By self-forgetting, one finds,’” Irsay says in PETA video. “If you truly treat others like you want to be treated, this world would be a nirvana garden.”[embed]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6F9DooPFy-g[/embed]Follow IndyStar sports reporter Dana Benbow on X: @DanaBenbow. Reach her via e-mail: [email protected] article originally appeared on Indianapolis Star: Jim Irsay's girlfriend is vegan, his jet's veganized, so is Colts food

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limoteethw · 9 months

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Retro Lady Gardener Ghost Gardening Plants Lover Halloween shirt

It’s an impossible scenario, but let’s assume that somehow every human on earth was given a Retro Lady Gardener Ghost Gardening Plants Lover Halloween shirt and was miraculously able to chop down ever tree and cut down every plant simultaneously. It would be a huge mess, but most would simply start growing again and many would grow with more vigor that before. Because gaps would be opened in forests, many pioneer species that were being inhibited by forest climax species would have a chance to get some sun and grow. As the previously suppressed seeds and seedlings get going, there will be an increase in diversity and more habitat available for animals. So the short answer is that all life on earth would not end, it would actually grow with more vigor. Actually, to really throw the cat amongst the pigeons and get some animated conversation going, I think that the idea that man is capable of destroying the earth is highly arrogant and misleading. We are capable of upsetting many ecosystems and causing the extinction of many animals and we can make many parts of the world miserable to live in, but take us out of the equation once the worst damage has been done and ecosystems will bounce back quite happily- not exactly as it was before, but then nothing is ever as it was before.

Retro Lady Gardener Ghost Gardening Plants Lover Halloween shirt

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Royce Lewis Mr. Grand Slam Shirt

Men’s Bluey Print Hawaiian Shirt Shorts Combo Beach Ready Set

Philadelphia Flyers Fanatics Branded Authentic Pro Clutch T Shirt

New England Patriots vs Indianapolis Colts 2023 Frankfurt Game Essential Helmet Shirt

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Home Page: Limotees

Buy It Now:Retro Lady Gardener Ghost Gardening Plants Lover Halloween shirt

Royce Lewis Mr. Grand Slam Shirt

Men’s Bluey Print Hawaiian Shirt Shorts Combo Beach Ready Set

Philadelphia Flyers Fanatics Branded Authentic Pro Clutch T Shirt

New England Patriots vs Indianapolis Colts 2023 Frankfurt Game Essential Helmet Shirt

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Home Page: Limotees

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barovianbitches · 10 months

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Star-Crossed Enemies

Wynona Marybeth Colt was her mama’s daughter. Never did she stand down to a challenge, and she always came away with her side of victory to tell. She was a looker, tall with a golden complexion that damn near sparkled in the sun. You could blame that on her mama too. She got more than just the tiefling’s tone and temper. No, along with that, she got her father’s whip-smart mind, being able to craft something out of nothing given enough beer and time. That’s how she had to be since she was all out on her lonesome as a young teenager. In those days, there was no one for company save her ornery Friesian horse, Trigger, and one of the few remaining creations of her father’s, a warforged with the chosen name of Bertram.

It hasn’t been like that for a long time now, though. Since then, she had amassed something of a name for herself, gaining a small following of various hoodlums and delinquents in similar situations. They were just wayward souls with nothing but themselves to live for.

For a while, they went through various monikers, actually gaining enough members to warrant a proper name for a proper gang. First, they called themselves the Bloodblades, which Wynona quickly shot down. “That’s a cult name, do ya really want to be going around thinking we’re all a couple of nutty religious fanatics?” She scoffed. Then, it was the Gulch Snakes. She thought that was unfitting, given there was no real gulch for hundreds of miles. They settled on Hera’s Hellions, named for her mother and her life and legacy long before she had retired and Wynona was born.

For years Hera’s Hellions wandered the open lands of the Sword Coast and surrounding regions, never staying in one place for too long. Wynona was hunting, after all. What, you might ask? Small game. A slippery little varmint. A pain in her backside for a good while. One that would look nice mounted on the wall over an open fireplace and had it a long time coming.

That varmint was one Sterling Winchester.

