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Inktober Day Ten: Up The Wolves

The prompt was a song that gives you hope and one, this song really does give me hope but two, I wanted to do something different from the softer prompts I’d been doing so fair warning there’s a gunfight here. 

Here’s 1,438 words

Nick did his best not to freeze as Ella swung closer and closer to the truth with every pass in her rant. Acting casual when his entire insides were turned to ice was a difficult challenge, however, and it was only a matter of time before she realized.

“Like, who the fuck sold us out?” Ella asked, pacing back and forth, her hand wrapped around her wrist and squeezing. Nick knew she’d be holding the pistol on her hip if she didn’t have better trigger discipline. As it was, he was having a difficult time not touching his, though whether he could outdraw her or not was a coinflip. “No one knew about where we were hitting or with how many people, we didn’t tell anyone. I mean, the Goddard Boys didn’t do it; they know they’re the first suspects if they cross us and Julia checked them out. I trust her.”

“Me too.” Nick said, his voice squeaking. He cleared his throat. “Me too.” He said more firmly and Ella shot him a curious look that felt like a dagger.

“And anyway, the people I would put my money on are the Diaz Brothers, but Julia won’t let me question them. She keeps saying things like we’ll deal with it afterwards but look, if you let backstabbers lie they’re going to find another way to stab you.” She shook her head, clenching her fists. “God, I wish I could see the look on Tony Diaz the second I tell him I know it’s him.” She laughed. “Before I put a bullet in his-”

“Ella,” Nick said and he only realized he spoke when she turned her attention to him, annoyed to be pulled out of her rant. Panic spiked and he thought to turn her aside and say nevermind, but that would just get her deeper on the scent. But then he couldn’t find anything else to say and she beat him to it.

“Nick, are you getting soft on me?” She scoffed. “Julia is coming back within the next fifteen minutes and when she gets here, we’re going to make those politicians pay and if you don’t have the stomach for-”

“No, I do. I do.” Nick said, taking a deep breath and exhaling it. “I do, I promise. I just… We don’t even know if it’s Tony.”

“I know it is.” Ella said, gritting her teeth. “I know that bastard would sell us out and never think twice. Well he’s got another thing c-”

“I did it.” Nick said and the silence that followed was deafening. Ella turned to him, her eyes wide. Time flowed slower, as if each second had to fight to drip out. Now she was shocked, but soon she would flash to anger, would she say something? Would she ask for clarification before she drew? He couldn’t take that chance. He would be faster than her only if he relied on her shock, only if he took this chance. He drew, hoping that she would surrender. That was never her way.

She sprang to the side in a roll and Nick squeezed the trigger, a bullet from his revolver splintering wood as it hit the wall behind where Ella had been and he barely had time to register that he had pulled it before Ella was drawing and he hit the deck, upturning the table in front of him and using it as cover but not before she managed to wing him in his arm. Clutching his gun was painful now and lifting his arm was difficult. He swore, switching hands. He would be far less accurate and still he only had five more shots. How many had Ella shot? She had a seventeen bullet mag and she dropped three? Bad odds. She was always a good shot.

“Why did you do it?” She demanded and four heavy impacts hit the table, splintering wood fragments into the air that showered down over him. “You were fucking family, Nick!”

“I didn’t want to die,” Nick said, his left hand trembling. Could he shoot her? He had almost done it already, but that was reflex. Now he was piloting manually and could he do it? “Ella, they had me in a room. They would’ve killed me-”

“And either one of us would’ve made the other choice for you.” Ella spat. Another two bullets, another shower of fragments. To his horror, he saw that the table was starting to crack. Had she been shooting the same spot? When his cover was blown apart he would have to make a decision he didn’t want to make. Eight more shots. “I would have died for you, and Julia would have died for you, you fucking coward.”

“Then why are you mad that I almost let you?” Nick shot back in a strange, nervous energy.

“Excuse me?”

“What’s the difference?” Nick asked. “If you would’ve died for me, then-” Eight bullets hit the table in quick succession and it broke apart into three pieces. He had thought to pick one up like a shield, but instead he rose to his feet when he heard her eject the magazine. No matter how fast she was- She wasn’t reloading. She was aiming at him. He had time to be afraid before a bullet took him in the shoulder, his good shoulder. He rocked back and then lost his balance on the blood he had apparently shed behind his cover, falling hard to the floor. Ella was on him before he thought to reach for his gun. She had shot both of his arms; whether or not he could hold it now was a different question, but she kicked his revolver away, reloading as she stood over him.

“Good reaction. If you didn’t use that stupid revolver you might have gotten me.” She said as she pulled a loose bullet from her pocket, chambering it before she inserted the magazine. “Ella has me load an eighteenth round for moments like these.”

“One in the chamber.” Nick nodded appreciatively as she held her gun over him. “Ella, please don’t.” He said. He couldn’t find it in him to cry no matter how terrified he was, but whether it was shock or terror his whole body was trembling. On second thought, shock was more likely.

“Yeah, see I don’t enjoy this.” Ella said. “You are my brother. Not were, are. I don’t want to do this, but you almost got us killed and I just don’t trust you.”

“Then trust me.” Julia said and Ella whipped her gun around so fast her arm blurred, or maybe it was the blurry vision. Ella caught her hand and twisted, using the other to catch the gun safely.

“He sold us out!” Ella said, massaging her wrist.

“I know.” Julia said. “I always knew.” She was older than them by a decade. She looked down at Nick and he swallowed, trying to process the information. “Let’s bandage him up and get to the part where we shoot people who aren’t us.”

“But…” Ella frowned. “Julia…”

“I never asked either of you to die for me.” Julia said. “I said we might, said it could happen. But I’m not interested in making martyrs of you if I can help it. Now help me do this.” She said as she stooped down to strip Nick’s shirt so she could begin the process of bandaging him.

“How did you know?” Nick asked, groaning as she applied pressure. He had lost a lot of blood, probably too much. He hoped not; he still didn’t want to die.

“You were always a terrible liar.” She said.

“You never asked.”

