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 Posted: Mon Aug 14, 2006 6:54 pm
The Idea
Leslie drove home, brow furrowed, gnawing on his lower lip. On a whim, he'd explored the purpose of a building he usually passed on the way home from the grocery store.
What had possessed him to go inside, he'd probably never know.
Should I? Shouldn't I?
He didn't really remember parking in the garage, going up the steps, unlocking the door, or stepping inside his house...but it happened nonetheless.
"Roman?"
Roman, sitting at the table and studying a catalogue of CDs to order for the store, waved at Leslie without looking up.
"Hey, hon," he said, eyes glued to the catalogue. "Which sounds better, Deathbred Automatica or Sundered Jaw? We need more heavy metal stuff, all the scene kids are gettin' ready to riot over the stuff we have."
"Sundered Jaw sounds more violent. Go with that," Leslie laughed and moved to the table, sitting down across from Roman.
"When you're done with that can we...ah...talk."
Oh, you know what he's going to say. Why even try?
"Sundered Jaw it is, then. Hope that'll shut 'em up, good Christ. They never stop bitching," he said pleasantly, making a few notes in the margin of the page and circling things here or there. It took him a minute to pick up on the rest of Leslie's words.
"...talk? Okay...yeah, sure. Everything okay?" he asked, pushing the catalogue aside looking up curiously.
"Yeah! Yeah, everything's fine," Leslie laughed a bit nervously and attempted a smile that came out pretty weak. He absently scratched the back of his neck.
"It's just...yanno what? Nevermind. It's...stupid." He shook his head and laughed again.
"Dammit, you've gotten me interested now," Roman scolded, swatting Leslie's arm jokingly. "Spill already! The suspense is killing me."
He paused, looking pensive for a second.
"Wait, wait, lemme guess," he said. "You...are.....going to....hmm...nnnope. I got nothin'."
Leslie made a kind of odd half-growling sound and looked toward the table.
"Oh, I promise," he laughed, "you'd never expect this."
He cleared his throat and inhaled. He was momentarily reminded of the day he'd had to come out of the closet to his father.
"Have you ever...thought about having kids?"
Beginning to doodle absently on the catalogue cover, Roman nodded.
"I have, yeah. I used to think about it a lot. Wonder if I'd be any good, or if I'd turn into Peter," he admitted. "...I still do, sometimes."
He sighed.
"Yeah...I'd like a kid. I dunno if it'd ever happen... why d'you bring it up?"
Leslie decided to not remark on the Peter statement. He knew by now it wouldn't do much good.
"I found a place," he said, finally looking Roman in the eye, "It's a...clinic. Really scientific place. They apparently take the DNA of a male donor, splice that with the DNA of an animal, and impregnate a female with it."
He half-smiled.
"Same goes for two male donors...minus the pregnancy."
He refused to mention the fact that this place could, in fact, give the world pregnant men.
Roman arched his brows.
"Well! That's...huh! Pretty cool," he said, impressed. "Two male don...ooooh..."
His jaw shut with an audible click as he absorbed this information. Minus pregnancy...kid...they could have a...
"We could have a kid?" he asked slowly. There was something treading the line between hope and skepticism. "Really?"
Well! This certainly isn't what I was expecting! Leslie thought.
He nodded quickly, taking Roman's hand in his.
"Yes. Really."
Roman slid back into his chair, still thinking over what Leslie had said.
"We could have a kid. A son. Or daughter, whatever," he said faintly. He then leaned forward, looking ecstatic. "We could actually-!"
He laughed, eyes lit up. It was rather peculiar - he rarely got so excited about anything.
"Holy s**t... when can we go? Where is it?" he asked, the words spilling out. "How much? I can ask Tom to give me a raise or somethin', he'd do it if he knew it was for something like this."
Leslie grinned. It wasn't often that he saw Roman so enthusiastic about something.
In fact...had he ever?
"We can go...now, if you'd like. Or tomorrow," he nodded, "I don't know how much it costs. Frankly, I wasn't expecting this conversation to go the way it is. I know there's applications to fill out n' stuff..." He bit his lower lip, seemingly to keep his face from splitting in two.
Roman jumped up.
"Now is good! Now'd be fine, we can go. Now. Maybe. I mean, if you feel like it" he said. "Money's not a problem, I can forward all my checks n's**t to them to pay stuff off."
He smiled as calmly as possible, trying to ignore the jubilated We're getting a kid we're getting a kid we're getting a kid that was running through his head on a loop.
"Yeah," Leslie nodded and stood, walking past Roman to the door. He nodded for Roman to follow, "I could go for another visit. C'mon."
Could it work? Could it really work?