He had evaded her grasp for some time, always managing to worm his way out before she could bury a bullet in his skull and make him pay for what he did to her, what he had done to her family. But she knew he couldn’t stay away for too long, simple creatures like him were easily lured by material things like gold and a shiny new toy.

What Wynona hadn’t expected, though, was to be led straight into a trap herself. It didn’t take long for her and her gang to realize the creeping fog that swallowed them whole was no run-of-the-mill mist, but something far more sinister. It had spat them back out into unfamiliar territory, a gray land of monsters and sad sacks droning around like the undead when the people themselves were still full of life.

The transition had done something dark to the horses, though. The mist had contorted their bones, elongating their once-flat teeth into sharp points. Some of the horses lost the use of their front legs, muscle strengthening, and allowing them to run on two legs. Some stayed on all fours. But one common thread between them was their carnivorous tendencies. While yes, they were still Trigger, Lucky, Buckeye, and so have you, they were a bit… Different now. Not that it meant much at first, the gang adjusted perfectly well to their best friends becoming borderline monstrous, it was part of the job description.

No, the problem was when they lost a member to a mysterious black rot that had consumed her in the middle of the night. That was the first time that Wynona had been truly shaken in years.

The day was grey, like any other. A cold, unforgiving wind bit at Wynona’s cheeks. She had grown tired of the cold, longing for the sun on her face and the summer breeze in her golden locks. But those times were gone now, lost to the fog that surrounded this godsforsaken place. Lords know they tried to leave, losing another member to the labyrinthian mist and one more to the evil rot that had magically infected them.

Wynona had started to lose hope when she awoke to a small speck of the black mold nibbling away at her skin, more so when she had to amputate it from the elbow down. No matter, she built a new one in the span of a few days. It was better, stronger than her previous flesh in all of its golden-brassy glory. She had to stay strong, though, for her parents. Wynona had to get out of Barovia eventually so she could finally pay their bail after all these years. A bad, bad few years.

Sterling, on the other hand, was having a real, real bad few days (heaven forbid). As he trudged down the muddy Barovian road, spurs jingling with every step, he muttered Anaurochi curses, swears and complaints. "Damn little rat bitch stole my goddamn project gun, now I got nothin' to do. That thing cost me a fortune from that bastard merchant- He probably was a liar, that gun probably nothing but scrap- Leena's nowhere to be found... And there ain' even no sun in this place. Damned clouds makin' me feel sick." He muttered as he sauntered along, thumbs curled around his belt buckle. Walking with the exaggerated swagger of Anauroch's best gunslinger.

As the whining continued, he found himself in a shitty little town just off the main path. Nothing more than a few decrepit buildings, some ramshackle houses, and a tavern. All of this complaining had made his throat dry, his provisions running out days ago not helping whatsoever. He was hungry. He was tired. And by god, he needed a drink stat. The owlish eyes of observing children were glued to his form, eyeing his shiny spurs and belt buckle like conniving crows, ready to snatch at whatever shiny thing they could get their grubby paws on.

Sterling gave the children a threatening look. "Don' even think about it." He snarled, as he made his way towards the tavern. Slowly glancing around the village, whistling to himself, impressed at how shitty this Barovia joint really was. Walking up to the tavern, he swaggered through the doors, almost like he was back home in a Baldur's Gate pub. He stopped in the doorway, taking in the scenery.

Despite how dismal the outside was, the interior was fairly kempt. It was warm and alight with chatter and song, fairly full for the late afternoon. He guessed that they didn't have much else to do than just drink the day away and pray something didn’t come prowling in the night. A large group sat in the corner, playing some kind of card game, and it seemed to be the source of most of the talking in the tavern. From their dress, it was clear that they weren’t from around these parts. Many dressed in fairly similar attire to Sterling, anywhere from leather trenchcoats to longer dusters trimmed with fringe, rugged boots, and well-worn hats. “Another round, if ya please, sir!” Called a young man with a cigar perched in his mouth to the barkeep, an old half-orc man with a scraggly grey beard and large tusks. He grunted in response, going to pour them out more drinks. An orange cat perched on his shoulder, watching Sterling with bright, green eyes.