“And yet you told me with every furtive look and every nervous tick. I never had to ask. Now shut up and conserve your strength. You really should’ve told me sooner.” She said.

“You should’ve told me sooner!” Ella said at last, not being nearly as gentle though not quite cruel either as she wrapped Nick’s shoulder wound before realizing. “Shit this is going to need stitches.”

“Oh fuck me.” Nick hissed. Ella shot him a furious look and he quieted down until the next time they touched him, which was a few seconds later.

“I hoped I could get the guns out of your hands first.” Julia sighed. “That’s on me.” The rest of the night proceeded without gunfire. By the time Nick was taken care of, it was an iffy thing and they lost their chance.

Maybe next time, Julia had said, though there was a look in her eye that said she wasn’t sure if that was true.

[trailsofink]

Inktober Day Nine: Beautiful Gas Mask

A song and story about two people who love in each other in the midst of inevitable danger. 

Here’s 1,026 words of platonic sweetness

The rain pelted Conn’s house as the two friends huddled together inside, each wearing a separate blanket wrapped around them. Conn leaned their head against Rain’s shoulder and shivered, a word appearing in front of Rain’s face in a heavy font that went from white to blue in a gradient.

“Cold.”

“Me too.” Rain mouthed and then belatedly she realized Conn wasn’t looking at her, just shivering. She sighed and rested her head against theirs, closing her eyes and trying to will some of the warmth around them. It didn’t work of course.

“I would sign,” The words appeared before her. “But it’s too cold.” The last word was in the same font as before while the rest was in a more respectable white. Rain raised her head and Conn took the hint, looking up towards her while she mouthed words.

“I didn’t know you could make text in the Veil like that.” She said.

“I don’t like doing it.” Came the reply instantly. The scent of fear rose slightly and Rain smiled, shaking her head.

“Then don’t. We don’t need words, Conn.”

“I don’t like thinking.” The words came and Rain frowned. “Everything is dangerous and who knows if tomorrow will come?”

“Conn?” Rain asked and Conn cocked their head. “Can I touch you?” For a moment, Conn only stared. They seemed to be processing something and she could almost see their reporter instincts kicking in, understanding a story better than they had any right to. They rarely touched, and if anything it was never hands to skin.

“Is it related to your powers?” Conn asked and Rain nodded. “Go ahead.”

“Wait,” Rain frowned, expecting to have a discussion and finding none as if she had tried to lean on a wall and fallen to the ground. “Aren’t you going to ask-”

“I trust you.” The words came, the final word in a soft, red font. Rain smiled and trembled slightly as she pushed her fingers outside of the blanket. She held them out and Conn’s hand came without hesitation. She interlaced her fingers with theirs and closed her eyes, feeling for the sensation she always held in like holding in her stomach and she relaxed the muscles for the first time in years.

The world bled away, first the dimly lit room and then the sound of rain and color bloomed around them, vibrant flowers in a hundred types, an endless, rolling field of wild flowers at a spring midday where the two of them stood in a small, circular clearing.

“What is this?” Conn asked, stooping to examine a wild rose. They paused midway through the action, touching their mouth and turning to Rain.

“We’re not speaking.” Rain replied without moving her mouth. “This is what I call the…” She paused, frowning. “I don’t have a name for it. The feeling field?”

“What is it?” Conn replied in sign.

“It’s the inner landscape of a person, I think this one is mine. When an emotion overwhelms and spikes out, one of the flowers or maybe it’s an array of them spill their scent into the air.” She said and Conn nodded slowly, looking around and signing.

“It smells a little sour right now.”

“Worry.” She said when Conn looked back to her. She was using her mouth now and, though she realized she could speak into Conn’s mind she thought it was maybe too far with the way they continued signing for comfort.

“Are you okay?” They signed.

“I’m… I haven’t done this in a long time.” She said.

“Why?”

“It’s difficult to control. Last time, a girl I liked touched me when I didn’t have control and our emotions were panicked and bleeding into each other until…” She shook her head. “She never spoke to me again.”

“I see.” They said and then, after a moment’s consideration. “Why did you bring me here?”

“Because.” Rain sighed. “Because I’m scared, because you’re scared, but there’s more to it. There’s more to all of this.” She swept her hand across the field. “This is the landscape I’ve cultivated over the last haverlong and so much of it is better than fear. Fear smells like rot, fear isn’t a flower. Instead? Instead I have determination, I have love and loyalty, I have sadness but I have joy too.” She gestured to all of them.

“What are you trying to say?” Conn asked. “Because I understand all of what you said, but not the point you’re making.”

“The point is, yes I’m afraid. Yes, you’re afraid. But there’s more. There’s more to all of this than that.” She raised her chin. “Everything is changing, the corporations have moved in and they have pounced on that fear in order to make more money for themselves. That’s terrifying. But there’s so much more. Let’s be ruled by everything else. Let’s be ruled by love and by courage. Let’s be ruled by everything but fear.”

“There will still be danger.”

“Thorns do not mar beauty.” Rain said and Conn grinned. “What’s the strongest scent right now?” She asked after a second thought.

“I don’t know flowers well enough.” Conn signed back and then, after a moment’s consideration, they pointed. Rain turned to see that the places where once there had been flowers of varying shades of sorrow, there was now an entire wave of red geraniums. Determination and courage. She turned back, smiling. “Is that good?”

“It means I know we can do this. Yes, we’re doing something impossible. Yes, we might fall. But god, we’re doing something worth doing.”

“Rain?”

“Yes?” Rain asked.

“Can you teach me about the flowers?” They signed and then shrugged. “Maybe we can have codewords. It could be helpful.”

“We already have sign language.”

“Translators.”

“Right. Sure, okay.” Rain took a breath and waved for them to follow through the field. “This one is a geranium and it means…”

The two of them stayed in the spring emotion plane for what may have been hours, though when they returned no time had passed. Still, they were both better for it and Rain had taken a large step to being less afraid of herself.

