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proxylynn · 2 years ago

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MY WISH WAS ALWAYS YOURS (part #4)

[I have no idea why I went so hard on this chapter. It has everything! How the hell did I cram all of this into a cohesive narrative?! I hope Little Lynn's messed-up backstory wasn't too bad. The poor girl had it hard. But the makeout scene made up for it...right? Anyway, thanks for reading this far. The next chapter will be in the works after I recover from my relentless need to finish this one. Seriously, I powered this bad boy out in two weeks. My drive for this story is nuts!! Take care you lovelies, hope you have a good day/night. ^_^]

Traveling wagons are a usual thing to be seen on the outskirts of towns and villages. It's an easy way to make money provided you have something of value to sell or have a talent others would want to see... or you have magic of some kind. People eat magic up like ants with a mound of sugar. Truly insatiable.

One such wagon is that of “Horner's Pies”. A basic yet humble wagon run by, as the name implies, the Horner family. Mr. and Mrs. Horner, along with their eight-year-old son Jack. Established bakers from a minuscule settlement, they managed to save up for the wagon and began traversing the land in search of a decent place where their goods could be appreciated. However, there's just one tiny problem. They specialized in pies. Plum pies. One of the lesser pies. Not a popular flavor. Not even breaking the top 50 of pie flavors.

Yet, they had something that made it a bit easier to make sales. Jack wasn't just their son, no. What made them so reputable in their settlement was that Jack was one of the rare souls born into this world who would be destined to be special. This came in the form of a Nursery Rhyme. Sadly not a good one.

“♪Little Jack Horner sat in the corner, eating a Horner pie. Stuck in my thumb, pulled out a plum, and said, "What a good boy am I!"♪”

The boy did his best to put on a show, draw in a crowd, and gain attention. But very few look his way.

“Hey! Look! It's a magic puppet.”

Immediately all eyes go to another wagon. One that was far more decked out and glorified. It had lights, it played music, it had confetti cannons, and even merchandise! All of it centered around this old man's wooden puppet that was magically brought to life named Pinocchio. And since it's magic, the people loved it.

“♪‘Cause I'm a real boy. No strings attached!♪”

The cannons blast confetti, the puppet takes a bow, and the crowd goes nuts throwing gold coins at it.

This annoyingly was a sight that the Horners have witnessed often, leaving them rather dejected.

“Geppetto again?”

“I swear, he shows up everywhere we go. How are we supposed to compete with that?”

While his parents sulk further about once more being overshadowed, Jack boils over with spiteful envy.

“What's this guy's hook? He's not a puppet?! I don't have strings and I don't brag about it.”

Knowing their boy and how he tends to get when upstaged like this, his parents try to calm him down.

“Jack, settle down. There's no point getting upset.”

“Your mother's right. Just ignore them and help bring out the fresh batch. Maybe the smell will pull some of them away.”

But Jack doesn't pay them attention. His temper getting the better of him.

“This guy's greatest wish is to be a real boy? What's impressive? I've been a boy the whole time! And you're more impressed by HIM?!”

Jack yells and throws multiple pies in a fit at people, drawing some attention but not in a good way, before he runs off. His parents shout for him to come back, but he doesn't listen. His father attempts to chase after him, yet despite being overweight, Jack is very quick on his feet and outruns his father with ease. He runs and runs and runs some more. His little legs carry him all the way into the nearby village.

This place was dark and dreary. The people looked either depressed or agitated. And Jack stood out like a sore thumb. He was the brightest thing around what with his fair pale skin, faint periwinkle blue eyes, pink bob cut hair, tiny fairy tale pink bow, white long-sleeved shirt, purple trousers with suspenders, black boots, and of course his bright purple thumb.

Adults pay him no mind, though they give a double take due to his color. By the looks of it, it seems children running through the streets unattended is common, if seeing them running around was anything to go by. So when he passes by muttering hard words under his breath, no one bats an eye. His tantrum has him blindly wandering, not paying attention to his surroundings. He doesn't notice the incoming youth running for their life and they collide rather harshly, both being knocked to the ground.

Jack rubbed his head and glared daggers at this idiot who couldn't watch where they were going. Before him is a girl around his age, looking disheveled and scared. The second she shakes off the collision and sees his vicious stare she panics, scrambling to get away. Yet Jack doesn't let her get far. He snatches her by her hair and yanks her back. He'd found a target for his pent-up frustration to be unleashed on. Distant movement draws his attention away slightly. A man, a very angry one, storms down the way looking for something. Or likely someone. Putting things together, he drags her away and out of sight in the back spaces behind buildings. They wait. Ducked behind crates and other miscellaneous gobbledygook. Listening as the stomping steps pound on the stone path as the man passes. Slowly getting softer as they move further and further away. A sigh of relief is shared between the two kids.

Then he remembers why he did this and the moment of peace of avoiding an adult is tossed away. He shoves her. He would rough her up while shouting demeaning things. Venting all his frustration, rage, and jealousy on her. He does this for who knows how long. For them, it felt like hours. All the while something irked him. A nagging little thought. Why? Why was she just taking it and not fighting back?

This made a new annoyance for him.

“What's wrong with you?!”

He fumes, holding her by the scruff of her top and shaking the slightly taller girl.

“Why are you letting me do this? Do you like this?”

“I'm sorry!”

She pleas but there's something about it he begins to like. There's something about controlling this situation and having someone's full undivided attention that pleased a part of him.

“You're a wuss. A pathetic scaredy-cat. I bet you'd let me beat you up if I wanted it. Wouldn't you?”

He slams her back into a wall and she yelps intensely, a sound that resembles that of a hurt dog. It was finally a sound with emotion, all the faint noises she made during his fit were empty. It took him by surprise enough to let her go. She slides off the wall and falls to her knees. She whimpers in pain much to his confusion. Then he looks at the wall. The dark stone is now damp. Curiosity grips him. He moves to her side and nudges her enough to see her back. There's a patch of red that's slowly growing bigger.

“What the...? Why are you bleeding?”

“I'm sorry...”

Her voice is weak.

“I thought I had healed.”

This was awkward now. He just wanted to blow off steam. He didn't expect things to get serious.

“Uh...You should go home. Maybe have your mom...”

“No!”

She practically snaps before immediately recoiling in fear.

“I'm sorry! I didn't mean to! I'm a good girl! I'll behave! I promise! ”

He takes a few steps back, about to turn tail and flee. She slowly picks herself up and holds her sides, sniffling softly. For some reason, this was the point where he got a good look at her. Somehow she was paler than him, malnourished, the parts of her exposed arms and legs were bruised to varying degrees. Her brown hair is long down to her ankles and matted. Her clothing, a pale blue dress and faded grey pants, both tattered. She's barefoot. But what really got him, aside from her bleeding back, were her eyes. Dark circles made her yellowish-green eyes stand out. Such a weak girl yet she has strong eyes.

It makes him pause. Clearly; something isn't right. He should just leave and forget this encounter. Whatever is wrong with her is none of his business. Yet, for some reason...

“Hey.”

He can't bring himself to ditch her. She meekly looks his way, those eyes of hers glisten with building moisture. He flinches lightly, the sight catching him off guard a bit before he regains his former bravado.

“You know how to get out of here, right? Like to the edge where the vendors park their wagons.”

She tilts her head for a moment, giving it some thought before nodding.

“Great! Tell you what...You guide me out and we keep this whole thing a secret. And if you do a good job, I might be generous enough to help you with that mess you got behind you. How does that sound?”

She's stunned. His offer smacked her as if he had used his hand.

“...R-Really?”

The disbelief in her voice highlighted by a smidgen of hope makes him smirk.

“Yeah, sure. Why not? It's just basic business. You do something for me and I do something for you.”

In the time it takes him to blink she suddenly has her arms around him, hugging him surprisingly tightly. It takes him longer than he cares to admit to realize what's happening. How this girl who looked like she'd break if she fell over was faster than she seemed and was now embracing him. His face heats up and she pushes her away in a fluster.

“W-What do you think you're doing?! Do you want me to change my mind?”

He dusts himself off.

“Gross. You better not give me cooties or some other nasty girl germs.”

“Sorry.”

“Yeah, you better be.”

“...Thank you.”

That got him to look at her funny.

“For what?”

She rubs her hands sheepishly.

“For being nice to me.”

He scoffs.

“You're kidding, right?”

She just smiles and he rolls his eyes.

“You're weird, you know that?”

He starts walking off and she is quick to get to his side before taking the lead. She kept them traversing through the back alleyways, actively avoiding going out onto the main streets. It got him wondering.

“So...Why were you running? When we met I mean.”

His question made her shrink a little.

“I took something.”

“What did you take?”

She hesitates, but she pulls a small bag from her pants pocket.

“Is that...Caramels?”

“I know. It's wrong. But with this, I won't be too hungry for a while.”

“Don't you have food at home?”

She shakes her head.

“Mama says bad kids don't get to eat. A lot of us have to do this.”

She looks at the bag with sullen remorse.

“...I try to be good a good girl. I really do.”

He shakes his head.

“Don't feel bad about it.”

He interjects.

“I shouldn't?”

“No! You have no other choice right?”

“Not really, no.”

“Then don't feel bad about it. Because if your mom isn't feeding you, then you have to eat somehow. Otherwise, you're going to die. And you don't want that; clearly.”

“...I never thought about it like that.”

“Hey...Want to make another deal?”

“Another?”

He points to her caramels.