"Well, I'll be damned," Sterling said, walking his eyes across the group. He reached into a small pocket inside his duster, pulling a cigar of his own out, and placing it between his teeth. He then locked eyes with the cat, pausing as he brought a small lighter up to the cigar. Having now entered into a staring contest with the feline, it seemed rude to light the cigar at the current moment. There he stood, just out of the way of the door, cigar hanging limply from his lips, staring down this green-eyed cat.

The cat stared back, unblinking and perfectly still on the orc man’s shoulder, before he let out a low grunt and glared up at Sterling with a scowl on his face. “Can I ‘elp you wif something, mate?” He growled, his tone low but not necessarily threatening, it was perhaps just the way he spoke. Either way, though, he had a good reason to be scowling, as Sterling looked as though he was going to start a fight with Mr. Marmalade.

Sterling waved a hand in greeting, not breaking eye contact with the cat. "Howdy. I'd like a hearty meal, an' a stiff drink. Bed if you've got it... I'll pay you after I lose the starin' contest with that friendly ol' cat here..." He mutters, squinting, before blinking and snapping a finger in frustration. "Never could out-stare a cat. Anyway, what do I owe ya, pal?" Sterling asked, approaching the bar, still with that spur-jingling swagger.

The man eyed him up and down before throwing a glance at the group in the back, nodding a bit. “Ten silver. You wif them?” He poured out a dark-colored ale, it bordering black in color. He quickly turned towards a doorway leading into the backroom. “Madge, put on some stock, won’t you??” To which Sterling could hear the snap of a foreign phrase. “Aye, I’m sorry, my love, I’ll do it meself.” The orc turned back to Sterling, looking at him expectantly for an answer to his previous question. Mr. Marmalade continued to stare, entirely unblinking.

"Eh, nope. We jus' seem to shop at the same place." Sterling chuckles, setting the silver down on the bar. He turns to glance around at the other cowboy-looking sorts, before turning back to the bar, and nudging a thumb at the cat. "Cat keen on gettin' pet?" He asked, before turning to look back at Mr. Marmalade, a faint smile turning on the ends of his lips, somewhat obscured by the thick mustache under his nose.

“Sure is.” The orc huffed a bit, the kitty hopping down off of his shoulder and onto the bar. He approached Sterling, but brushed past, hopping down onto the floor on the other side of the bar. He nimbly makes his way between the patrons, headed over to the group in the back. Sterling’s eyes follow the cat as Mr. Marmalade stops, sitting patiently beside the table and meowing up to someone.

“Awe, c’mere, kitty.” A voice familiar to Sterling rings out, smooth and low. He can see a bionic hand reach out, glimmering in gold. Wynona bends down from where she had been obscured in the booth by other patrons, smiling at the cat as she gently scratches under his chin. “That’s a good boy. I know what you want.” She cooed, pulling a small fish from her plate and holding it out to the cat, which he happily took and begins to eat right there. She seems to feel eyes on the cat, looking up and meeting Sterling’s gaze. There is a moment of silence, the cogs in her head turning as she matches face to crime. Silvery eyes meet green, in the tense moment between old foes.

Sterling just stares on in a mixture of shock and exhaustion, the rusted gears in his brain struggling to turn. There was no actual real, genuine way that this bitch had followed him to Barovia. All the cowboy could do was stare flatly at the woman.

There is a brief moment of something igniting in Wynona’s eyes. Something that had been put out for a very long time. Was this really where it was going to happen? Where she would finally put a bullet between his eyes? She could. What, there was maybe twenty feet between them. She could have her pepperbox drawn in two seconds flat, she kept one bullet loaded in the chamber on the off chance this would happen-

But no. That’s not what she did. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. When she opened, there was a distinct absence of the blaze set before.

“Whoo. Well, I’ll be damned. Sterling Winchester, that you?” She sneered a bit at the name, her lip curling as she let out a bark of a laugh, slowly rising from her seat. The gang surrounding her looked up, confused at the tone of their leader’s voice. “You promised you’d write.” She was different, than Sterling remembered. Most notably, the new hand she was sporting on her right. Her blonde hair had gotten longer, much longer. The curls reached down past her waist, tied back in her classic low ponytail so she could fit her wide-brimmed hat over her head. A few braids ran down from her temples, keeping some of the flyaways at bay. She looked tired, that much Sterling could tell.