[trailsofink]

Inktober Day Eight: Damn These Vampires

I know this song is a metaphor, but it’s halloween so 

927 words of a vampire story made gay

A dark coat, a moonless night, and a bottle of holy water stolen from the church down the street. Lindsay wasn’t entirely sure that still made it holy water, but she wasn’t about to consult with a priest. Besides, there was no time; Halloween was almost upon her and when it was over, all of her courage would flee like a hundred bats from a cave’s mouth. She took a deep, shuddering breath and started up the walkway to the final house on the final street in her town; 25 Windholm Avenue. There had been a hundred versions of the story she heard growing up, a hundred ways in which the vampires of Windholm had come and corrupted the town in this way and that. Never mind that the town still stood and the house remained, never mind that clearly someone lived here considering there was never a for sale sign. Would anyone want to buy the two story home, rotted to its foundations, which Lindsay suspected were toothpicks and gum? Probably not, but that wasn’t the point.

She realized she was stalling and she quickened her step, walking up the three steps to the porch and knocking on the door three times before she could run. While she waited, she slipped her fingers into her black denim coat, fingering the bottle of holy water. All in all, it hadn’t been that different from real holy water.

“It probably won’t work.” She muttered as she waited. “Why would anyo-” The door opened and she froze, clutching the holy water in her hand as a pallid woman in an impeccable waistcoat out of a period piece opened the door.

“It is too early for halloween.” She sighed. “You are not even in costume.”

“I…” Lindsay stammered. “I request an audience with your high unholiness.”

“My what?” The woman replied, frowning.

“Erika, who is calling on us in the dead of night?” Another voice asked.

“I do not know,” Erika replied. “She wishes to be our audience.”

“Uh.” Lindsay said. “No, I…” She paused. “Would that be okay?” None of this was going strictly to plan and she held her holy water tightly, though now it was more out of unsurety than strictly fear.

“Let her in, it is late.” The voice said and Erika shrugged, stepping aside and revealing a truly lavish home, the wooden floors shined to a polish and the flowery wallpaper impeccable, little gas lanterns lining the walls and burning. Lindsay gaped as she stepped in side and she barely heard Erika speak as she led her through the confusingly nice home until they were in a sitting room, another woman dressed like she stepped out of a production of Les Miserables. They were both striking in their own way. “Ah, welcome.” She said. “What do you wish to see?”

“No, I…” Lindsay stammered. “I want…” She cleared her throat and held her head high. “I wish to make a request of you, O heralds of the night.” The two women shared a look. Lindsay pressed on. “I would like to become one of you.” Her heart beat so loudly in her ears that she worried she might miss what their reply was.

“We…” Erika said, frowning as she searched for words. “Are monogamous, I am afraid.”

“What…” Lindsay said.

“Besides, you are too young by far, we are at least a decade your seniors.” The other woman replied.

“No, I… not…” Lindsay furrowed her brow. “A vampire! I want to be a vampire!”

“Yes, wouldn’t that be a dream?” Sighed Erika, looking as if it were her only dream.

“Child, do you think us vampires?” The other woman asked.

“I…”

“Do not think we do not hear the tales of our home, but I assure you we are simply two ordinary women. Now,” She stood and Lindsay pulled the holy water from her pocket, clasping the bottle tight in her hand. “You are trying to bribe us with vodka?”

“That might work,” Erika replied.

“No,” Lindsay said, clearing her throat. “This is holy water, so… Just. Don’t do anything hasty.”

“Holy water?” The other woman frowned, cocking her head. “No, that looks like ordinary water. Holy water is an oil and that is not.” Lindsay frowned, looking down at the bottle in her hand. She tilted it and saw how thin the liquid was.

“But… No, I stole it from the church. Their secret supply in their living areas, there was a basin.”

“Child,” The woman pinched the bridge of her nose. “Why would they keep holy water in a basin in their quarters?”

“I… But what could it be?”

“You have stolen holy wash water.” Erika replied and the other woman snorted.

“Indeed.” The woman said.

“Okay.” Lindsay sighed. “Okay, but.” She could feel the blush on her cheeks.  “I-”

“Child, the hour grows quite late and you must return to your home.” The woman said and Lindsay froze as her eyes began to glow a deep, crimson red. She tried to open her mouth to speak but she was frozen and soon her will to do anything but listen evaporated. “Go now, see your family, and forget everything you have seen this night. Know that you may only return here on hallow’s eve and else you shall be turned away.”

“Yes, of course.” Lindsay said as she began to walk. When the door closed, Erika sighed.

“I wish we did not have to do this.”

“I know,” The woman said, moving to sit by her side and rest an arm around her shoulders. Erika leaned into her chest and she held her there. “But it keeps everyone from being harmed.”

“I cannot believe she stole wash water.” Erika said and the laughter that came next spilled out into the night, rising high into the moonless night.

[trailsofink]

Inktober Days 5-7: Multiple Prompts

I got a little behind here, so I decided to write a three part story since it was a good way to catch back up. So here’s a continuing story in three parts:

Day Five: Deuteronomy 2:10 - a song about deep, unassailable loneliness after loss

Day Six: Orange Ball of Love -  a mix of love and distrust

Day Seven: Harlem Roulette - another song about loneliness, though this one is more related to feeling ineffectual and hopeless

I promise I make these softer than they appear. It’s me, it’s what I do. 

Here’s 3,824 words of me catching up

Deuteronomy 2:10

Rain could taste the fear on the wind like roses gone to rot. She tried to convince herself that this was a positive step. A change in the world could go either way when the coin hit the pavement. But she knew better and her intuition would not let her find hope in the false shadows those thoughts cast.

Once the city’s winds tasted like joy, though a capricious aftertaste had run beneath them. She found it difficult to put a name to the emotion for the longest time. She had thought perhaps it could be envy, but that wasn’t it. Perhaps it was more distrust? It was only after months of idle deliberation that she found an answer. It should have been obvious from the start. Detachment or, as she eventually came to call it, Independence.

Her city, Blackness of the Ocean, had been a powerhouse, the planetary capital of influencers. There had been great priests whose follower counts were unlike anyone else’s. There had been media enough to cover the clock a thousand times per day and at least two percent of it was worth watching. And all the while all the tools of integration and networking somehow only insulated people. Followers were not people, they were a number and the higher the number went, the deeper the commodification of the self. Every window became a mirror and every skyline a canvas for promotion.