“You give me those and I'll give you pie.”

That brought a weird look to her face.

“What's pie?”

Such words have never been heard by him before.

“Are you serious? You don't know what pie is?!”

She shakes her head.

“Well, then you're in for a life-changing experience. I'll have you know, me and my parents are bakers. And our pies are the best.”

“Bakers can make pie? The bakerman here only does bread.”

“That explains that then. Still, you're going to like it. And it'll be way more filling than that stuff.”

She looks at her bag. She has no reason to trust or believe him. After all, he was tormenting her not too long ago. If anything she shouldn't be entertaining any idea he gave her. But here she was, giving him the bag with all the faith of someone who didn't just hand over what was going to feed them this week.

“Thanks.”

He wastes no time popping a small palmful into his mouth.

“Not bad...”

His lip-smacking as he chews is very unbecoming yet strangely hypnotic to watch.

“They're not all that great really, but for a snack, it's decent.”

Her empty stomach growls from that alone.

“Sorry.”

“You apologize a lot, don't you?”

She nods.

“Don't apologize for things you didn't do or can't control. It's annoying.”

“Sorry.”

“What did I just say?”

“I'm sor-...”

She covers her mouth before she can finish.

“You're really weird.”

It only now dawns on him.

“What's your name anyway?”

“You...want to know my name?”

Her reaction was as if he had asked her to jump over the moon.

“Yeah. What's wrong? Don't tell me you don't have a name.”

“N-No, I have one. It's just...No one's asked before.”

“Wow. You just keep getting more depressing.”

She rubs the back of her head with an awkward laugh, clearly about to apologize but holding it back.

“My name...My name is Lynsie.”

“And your last name?”

Her blank stare answered for her. This girl was all sorts of odd to him. He mulls her name over in his head.

“Nah. I'm going to call you Lynn.”

“Heh. Okay. And what about you? What's your name?”

He puffs out his chest with pride.

“The name's Jack. Jack Horner.”

She smiles.

“It's nice to meet you...Jack.”

————————————————–

“Jack...”

A faint voice calls to him softly.

“Jack...”

He groans and tries moving away from the voice that starting to get louder.

“Jack...Come on. Wake up!”

He snaps awake with a gasp, a little on the confused side as if lost completely when coming out of it.

“Jack?”

He looks over at his side and there she is. Hard to believe she was once that frail beaten-down little kid.

“Are you alright? You were muttering a lot in your sleep.”

“I'm fine. Just weird dreams brought on by stress is all.”

He sighs and runs his hand through his hair.

“I'm not looking forward to this.”

She frowns in concern.

“How did this even happen? I can't imagine they twisted your arm that much.”

“It's your fault...”

He mutters.

“You've made me complacent.”

She looks at him funny.

“I used to be able to focus on everything. Now if you're not around, I space out and things get by me that shouldn't.”

She looks away. He's always like this. If she's unable to help him for whatever reason, he blames her for not being there for any mistake he makes. She's used to it, but it's why she doesn't like being apart from him for too long. Being made to feel at fault for something beyond her control is an unpleasant weight on her soul that keeps her down. She sinks in her seat and keeps quiet. On his end, Jack averts his eyes to the window and gazes out at the passing scenery. The carriage they sit in has made good time it seems. They'll reach their destination sooner than originally anticipated.

And he hates that.

…

Happily Ever After Acres.

Nestled in the foothills of the great mountains, is a premiere active adult retirement community situated along a crystal clear lake. It has become one of the best retirement communities in the land with a moderate four-season climate. From championship golf courses to waterfront living, it has all the luxury amenities anyone could want.

From the moment you step into this upscale retirement community, you'll be hit in the face with the serene ambiance it provides. Spectacular mountain views make for a special retirement destination. Complete with a 5-star restaurant, a sports & aquatics complex, an indoor and outdoor oasis pool complex, a 400-seat ballroom, bowling alley, 54-Holes of championship golf, creative arts center, 9 badminton courts, 4 tennis courts, a softball field, a multi-purpose gymnasium, community garden, dog park, and much more.

The enchanting welcoming gates open forth for a rather large carriage being pulled by four pitch-black shire horses. To some, this sight is awe-inspiring, surely it belongs to a member of nobility and is either here to offer financial aid or to visit/leave someone here. However, the staff maintaining the area unfortunately know all too well who's inside that elegant display that goes by to the houses.

The carriage pulls up to a stop and the wide door opens to a woman with long flowing brown hair that reaches as low as her thighs. Nothing too out of place unless you took into account her choice of attire being that of a man. Her outfit consisted of a grape purple vest, a crimson linen shirt with frills on the cuffs, maroon knee breeches, black silk stockings, and black leather shoes with stacked heels that were medium height. A carmine full-skirted knee-length coat tops it all off. Her only accessories are that both of her ears are pierced twice with steel ball stud earrings and around her neck is a silver choker band studded with a row of amethysts gems.

She takes a moment to look around, surveying the area before opening the door more, and out steps a much larger more annoyed-looking man. Short pink bob-cut hair and piercing cold periwinkle eyes. Donned in a purple dress vest detailed with little plums, a white buttoned dress shirt, dark grey leather pants, and black knee medium buttoned leather boots with small heels. A long wine-colored overcoat is casually draped over his shoulders like a cape. Despite all that, the most striking thing about him is a bright plum stain on the thumb of his right hand.

“Ugh. This place gets more detestable with each visit.”

She sighs as she digs into her jacket to pull out a flask and offers it to him.

“So, you can be good for something.”

He takes it with indifference and quickly drains it down his throat.

“At least you had the good stuff on you.”

“I've taken the liberty of stocking more on the both of us. Even so, do try to pace yourself please.”

He sneers and shoves the flask at her.

“Don't tell me how to drink.”

She rolls her eyes while taking it back, getting a tad irritated at his attitude.

“Fine. I won't. Just don't expect sympathy when you start acting a fool for chugging Slivovitz.”

“Good. I don't want your sympathy. I'm not some lightweight pushover. I can handle it.”

“Fine.”

“Fine!”

“Fine!!”

“FINE!!”

The door to the home opens and their demeanor changes as fast as a coin flip.

“Mother. Father.”

Jack is stoic in an almost emotionless professional way.

“Mr. & Mrs. Horner!”

Lynsie is the delighted one as if being presented with a puppy for the first time.

“My boy!”

A tall blonde woman comes rushing out and embraces Jack much to his chagrin.

“My sweet little man. Look at you! Oh, I could just love on you all day. Yes, I could!”

This would be his mother, Elizabeth Horner. Long wavy golden locks tied up in a humble yet elegant bun. Bright violet eyes that put flowers to shame. Her attire is a simple yet comfortable champagne pink dress consisting of a full skirt braided round the hem and an upper skirt with a wider braid, the square-cut china pink bodice, also braided, being finished with a turned-down linen collar, everything lightly done white accents and pink slippers.

She holds Jack's face, smushing his cheeks like one does a chubby-faced baby. Jack, understandably, hates this with a passion. But he holds himself back, biting his tongue as his right eye twitches.

“Mother...Please, would you mind not doing this?”

“Boy, you let her have this...”

A large man with brown hair stands in the doorway.

“It's not every day she gets to see you.”

And this is Jack's father, Jonathan Horner. Short shaggy auburn hair that mops at his neck. Deep sapphire eyes like the water of the sea. A strong pronounced chiseled square jaw. Donned in a faded powder blue leather jacket, a white buttoned linen shirt with frills on the cuffs, dull black leather pants, and black boots.

Jack rolls his eyes at his old man.

“God forbid raising me wasn't enough time.”

“Be nice.”

Lynsie chides and Jack snarls at her.

“No one asked you!”

“Lynsie!”

Mrs. Horner switches her attention to Lynsie and the smaller woman is easily lifted off the ground in a parental hug.

“My precious little lady!”

As more inclined to enjoy this kind of attention than Jack, Lynsie still isn't used to it. Especially when everyone else was bigger and tended to handle her as if she were a toy. Jack is 7'7” naturally, his father is 6'6”, his mother is 6'2”, and Lynsie at 5'7”. She might be of decent height when compared to others, but there's a reason her nickname is “Little” Lynn and it's not just to pair up with the “Big” of Jack's handle.

“Mother, could you refrain from smothering her for five minutes?”

Mrs. Horner lets Lynsie go and then gasps.

“Goodness, dear! Did you get paler? You look dreadful.”

Lynsie is a bit taken by that but it makes Jack snicker.

“Oh, that. That's from the blood loss.”

“Blood loss?”

“There was a burglary attempt at the factory. I got careless and the thief managed to wound me.”

“What?!”

“Fear not. They didn't manage to take a thing.”

Lynsie states such things as if talking about a paper cut. But, like a normal person and the concerned parent that she is, Mrs. Horner doesn't take this well. Taking Lynsie by the arm and dragging her inside, leaving the men together.

“You have your woman fighting your battles for you now?”

“It's literally her job. And don't say that.”

“Say what?”

“She is not 'my woman'.”

“Shame.”

Jack leers at his father.

“And what's that look for?”

“You always do this.”

“Do what?”

Jack huffs, choosing to not take the bait his old man is dangling in his face, and brushes past him to enter the home.

“Well, this is going to be a long visit.”

Mr. Horner shuts the door. Mrs.Horner continues to pull Lynsie along.

“I swear...That boy knows better. Letting you get hurt like that.”