She also looked far more grown than she had when they had initially met. They were mere children at the time, a girl who had just lost her father and a boy looking just to get by. Mistakes were made, noses were broken, shins fractured. It had been just over ten years since the first time they faced off, and just about eight since they last seen each other. She looked good, given the time that had passed. Quite frankly, when she stopped turning up to knock his teeth out, Sterling had thought she finally gave up the chase. Retired somewhere far away from him and the chaos that followed his path like a hungry dog. He still saw her wanted poster from time to time, old and worn out. But Barovia was just about the last place he expected to find her.

"Well, Wynona... I've been busy." Sterling leaned back against the bar, resting his thumbs on his ornate belt buckle. "I will say, I didn' think you missed me that much, not enough to follow me here, at least." He chuckled dryly. As he leaned against the bar, his duster fell backwards, revealing the two pearl-handled six-guns on his hip. Even as he joked, there was a terseness to his tone. This woman was not his friend, and that much was clear. He scanned his eyes across the gang she rolled with, an eyebrow cocking slightly. "Looks like you got yourself some upgrades. Shame you had to turn to artifice to match my shootin' skills. A pale imitation, I'm sure, but good effort."

She snarled at this. “Followed you? HAH! I was gonna say the same for you, old man. I do believe you are the one who followed me. I’ve been in this territory for a good while now. Didn’t think it would be your scene, frankly. I know what a priss you are about mud on your boots.” Wynona scoffed, her brows knotted together. “I like the mustache, glad to see your balls finally dropped and you can grow some hair.” The gang was made up of quite a few folks, numbers running up to eight, including Bertram's friendly yet emotionless face. As Sterling's eye’s scanned over, he saw a Dragonborn, a pink tiefling, what looked to be a night elf, a disgruntled dwarf, and a few unnotable humans and half-elves. They all watched Sterling quietly over their drinks, looks of scorn already crossing their faces.

“Who’s this joker, Wynona?” The night elf murmured, looking up at her with quizzical, glowing blue eyes.

“A ghost of the past, who can’t seem to let go.” She growled back, spitting at the floor. “Finish up, lads. We,” she pointedly looked at Sterling. “- are leaving.” She placed a sack of jingling coin on the table, nodding to the half-orc man. “Sorry about the hollering, Orlot. I just can’t eat in the same room as what the cat dragged in.” She turned, stooping down to the kitty to give him a last pat before she gathered her coat and hat, the rest of the gang gathering up their things as well.

The half-orc snorted a bit, his version of a laugh. “See ya later, ‘Nona.”

Sterling let out a hollering laugh. "That's jus' like you, fling some insults, grab yer' toys and run for it before someone hurts yer' fragile little feelin's." His eyes crossed the group, locking on Bertra. "Oh, hey, Bertie. Didn' see you." He offers a tip of his hat, before turning back to Wynona. "You know, Wynona, I'm kind of likin' it here. Not surprised you're calling it home, you've always been one for dreary, depressin' places."

He lights his cigar.

"I'm glad you enjoy the mustache." Sterling squinted at Wynona. " I can see yer' tryin' to grow one of yer' own. Keep it up, maybe tha' peach fuzz will become somethin' someday. Speakin' of dreary, depressin' places, how's your ma holdin' up? You write her much? Or did you come here to run away from all yer' problems again?"

Her initial plan wasn’t to engage. Take the high road, for once in her damn life. Leave this sorry sack in his chair where he sat and not give him the satisfaction over this one little thing. Do the mature thing.

Only thing is, Wynona Marybeth Colt wasn’t gonna stand for this man to say shit about her damned mother, he being the one who put her in that cell for playing with things that weren’t his.

The tiefling girl looked up to Wynona, standing to soothe her. “Now ‘Nona, we don’t know this guy. Let’s just leave ‘em be and let him wallow alone.” There was a good bit of bite to her words, throwing a disgusted look over her shoulder at Sterling.

“Not me. I think we should cut his nose off and put it on a necklace.” Scoffed the dwarf, standing from his seat and getting a hold of his bandolier.