At first, Rain had been glad to see things start to collapse. She had spoken to her two friends about how beneficial this could be. The mirrors were shattered, literally and figuratively, and she thought that it would finally lead to self-reflection. And it did. The problem was, none of the people who saw a need to change decided to stay, including her friends. And all of the people who were won over to her way of thinking at long last, all of the people who realized that Vanity had reigned over Humanity and might become her allies were gone.

She had thought to leave, she really did. It would be easy, really; there were plenty of rides out of town and she was even offered one by half of her friends. But she declined the second she scented the air, the second the rosy joy turned to rotten fear, decomposing the very cityscape like a field gone fallow.

“Why?” Trust had asked her from the driver’s seat of their car. “Why do you insist on staying here?” Confusion swirled along the wind.

“Because they’re afraid.” Rain had said. She had raised her chin high, defiant, ready to argue the point.

“Yeah, that’s a perfect reason to leave.”

“That must be where we differ.” Rain had replied. It was an unhappy revelation at best, though she put a smile on her face. “I’m sorry, Trust. I really can’t.” Trust tried to hide their displeasure, though they could never hide it from Rain. Not that they knew it. Rain had never said what she was.

“Well good luck.” Trust sighed at last and resignation flooded Rain’s senses, smelling of poppy. Red or white she couldn’t tell, it was a small distinction. “If you change your mind, give me a call.”

“You would come back for me?” Rain asked, genuine surprise on her face. Trust scowled at her expression or at her surprise. A yellow carnation beneath her nose. Disdain or was it disappointment?

“Rain, I know you never really believed I was your friend. Maybe that’s my fault, maybe it’s not. But you have to believe in someone. Priv and I are leaving and just. Promise me you’re going to look after yourself.”

“Of course.”

“By finding someone. You need people.”

“I don’t-” Rain began and the scent of geranium rose so thickly in the air that she stopped even before Trust hardened their expression in a way that signaled digging their heels in and dying on that hill if they must. Rain bowed her head. Trust may have been many things, but when determination was their primary emotion there was no winning. “Okay. Maybe you’re right.” She wasn’t sure if she believed it, but she couldn’t handle the drawn out discussion, she couldn’t deal with more of these strong emotions, her sinuses were killing her.

“Promise?”

“I promise.” Rain said. Whether she agreed with Trust or not, she wouldn’t deny them their last request. Trust nodded. That settled, they simply drove off, leaving Rain all but alone in the city.

And now she walked with the scent of fear in the air, thick as smog. She did nothing but surf the emotions, walking through the city square and trying desperately to find something different, trying to find someone with hope or with joy.

It seemed impossible. At least until she found the first broadcast.

Orange Ball of Love

There were hundreds of broadcasts where there used to be thousands, their content ranging far and wide. Some people still held to the old ways, streaming their breakfasts, their daily routine, a trip to work filled with all their thoughts about how electrofolk would be affected by the fall of the city. Rain knew the latter to be precisely the kinds of broadcasts they claimed to be. It was the strange, earnest ones that turned out to be liars in the end. They seemed to care so much and, though she couldn’t scent emotion through broadcasts, she knew people well enough to know their tones, know all the ways in which they lied for the camera. It made little sense after the decrease in viewership, but people clung to their old rituals, their old religions.

All of that was to say, she thought she knew the scope of the world. Even in the apocalyptic exodus of streams, she knew the score. Which is exactly why she burned her eggs when she found something new. She had been aimlessly flipping through channels while she cooked her breakfast, more interested in getting a sense of who was broadcasting rather than what. But then a soundless broadcast came up and she had to check to make sure that there wasn’t a problem with her Veil interface. The picture was coming through fine, the shoreline at some isolated portion of the beach. She waved her fingers to mute, the screen hanging in the air showing a small speaker with a red line through it and then the red line disappearing as she unmuted. Nothing.

“Hmm.” She said, dismissing the window and then tapping the air in front of her again. A black ripple ran through, as if she had tapped the surface of quite a bit of ink and as the ripple widened, it slowed down and became the screen once more. Still no sound. There were people who did this, though typically it was over something like a painting they were making or an amateur doing an interstitial point in their broadcast in a particularly artsy way. This looked like an earnest video, which made her squint her eyes waiting for the hook.

And then the sound came in.

It was slight at first, the camera walking along the beach to the tune of seagulls and waves. But soon she heard a gap and realized that the sound was looping for some reason, even though the picture was not. She reached out and enlarged the screen with another ripple effect, staring and trying to discern what was happening. Some avant garde filmmaker trying to make a statement? That wasn’t the way of Blackness of the Ocean, not without the artist in the frame. She was still considering this when the sound began to form into a pattern, the loops overlayed onto each other along with new sounds, a rock thudding into another, the sound of stepping on sand amplified. The world was slowly forming a song. She smiled. The eggs burned. No, that was a lie; the eggs positively scorched.

“Fuck.” She swore, hurriedly fixing her mistake as smoke started to rise from the pan. She had to scrape them off and then she held a dehydrated mess of blackened egg powder in what she hoped wasn’t a ruined pan. Well, she couldn’t eat those, could she? She pulled up another screen with another ripple and her refrigerator display told her she was out of eggs. She only had it tracking eggs, otherwise it would’ve read: “and everything else.” She took a deep breath before switching to her account. Enough for eggs. That would work. Finally, she went to get ready, about to dismiss the window of the broadcast before thinking better of it, bringing it with her as she got ready, letting it lock to its position relative to her as she put on shoes and threw on a hoodie before making her way outside, switching the window to private and shrinking it so she wouldn’t accidentally walk into traffic or start up a conversation.

The city was a blur. She made the walk mostly on rote, instead watching as the broadcaster found various creatures along the seashore and fed them various things. The turtle received some greens and the birds received birdseed, presumably for this purpose all the while the music went on. It was only when she had her eggs in hand that she realized she’d gone through the entire trip on memory and ambient information. The thought terrified her, but the fact that she hadn’t scented the fear on the air was incredible.