“It's fine, Mrs.Horner. Really.”

“No, it's not fine. A woman has no business fighting.”

“But it's literally my job.”

Mrs.Horner rolls her eyes.

“He has other guards. You don't need to put yourself at risk. Not after all you've gone through.”

“Mrs. Horner...”

“Give it a rest, Mother.”

Jack interjects only to get slapped on the back of his head by his father.

“Don't disrespect your mother, boy.”

Jack sneers.

“I'm not a child.”

“Then don't act like one.”

Thus begins something that could be called neutral chaos.

…

Mr. and Mrs. Horner, aka Jonathan and Elizabeth, are two of the nicest people one could hope to encounter. This is why it's all the more baffling to those around them how their son could be, for lack of better words, kind of an asshole. Granted, raising him wasn't easy. They struggled for a good portion of his formative years, garnering financial success in his early to mid-teens...only for him to force them both into retirement once he hit his prime. It was a complete takeover. Most would see that as rude. Yet...This was a welcomed relief to them. Especially when Jack set them up in such a fine place. One would assume he would have them left in the woods or sent on a ship never to be seen again. But no. Seems even someone as callous as Jack is capable of general respect to the ones that brought him into this world. So this easy life after years of hardship was a gift. One they occasionally like to use as a means of giving their always working son forced time off to relax and not burn out.

However...The disconnection between them couldn't be any wider.

To tolerate any of this, Jack drinks and avoids his mother. Which is easy when she's mothering all on Lynsie. But then that just leaves him as the sole attention point of his father. And Jonathan likes to get under Jack's skin by plucking at nerves that Jack never indulges in due to his single-minded self centered ambitions.

On the opposite side of things, Elizabeth does a similar thing with Lynsie and treats her like the daughter they never had. This dynamic is a bit complicated. Granted, unlike Jack, Lynsie takes to this better. Her submissiveness and obedience to parental figures definitely help with that. Even if she's awkwardly uncomfortable with being pushed into more lady-like things.

Once pleasantries are out of the way and the welcomes have become lukewarm at best, the pair are separated. Elizabeth takes Lynsie into another room, muttering small motherly chides and concerns. But Jonathan pulls his son aside and leads him outside, taking him to nowhere in particular, merely strolling along the community grounds.

“So how are things?”

Jonathan starts things off.

“Business is fine.”

Jack bluntly states.

“That's good. Very good.”

Jack rolls his eyes. This is how this usually begins. Unassuming small talk. Then his father will blindside him with the more annoying chatter once his guard drops for even a second. Absentmindedly feeling his coat, the outlines of more flasks tucked inside bring him comfort. Hopefully, he'll be good and sauced by the time his father starts laying on the personal talk.

“Tell me, boy. Are you up for playing a few games with your old man?”

“That all depends.”

“Depends on what?”

“Where you're going with this.”

Jonathan chuckles.

“Always blunt and to the point. You still have much to learn about tact.”

“Just answer the question, Father.”

“Fine. Fine... I know how much you enjoy our conversations. So, I figure, how about we make a friendly wager.”

This has Jack eyeing his dad with suspicion.

“What kind of wager?”

Jonathan smiles to himself. He knows his boy well. Jack doesn't back down from challenges, not even small ones, so long as it inflates his sense of superiority and has a prize he can lord over others.

“You know that bottle I've been saving? My prized Armagnac that I've been saving for when you announce your betrothal?”

“...You're serious?”

“Quite serious. We partake in a few of the activities provided around here. The winner picks the next game. And whoever has had the most wins by supper time gets the prize.”

“What's the catch?”

Nothing is ever so straightforward when dealing with Jonathan Horner. His cunning and ruthlessness in business were something Jack inherited after all. All the decency they show is purely to the ones closest to them. To anyone outside their family, the Horners are to be feared and respected. Empires don't just pop up overnight. Sometimes it takes shady dealings and less-than-honest means to emerge from the grave of poverty this world expects souls to die in.

“The catch, my boy, is this...”

Jonathan pokes his son's side and smirks.

“You can't sneak your little drinks till we get back to the house.”

Jack's eyes widen.

“What?!”

“I want you sober while with me. That and I promised your mother I'd ensure you keep your wits about you.”

“Oh come on! That isn't fair!”

“What's not fair is how you ignore that which is in your face and rather than acknowledge it, you dismiss it and drown it out with distractions.”

“There you go again with your inane ramblings that make no sense. This is why I drink when I come over.”

“I swear you can be such a child. Always whining when things don't go your way.”

Jack's face reddens in building annoyance, his right eye faintly twitching.

“I. Am not. A child!”

“Then you should have no trouble in accepting this challenge.”

“Fine! But on one condition.”

Jonathan cocks his brow curiously.

“Name it.”

“If I have to do all this without a drink, then you have to not bring up anything about my personal life.”

“Sounds fair.”

“And that goes double for my romantic life too.”

“Of course.”

“Seriously. Why are you so fixated when it comes to useless crap like that? I don't gush over you and Mother being all lovey dovey gross. So what is it about my nonexistent social life that gets you all eager to integrate me? Oh! And the weird insinuations you make too. I can't stand it when you do that.”

Jonathan merely chuckles.

“Well, you got me there. But can you blame me? You're our boy. Our only child. You're the generation to continue the line and pass the Horner blood into the future.”

“This bloodline dies with me and you know it.”

“It doesn't have to though.”

“I have no interest in such matters. Attachments are nothing more than self-made weaknesses waiting to be exploited. I don't need companionship. I loathe children. I mean, I guess they're useful for cheap labor and tax benefits. But otherwise, they're just more annoyances and liabilities.”

Jonathan chuckles.

“What? What's so funny?”

“Don't need companionship? This from the boy that has his only friend live with him; works by his side, and even brings her along to visit his parents.”

Jack flinches.

“T-That...That's completely out of context! She lives with me because she has nowhere else and it's the most logical position for a bodyguard to be. She's also my assistant so of course she'd be at my side when working. I bring her with me so Mother has someone to coddle that isn't me. And she is not my friend.”

“Sure she's not.”

Jack snarls.

“That woman means nothing to me and I won't have you trying to make it seem like there's something more when there clearly isn't!”

“You know...I seem to recall there was a time long ago when you demanded we take her in because she was yours.”

“...Are you seriously justifying your entire argument based on something I said as a child?!”

“Mama! Papa! Can we keep her? It's not like anyone will know.”

“Not like I was wrong. And I'll reiterate...I. Was. A. CHILD!!”

“And you liked her.”

“I did not!”

“For someone that claims that, I remember you doing a lot of begging.”

“I do not beg! I demand!”

“So you were demanding we keep her?”

“Yes! Because she belongs to...”

Jack cuts himself off once the smug look on his father's face finally registers and the realization of falling for yet another of Jonathan's stupid ploys hits him like a pie to the face.

“Well? Go on. You were saying...?”

Jack huffs and ignores him. This only makes Jonathan grin.

“Such stubborn pride. You get that from your mother.”

Says the man that won't let this talk die.

“Come on, old man. Let's just get this over with already.”

Jonathan chuckles and leads his son to the golf course.

“As you wish.”

…

Back at the house, the conversations aren't any less contrived.

“So...How did it happen this time?”

Lynsie asks Elizabeth while seated in front of a vanity, the older woman brushing out the younger one's hair.

“You know how that boy gets. His mind was so focused on other things that we just made him answer yes to a bunch of nonsense then threw the 'will you come visit' question at him. Sweetiepie agreed and we left it at that before it dawned on him.”

She knew gifting them that two-way communication crystal would bite them back, but did Jack want to listen? Of course not. Because "Big" Jack Horner is never in the wrong or makes mistakes.

“It's amazing how much grew back. Your hair is nearly as long as it was when you were small. Oh! I bet if we braided it you'd look gorgeous.”

“If you say so, Mrs. Horner.”

These were aspects Lynsie didn't particularly take interest in. Her appearance didn't concern her. And the lengths of time most women use just to peacock themselves for the approval of others seemed like like a big waste. Looks mean nothing if you have no substance to back it up. Like a sword made of gold. Sure, it looks pretty. But gold is a soft metal and it makes the sword worthless as a weapon. What's the point of having something like that if not just to parade it around for bragging rights? Nonsense.

Elizabeth on the other hand, not having a daughter of her own, sees the potential that a young lady in her prime has to offer. Sure, the girl is skilled in a variety of things. But it's such a waste that she doesn't apply her charm while she still has it. You could have the world's largest diamond but if it's dull and not shaped right then none will want it. At least she knows Lynsie will allow her to make her over while here. Perhaps if she does a fine enough job she'll convince the tomboy to get in touch with her more sophisticated feminine side.

“You really are a lovely woman, Lynsie.”

Elizabeth remarks.

“But I'm sure you get that all the time.”

“Not really.”

Well, that was shot down faster than an Robin Hood shooting ducks.

“What? You can't seriously tell me my little girl isn't noticed.”

“Then I don't know what to tell you. Most avoid me.”

“Really?”

“Probably the death threats keep them away.”

“Oh.”

“And I don't honestly care about what others think of me as well.”

“So...There's no one whose opinion of you matters? Not even the slightest?”

“Well, I care what you all think of me.”

This takes Elizabeth back for a moment, to which Lynsie looks at her funny.

“Does this truly surprise you? Why would anyone else matter to me? Your family was the one that showed me any decency. The rest of the world can fade away to nothing. After all...it expected me to.”