Wynona had been silent, her jaw working in circles as she stared down at the small sapphire ring she wore on her left hand. The ring from her mother. She held up her hand to the gang. “Now now, I appreciate the concern.” There was a dull, mechanical clicking noise. “But there’s no need to get so worked up.” Although her demeanor was calm, nothing but venom dripped from her words. She straightened to her full height, a good 5’11, not including the slight heels on her boots that put her over six feet. The clicking noise persisted, the dull sound of steam being released from something. She turned, slowly approaching the bar, but not Sterling. She placed another bag of coin on the counter. “Something for your troubles.”

“Fine by me.” Orlot huffed, nodding to her to give her the go-ahead.

At lightning speed, she pivoted, the metal of her balled fist meeting Sterling’s jaw before you could spell “cat.” It *hurt*. Sterling had been socked enough times before by various people he had pissed off. Debt collectors, petty thieves, women. But by god getting hit square in the mouth by what was basically a supercharged metal pipe was not on the list. It sent him clattering out of his chair. Wynona stood over him, rolling her shoulder a bit. Steam released from the hand, releasing the pent-up force so as not to damage the owner. “It ain’t just for shooting, dumbass.” She snarled.

Orlot continued to polish the glass he had in hand, pausing to peer over the bar. “Can’t kill him inside. Too much of a mess.” The gang looked at her wide-eyed, not even them expecting her to boil over like that.

Sterling was hurled from the seat, crashing into another chair. Rolling across the floor, he shot to his feet, blood dripping from his mouth and fire in his eyes. He brought a hand to his mouth, checking to make sure he had all his teeth. Picking his hat up off the floor, he cursed to himself. "Just like old times, now your punches actually hurt. Congratulations, lassie. You aren't a total bitch anymore!"

The Dragonborn at the table stood, the rest of them standing to help before she raised her hand. “I won’t be needing yer help, hellions. You all can just sit back.” Wynona straightened up, winding back to hit him again. “This’ll be over right quick.”

Sterling came prepared for this one, though. Poor Wynona, always one to repeat the same move. Sterling waited for her to approach, and then ducked low, sending a fistful of ornate and somewhat sharp rings flying right at her gut. "Try to telegraph it less next time, Wyn, you might get a second one in!" He snarled as he threw his punch.

Poor Sterling. Always the one who had a mouthful of words in the middle of a fight. She bent over the punch, letting out a rough ‘oof.’ For a moment, it looked as though she was tapped already. She gritted her teeth as her head snapped up, their eyes meeting as she put a dirty boot to his center-of-gravity, dead center of his clean white shirt, delivering a swift thrust kick that sent him reeling out the door of the tavern. She stomped out after him, her gold spurs clicking in her wake.

“Good luck, ‘Nona.” Orlot grunted, looking back up to the group. “You might want to follow ‘em out. Ready to kick a body in the trash out back, you know where it is.” They nodded quickly, shuffling out of the bar after their leader.

Sterling went flying into the street. Rolling through the dirt, he again rose quickly. "I gotta say, Wyn, I'm proud o' you for not cheatin' with yer' gang, you might be developin' some character yet, no thanks to yer' upbringin'." He took a step back, throwing his duster back to bring his guns to bear. "So, we still brawlin', or do you want to try an' fail to shoot me now?" He asked, standing in a quickdraw posture. "I'm game to go all day, but you're clearly gettin' tired."

“Ah, sorry.” She chuckled wryly, tucking a bit of hair behind her ear as she followed him out, keeping her distance and circling like a predator. “I forgot fisticuffs ain’t your strong suit, and you prefer shootin’ when they got their back turned.” Wynona’s lip curled a bit, hand hovering over one of the gold, wide-barrelled pistols she sported at either hip. Of her own design, of course. She was an incredibly skilled gunsmith, taking after her daddy. Never quite as precise as his work before he was locked up, given her circumstances, but the uniqueness of her breed of pepperbox was undeniable.

“I don’t mind firing a couple off, for old time’s sake. But yer wasting your time in this shithole. It’s gonna eat you alive.” Her words rubbed Sterling the wrong way. Clearly, she had been here a lot longer than he had. Might know just about as much of the land as the tight-lipped locals did. The lure of information was there, and tantalizingly within reach.

"Tell me.. How long have you been in this place?" Sterling asked, maintaining his posture, but not going for the guns just yet. "Make it sound like you ain' just wandered in..."