Another thought occurred to her: whoever was broadcasting? They were from this city.

A final thought occurred to her: the beach looked an awful lot like hers.

She had a choice to make. She could make a dumb decision or she could take her eggs home and actually eat something. They weren’t technically mutually exclusive actions, but by the time she cemented herself back into her routine, the call of foolishness would leave her and she would be back in her life. Perhaps she would’ve done that on a different day. If the world had continued on, if Trust hadn’t made her promise to look after herself and find people. But here she was, a half dozen eggs in one hand, the beach not so far away and the video of the beach showing someone feeding some crustacean a piece of lettuce.

She turned away from her house and down the street that took her to the beach. And when the foolishness of it began to set in, she walked faster. By the time she made it to the beach, she was jogging, eggs in hand as she quickly scanned the horizon, her heart racing. Her mind tried to ask her why she was doing this, what she hoped to gain and she ignored it with the frantic pursuit of this weird streamer and their weird stream whose music was a noted absence from her world the second she muted. She unmuted and lowered the volume instead as she tried to find a landmark in the video. At last she did, a craggy cliffside with an outjutting that looked- yes! She found a silhouette exactly where it should be and realized belatedly that it could have just been someone streaming a recording. She was glad it wasn’t.

Even as she bridged the distance, sand finding its way into her shoes. Even as she realized she had no idea how to start this conversation. Because beneath the spray of the sea she could scent roses, not the cut bouquets the city used to resemble, but a field of wild ones. And the closer she got, the stronger it got until she was at last a few meters out from the person.

“Hey!” She called. The figure didn’t turn, but she heard her voice fall into the  recording and then start to get remixed in along with the other sounds. She frowned, muting the stream. Confusion scented the air and, if she could sense her own emotions, she might have confused it for hers. As it stood, she watched as the figure stopped walking and turned to scan the horizon, finding her at last. She waved, a small smile on her face. They began to sign back, their hands casting slow words into the air and she rapidly switched her video feed to a translation one, the words hanging in the air in front of her.

“Can I help you with something?” They asked and there was no sense of concern, either on their face or on the wind, just a genuine question? For a moment, Rain was stumped and then she switched on a translate function and started to speak.

“I…was… watching…” She said and signed the words that came up as best she could. Other words appeared on screen and she glanced at the streamer to realize they were speaking before reading the words.

“I can read your lips.” They signed.

“Oh.” She said, clearing her throat. “Well, uh.” She dismissed the signing instructions, though made a mental note to start learning them if she was going to talk to this person. “I was watching your stream and…” How to phrase it? She watched their face and they waited patiently, the start of a smile on their lips. Their curly hair fell over their brown eyes, matching prettily with their dark skin. “I wanted to say I’m a big fan.”

“Thank you.” They signed back and they were grinning. Warmth spread across Rain’s cheeks and she swallowed, unable to keep herself from smiling. Their genuine pleasure scented the moonflower touching the air. They didn’t mention that she could’ve just texted or started a window. They began to sign again and she looked to the words as they appeared. “Did you bring me eggs?” Confusion, though laced with amusement.

“Oh, I was just on the way home from the store…” She paused, realizing this far into suburbia, the closest store really was the one she had left from. Meaning…

“A long way.” The words read and she laughed.

“I wanted to do something foolish.”

“What’s your name?” They asked through a quick sign.

“Rai-…” She paused. She had grown accustomed to giving only the part of her name she had everyone call her by for so long, but this was a formal introduction in some strange way, wasn’t it? “All the Rainbow’s Heavy Tones in a Joyous Chord.” She said and then smiled. “Rain for short.”

“I like it.” They signed with a smile. “A very happy name. I am A Connection Made in Broken Stone.” They shrugged and continued signing, though at a rapid pace now that they knew her to be using the translator. “It doesn’t abbreviate well, I go by Conn.” They spelled the letters out one at a time and the translator put a dash between each one.

“Conn is a nice name,” She said, winking as she bridged the distance. “A little criminal.”

“I love crime.” They said and she laughed. “I was going to have lunch, bring your eggs and we can have egg lunch.”

“What’s egg lunch?” She asked, grinning already. This was easy. She realized to some extent that their easy happiness was infecting her but she was long past the point of being troubled by that sort of thing. For the longest time, the independence had affected her and made her less likely to make connections, maybe it still did, but she learned how to interpret what was hers and what wasn’t and take what she wanted from the stream of scents.

“Toast and eggs?” They signed with a shrug and she smiled, nodding. The two of them walked down the shoreline.

“How often do you stream this?” She asked, making sure her face was turned towards them so they could see.

“Every so often. It keeps me sane.” Came the reply and she frowned. There wasn’t an extra emotion on the air but the wild rose ebbed slightly.

“What does that mean?”

“Work is…” They frowned and mint rose into her nose, suspicion? No, not in this context. Worry, maybe? “I am a reporter.”

“Oh,” She said. Somehow she hadn’t expected that.

“Business and economics.” They replied and she winced. They smiled, though the scent of roses didn’t get any stronger. “Exactly, not the kind of thing that gets you friends you like.”

“Why do you do it?” She asked, frowning. “If you don’t like it…” A series of rapid signs came and she read along quickly as a paragraph formed.

“Because someone has to do it. Everyone else is on their payroll and at the end of the day, I can say that I gave my editor the facts and that I did my part no matter what the rest of them say.” They looked to her, frowning and signing. “Did that sound convincing?”

“I thought so.” She said as the scent of mint rose higher. “Did you not believe it?”

“I’m trying to.” They signed. “It just feels like I’m not getting anything done. Especially with the way everything has gone in the city, I just feel so-”

“Powerless.” She said and they nodded, dropping their hands before signing the word. “I’m going to tell you something.” She said and they stopped along the beach, turning to her and giving her their attention. The scent of sunflower rose and she smiled at it, loyalty was it? To her? “I’ve never told anyone this.”

“Why me?” They signed, more confusion spilling out.