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Posted: Mon Aug 14, 2006 7:19 pm
The Letter
"One, two, three-"
Roman paced around the kitchen, energy insurpressable. He'd been that way for a while now, and he was rather surprised it hadn't died down yet. He wasn't the type to be excited about things usually more than a few minutes. Hours, if they were really interesting. Trying to calm himself down a bit, he kept on pacing, counting under his breath.
"-four, five, six, seven-"
Leslie was watching Roman in utter amusement, perched on the arm of the couch. This was the sixth of the one to seven days promised for rejection or approval for a child.
The weregoyle almost didn't want to know. He almost wanted this entire situation (an ecstatic Roman and boundless happiness) to stay forever.
...almost.
He perked at the sight of the mail truck. Usually, it simply ambled by, seeing as to how the church picked up the tab on most bills. Today, though, it stopped. The mailman opened the mailbox beside the street and shoved in a single letter before moving on.
"I'll get it!" Leslie shouted as he leaped from his post and scrambled toward the door.
"Holyshitthelettershereopenit!"
Roman's words came out so fast and so garbled he wasn't even sure it was in English. Darting outside, half-falling down the steps and scrambling back up again, and on to Leslie's side, he stared at the letter in a combination of elation and utter terror. What would happen if they were rejected?
...after a beat, he decided he didn't want to think about that.
"Open it," he said again, faintly.
Leslie took a deep breath and let it out slowly, holding the letter at an arm's length, as if it may explode. He eyed the return address warily and for the sixth time. Yes, this was it.
He drew a sharp fingernail beneath the flap holding the letter closed and pulled out the papers within. He unfolded them and breathed deeply again.
His eyes grew wide and his lips parted slightly.
He hurriedly flipped the paper around and held it up to Roman's face like a child displaying a precious piece of artwork.
"EH!" was all he managed to choke in responce to the bolded word "accepted" typed on the first page.
"Ah-HAAAAA! Holy ********'- wait, s**t, I can't swear anymore, we're getting a KID!" Roman shouted, jumping up and down like an idiotically happy madman. "I - we- we're gonna- oh my frickin' GOD!"
Clinging to Leslie, grinning insanely, he burst out laughing.
Leslie couldn't help but laugh himself, and wrapped his arms rather tightly around Roman. In his hand, though, he clutched the paper as if the fate of the world depended on them.
For the love of God...they were getting a kid!
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Posted: Mon Aug 14, 2006 9:26 pm
Names
Leslie lay on his stomach on the bed, ankles crossed and raised. He was flipping back and forth between teh pages of a baby names book.
"This is a whole lot more difficult than it should be..." he huffed.
Roman shrugged, sitting at the end of the bed and staring at the names he'd been scribbling down all week on a memo pad.
There were four, so far.
"Well...names're tricky things, that's all. Gotta take time with 'em," he said reasonably, chewing on the end of his pen.
"You say this to a man named Leslie," the weregoyle snerked, "Nobody knows that better than me."
"What about Deidre? For a girl, I mean..."
He sighed and rolled onto his back, his head meeting Roman's leg.
"Pfft. Leslie's a bitchin' name," Roman said loyally, tousling Leslie's hair gently. "Better'n 'Roman' What kind of parent names a kid that."
He nodded then, scribbling down the name.
"Deidre's pretty," he said. "I got..." he squinted, trying to decipher his own handwriting. "...egg-yolk? That can't be right."
Throwing himself sideways onto the bed so that he lay next to Leslie, he tossed the memo pad aside.
"Everythin' okay?"
"Yes. Let us name our child Egg Yolk and pray that it has yellow skin," Leslie snickered and turned to face Roman, "Everything's fine. I'm just...nyeh...anxious, I guess. And I really want names figured out, God damn it."
He rolled his back to crack it.
"And it doesn't help that I have daddy dearest on my back about this whole thing. I swear to God, he's more excited than we are."
Roman snorted.
"Hey, Egg Yolk would be the best name ever," he said haughtily. "Much better than somethin' like Apple or Persimmon....crap, why do I even know a word like persimmon."
He laughed then, stretching across the bed.
"I'm as anxious as you are, trust me. This whole thing's got me a bit jittery...an' your dad...yeah, heh. Good grief, world's coolest grandfather, I swear."
He rolled over onto his stomach, thinking.
"It'll be okay," he said. "We'll get 'em figured out."
Leslie simply smiled and rested his head on Roman's back.
"Yeh...eventually. I swear, though, if we end up calling this poor child 'baby' for the first 3 months of its life, something is going to go very wrong." He snerked.
"Yeah...good grief, poor little kid. My mouth alone'd totally corrupt it," Roman said, grinning shamelessly. "I need to get one of those swear jars or something."