She sadly knew that to be true. She can recall it so clearly still. Those memories from their past of when they were still traveling around in that wagon and that one day their son came back from his typical fit with a scared beaten little girl at his side. A child in need that none so much as batted an eye or acknowledged was even there.

“It's hard to believe sometimes. Seeing you as you are now. What you've become. You've come a long way since then.”

Despite the positive words, Lynsie says nothing, her expression is blank but there's trouble in her eyes. The silence that builds is a bit unnerving. Mother mode activates for Elizabeth.

“Is something the matter, dear?”

Again, there's only silence.

“If there's something on your mind, you know you can tell me.”

She stops brushing. So Lynsie looks up at her.

“Mrs. Horner...Did you ever do something you've come to regret?”

The serious tone of such a question has Elizabeth cease her doting to pull up a seat beside her.

“Everyone has something they regret. It might be something small. Or something large. But having regrets is normal.”

Lynsie puts her hands on her knees, taking slow calming breaths through her nose.

“You know the life I had as a kid. And what I did after I fled. I learned to steal. I learned to lie. I learned to kill. And not once would I ever cry. I have taken lives or been the cause of many to be laid to ruin. And I have not once felt anything about it. But there is one...”

Her hands tighten on her knees.

“One life stains my hands. Haunting my dreams. Tormenting my soul. Bringing me to the brink of it all.”

Elizabeth hasn't seen her this vulnerable in a long time.

“Would it help ease you to talk about it?”

Lynsie eyes her with concern.

“I fear to burden anyone with this. I should shoulder this weight alone as I had done it to myself.”

“Lynsie.”

Her tone, that parental “you better tell me now or else” tone, always works on the girl.

“Very well.”

There's a pause as she collects herself.

“It started as a normal day. Jack sent me on a simple item collection mission. Nothing overly complicated. But...He came along with me. That should've tipped me off that something was wrong.”

Elizabeth made herself comfortable, this was going to get interesting.

“I take it he doesn't go with you often when doing these tasks.”

“No. Jack knows I'm capable. I'm usually alone when working on such missions. This was different. He wouldn't tell me what it was and insisted on coming along. He was actually kind of giddy about it. It wasn't until we got close to where it was that I realized what the 'item' was. And it all spiraled out of control from there.”

Her grip tightens.

“That house. That stupid god-forsaken shoe...”

————————————————–

Jack looks smugly as they stand outside. A large shoe, likely one from a Giant that fell from the sky, that was converted poorly into a house. A house that is in very horrible condition. The leather is chipped. The laces were stripped. The tongue flopped out like its namesake. The windows are cracked or broken. And the roof is one bad storm away from collapsing. It's honestly an eyesore and appears to be abandoned to rot.

“Wow. What a piece of crap. You really lived in this dump?”

Lynsie can't take her eyes off it. This was her home. The house was a living hell. This is where she and countless siblings were under the remorseless rule of their mother. She swore never to return.

“Why are we here?”

Jack rolls his shoulders.

“Isn't it obvious? This. We're here for this pile of garbage.”

“What?!”

He snorts.

“What's with that reaction? You know how I collect trinkets like this.”

“Yeah, you collect things of value. But THIS?!”

She points.

“Since when do you give a crap about Nursery Rhyme icons?! If you can even call this circle of hell on Earth an icon.”

Being here was agitating her, she wouldn't be like this normally. But uncharacteristically, Jack just smirks playfully at her.

“Who said that I do? This isn't for me.”

Confusion smacks her in the face.

“Huh?”

He pulls out a rolled sheet of parchment.

“You see, I've been thinking a lot lately. Revenge is like a fine wine. The longer you let it sit, the sweeter the flavor when you pop the cork. So...”

He tosses it to her and she fumbles but catches it.

“Go ahead. Pop the cork.“

Her confusion only grows but she takes the hint and unrolls the parchment. Reading it, her eyes widen and she looks at him in disbelief. It's a deed. A land deed. With his name on it as the majority owner. ...And her name as minority co-owner.

“I...I don't understand.”

“Not a bad surprise, right? Figured you earned it. Can't say I never did anything for you.”

She is at a loss for words, so he continues.

“Oh yeah. This hunk of dirt is mine and that goes for anything on it as well. That includes this crummy thing. There's just one annoying problem.”

“What's that?”

A sound rattles from inside.

“It's still occupied.”

Her heart falters its beating.

“Y-You don't mean...”

He slaps her back in mock support.

“Yep. That old bat is still loitering in there. It's just her though. I got no reports of any other people going in or out. Seems like she finally learned how to close her legs.”

Disregarding the insult to her mother, no matter how true it was, she asks the question she knows the answer to but dreads.

“So...What is it we're doing then?”

“We? Oh, no no no. YOU are the lucky one here. You get to evict that old bitty.”

“...You can't be serious.”

“I made you a shareholder to something of mine. You damn well know I'm serious.”

He holds her by her shoulders.

“After everything she's done, wouldn't it be bittersweet if she lost what little she has left at the hands of her own kid?”

She looks at the deed in her hands.

“You can't tell me this isn't something you've thought of at least once. You're the one in the position of power here. Not her. This is yours. And there's not a thing she can do about it.”

She couldn't deny it, thinking of it that way did bring on some feelings. She was always the helpless one. But now...Now the shoe was on the other foot. It tickled some spiteful part of her that craved retribution for all the suffering that she went through in her youth. And so, she listens to it.

With a nervous sigh from her and a shove on his part, she approaches the door to the shoe house. She never was the praying type. But at this moment, she begged for any deity that no one was home and that the sound they heard before was merely the inside crumbling on itself. She knocks on the degraded wood. Her heart pounding. Then...She hears it. Footsteps. A sense of dread fills her and she nearly flees, but the door opens before she can react.

“Who are you and what do you want?”

Her voice alone was enough to have Lynsie freeze. All her growth as a person flashed to dust once her mother was before her. She turns her head to look back at Jack, only getting a “well, go on” expression. It wasn't all that helpful.

“Well? Say something or shove off!”

She gulps down her nerves.

“By order of Master "Big" Jack Horner, I am authorized to inform you that you are to vacate these premises.”

“What?!”

Such a familiar shout. It nearly broke her.

“Y-You...You are trespassing on private property. You are to pack up what you can carry and relocate elsewhere. This house and what remains are now forfeit.”

“You have no right!”

“Ma'am, it is well known you've illegally been squatting here for years. And we have a deed.”

She holds up the parchment.

“Please do not bother with resisting. There is quite literally no point.“

The Old Woman fumes, her face getting red with anger. But something gets her attention. It distracts her anger long enough for her to realize something. She takes hold of Lynsie's face, making her flinch. It's the reaction that brings about recognition.

“Yes. I know that look. You're one of mine.”

The lack of response is enough to make the Old Woman grin.

“You came back. You kids always come back.”

It happens so fast. The door slams shut and both women vanish inside. Leaving Jack outside with the horses.

“Well damn. ...I should've brought snacks.”

Inside, however, it's not any better. Trash, dust, cobwebs so thick they've killed spiders, broken furniture and dishware. There's nothing to indicate that children of any kind once lived in this place, minus a few marks that only a former child of the home knows about.

“Dear lord...”

A bit of the floor gives way and her foot goes through it, tripping her up.

“You've really let this place go.”

“I let it go?! You brats did that. You lot were the ones maintaining it. It's not my fault it's like this.”

That makes Lynsie roll her eyes.

“But that's going to change. Now that you're here. You'll fix this place up as good as new. And then things will be as they should be. Just like before.”

The Old Woman must be delusional.

“You can't be serious...”

The Old Woman cocks her head.

“What?”

“I don't know what you think I do for a living. But I'm not a carpenter or a repairman.”

The Old Woman scoffs.

“That's not my problem.”

Lynsie sneers. Damned Old Woman hadn't changed one bit. Refusing to take any responsibility and expecting things to be done for her or for things to just fall into her lap without any effort on her part.

“No, that IS your problem. I'm not helping you.”

The Old Woman glares.

“Yes. You will.”

“I said, no. You're not the boss of me.”

This was something she would never have said to her mother back when she was a kid. Such words would be met with a beating. But she's not a child anymore. She's an adult who has been trained to kill for coin. Plus she deals with Jack 24/7, so she's gained some level of spine. That and a smidgen of pent-up frustration slipped out while she stood her ground.

“You don't understand the situation. I'm not here to clean up your mess. I didn't come here for you. I don't care if you are my mom. I've been gone for years and dealing with my own life. One with responsibilities of my own.”

“What do you know of responsibilities?!”

The Old Woman practically spits venomously.

“You ungrateful urchins never struggled for anything!”

Such a blatant lie makes Lynsie snarl.

“Never struggled for anything?! Do you not even know the rhyme based on us?! There was an Old Woman who lived in a shoe. She had so many children, she didn't know what to do. She gave them some broth without any bread. Then whipped them all soundly and put them to bed. How the hell can you stand there and say we didn't struggle?! Because we all knew you sure didn't have a problem!”

“You watch your mouth.”

“No! You know damn well you didn't have it bad. You were able to eat full meals anytime you wanted. You were able to have decent clothes every day of the week. You had a real goddamn bed while we slept on the floor without blankets or pillows. You didn't do a damn thing for us. We had to fend for ourselves because you gave us no choice. We stole. We rummaged in the trash. We learned to forage. We scavenged for our lives because you sure as hell didn't care if we were even alive the next morning!”