“Because I don’t have anyone left in this city.” She said. “Because it’s killing me that I don’t. Because my friend Trust was right? Because I wish I had told them and I didn’t and I just.” She took a deep breath. “You might not believe me, but not believing me is at least a start.”

“Go on,” They signed when she hit a long pause.

“I can sense emotions. I have been able to for the longest time and I…” She wrapped her arms around herself. “I keep feeling all the fear on the wind from this city and you’re the first person who has felt like anything but fear. You feel like hope and happiness in a way I’ve never really understood so.” She took a shuddering breath, realizing how close she was to crying and stopping herself before she could. “That’s it, that’s what I have to say and God I just realized I told a reporter all of that.” Her world was awash in the scent of Geranium, the determination equal to what Truth had smelled like when she made Rain promise to do exactly this. Well, not exactly, maybe.

“I believe you.” They signed in the air, making slower, more dramatic signs. “Why would you come to a stranger and lie? Besides.” They shrugged. “I know when someone is lying.”

“Because you’re a reporter?”

“Because I watch carefully.” They signed and she smiled, her nerves still alight even as she tried to process what had just happened. “Would you like a hug?” They asked and she nodded. “Watch the eggs.” They signed and she laughed, holding the eggs away from her body as the stranger stepped in for a hug, holding her tight. She didn’t know when she started crying, but they held her until she stopped and when she finally stepped away they signed and she had to readjust her translation window from having moved when they hugged before she read, “Ready for that lunch?”

“God, yes I’m starving.” She said as they continued their walk along the beach.

Harlem Roulette

Weeks passed. For awhile it looked as if the city would collapse beneath the weight of the exodus, but that didn’t last for long. Companies came in and found plenty of uses for the heavy consumption streams of Blackness of the Ocean. Soon everything was revitalized and Rain and Conn could only watch in dawning horror as the world they thought they escaped rebuilt itself in a more horrible visage.

“We could just leave.” Rain signed as the two of them sat on the couch, the Veil window before them holding streams of a dozen ads.

“We could.” Agreed Conn in a series of rapid signs that Rain barely had to think about. “But you wouldn’t be happy.”

“How do you figure?” Rain replied before taking a sip of her whiskey, setting it down again so she was ready to reply when Conn was done.

“You didn’t leave the first time.”

“I was dumber then.”

“Or smarter.”

“Fine,” She sighed. “I won’t be happy if I leave, but…” She gestured at the four rows and three columns of windows. “This can’t stay like this. These ads are terrible, they’re all for things like untested medications that are either snake oil or sponges sold as weight loss. There’s all these political attack ads and I only know the politicians from the attack ads? This whole city is thriving in a way worse than it ever has before and…” She flexed her fingers and rolled her wrists.

“You could still let me lip read.”

“No.” She signed back and continued. “I just. Someone has to do something.”

“Another exodus?”

“No.” She signed. “An exodus makes a power vacuum. What we need is someone to take the offensive. There’s a way to break this down. There’s a way to use attack ads to our benefit. I…” She paused. “I can tell which ads are effective and which aren’t. I’ve got a knack for this.”

“Because of your power?” They asked and she nodded. “Could you change minds by…”

“No.” She signed. “Or rather I could, but I refuse to. I’m not changing anyone’s emotions without their consent, you know that.”

“I do.” They signed. “Sorry. But Rain, making ads won’t be enough. We need to do more than that if we’re going to act at all.”

“What more can we do?” She asked.

“Expose.” Conn replied with a quick sign. “You know I can broadcast anything. I’m a reporter with a strong channel.”

“Wait…” Rain frowned. “Are you saying…” She drank the rest of her whiskey and poured herself another.

“Look, you’re right.” They signed. “We can’t leave, we can’t stay here like this, so let’s do something.”

“You’re dreaming.” Rain replied. “This is an awful dream.”

“Even awful dreams are good dreams so long as you’re dreaming.” They signed back and she laughed. “What do you say? Let’s do some damage.”

“Sure.” She signed at once. “I’m in. But I’m not nearly drunk enough to deal with it.” She said as she worked on her second whiskey. It was going to be a long night and whatever happened next would be even longer, but. Finally.

Finally there was something on the horizon worth looking towards. She didn’t know if this was what Truth wanted for her. Actually, it was more like she was absolutely sure it wasn’t. However, here she was and she was going to do the best with what she had.

[trailsofink]

Inktober Day Three: New Monster Avenue

New Monster Avenue is a song about someone considering their actions as the consequences race to meet them. Here’s 1,010 words about a woman outsmarting being framed.

Andy sat across the table from the man who had been a stranger up until a few hours prior. He had a head of curly hair that fell just short of his eyes and he was exactly twenty two years old, more of a young man really. His brown eyes refused to meet hers and instead took particular interest in the wood grain of her table. 

“It’s a facade.” She said at last, taking a sip of her vanilla tea, which was finally cool enough to drink. 

“Yeah, it doesn’t look like real wood.” Jesse replied and she took a deep breath. She had meant to calm herself, but the added bonus of inhaling two lungs full of vanilla did wonders to amplify the effect. 

“No, I mean me. Everything you know about me, it’s all bullshit.” Andy said, setting her teacup down. It was more of a mug, the rim chipped on the opposite side and she wrapped her fingers around it to steal its warmth. 

“Yeah, of course you’d say that.” Jesse scoffed. 

“Because it’s the truth?” Andy asked.

“Because it’s what you’re supposed to say when you’re the bad… woman.”

“Antagonist.”

“Just because you’re someone’s aunt doesn’t-” She didn’t listen to the rest of his sentence, massaging the bridge of her nose instead. Whoever had done this, they had done a remarkable job in picking their mark. He didn’t realize anything about the situation and she wondered if she could convince him. It didn’t matter, she had to try. 

“Jesse, someone in this town hates me.” She said. “And they’re trying to hurt me. Do you know who it is?” Jesse found another spot on the table to look and she cocked her head. That wasn’t a no. “Jesse, who took you that barn?”

“You’re not a cop,” Jesse said hesitantly. 