"If it ever comes in contact with my father, God knows it won't need anything else to corrupt it," Leslie snerked, "but that's a very quick way to pay for this little sprog, I must say. Swear jar. Hm. Never thought of that."
He laughed again and stared at the ceiling.
Swatting randomly at Leslie, not particularly hard or trying to hit him at all, Roman snerked.
"God...the way I talk, we could put it through college no problem," he said, strangely proud of his too-colorful vocabulary. "With your dad helping...hmm. We could probably buy a second house on the island, come to think of it. Little critter'll be talking up a storm of curses in no time."
He'd really, really have to scrounge a jar somewhere. No way was he tainting his own kid's head with such language.
Unless it was just occasionally, no harm in that.
"...I can hear its first words now. Screaming '******** sonofawhore' as loudly as possible through the grocery store. Oh, yeah. That's my kid," Leslie laughed and batted Roman's hand away, "and I'm damn proud."
He paused for a moment.
"Yanno? We keep talking about what we're gonna call the kid...what's it gonna call us? I mean, you could only pass for 'Mommy' until its teen years, I'd say." He arched an eyebrow. He'd never really thought about the issue of having two 'daddy's before.
Roman burst out laughing at the image.
"Holy sh....eet," he said, correcting himself lamely. "God. Best thing ever."
At Leslie's question, he scowled in thought and picked at lint on the bedspread.
"Huh...I dunno...I figure you could be Daddy or somethin'. I could be Da. S'just easier that way, I guess. Short and to the point," he offered.
"I think old women would faint at my feet if anything little called me 'Daddy'," Les snorted, "and I think it's safer to go with summat that doesn't sound almost exactly alike with a barely-speaking little thing?"
He flopped back to his stomach.
"Besides, 'abbas' is easier to say for the leetle ones. A better chance it'll address me first." He nudged Roman slightly.
"Abbas...god, Les. Cheater," Roman said, grinning. "Fine. Abbas an' Da, sounds reasonable."
Shifting and pillowing his head on his arms, he sighed.
"What if it doesn't like me?" he asked, suddenly genuinely concerned.
"Abbas...god, Les. Cheater," Roman said, grinning. "Fine. Abbas an' Da, sounds reasonable."
Shifting and pillowing his head on his arms, he sighed.
"What if it doesn't like me?" he asked, suddenly genuinely concerned.
"How can it not like you?" Leslie seemed genuinely taken aback, "It's not like your a raving lunatic, and you don't currently make small children cry." He wiggled a bit closer to Roman's head.
"You'll be a great father. Don't worry about it."
"I guess you're right," Roman said, half-comforted. "I mean...the piercings might weird it out a little..I should probably let 'em close up anyway..." he trailed off. An unwanted scrap of memory floated to the surface, making his blood curdle.
You're a worthless little sack of s**t, Roman Jonas, go and get out of my house! You're worth nothin' to nobody, and you never will be!
He forced it back into the corner of his mind and decided to ignore it.
"You're right," he said with more agreement this time. "I think we'll both do alright."
Leslie could help but laugh.
"If I look at it, and it doesn't immediately turn to stone, piercings should be fine, hon," he ran a finger down the side of Roman's face, "I think we'll do alright too.
"Don't say that," Roman chided gently, shifting around so that he could lay looking into Leslie's face. He kissed him on the lips with pure affection. "It'll love you. Don't worry about it. It'll...heh, it'll like me once it gets to know me."
Leslie sighed. So they both had terrible self images. Alright. That kinda sucked.
It also needed to stop being discussed.
"We should get back to names," he half-smiled and laid his head on Roman's shoulder, "Baby needs to have a name."
He picked the book up again and once again began flipping through it.
Later
"Jeez. Jeez. Naming stuff is so ********' hard."
Scribbling and crossing out things on his much-abused memo pad, Roman finally threw it down in victory.
"There! Here we go. For a girl...Deidre Nicola. Pretty names...aaand for a boy... Lucas....what is that, lemon? No! Ah, Jacob. Lucas Jacob."
He looked over at Leslie, pleased with himself.
"What d'you think?"
"How in all Hell did you mistake Jacob for-?!" Leslie laughed and peered over Roman's shoulder.
Yup. It totally looked like 'lemon'.
"Sounds good to me," he leaned over and kissed Roman on the cheek, "and now Baby has a name."
Damn, this was all so exciting...
"It looks like 'lemon'. How did I mutate Jacob into 'lemon'." Roman mused, laughing. "Alright then! Names are ready, parental confidence is brittle but still existing, always a good thing, aaand...well. All we're missing is the little critter."
He sighed.
"Which I want to have now dammit."
"Soooon," Leslie wrapped his arms around Roman as best he could, "It'll be soon...but...yeah. I want it now too."
He snickered and shook his head slightly.