The Old Woman flinches.

“I lost count of how many of us died in this place. Or when I stopped caring when we'd wake to find some of the others not moving. Either succumbing to injuries or other issues. All we knew was when it happened to take what we could get and pass on the scraps to the others. So don't you dare say we didn't have it bad. The only reason we had to do any of that was because of you!“

She huffs to keep her breathing steady but the stream of hate is strong. Repressed emotions unleashed.

“You know, there was a time when I used to wonder why. Why did you bother giving birth to us? Why did you keep us if you were just going to ignore us? Why not abandon us to our fathers so you didn't have to do any of the crap you did? But then...It hit me. It didn't matter. Even if you did have a reason for why you were the biggest piece of shit of a person that ever dared to call themselves a mother, it doesn't matter. Nothing can ever justify anything you did. You are without a shadow of a doubt a miserable excuse for a human being and it sickens me to the core that I spawned from you.”

Fueled by this, she looks down on the Old Woman.

“But I digress. As I said, I'm not here for you and I have my own responsibilities. Like, for example, telling you once more to leave this place.”

The Old Woman balls her fists in rage.

“All be damned if you think I'm going to let you talk to me like that in my own home.”

“It's not your home. It never was. And now it's a matter of fact by law.”

She shows her name on the deed under Jack's.

“Now get out of MY house.”

Maybe it was the authoritative command in Lynsie's voice. Perhaps it was the power that growled in her tone. Maybe it was the defiant way she stood her ground. Or maybe it was the steely resilient look in her eyes that burned with unyielding spite. Whatever the reason might be, this was unacceptable to the Old Woman.

“You insolent whelp!”

The Old Woman is as spry as ever when it comes to dealing out punishments. She cracks Lynsie in the face with a backhanded slap that has her back up a step.

“You dare speak to your mother that way? Disgraceful!”

She expects this to do what it has always done. To have instant subjugation.

“Is that all?”

Yet that's not what happens. The fire in Lynsie's eyes only burns stronger and the Old Woman flinches.

“Well, I've got to hand it to you, Mom. You're still living up to all the memories I have of you. Bravo. You've met the bare minimum of my expectations. Then again, when the bar is set so low that worms can pass it there's not much room to fail now is there?”

A look comes to the Old Woman, one that Lynsie's never seen before. Sure, there's anger. But there's also fear. And seeing that on her mother's face...it makes her smile.

“Such a strange sensation. I don't think I've seen that look on your face before. It suits you.”

“S-Shut up!”

“Were you expecting me to crumble? To fall to my knees? To grovel for your forgiveness? Perhaps your age has caught up with you; because you don't seem to notice what's in front of your eyes.”

She takes a step forward and the Old Woman backs up.

“I took your beatings for years. And after that, I was subjected to harsh grueling training. Hard to believe murderous rouges treated me with more decency than you. But thanks to all that, my pain tolerance is now quite high. Unlike my patience for this pointless delay of the inevitable.”

She keeps up her approach, making the Old Woman back up further till her back hits a rickety table.

“Stay back!”

“I truly hate repeating myself, so this is the last time I'm saying this. Leave. Now.”

“I'm not setting foot outside this house.”

“That wasn't a request. I'm telling you. Get out.”

The Old Woman snarls.

“You're giving me an order?”

This seems to be the last straw on the Old Woman's tolerance. She hurls a chair at Lynsie and she's able to avoid it just barely due to the close range. But it is merely a distraction. In an instant, the Old Woman has her hands around Lynsie's throat, squeezing to either choke her out or snap her neck. For her part, Lynsie is brought to kneel as she holds her furious mother by the wrists.

“You miserable brat! Who do you think you are?! You forget your place! Children do as they are told! They obey their mother! Ingrates. The whole lot of you. I always knew that you mongrels would turn on me someday, but I never knew when.”

“Let go of me.”

“So I had to make sure you all stayed down in the dirt where you belonged. Yet it wasn't enough. You lot thought you were real smart, didn't you? Running off into town, grabbing goodies with your grubby little hands, did you think I never noticed?! I'd hear about it from the people and sometimes see you with my own eyes. I never gave any of you permission to leave!!”

“Mom...Stop this.”

“And you...Don't think I don't remember you. I could never forget those eyes. From the first time you looked at me with those eyes, I knew you were nothing but trouble. A bad seed. A bad girl. And that is why I had to teach you by punishing you. I had to hurt you more to make you an example. All of you had to know who was in charge and what lengths I would go to. For a time, it worked. You all stayed in line. But it was a façade.”

Her grip tightens and Lynsie gags.

“Don't make me hurt you...”

“Now, I see that you were just waiting for the stakes to get high enough before you played your hand. I'd say it was a commendable effort if you all came back together. But you've decided to do the one-by-one approach, a poor decision. Slowly you runaways come back for some reason or another. Yet once you're back in this house I see to it you never walk out that door again. It's like I always told you wretched little heathens. I brought you into this world and I can take you out of it. You all were born in this house and none of you will ever truly escape it. So I hope you've enjoyed your time on the outside, my darling dear; because you're about to join the rest of your brothers and sisters!”

*crash*

A rock comes breaking through a window.

“Hurry it up in there! I've got better things to do than stand out here waiting on you!”

Jack's voice calls out. This gets Lynsie to sigh before her hold harshens, making the Old Woman wince and release her grip.

“Damn it...Well, you heard the man. I don't have any more time to waste on your petty power-tripping crap.”

She stands back up with no issue, the Old Woman trying to pull from her daughter but not budging an inch as she now realizes her once victim has been holding back so much more than she thought.

“L-Let go of me you brat!”

“Poor choice of words.”

Spinning on her heels quickly, she flings the Old Woman across the room and into kitchen cabinetry then hits the floor.

“Look what you've done, Mom. I had the smallest bit of hope you'd be civil enough to talk without your god complex getting involved. But now you've gone and annoyed my boss. And that means I'm done being nice.”

She draws closer as the Old Woman trembles and staggers to her feet.

“How dare you! Have you forgotten who I am?! I AM YOUR MO-!!”

“You're pathetic.”

The words die in her mouth.

“From the moment you gave birth to us, we had to trust you. There was no say in the matter. We only had you. We needed you to protect us. To care for us. To prepare us for the world so we could traverse the hardships, madness, and soul-crushing journey that life could throw our way. You did NONE of that! You took the unconditional love and trust of all of us, then crushed it into dust on a self-fulfilling prophecy to destroy something that you killed the moment it was born!”

The Old Woman feels around the counter behind her.

“So what are you going to do? Get revenge? Make me pay for everything I did?”

Lynsie scoffs.

“You seriously haven't listened to a damn thing I said. I don't care about none of that.”

This confuses the Old Woman.

“You don't care?”

“No. Why should I care? You severed the bond of motherhood the second you laid your hands on us. You're a bitter old hag who got a kick out of controlling her children and lording over them like a demented cat playing with its prey. And as for my siblings...They can rot. Not once did they help when I needed it.”

She grits her teeth.

“No matter how much I begged it to stop...No matter how long I wailed till my voice was shot...No matter how much I bled from the fresh or old scars opening...None of them did a thing. Not even something as small as a comforting word. So no, I don't care about them or what you did to them. I guess I have to congratulate you there, Mom. You succeeded in gifting one lesson to us. Survival of the fittest. The only one that's going to care about you is yourself. Now...”

She cracks her knuckles.

“No more games. I don't care if I have to drag you out, kicking and screaming, I'm getting you out of this stupid shoe. Whether you like it or not!”

Lynsie lunges to grab the Old Woman's arm...only to be met with the sting of a knife slicing across her palm, making her recoil with an intense hiss.

“You want me out of my house? I'm never leaving here. And neither will you!”

The Old Woman comes slashing wildly, aiming to end her child's life as she has done to countless others. However, while Lynsie was humoring her mother before, that time has passed. She, instead of moving away from the coming swing, flows into it to grab the Old Woman's arm with both hands and uses the momentum to flip the Old Woman onto the floor. While stunned, she quickly sits atop the Old Woman, pinning her, and forcing her to hold the knife up to her own throat.

“Are you quite finished? Resistance is futile and useless.”

“Get off of me, you insolent wretch!”

“You're a sad creature. Barely recognizable as a person. You are clinging to the shattered remains of a past that can never return. It's time you wake up and face reality. You are no mother. I am no child of yours. You have burned every bridge and cut all ties. You have no one and you have nothing. And you never will. All you have awaiting you is bleak emptiness in the cold unforgiving void or the anguish of eternal torment in the smoldering pits of Hell. How appropriate for one so hollow and wicked as you.”

“Do it! You hate me so much; you might as well just kill me!”

“Is that what you want? Have you desired your end so much that you ensured that one of your brood would harbor enough resentment to grant you such a wish?”

She sighs.

“Yes, I do hate you. I hate you with every fiber of my being. The thought of you makes me ill. Looking at you fills me with contempt. This world would be better off without you. And while I would have no trouble killing you, really, death is kind of a specialty of mine. I think I have a much better idea.”

A devilish grin smears her face.

“Yes...I guess this is the one time I'm not afraid to disappoint you. A more fitting fate for a coward like you would be to allow you to live. To wander this Earth alone, a meager shadow to be ignored and looked down on till the day fate reaps your worthless soul. And you know what? No one will care.”