“No,” Andy agreed. “I’m not a cop. Do you like cops? Word in town is you have a lot of run ins with them, so either you’re a big fan or…” He doubled down at the spot he was staring and she nodded. “I’m not a cop, Jesse. I’m not the bad woman, I’m not actually anyone’s aunt for that matter. I’m just a lady trying to live her life and someone took you to that barn and whoever did really wanted what’s about to happen to go differently.” Bad move. Jesse’s head snapped up, real fear in his eyes. 

“What are you going to do?” He asked quickly.

“The police are on their way.” Andy explained. “We don’t have much time-”

“Get away from me!” Jesse said backing up towards the wall. She winced as the chair toppled over in his rush to get away. “They said you made Cynthia disappear.”

“I didn’t do that.” Andy explained slowly. “Jesse-” The first blaring siren cut through the silence of the room and Andy swallowed. He couldn’t run. If he ran it would spoil everything. “Just sit down and talk, I’m not going to hurt you.” “If you weren’t going to hurt me why would you even say that?” Jesse asked. His hand tightened on the doorknob. Should she chase him? No. She decided in that instant. He may be younger than her by a decade but he was fast. He had been on one of the sports teams in high school. Football? Soccer? One of the running ones, whichever it was that was only a few years ago and he still looked like he could easily outpace her. So, trust then.

“Jesse, what whoever is trying to frame me wants is for the police to get here and take me in. You’re not my hostage. Once they walk in and see you’re fine, they won’t have any reason to take me in.” The sirens were almost here. Maybe if he ran now they would see. No. It would still look bad. It would look like they had caught her in the act. 

“What… what do they think…” 

“Jesse, last chance. Who put you in that barn? Because what they told the police is that I killed you.” Andy said and Jesse’s face fell as horror struck him. Had she pushed too far? 

“But…” Jesse frowned. The sirens were right outside. She needed to hurry. “Put it to you this way: If I was on trial for your murder and whoever was trying to frame me just let you walk out of that barn, I would be off the hook. You would tell them I didn’t do it. So, Jesse, you have to tell me who tried to put you in that barn because whatever they said? They were going to kill you tonight.”

“James!” Jesse said. “James said…” He bit his lip. A door slammed outside.

“James who?” She asked. She needed a name. Just give her a name.

“James Chris.” Jesse said.

“Police! Open up! We have a warrant!” The shout was from the other side of the door with accompanying knocks. Andy took a breath and stood, raising both her empty hands as the police broke down the door. If she had tried to open it, she would have been hit. To his credit, James stepped aside as if knowing that would happen. Officers filed in, pistols drawn and kevlar vests donned. “You are under arrest for the suspected murder of Jesse Fitzgerald, put your hands on-”

“Hey Frank,” Jesse called from behind the door and Frank turned on him so fast that he screamed. For a moment, Frank did nothing. It was only when one of the other officers began to read Andy her Miranda rights that he spoke. 

“Stop,” Frank said. 

“What?” The officer asked, upset to be pulled out of his speech. “What the hell, Frank, she’s a murderer.” So much for due process. 

“Who did she murder?” Jesse asked and Andy fought back a grin. Good kid. 

“So… You’re not under arrest.” Frank said, turning to her. “But you have a lot of questions to answer.”

“Gladly.” Andy said. “Can you all lower your guns? My tea is getting cold.” 

[trailsofink]

Inktober Day Three: Unicorn Tolerance

Unicorn Tolerance is about someone who is trying very hard to be hard while wrestling with still liking softer, cuter things. I wrote a gay version because of course I did.

Here’s 956 words I wrote at work.

The image in the mirror frowned. The outfit was technically right and Tyler knew that for a fact. He'd copied Alex's outfit, after all. The tight, black slacks and the nice, black vest with the dark purple dress shirt beneath it, sleeves long. Maybe it was because Alex was taller or more muscular. He sighed and then jumped when the salesperson spoke from beside him.

"Not half bad," They said, cheer on their voice. "Ooh," They winced when Tyler jumped. "Didn't mean to sneak up on you there, sorry."

"That's okay." Tyler replied, trying to pretend he hadn't jumped.

"Now, it's store policy to ask if guests need help but I'm kind of a shitty employee usually." The salesperson said and Tyler finally turned to them, seeing a cute, chubby darker skinned person, their hair a poof of lavender on their head.

"I like your hair." Tyler said without thinking and then blushed once he heard himself. He was really fucking up this whole aloof demeanor. The salesperson grinned and he didn't regret his words nearly as much.

"Thanks, see that's what I was gonna say, though. The dark looks good on you, but." They laughed, seeming to think twice. "Honestly, I hate being bothered when I'm shopping, you can tell me to buzz off and I'll go."

"No," Tyler said. "What were you going to say?"

"Well, I think a lighter color would look cute on you. Maybe something more like this," They touched their hair. "Or a good mint green."

"I was kind of set on the black." Tyler said, looking back at his reflection. "I just. I don't get why I don't look..." He trailed off.

"Do you like pink?" They asked and Tyler blinked at the non-sequitur. He was about to ask why when the salesperson held up a bubblegum pink shirt and he froze. "Is that a no?"

"If I wore that..." Tyler said, pursing his lips.

"Ah, weird parents?"

"No, my friends..."

"Aren't here." They shrugged. "Honestly, how long until a cute boy asks you to try on a pink shirt again." They winked and Tyler blushed.

"It might come up again."

"Maybe," They agreed.

"I'll try it." Tyler said and their grin was worth it just like he expected. In a couple minutes he was staring at his reflection in the dressing room, trying his best to hate it.

"So, do I get to see my creation?" The salesperson asked.

"Uh," Tyler said. "Do you... Not have other customers?"

"It's a slow day in slow season in a dying store, man. If I get another customer I'll just tell my boss I died of shock."

"Promise you don't work on commissions?"

"Why do you think I suck at my job? Because I can afford to."

"Okay." Tyler said taking a breath. "Okay." He stepped out of the dressing room and they immediately put a hand on their own chest.

"Oh thank God I was right."

"You think so?" Tyler asked, looking down at himself.