"Just what the world needs...a human-horse-goyle." He grinned. It was going to be their little human-horse-goyle...and that stilled seemed very unreal.
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Posted: Fri Aug 18, 2006 8:27 pm
The Walk
"This ******** sucks."
And never was a truer word spoken. Roman was restless, bored, and inexplicably moody. He fidgeted and could not get comfortable. He'd tried reading, sleeping, working on his puzzles, eating (horror of horrors, not even sugar had helped), and attempting to learn if he possessed telekinesis.
His attempts had all failed miserably.
And to make matters worse, it was raining.
"Some god, somewhere, is pointing and laughing at me," he muttered sourly, perched on the couch and glaring at the television as though everything was its fault.
With a final sliding thunk, Leslie ran down the stairs, arms warpped around his bare torso.
"Are all the windows closed down here?" he asked nervously, as if something was going to come out from beneath the couch and attack him. Without waiting for an answer, he craned his neck to try and see the kitchen windows.
It didn't work.
Bouncing restlessly and shifting around, Roman grunted in affirmation.
"Yeah, all closed," he said gloomily. "Hey, what's got you all uptight? You okay?"
Fidgeting, feeling his clothing and the couch upholstery itching against his skin infuriatingly, Roman had to bite back an annoyed growl and flung himself off the tormenting piece of furniture. Whatever he was feeling at the moment, it was driving him mad.
"Goddamn sumbitch rain, won't stop ********' raining we're stuck in the house and there's no one to attack us or beat us and I want OUT," he spat irrationally at the rain, voice low.
Leslie blinked out the window and gave a convulsive shudder.
"You could go out in the rain. It ain't gonna kill yah. Go see a movie or...something."
He sat on the couch and twitched, feelign what he thought was raindrops, but soon knew to be psychosomatic hallucinations.
Roman considered this a moment, and without a word flung the door open, slammed it closed just to make the noise, and stood out in the torrential downpour.
After five minutes, he started getting cold. After ten, he didn't feel any better, and had even less of a clue of what to do.
"SON OF A b***h!" he screamed. Passerby decided to pass by quicker, looking over their shoulders at him with baleful eyes.
Stomping back inside, soaked to the bone, he went upstairs and returned fifteen minutes later, dry and changed. He looked even more moody.
"That didn't work," he said. "I suppose I could knock my head against a wall until I make something spurt out."
"No, dear," Leslie said, and would have sounded completely serious and condescending had it not been for the fact that he was giggling like a schoolgirl, "Brain damage would just hole you up further. We don't want that."
He snerked and shook his head.
Drumming his hands on any available surface, feeling for all the world like a twitched-out mental patient, he sighed and threw up his hands in anxious annoyance.
"Like there's even anythin' there to damage... I hate feeling like this, feels like I'm going nuts," he said to nothing in particular. He remembered the passer-by that had scuttled away from him after his shouted obscenity.
"I'm goin' out. If I get beaten or dead, don't wait up," he said. Kissing Les on the cheek and running a hand through his hair, just because, Roman waved halfheartedly and walked back out into the rain.
Time to find something interesting to do, or most likely die in the attempt.
"Nnhn...no!" Leslie yelled and stood, ignoring the fact that he continued to not be wearing a shirt, "You're not leaving me here to rot, so help me God."
The rain, you dolt. Rain is water! Water is not your friend.
The weregoyle laughed half-heartedly and followed Roman out, staring up at the sky for a while, feeling the water absorb into his flesh and attempting to turn it to mush.
And then the rain went red, and all was good.
Roman snorted, watching the rain-turned-blood fall with interest. He held out a hand and caught a few scarlet drops in his hand, smiling evilly. If this didn't freak people the ******** out, nothing would.
"Hot damn. I swear, one of these days we gotta do a test're something. Figure out what kind of blood this is," he said conversationally, ignoring the horrified howls of another random passerby as the river of regular water upon the ground washed away vivid trails of red.
It was rather pretty to watch, really.
Walking with arms spread out wide, head thrown back, Roman decided it'd be a good idea to keep his mouth closed. Blood tasted no better if it was his or random crap that fell from the sky. He looked quite deranged, with it trailing down his face leaving streaks.
"I feel better already," he said to Leslie mildly.
"Good idea," Leslie nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets. He looked up for a moment, mouth open, before looking down...
...and seeing Roman having what appeared to be a serious mental snap.
He watched the blood running from the man's face and shivered.
"Please don't do that."
"Alright, alright," Roman said, rather uselessly wiping a hand across a bloodied cheek. He did feel better. Which, of course, brought his current mental state into question, but that was an issue for another day. Hooking his thumbs in his pockets, he yawned, gagged slightly, and spit out reddish spittle into the street.