The Old Woman's eyes widen as Lynsie savors this. A long overdue victory. A child has bested the parent and rather remorselessly at that. Yet, if there's anything the Old Woman is known for, it's how traumatizing she can be to her kids and how far her pettiness is willing to go to have the final say.

“I favored you so much. Why couldn't you just have continued to obey me?”

This is enough to confuse Lynsie enough for the Old Woman to make her move—the pressure on the knife shifts. No longer is the Old Woman pushing it away...she pulls it in...cutting it into her neck.

“M-Mom!!”

Blood spurts out like a broken fountain everywhere, showering the space and Lynsie in crimson.

“What have you done?!”

She tries in vain to clamp the gash shut with her hands, ignoring her instincts that scream it's pointless.

“No! No, no, no, no, no! Don't you dare die on me! Do you hear me?! You're not allowed to die!! Not like this! Don't you run from me, you bitch! Don't ignore me now! Answer me! Answer me damn you!!”

“Lynsie...”

She flinches. She hadn't heard her mother use her name in years. To hear it now, in a voice so weak and gurgling on the verge of death, it's haunting.

“Y-You did t-this...”

The Old Woman grabs her by her hair and pulls her down, getting in her face, seeing the fear return to her daughter's eyes makes her smile.

“Y-You're such...a b-bad...g-g-girlllll...”

The telltale rattle of a last breath leaves the Old Woman and her hand falls limply along with the rest of her body.

“Mama...?”

It's such a thing to leave imprinted in her eyes. Her mother, lifeless and smiling, blood everywhere. Those words repeat like a ghost whispering in her ear. It was the final hit to her resolve. Tears storm her eyes and fall like rain. Utterly distraught, she isn't aware of the anguished howls that leave her. It's these pained cries that alert Jack that things have gone awry. His size preventing him from entering, he rips a part of the leather wall away by use of a missing window, and the sight he finds would cause a weaker soul to crumble. This wasn't what he wanted to happen. This wasn't what he wanted at all.

————————————————–

“I was hysterical for a while after that. Jack did what he could to talk me back into a state where I at least ceased my sobbing. He explained this was a massive flop and there was no point now in the house being there. So...We burned it. It was so dry that it ignited easily and all the broken openings allowed excellent ventilation. The blaze was intense. Nothing remained but ash that the wind was eager to blow away. It was almost like nothing was ever there. It was kind of relieving in a way.”

Elizabeth had been silent the entire time Lynsie told her story. She knew her mother was an awful person, she'd seen the scars that littered her back as a child and remain even now from the constant whippings. But for that horrible woman to do that? It has even someone as sweet as Elizabeth wishing the worst to happen to the soul of that witch.

“It's funny. I have taken many lives with these hands. I've never felt bad about it, aside from the first one. The first time is always tough. That's what the rouges taught me. It made things easier knowing cutthroats had a hard time killing at the start too. But nothing prepared me for that day. It's affected me. And I don't like it. The nightmares of it leave me restless. The lack of proper sleep makes me sloppy. I don't perform optimally. I snap. I get hurt. I fail Jack. I...I can't do that. I can't fail him! I can't!”

She turns to look at Elizabeth. Her eyes watering with the threat to cry.

“It's my fault. It's all my fault. If I was just better...If I...If I was a good girl...”

Elizabeth can't stand it any longer and pulls the girl into her arms, holding her in an emotional embrace.

“Mrs. Horner...?”

“It's not your fault.”

The buildup of telling that event is too much, and Lynsie becomes too soft to contain her feelings any longer. And what made it hurt a little more was that she was being comforted by the woman she wished was her mother. She clings to Elizabeth tight and weeps.

“You're a good girl, dear. I promise.”

Elizabeth does what any decent mother would and tries to soothe a youth when they're feeling hurt. Little do both women know though their entire conversation was overheard from the hallway by Jack.

He was just passing by on the way to grab his father's lucky bowling ball when he caught wind of familiar-sounding bits, the kind that piqued his curiosity enough to listen to everything. And by the time their talk had ended, he had learned things he didn't know. Things that made other stuff make sense now. He takes his leave before they notice his eavesdropping or things get too emotional. He'd need a much stronger drink if he had to deal with two sorrowful women looking for comfort. Such sentimental dribble.

Elizabeth pets the back of Lynsie's head, gifting the woman more affection than she's gotten from a parental figure in a single day than she'd gotten throughout her lifetime.

“I do...I do have something I've come to regret.”

Lynsie does what she can to hold back her cries so she can hear Elizabeth.

“I regret not taking you with us when we had the chance.”

Lynsie's hold on the woman tightens and Elizabeth nuzzles the top of her head. There was a time back when the struggling young girl would come running to their wagon like it was her home and the idea of adding her to the family was brought up. They could only see a battered starving child who seemed to get along with their antisocial son so long before they had questioned should or shouldn't adopt her. And they would've done it too, but the issue was their situation at the time. Business wasn't good. They were just scraping by enough to cover what they needed at the time to manage. Another child would've been too much especially since they didn't know if or when things would get better financially. It was a choice that guilted them for the longest time as they never thought they'd see her again or worse, that she died due to her situation. Then, one day, Jack visits them and isn't alone. The odds were insurmountable, yet, here she is, back in their lives. And while these visits aren't long, mostly because Jack tries to leave as soon as he can, they make the most out of the time they have to make up for a life that could have been.

“Little one. Would you like to help me with dinner tonight?”

She feels a nod against her chest. It makes the motherly woman smile.

“Do you need a little more time before we get started?”

Another nod is her answer.

“Okay, dear. Take your time. There's no rush.”

…

It wouldn't be long before things went back to normal. The event between the two women was not spoken of more as the evening went on. The home would soon be engulfed by warmth and savory aromas once cooking was underway. The men return to a welcoming abode and with a hot meal at the ready. It's a rather peaceful reprieve. Almost domestic. No one speaks. Just savoring the moment as well as the food. It's nice.

But all things, good or bad, must end at some point.

The sun rises and sets. The moon takes its place in the sky, gracing night's darkness with brilliant light. And while most slumber in their beds, some remain awake. Either for work, play, stress, force, or the cruel joke of some magical hex. Some are up in these fleeting hours of solid peace.

Case in point...Jack Horner.

The man tosses and turns unable to rest in the guest bed that he lays on. All the damned annoying rhetoric his father kept prattling on about and not a drop of liquor passed his lips since he stepped inside. His head was pounding. He was irritable. But...He was victorious. He dealt with all of it. All the accusations. All the grasping at the tiniest of strings to force a narrative where his father's inane nonsense made it seem like fact. He heard it all and disputed the outlandish claims with sound, totally calm and not at all seething, logic. He was going to save the bottle for when he got the map to the Wishing Star, but at the rate the night was treating him, he might as well savor his prize in hopes it helps him pass out.

So with the bottle in hand, Jack leaves the guest room and quietly wanders down to the kitchen to fetch a proper glass. Brandy is not the kind of drink to just guzzle out of the bottle. Silently he passes by rooms, slipping through the living room where Lynsie lies sleeping on a chaise lounge. She almost looks peaceful yet he sneers her way, continuing to the kitchen and scours the cabinets for a cognac glass.

*groan*

The sound makes him pause. Surely he hasn't made any noise to stir her. When the room goes still once more he resumes. Finding the proper glass and then being as gentle as possible with popping the cork...which was a failure, as it popped with quite a loud snap. Surprisingly, this doesn't jolt her. Allowing him to indulge in his drink, swirling it around in the glass before taking a deep inhale of the aroma and getting a nice mouthful.

“Mmmm...Notes of oak, smoke, nuts, candied fruit, spices, possibly some chocolate, dried fruit, caramel, and a rich mouthfeel. Heh. I'll give you credit, old man. You have a damn good taste in drink.”

He's able to finish his first glass when she starts whimpering. It draws his recognition to what he heard earlier. Her nightmare, reliving that day over and over. The foolish woman must've forgotten to bring the potion he gave her to suppress them. And her telling his mother the entire thing likely didn't help to keep it off her mind either. Why? Why did that kind of irked him? She tells him everything. So why didn't she...?

She jolts up with a sharp gasp and holds her trembling self. He hated that the suddenness made him jump. He held still in hopes that she wouldn't notice him there. Her breathing is shaky and she curls in on herself like a scared child seeking any form of contact for comfort. Pathetic. Letting mere memories get the better of her to the point they had more control over her than he does. Well, that won't do at all.

“More nightmares?”

Not expecting to hear anyone, she aims with her pillow as if to throw it at an intruder. Only for Jack to chuckle as he saunters over to her.

“Look at you. Were you so lost in your head you didn't even recognize my voice?”

She looks away and sniffles.

“Are you crying? Ugh...You're such a baby sometimes, I swear.”

He shoves her over and sits down beside her, pouring himself another glass.

“Are you giving me the silent treatment or are you just too much of a wuss to talk?”

She just keeps silent with her eyes on the floor.

“Fine. Either way, I just want you to listen. So try not to sulk too much.”

He swirls his glass around, eyeing it before drinking deeply.

“I heard what you told Mother.”

She flinches harshly.

“Man, I knew that hag was sick. But to do that? She gives the Devil a run for his money with that new level of messed up.”

She claws at herself.

“Why didn't you tell me? This whole time I thought you lost it and offed her because she was trying to kill you. But even after she tried, twice in that instance I might add, you were still holding back and she's the one that did it? Then she blamed you? I mean, what kind of psycho does that? And that's coming from me.”