“Long enough,” Wynona replied. “Enough to know that this ain’t your average rodeo. I know what you’re thinking, for whatever the hell brought you here. Get in, guns blazing, get out. That ain’t. How. It. Works. Yer trapped now, Winchester. Trapped in the mists that surround this hellscape.” She continued to circle, ready to pounce. “I got here by mistake, just about eight years ago. A long time to survive here, and I got the scars for it. Lost my people for it. Paid the damned price for something I didn’t even ask for.” Something flickered across her expression as she vaguely recalled her experiences, something pained. The group watching from the sidelines cast long looks away from the pair, seeming to recall whatever she was talking about as well.

Sterling heaved a frustrated sigh. "I'm gonna regret tellin' you this..." He shot her a glare. "I'm lookin' for Leena. She went to go talk to them Vistani Fortune Tellers when they hit Baldur's Gate, an' she never came home."

"I'd 'apply propose a truce, fer' the moment, if you've got info about this place. In exchange, I've got this real fancy firearm I'd be more than happy to trade." Sterling said this with a completely straight face. Yeah, that was the firearm he was hunting. Yeah, it had been stolen... No, he wasn't going to say that. He had to simply hope he was still as convincing a liar and manipulator as he'd been accused of being, time and time again.

Wynona wrinkled her nose at this, her eyes narrowing as she looked him up and down. He was a weasel. She knew that. A weasel with a Napolean complex.

She also knew of the pretty lady she had met briefly during her hunt for Sterling’s head. They had both run into Baldur’s Gate at about the same time, and she was looking for information. The elf was a bit of help, but something came up that quickly stole Wynona’s attention. The plan was to get a hold of Sterling and throttle him for what he had done, being the feisty, freshly 18-year-old she was, and come back and put the moves on the redhead. But that quickly fell to shit when she got tied up all the way over in Najara for a spell, only to return to a wedding invitation. Wynona found that it made wonderful kindling.

“Yer lucky that I feel for Leena. She was always too good for you.” She huffed, heading back towards the bar, pausing at the door. “Fine. I accept your truce. But believe me, the next time I see you, you’re gonna have to do a lot more than sweet talk me to get me to back off.” Her hellions filed in, her following behind them, her gesturing for Sterling to join.

“Did you find the garbage pile?” Orlot hummed, looking surprised as Sterling walked in with all his limbs intact.

“Didn’t need it.” The pretty little tiefling said, glaring back at Sterling. “Unfortunately.”

"I'm jus' that nice of a guy." Sterling said as he entered the building, going back to claim the food and drink he'd ordered before starting his fight. "You are right about one thing, Wynona." He said, turning to look at his rival. "Leena was always too good to me. Tha's why I'm tryin' to return the favor, bring her home." He found a seat, a respectful distance from the people that clearly wanted to kill him, offering a nod and smile to Bertram. "I don' know much all of anything about this place. Had to sell some rifles to this mountain of a Vistani feller to even get in. All I know is that Leena wanted to visit those fortune tellers for a laugh, somethin' to do on a summer day... Said she'd be home in two hours. Never returned."

Wynona sat in the booth, kicking her boots up on the table and reclining back, lighting up a small rolled bundle of herbs that filled the room with a smokey, cinnamony-clove scent. Her signature. “That’s where the fuck up happened. You can’t trust *all* Vistani. Sure, most of ‘em are the life of the party, living without a care in the world and giving this shithole some much-needed brightness.” Her eyes narrowed. “But then there are some sly fuckers, just like you, in fact. Any population is gonna have its thieves and charlatans. Sounds like she was unfortunate enough to meet ‘em.” Wynona let out a long plume of sweet-smelling smoke, offering it to the pink tiefling, who curled into her side like a protective lap dog.

"I've had the displeasure of running into them, in fact. Some nasty fuckers. They travel around like any other Vistani, trading and selling, 'cept when they snatch pretty little things like Leena to haul off to an auction for the highest bidder." Another plume of smoke. "Wouldn't be surprised if she caught the attention of the Lord. Word is he's a collector. And I reckon she looks a lot like one of the wives he already got."

“I’d take offense to that, if it weren’t wholly accurate.” Sterling replied with a ‘yeah, that’s fair’ sort of nod. “As fer’ this Lord, he chose the wrong man’s wife to put eyes on. Lords know I’m gonna get her back, and make every sumbitch responsible pay.”