"Yuck."
Grimacing at the taste of blood in his mouth (he tried to see what Leslie or vampires would get out of it, other than metallic aftertaste, and failed), he spit again and glanced around.
There were those two passerby again... the ones he'd spooked off. Eyes still baleful, rather skittish because of the rain-turned-blood, they were following his gaze.
I can either be really pissed, nervous or anxious right now, Roman thought to himself. But he found he wasn't.
God damn, he was still bored.
Leslie sighed with relief and shrugged.
"It's an aquired taste," he smiled and started walking down the street.
"Where to?"
Considering the question, Roman pointed randomly, then rethought it, and pointed due south.
"Thattaway," he said resolutely. Hell if he knew what was down there, but his strange mood was encouraging him. The fright on people's faces at the sight of falling blood from the sky was amusing.
God...what is wrong with me today?
He listened for the stealthy tread of stalking feet behind them. The white noise of the rain drowned out anything else, and he for once was not overly concerned. He was twitched out, fidgety...
And maybe looking for a fight.
He smiled slightly at the thought.
Leslie nodded and smiled, walking in the general south direction. His hair was now drenched and hanginging in front of his eyes, rending him half-blinded.
But he didn't give a damn.
Scaring the living Hell out of random mortals purposefully was rather enjoyable.
His ears swiveled a bit, almost making him believe he heard something. He soon assured himself it was the rain, and shrugged it off.
Wandering for the better part of an hour, still fidgety but enjoying the walk with Leslie, Roman yawned and checked his beat-up watch. Making a face and tapping the cracked glass face, he shook it once or twice before taking it off and tossing it into the trash.
"Thing hasn't worked right in years anyway," he said. "Damn clocks. Screw accurate time, not like I'll ever know what the actual time ever is."
The rain had slowed and passed into a half-hearted misting by now. Squeezing bloody water out of his hair, he wondered briefly why they hadn't just thought to bring umbrellas, that would have made everything much more-
"Hey. Hey, LaFontaine!"
Roman turned on his heel, head tilted to one side. One of The Passerby from Before, hooded and bloodspattered, glared at him from a short distance.
"Who's asking?" he replied coolly. The Passerby flushed.
"John Wentworth, ya son of a b***h," he snapped, ripping the hood back. Roman stood his ground, deeply unimpressed.
"Mm. Uh huh. Hi." he said, turning away again and resuming walking.
"H...hey..." Wentworth said, looking rather put-out. He'd been expecting a different reaction, really. "Where're you going?"
"Evidently, walking away from you. Problem?"
"Well...no, I guess not...wait. Wait a second. Yeah, I got a ********' problem!"
And John Wentworth skittered after Roman, seized his shoulder, turned him 'round and punched him in the face.
Rage bubbled up inside Leslie's gut, but he ignored it for the time being. He'd be damned before he got into the habit of fighting Roman's battles.
That, and this should be pretty amusing to watch.
He simply loomed and crossed his arms, staring on with a blank expression.
Roman took a step back, cracking his jaw.
"Ow," he said. Wentworth looked twitchy, unsure how to continue. Cracking his jaw again and then his neck, Roman swung an arm back and crashed his fist into the side of Wentworth's head. As the man toppled, Roman drew a leg back and kicked him hard in the side.The resulting shriek made him smile with menace.
"You know...I'm gettin' pretty god-damned tired of gettin' beat up the minute I walk out my door," he informed a wheezing Wentworth, squatting down on the ground next to him. "I been stabbed, beaten, raped too, y'know...so, either I got the world's worst luck, or someone one up there really likes messin' with me."
Wentworth made a gurgling noise in reply, wincing in pain at his head. Roman grabbed him by the collar and lifted him up.
"But you, Johnnie, I got no patience for. You were a two-bit hood when I knew ya in school, and ya ain't any better now. Send me flies, send me locusts, plagues of frogs, anythin' but you, Johnnie K. Wentworth."
He pushed Wentworth away. The man made an outraged noise and swung out again, striking Roman in the chest. He winced at the blow, and cracked Wentworth across the face. The man staggered back, looking deeply startled.
"But...but..." he began. Roman cut him off, pressing a finger to his lips. His expression, accompanied by the streaks of blood that had dried on his skin, made him look truly psychotic.
"Go on an' play, Johnnie K. 'Fore you hurt yourself," Roman said, as though scolding a toddler.
Wentworth looked rather embarrassed.
Leslie watched on, staying precisely where he was. Except now, of course, he couldn't quite close his mouth all the way due to the newly adden length to his fangs, and his sight wasn't quite right due to the fact that his eyes had gone black.
Again.
Breathing a bit hard, the weregoyle watched Roman with a slight smirk, quite enjoying the show.