She remains silent.

“Don't tell me...You didn't want to bother me, right? Didn't want to trouble me with your problems or some other weak excuse. Correct? Well, knock that off! Because you bottling your stupid feelings isn't going to do anyone any good.”

When she still doesn't say anything he smacks the back of her head.

“Enough with the pity party. You're better than this. I don't keep you because you’re some sniveling little bootlicker. You're tough. You're clever. You don't stay down when beaten no matter how badly. So do it! Get back up. Pull yourself together and out of the pit that old hag tried to keep you in. I know you can. You're something of mine. And I don't keep useless crap.”

That seemed to get to her, the dim fire behind her eyes began to come back. She's about to speak till he cuts her off by putting the glass near her face.

“What's this for?”

“Don't be stupid. You know what a cup is for.”

He pours some brandy into it.

“Drink. You'll feel better.”

She sniffs it and grimaces.

“You've never had a hard drink in your life, have you?”

She shakes her head.

“Well, there's a first time for everything.”

He yanks her head back and practically forces the glass to her lips.

“Now open your mouth. I'm offering you something of mine. You know how rare that is. Are you really going to refuse my generosity?”

She hesitantly obeys. Her lips parted enough and he, surprisingly, gently tilted the glass for the golden brown liquid to flow in. If it weren't for his hand holding the back of her head she'd be jerking away from this strong taste, but she has no choice but to swallow it down till he's emptied the glass and let her go. He watches as she retches a little before settling down. The whole event made him laugh.

“With a reaction like that, I can tell you're going to be having one hell of an experience.”

“What does that mean?”

He pours a drink for himself and lets her stew in confusion as he savors it. It amuses him. Part of him wonders what kind of drunk she'll end up being. Will she be a happy drunk? An emotionally honest drunk? An angry drunk? A stupid sloppy drunk? A blackout drunk maybe? Or would she be able to hold her booze with no sign of change whatsoever? His money was on the blackout one though. She gave off the vibes of someone who couldn't last a few drinks before hitting unconsciousness. The very idea makes him chortle as he offers another drink to her. This time she doesn't resist and sips it slowly, trying to get used to it. Even in the dim light of the room, he can tell her cheeks are beginning to flush. It won't be long at this rate to see if his little self-bet wins out.

[An hour and one very empty bottle later...]

How?

How did it end up like this?

They were sitting in relative silence and drinking one moment. The next, they were cracking jokes and telling stories. Then the stories went from tales of wondrous adventures to personal events. Things that were kept secret slipped out. Vulnerability shown. One thing led to another and, without sound judgment or clear concern for what the consequences could be, they cave to the lack of inhibitions.

Whoever made the first move is quickly lost to memory. But what came next at least was chaste...For a moment anyway.

She is perched on his lap, held to his chest in his arms, both leaning in to get their rose-tinted faces close to one another. His eyes searched her half-lidded ones for signs of hesitation or reluctance. When he was sure there was none, he continued to draw near till his lips pressed against her forehead, brushing them delicately against her soft skin and sending shivers through her that made her whole body tremble. At that, he vaguely expects a small remark or word of protest. But no such things come from her. So, he keeps going, experimenting with what he can get away with. His mouth traces along the frame of her face, like following a path drawn out on a map. His lips grace the hollow of her temple, then the warmth of her cheek, and peppering along her jawline. Each instance of tenderness is accompanied by the sound of her soft sighs and the quickening of her breathing. It was so much. Too much. Like he was dumping kerosene on a small flame. This was something that set a tiny spark into becoming a roaring inferno.

She reaches up and pulls him to her, rendering him stunned against her lips, but not for long. He kisses her back tenderly, his mouth smothering hers and leaving her breathless. Gone was the time to handle each other like fragile porcelain. Being gentle wasn't enough now, not after being deprived of such affection their whole lives. They were starved for so long and now, the hunger was unleashed and it demanded to be fed. She claws her fists into his shirt, pulling him hard against her, the need for contact is strong. He groans softly, low in his throat almost like a growl, and his arms tighten their grip on her. The tameness they began with had ended and the intensity that followed was embraced fully. The kiss grew in the wake of ignited passion. His tongue is forced inside her mouth, strong and demanding, it wrestles with her own. Every inch of her body feels as though it burns for him. Her hands journey upward, feeling their way over his broad shoulders and encircling his neckline, one clutching him for support while the other combs into his hair.

His hands aren't idle either, no longer content with merely holding her. His massive hands could easily palm her head like she could hold a ball, even one of his hands encompassed her waist with no issue. He was so much bigger than her. The size difference certainly made him enjoy this more. There is something so enjoyable about being able to handle her like she were a small toy to play with as he pleases. So he takes to exploring her figure with meticulous skill, roaming over each supple curve as though trying to commit her form to memory. One of his hands slides up into her hair, his fingers running through her fine locks before gripping hard and pulling her head back, eliciting a wimping gasp from her as they lock eyes. Her heart is racing and her breathing is heavy, her cheeks inflamed with blush, her head was swimming in intoxication as well as the effect of his actions. She was putty in his hands...and he knew it.

His eyes fall to the choker around her neck, the first proper thing he ever gifted her with and she seldom takes it off. Something about that stroked his pride. An idea forms in his sauced-up mind and he grins mischievously. Still holding her head back, his other hand slowly makes its way up to her neck, his fingers brushing along the edge of the choker and making her squirm. Seems her prolonged wearing it had made her quite sensitive there. The reaction only fueled his idea. With his thumb, he nudges the choker up more to expose her nape then brings his mouth to it. His hot breath makes her shiver before he even does anything, her level of sensitivity is rather tantalizing. His lips pepper the smooth skin and then he begins to nibble, her breathing getting shaky. His hand in her hair changes its grip to hold the side of her head, his thumb pressing over her lips. She eyes him in confusion till her breath hitches sharply, muffled by his thumb as his teeth bite into her neck. His thumb presses down more to signal her to keep quiet as his teeth dig lightly into her skin. She tries in vain to fight her whimpers and she clings to him, her nails digging into him as he sucks on the supple skin. After what feels like an eternity, he detaches from her nape with a sickening wet pop, lazily dragging his tongue across the faintly bleeding and already bruising wound, making her shudder. He can't help but grin while admiring his work.

With his thumb still on her lips, he traces the outline of her mouth and then takes hold of her jaw. Her eyes are glossy but bright. He motions to her and then toward where the guest room is. Her mind is too washed with booze and latent yearning to register what this implies, she merely nods like the good girl she is. With that, his grin widens and he stands up with her held close. No words are spoken as he effortlessly takes her to the room and locks the door behind them.

…

Morning comes. A roster crows off in the distance. The sounds of birds beginning their songs are heard. Flowers slowly start to open up and greet the sun. A nice peaceful start to the day. Till the faint sound of knocking happens. With a groan Jack resists the urge to shout or throw something at the door, limply rubbing his face before sitting up. His mind was slow and groggy, his body feeling heavy, standing took a bit more effort than usual but he did get to his feet eventually. He lugs himself to the door and yawns as he gets it open.

“Yes?”

Jonathan mulls over the discarded brandy bottle in his hand before casting his eyes on Jack and his next words die in his throat once he takes in the whole scene before him. His son stands there disheveled, his face portrays someone who is still half-asleep. He's topless, still wearing pants, but his neckline along his shoulders has faint welts as if something tried to claw him.

“Um...You okay?”

Jack rubs his face to get the sleep from his eyes.

“Tired.”

There's a sleepy slur to his speech. He knows his son can handle a hard drink, but maybe the vintage of the brandy made it hit harder.

“Have you any idea where your woman is?”

Jack groans and lazily glares at his father.

“It's too early for this crap.”

“I merely ask because...”

Movement behind Jack is just barely visible, a body shifting beneath the bed sheets, yet this is enough to make the older gentleman smirk.

“Ah, never mind. I see the brandy treated you favorably.”

Jack eyes him funny.

“What are you talking about?”

“Who knew all you needed was some liquid courage to man up and shoot your shot? But I didn't think you would've taken her to bed so quickly.”

Confusion twists Jack's face. He looks back at the bed and grimaces upon seeing her there, knowing damn well he won’t hear the end of it if he isn't careful.

“So...Do you want me to tell your Mother the good news or would you like to do the honors?”

“This isn't what it looks like.”

“Oh really?”

Jonathan's smug “I caught you red-handed” tone made Jack want to slam the door in his face.

“She's been having nightmares about her mom. Been troubling her for like a month now. I let her have some of the Armagnac to take her mind off things. The girl can't hold a drink to save her life. So, rather than leave her a mess out there, I let her crash on the floor in here. Clingy little thing must've crawled into bed while I was sleeping.”

If it wasn't for what Elizabeth told him before bed, Jonathan would call Jack out for the obvious lie. But he does know. And he knows Jack. He doesn't lie. He might not tell full truths but he never lies.

“And you locked the door because...?”

“Would you allow a drunk woman to roam freely and potentially cause chaos?”

A fair and reasonable answer.

“Good point. Sorry to trouble you.”

“It's fine.”

“Will you both be joining us for breakfast?”

“Give me, like...an hour.”

“And her?”

“I'll shove her out in a bit.”

Jonathan chuckles to himself.

“You know...You're really lucky.”

Jack tilts his head.

“There aren't many that would stay with you as long as she has. Lord knows no other woman would put up with you.”