A pause ensued as Sterling took a drink. “So… You can’t leave this place. How d’ you figure?”

“Simple. We tried to. That mist out there… It chokes the life out of you. We lost one another in the trees somehow, trying to get back. It’s something dangerous that controls those woods. Turns ya around on your head, makes ya hear voices of people long dead. Eventually, we all almost went mad before we just turned back. It spat us back out exactly where we entered. ‘Cept we were missin’ Cori. Alls that was left of him was his horse, poor Mistystep. Never found no body, nothin.’” She murmured the last part, her eyes downcast.

The dwarf raised his glass. “To Cori. Let him be giving the devil a mighty tough fight.” The rest of the gang raised their glasses, murmuring something along to the toast.

Sterling raised his in kind, grimacing. “Listen, fer what it’s worth… Always liked him. He had a real good laugh.”

A moment of passing silence filled the room, before Sterling spoke again. “Great. Well, nothin’ I can’t handle. Clearly, you’re managing.” He inhales, as if he’s about to rattle off an insult, but sighs. ��Ah, hell. Now you’ve got me feelin’ bad, Wynona. I’m gonna level with you. I ain’t got that gun. The Vistani that brought me, one of ‘em stole it.” He raised his hands defensively as he continued. “Least let me buy yer’ gang a few rounds, fer the info and trouble, and when I’ve got that gun back, if we run into each other again, it’s yours.”

He stared Wynona down, gauging her response.

She paused, looking him dead in the eye before giving a wry smile. “Fine by me.” She chuckled a bit, putting out the cigarette on the bottom of her boot. “I knew you didn’t have that gun, Winchester. Could tell by the way your mustache twitches that you were lyin.’ No matter, though, I’ll take it when you’ve got it back.” She returned to her reclined position, tipping her hat over her eyes. “My best of luck to finding Leena. I hope for her sake that you bring her back. Let me know how exactly you plan on getting out of here when you got her in yer arms again. Tell her that Wynona misses her.” She smirked a bit, the cigarette hanging from her lips.

Sterling paused for a moment, scribbling something on a napkin. “Eat shit, Wynona.” Sterling snapped with a smug grin, almost as if rehearsed. He got up, setting a small sack of coin on the bar, subtly sneaking the note under it. “I look forward to winning our next shootout.” He said, tapping his cap. “If only you could be as cheerful as good ol’ Bertie. Maybe you’d be tolerable.” Slinging unimpressive insults with each step, he made his way for the door.

“Only reason I’d tell you how to get out of here is so I could tell everyone I outshot you in three countries. I’ll give Leena your love, though. She asks about you from time to time, usually with disgust in her voice. Be seein’ y’all.” The cowboy called out as he made his way out the door, spurs jingling into the night.

Inside the small satchel offered to Orlot was enough money to cover Sterling’s bill, and a handful of pebbles. The note read, ‘Put their rounds on Wynona’s tab. Rich girl can afford it. Got a real nice place, sorry for trouble. -SW’

“I’ve had your cooking, I’d say that counts, Winchester. Watch out for syphilis.” She called out to him, rolling her eyes.

“Who the hell was that?” The little pink tiefling piped up, watching the cowboy saunter out.

“Like I told you before, Lottie. He’s a ghost.” Wynona snorted. “An annoying one, at that.” She stands up, gently pushing Lottie off of her. “I’ll be right back.” She stood, walking to one of the windows of the tavern, opening up the shutter, and watching the cowboy walk away.

As Sterling takes to the road, he starts to whistle a tune to himself. He picked up the pace as he got out of sight of the tavern. He might be fast, but Wynona’s bullets are probably faster.

That’s one problem the cowboy had. Never anticipating the least expected. She raised her hand, closing one eye and leaning her cheek against her bicep as a small gold sight clicked into place on her wrist, the mechanical workings of her handiwork whirring quietly as bionic veins glowed blue with a shimmery liquid, steam releasing before the system took in air through small intake valves. Her sights set, she took a deep breath.

Poor Sterling. He never did remember to zig-zag.

#Wynona #Wynona Marybeth Colt #Sterling #Sterling John Moses Winchester #lore #npc

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