"Y-you owe m-me money, Roman," Wentworth said, jittery. Roman snorted, shaking his head boredly.
"For Chrissakes, is that what this is... not that again. It was absolute s**t to begin with when you sold it to me, I was getting a refund," he snapped. Wentworth flushed.
"You didn't seem to mind the quality at the time, you bought it the minute I brought it out," he argued. Roman crossed his arms and sighed dramatically.
"Let's see a little twerp like you live in my house and not want to get completely bombed on anything available," he said impatiently. "But, if I may remind you, it was ********' dried grass clippings and you knew it when you sold it. I took back what was mine. End of discussion, see you at the reunion, goodbye. Jerkwad."
Turning on his heel, Roman gestured for Leslie to follow. Wentworth, put-out beyond words and highly bewildered, gestured at Leslie with shaking hands.
"H-hey, c'mon... I'm...collecting on debts..." he said uselessly, shrinking back as he got his first decent look at Leslie. "Um...never...mind..."
Leslie gave a rather hollow laugh, his voice having dropped a good octave and a half. He uncrossed his arms and approached this...whomever he was. He was sure Roman had said the kid's name once or twice, but he really hadn't been paying attention.
He leaned in close and grinned.
"You come anywhere near us again, I will personally turn you into a blood-engorged corpse. Do you understand?"
Wentworth turned an ugly gray color.
"Yes sir," he squeaked, scurrying back and taking off at a full-out run. He slipped in a bloody puddle and landed hard on his face, but was up and running again faster than ever.
Roman, arms crossed, sighed in irritation for the interruption in their walk and relief that the maddening feeling that had been making him twitchy all day was finally going away.
And vague guilt was coming to replace it.
"Sorry," he said to Leslie, honestly looking it. "He was my old...uh... well, you could guess it easy enough. Sorry he...and I...yeah. You know."
Leslie nodded, grinning at Roman and taking a step toward him, but then thinking better of it and shaking his head to clear it.
His physical appearence didn't change.
For the love of God, stop screwing with yourself.
"No matter. We've all done stupid s**t." He snorted in the process of attempting to calm his breathing.
Flushing dark red at Leslie's words, Roman nodded slightly.
"Some more often then others," he added, smiling uncomfortably. Well, didn't that s**t just beat all. I'm gonna wring that little chicken-boy's neck the next time I see him. Now Les is all upset, my goddamn fault again.
"You wanna...head back? Enough physical violence for one day, I suppose," he said.
Saynosaynosaynosayno--
"Sure," Leslie grinned.
Oooooh s**t...
He finished that step forward Roman, and topped it off with another few until he was quite literally pressed up against him. He laced his arms around the shorter man's waist, and cocked his head slightly to one side.
"Or we can just...stay ******** kill me.
Jeez, I hope he's not maa-ooooh helloooo, there.
Well, this was unexpected.
Roman, slightly startled, looked up at Leslie.
"Um...well...yeah, here's good," he said. I have absolutely no idea what's going on. Woo.
Oh, God, Roman, you have no idea what you just got yourself into.
There was only a moment of hesitation before Leslie bent down and kissed Roman rather forcefully, made only slightly more difficult with the elongated fangs. He pulled Roman closer and laughed slightly.
Stoppit. Just...stoppit! You know you like it. STOP IT.
"Mmmph!"
Roman decided not moving was the best option. He considered, briefly, playing dead.
"Wait a sec-mmph-ond!" he said, pulling his head back a bit so he could breathe. "Maybe...maybe here isn't a good area, we could just..."
Could just what? Good god, you want it anyway. Manwhore.
...I just called myself a manwhore. What the ********," Roman said, very, very carefully dislodging himself from Leslie. "We're both covered in blood and...um..."
Listen to the boy. Boy? Boy. Sometimes I wonder how much you care. No, I! I care! Only me, only one...
Leslie not-so-very-carefully pulled Roman back.
"That's the point," he half-growled, only slightly miffed at being momentarily denied.
Will you STOP!? I have control...why can't I stop...stop...
]"Who ever you are... no."
Roman looked up slowly. He was finally starting to catch on...sort of. He was theorizing what was going on, anyway.
"Let me go," he said, eyes locked on Leslie's. "I don't want it, Les."
This was a rather blatant lie, he absolutely did... but not like this.
God damn it, Roman, it's just me...
Leslie's eyes locked into Roman's.
On a normal day, in a normal state of mind, he woulkd have collapsed into a sobbing, apologizing mess.
This was neither a normal day, nor a normal state of mind.
"Don't lie to me," he sneered, "and even if you're not lying, you're getting it anyway."
Beat me to death. Please.
"Leslie..."
Roman tried to pull away and found he couldn't. He was stuck.
"I..."