"It looks great with your skin tone. If you untied your hair..." Tyler paused and then, shrugging, reached up and untied his hair, allowing the long, curly locks to spring back into place around his head. He ran his hands through it to even it out and the salesperson grinned.

"That's a look." They said. "What's this for by the way? If it's a funeral..."

"A concert."

"Oh." They said.

"It's a goth show, funeral was a good guess, honestly. But like a stylish one." He said and they laughed. He smiled. "I'm torn, I think I look good too, but... I'm not sure I look the part."

"The part?" They asked. "Listen, my professional opinion? Wear what ton want to wear and fuck the rest. If you want to wear the pink, fuck them. If you want to wear the black, fuck me." They paused as Tyler blushed. "Could've worded that better, admittedly. But my point stands. I don't get a commission and they're not you." They shrugged.

"You really think the pink looks better?"

"I think the black is hey, what's your name. I think the pink is hey, here's my number." Tyler laughed and they smiled. "Sorry, I like teasing you. Yes, the pink is definitely a great look but so is the black. Your call."

"Hmm." Tyler said, turning back to the mirror and considering.

A thought struck him and he grinned. He actually hadn't bought the tickets yet. "Hey..." He said, acting before any of his senses could tell him it was a bad idea. He met their eyes in the mirror. "How serious was..." He cleared his throat as the anxiety found him. "The uh... Numerical thing."

"The...?" They asked, puzzled. After a moment they laughed. "Oh! Well, I'm not trading you my number for a shirt." They said and Tyler laughed, a little embarrassed but it was fair enough. "But I'll give you my number before you buy."

"Oh," Tyler said, stunned. Somehow he hadn't expected that to work.

"Ready?"

"One sec." Tyler pulled his phone out. "Okay go." He took the number down and put his phone away.

"Buddy?"

"Hmm?"

"Gonna help you out here, you're going to need a name too. It's Walter."

"Oh, right. I'm Tyler."

"I get off at eight if you're free." Walter said. "Well, I mean I'm off at eight either way."

"I've got absolutely nothing going on." Tyler said and then winced. "You know that sounded less sad in my head." Walter laughed and Tyler smiled.

"Which shirt, by the way?"

"Pink." Tyler said. He wasn't entirely sure if it was because of the cute boy or he liked it better but just now he was willing to let it ride.

[trailsofink]

Inktober Day Two: Magpie

Magpie is a song about stubbornly maintaining routine in the face of oncoming storms. 

Here’s 395 words I wrote at work.

When they came for her, Rosie was in the field. Most of the crops had withered and succumbed to the autumn frost, but there were still pieces that could be saved, fragments of a dream that had shattered and spilled its debris in the form of stray cucumbers and an eggplant or two.

She heard them coming from a mile away, their engines roaring down the dirt road. She didn't have to look to see the dust billowing up behind them in the dusk and so she continued to fill her basket as best she could until they were upon her, a half dozen meters out.

"Rosie," A sober voice called through the suddenly deafening silence, engines cut to death. "We told you not to be here."

"And I have never answered to you once."

"A gun will answer you," The other choice spat and Rosie smiled at the breaking of decorum.

"Rod," The other rebuked him and he simmered.

"Guarantee you I'm a faster shot than she is a cucumber tosser." Rod said. The other man ignored him.

"Rosie, there's nothing here. They bought the farm."

"They stole the farm." Rosie said.

"The law is not on your side. I'm here as a friend."

"A friend with a gun." Rosie smiled sweetly. "They call those enemies."

"Rosie, they'll kill you. If we don't get you out of here, they'll send more people and more people-"

"Ken..." Rod said, barely containing his rage. "You sound like you're on her side."

"Rosie," Ken said, ignoring him. "I am not your enemy. You have to believe that."

"I believe," Rosie said softly. "That you think that. But this is my family's farm and I am my father's daughter and Ken? I wasn't talking about you." She didn't need to draw. Her hand had been in her basket the entire time. All she had to do was drop the basket and keep hold of the revolver. Ken dropped before the thunder registered on Rod's face and Rod, to his credit, was fast. He managed to get his hand on his pistol. He just wasn't as fast as her and he too fell, silence falling after the ringing in Rosie's ears subsided.

She knelt down and repacked her basket, stowing her pistol back inside and returning to work. Perhaps she could finish her final harvest before the others arrived.

[trailsofink]

Inktober Day One: Werewolf Gimmick

Werewolf Gimmick is a song about a wrestling heel getting way too into the bit in a self-destructive way. I thought about how to give it my own touch.

Here’s 328 words I wrote at work.

Everything was wrong.

The scent in the air, typically excitement and tension but now turned to sour fear. The electricity from a good fight to come now a bleak inevitability. Even the colors of the world, usually bright and vibrant, now stood in dark desaturation. Maybe Glory could have weathered the floor and toed the line of a poor fight, but the audience losing their taste for the show was intolerable.

She turned away from the crowd and grabbed her coat from the locker, throwing it over her leotard and gardening it before knocking on Mike's door. On the third knock she was granted entry to the dingy office.

"Glory, you'd better have a damn good reason for not being on your mark." He said before taking a drag on his cigarette and adding more smoke to the hazy cloud in the room.

"I'm done, Mike." She said.

"Christ, already?" He asked. "Did you kill the guy outside of the ring? You don't get paid for that-"

"I didn't touch him and I'm not going to." She said. "I'm out."

"Out?" He asked, standing from behind his desk, cigarette hanging from his lip. "You don't just get to be out. Do you know what I do for you? No one knows what you are, they think it's just a bit. But it's a full moon tonight and the second you leave the building-"

"Then maybe it's time for them to know."

"You ungrateful-" Mike growled and bit his words off when he saw her bare her teeth. "Just get out." He hissed, dropping into his seat again. She turned towards the door. Maybe there was something left to say, but she couldn't think of what it was for the life of her. And do she left, taking the back door and entering into the cool autumn night. And when the moon struck her and her body began its transformation, no matter what came next she would be free.

[trailsofink]

I’m going to be writing /u/dukbokki’s Mountain Goats prompts from Reddit for Inktober this year.