Jack's expression becomes flat irritation; he shuts the door without a word. Jonathan laughs and walks away to help his wife with the morning meal. Can't let the misses work too hard to feed four people. Jack in the room sighs and looks over at the bed. Last night is something of a blurry memory. He remembers bits, enough that the story he told his father wasn't all that false, but it gets harder to picture what happened when he brought her to the room. He doesn't remember losing his shirt or nodding off. But at least judging by how he's still wearing his pants, nothing too crazy happened. His back feels a tad sore, but he blames it on the mattress...Not knowing about the scratches that litter his fair skin.

Coming to the bed, he sits down and holds his head in his hands. Part of him wants to go back to sleep like nothing happened yet he's too awake to conk out now. She rolls over, her bear arm hitting his leg. He glances over at her and two thoughts pop in his head. The first was wondering where was her shirt. Lifting the covers a little bit answered his second thought enough to let him sigh with relief. Pants on; shirt off. Giving her a look over, her neck and shoulders are marked heavily with bite-riddled hickeys. What the hell was in that brandy to make them riled up hormonally charged-up teens? Though there is a part of him that likes seeing her like that. Something about her small body laying there innocently, sporting his marks. It hits a deeply buried part of him in a certain way. And it feels good.

He shakes the feeling away. Now's not the time or place. He gets up once more, gathering his discarded clothing and a pillow, before making his way to the door. He gets out to leave the room but hurls the pillow at her as he shuts the door. From the hall, he can hear her bark in surprise and the pillow flung back at the door with a harsh thud. It gets a chuckle out of him as he goes to the bathroom to freshen up.

What a strange way to start the morning.

…

Aside from the most unusual means of waking and one having her first hangover, the pair act as normal as ever. Breakfast is a welcomed moment. Good food made with care always tastes better. And nothing beats the care of a mother in an oddly cheery mode. For that matter, his father seemed to be in good spirits as well. Jack merely ignored it all. Lynsie was too concerned with soothing her throbbing skull to be aware of anything. Jack uses her condition as a quick excuse to leave and is more than a little suspicious when his parents don't try to pull some ploy to keep them here like offering to take care of her for him or making some obscure outlandish remedy. Yet he's not going to question this bit of luck.

When the carriage pulls up to the home, the farewells are warm and about as awkward as their welcomes when they arrived. Elizabeth hugs Jack and leaves an obnoxious motherly kiss on his cheek that he rubs away at like a little kid would. She then does the same to Lynsie but the girl is just out of it at this point and doesn't fight the smothering. Jonathan offers his hand to his son and Jack shakes it. Then he provides a small basket to him.

“What's this?”

“Something to help with her situation. Take it from someone with experience. You don't want to be stuck in a long ride with a woman that's hurting. Deadlier than any dragon and twice as unpredictable.”

“Thanks, I guess?”

Jack takes the basket and heads into the carriage, eyeing his father curiously the entire time.

“Okay, Sweet-Tart, that's enough. She and the boy have to go.”

“Oh. If only we weren't so far away. Then these visits would be longer.”

“I know, dear. But also...I'm pretty sure she can't breathe and the boy might get jealous of all the attention you're giving his woman.”

“She's not my woman!!”

Shouts Jack and his mother relents in letting Lynsie free from her crushing embrace, only to hold her head due to the shout causing her pain.

“Will you please not be so loud?”

She winces as she heads for the carriage, Jonathan giving the girl a little head pat as she passes.

“Take care you two.”

“And come back soon!”

The moment the carriage door shuts it takes off, a cloud of dust left in its wake as the horses race away.

“Did you see her neck?”

Jonathan remarks playfully.

“That boy needs to learn how to be gentle. My little girl is too fragile for him to just rough her up like that.”

Elizabeth answers with worry before punching her husband in the arm.

“He gets that from you. You Horner men can be such brutes.”

Jonathan merely laughs as he scoops his wife into his arms and takes her back into their home.

Meanwhile in the carriage...Lynsie takes her vest off and shields her face from the sunlight, the brightness makes her head hurt more. Jack looks through the basket. A pouch containing assorted berries. A couple of pomegranates. A bar of dark chocolate. And the one that got him puzzled was a familiar brandy bottle. Opening it and taking a sip, however, revealed it to be filled with water. It's not much, but all of it will aid in speeding up her recovery. Taking into account how long this ride home will be, he peels the tin from the bar and taps her hand with it to get her attention.

“Better eat it now before it melts.”

She fidgets in taking it, letting her vest drape over her head like a veil, she stares at the bar before breaking it in half and holding the separate piece to him.

“It's for you. You keep it.”

“We don't often get to have chocolate and I know you like sweets. I don't mind.”

She wasn't wrong. He was a man who liked his treats. He takes the offered half and bites into it, her eating the other half.

It's a very quiet ride for a while. The both of them, just there, him passing her the occasional aid from the basket and her offering to share. Sometimes he accepts, like with the chocolate and water. He passed on the berries though. She finishes the berries off soon enough and pulls her vest off her head, the light not being so bad now.

“How do you feel?”

She rubs her face and combs up into her hair.

“Decent. Not quite better. But close.”

She eyes the brandy bottle.

“I'm not sure I can be your drinking buddy if I end up feeling messed up afterward.”

“Eh. You fared better than expected.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah. I figured you'd be blacked out after the third glass. Not bad for your first time with something that strong.”

That makes her smile a little.

“For now, at least, you're not touching anything stronger than juice. I wouldn't want you getting hooked on the stuff and acting weird.”

She tilts her head.

“Acting weird? Why? Did something happen last night?”

He flinches. She hadn't asked anything after she woke up and he was hoping she wouldn't.

“Not really.”

“It's okay to tell me if something happened. I wouldn't want to have done something stupid, not know, and then drink later to do it again.”

Seems she didn't recall anything after getting significantly drunk. Luck was on his side.

“Jack? Please?”

He sighs and rubs the back of his neck.

“Fine. But it wasn't so bad. You got a little tipsy and acted a bit clingy.”

Her face gets red with embarrassment.

“I did?”

“Just a little.”

She hides her face in her hands and groans as he bites his tongue to keep from laughing at her.

“Oh lord...I am so sorry!”

He snickers.

“Come on, it wasn't too bad. Trust me, I've seen worse. You were tame.”

“Was that why I was in your room?”

“Well, I couldn't just leave you alone when like that. I'm not a scumbag.”

He says while withholding the more important details for the sake of making the situation better for himself...like a scumbag.

She looks up at him, an expectant gleam in her eyes as if giving him the chance to keep talking. But when nothing more is said she sits back in her seat and puts her hand out for a pomegranate. Instead of being handed the fruit, he pulls her closer to have her sit across his legs.

“What are you doing?”

“Reliving a moment from last night for my amusement. Did you expect me to not find some way of entertaining myself?”

“What?!”

He pokes her head and chuckles.

“Heh heh heh. So small.”

She growls a little but just huffs it off. Better to let him have his way than fight it. He gives her the fruit anyway so it's not like she has much to complain about. Still...

“So I got on your lap last night?”

His chuckling stops and she smirks when his cheeks tint faintly. Such a dangerous question. Something he can't rush yet he also can't take too long to answer. His expression sours but he doesn't miss a beat.

“I did say you were clingy. Don't go making assumptions like my old man.”

“Daww. What's the matter? There's no need to get defensive.”

“I am not getting defensive!”

“Did little drunk me give big Jack hugs~?”

“I'm three seconds away from throwing you out and making you walk.”

She snickers and bites into the fruit, peeling the flesh off to make the insides available.

“Easy now, there's no need for that. I was only teasing you.”

She offers him some of the seeds. He sneers but accepts, feeding along with her.

“Why do I put up with a pain in the ass like you?”

“Because I make your life less boring. That and...”

She pauses, the words getting caught in her throat. Something doesn't feel right. Something's changed.

She doesn't remember much of last night. Much of it is fragmented and foggy, the brandy hit her brain hard. But some parts shine through. Like clean spots on a dirty window but the image is different under each spot. She remembers laughing it up with him and a sense of joy. She remembers throwing her arms around him for comfort when hit with sadness. She remembers a burning need to be close to him and the searing heat of his bite. She remembers the hit of cool air on his skin when he removed her shirt before doing the same to him. She remembers feeling his weight when he climbed over her and being crushed when he passed out on her leading to her own unconsciousness. She remembers all that and also isn't dumb to not notice the bruises when he woke her up. She'd have to be a moron to have not noticed any of that. Especially when waking up topless. It's a no-brainer honestly. They got really close.

She remembers all this. So it's likely he remembers stuff too. Yet...They weren't talking about it. Granted it wasn't something to mention while his parents were around, but still. It's just them now. They're alone. Yet he's acting the same. Like nothing happened. And if he's not going to acknowledge it, then she isn't going to either. Things have changed between them. But at the same time, nothing's changed.

“And...What? You going to finish that or did you lose your train of thought that quickly?”

His voice breaks her thoughts. She shakes her head and palms her forehead.

“Sorry about that. Must be the booze still lurking around in my dumb brain.”

She laughs it off before sighing.

“I was going to say...That and because...”

She gazes up at him, giving him a soft sincere smile.

“Because we're friends.”

He just rolls his eyes.

“Bah. There's nothing sentimental like that involved here. We're associates. Nothing more or less.”

Yep. He's still the same old Jack. And she's still his ever-faithful lapdog.

“Right. Of course, Master Jack.”

Nothing has changed.