The mental snap that had seemingly repaired itself broke again with an almost audible crack.
"Leslie. Don't. I said I didn't want it, and I ******** mean it. Let me go," he said. His voice was taking on an edge. The want was gone, now. In all truth he was starting to feel a little panicky. He twisted slightly in Leslie's grip.
"Too ******** bad," Leslie laughed cynically, his mood turned entirely malicious, "You're not in charge." He forced Roman up against the nearest building, completely disregarding the people around them...
...and then watched in horror as his hand seemed to be working on its own, raising and eventually slamming down into some kind of decorative protrusion.
And not a very sharp one at that.
He looked to his newly-impaled hand and gave a silent cry, and then turned back to Roman, eyes and fangs returning to their normal state.
He tore his hand from the building with a welcome gush of blood, and this tweak in his concentration once again allowed the rain to be simple hydrogen and oxygen.
"Jesus, Roman...I'm so sorry..." he whispered, and then fled, his hand clutched to his chest and his flesh going spongy.
With any luck, he'd die before he hit home.
"Les!"
Eyes wide in horror, Roman stared at the bloodied metal in shock. He'd had to...to stop himself, he'd had to...
"Ah, god," Roman moaned. His fault, his fault! Running after Leslie, he ripped off his beaten-up jacket and caught up, ignoring the sting of the stitch in his side.
"Jesus Christ almighty, Les, why'd you do that?" he asked, horrified. "I didn't mean to...put this on, 'fore the rain starts up bad again, why did you - Leslie- I-!"
Unable to catch his thoughts and sort them out, Roman realized he was rambling. Half-throwing the jacket over Leslie, he simply stared up at him, bewildered.
Leslie stopped running immediately and tried to shrink himself to hide under Roman's jacket.
He couldn't bear to look at him.
"What?" he asked, wiping a tear from his cheek and effectively smearing his face with blood.
Roman gave a cry at the sight of the blood, immediately rummaging around in his pockets for some kind of bandage. Spitting curses as he found nothing, he took careful hold of Leslie's injured hand and shook his head.
All my ******** fault!
"Les, why did you do this to yourself... god, I'm sorry, it's my fault, I didn't mean to... I should've just let you...ah, Christ, look at this..."
Fat cold drops of water splattered Roman's head and face, and he dragged Leslie with him into the half-shelter of a stoop.
"We should just stay in the house. Never go out again. Or...me, anyway. I always start s**t like this...god..." he said, searching through his pockets again for something that would help.
"Ah...ah ha!"
Crumpled napkin.
Unfolding it and wrapping it around Leslie's hand, Roman looked up at him worriedly.
"You're crying," he said stupidly. Brilliant observation, Roman. Really.
Leslie couldn't help but laugh at Roman. He had nearly raped the man, and now said man was attempting to stop a massive bleed with a napkin.
"It's not your fault. It's my own," he spoke finally, running his unwounded hand down the side of Roman's face, "I had to do it to stop myself. It's really just...re-opening an old scar. Sooner or later, it'll just stop bleeding altogether."
He paused a moment, brow furrowing.
"If I ever get like that again...never let me--" he trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.
"Oh...well, alright...if you say so," Roman said, eyes darting from Leslie's injury to his face and back again. As Leslie trailed off into silence, Roman repressed a faint shiver.
"I won't let it get like that again," he said, perfectly serious. "I won't let you, y'know..."
Trailing off himself, Roman looked down at the injury again to ignore the slightly awkward silence.
"Thank you," Leslie smiled and rested his head on Roman's for a moment, "God, I love you."
He paused.
"I promise....I'll...try to get myself under control. I promise." And anyone who knew Leslie knew that he didn't make many promises.
Roman nodded hard, believing Leslie despite the faint thread of discomfort that was still banging around in the back of his mind. He didn't want to be afraid of Leslie...
"I believe you, and I love you too," he said, fully meaning it. "I trust you."
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Posted: Mon Aug 21, 2006 8:06 pm
The "Mood"
Sitting silent at the kitchen table, a cup of coffee turned ice cold still in his hand, Roman stared listlessly at the table's surface counting crumbs. Over the past few days he'd grown more and more withdrawn, speaking little and snapping out when spoken to. Tom and Penny had grown irritated with his behavior to say the least, and had "let" him go home early the day before. He hadn't bothered to go in today. His face a study in neutrality, he made a small choking sound that could've been a sob, though his eyes remained glassy and dry.
Leslie entered the kitchen, arms crossed, and leaned against the wall for a moment. He was both deeply concerned and dreading yet another verbal assault at attempting to speak to Roman.
Concern, as usual, won out.
He moved to the table and sat down, staying silent for only a moment.
"Roman...what's wrong?"
Roman didn't look up.
"Don't," he said, voice slightly hoarse from disuse. "Just leave it."
He felt irked in the extreme that anyone was talking to him. He wanted to be left alone, he'd thought he'd clarified it perfectly over the past few days. He turned the mug slowly in his hand, feeling nothing but apathy for life in general.
"I'm in a ******** mood. Y'know, like the one you had that time you nearly ripped my face off. I'll be fine. ********' mood swing," he said, sitting stiffly. He glanced at his watch. 11:24 AM.
Where's your father, Roman?
He's...coming, don't worry...
His eyelids fluttered slightly as he felt tears forming. He blinked them away, and they were gone.
days."
There was a selfish kind of anger that the part of him he greatly disliked was bringing up.
God damn, you've done so much for this kid, and this is how he repays you? No, no, something's wrong...
"So it's been days. I don't snap out of stuff as fast as other peopl, alright? What's the big deal?" Roman said, his voice a sigh. He pushed the mug away and drummed his fingers on the table.
Roman...my blankets. I'm too hot.
It's freezing in here, Ma, you'll catch a cold if I take 'em.
Roman, just get them off me, would you sweetheart?
11:28 AM.
"I don't have to tell you everything," he said.
"Really?" Les snapped, pupils contracting in anger, "I thought we weren't supposed to keep important s**t from each other and, I dunno about you, but this seems pretty ******** important."
His fingers twitched soundlessly against the underside of the table.
Ungrateful b*****d. Just kick him out.
"What is it you want to know about me so badly?" Roman asked, voice drawling and heavy as lead. "Would you like to know how my father screamed and ranted at me every god damned day so bad that I turned into a stoner before I hit ninth grade? How I took everything I could get my hands on just to get through the day and bear living with him? ********, I've been a goddamn druggie fo half my life. I was still usin' off an' on when I was living here. "
There wa a vague feeling of self-disgust at this inadvertent slip up - he'd never planned on telling Leslie that. He then decided he didn't care.
"Would you like to know how when my mother..." his voice caught and he looked at his watch again. 11:32 AM. "...how when my mother was laid up in a hospital bed and could barely move, he was out whoring and drinking and beatin' on me? Or how my own brother sat on the sidelines and watched him do it without even caring?"
His hands had started to shake and he clenched them into fists. He looked at his watch...
11:34 AM.
I think I need....
Need what? What is it, Ma?
...Mom?
"Or d'you want to know that I had to lie to my mother on her deathbed and tell him Peter was coming to see her?" he said finally, voice tight. "I watched her die. So you'll have to forgive me if I don't bounce back like other people do. Especially today."
He pushed away from the table.
"11:33 AM. Sittin' with her in some ammonia-smellin' hospital room, and I watched her die. You don't forget that kind of thing. Sorry if I've been puttin' you in a bad mood."
He sighed again.
"So. Ask away."
"What is it you want to know about me so badly?" Roman asked, voice drawling and heavy as lead. "Would you like to know how my father screamed and ranted at me every god damned day so bad that I turned into a stoner before I hit ninth grade? How I took everything I could get my hands on just to get through the day and bear living with him? ********, I've been a goddamn druggie fo half my life. I was still usin' off an' on when I was living here. "
There wa a vague feeling of self-disgust at this inadvertent slip up - he'd never planned on telling Leslie that. He then decided he didn't care.
"Would you like to know how when my mother..." his voice caught and he looked at his watch again. 11:32 AM. "...how when my mother was laid up in a hospital bed and could barely move, he was out whoring and drinking and beatin' on me? Or how my own brother sat on the sidelines and watched him do it without even caring?"
His hands had started to shake and he clenched them into fists. He looked at his watch...
11:34 AM.
I think I need....
Need what? What is it, Ma?
...Mom?
"Or d'you want to know that I had to lie to my mother on her deathbed and tell him Peter was coming to see her?" he said finally, voice tight. "I watched her die. So you'll have to forgive me if I don't bounce back like other people do. Especially today."
He pushed away from the table.
"11:33 AM. Sittin' with her in some ammonia-smellin' hospital room, and I watched her die. You don't forget that kind of thing. Sorry if I've been puttin' you in a bad mood."
He sighed again.
"So. Ask away."
Druggie? You didn't notice. His father? Should have guessed. His brother? Damn the little ********. And his mother...oh, God...
Roman might as well have torn Leslie's heart straight out through the ribcage and thrown it down the garbage disposal.
The essential organ seemed to take this hint and stop beating. His lungs stopped functioning, his eyes started to lose focus...
"I--" he began, and even then it was only half of the letter. His eyes welled up, and yet he didn't notice.
Feeling cold as ice and sick at what he'd said to Leslie, Roman rose and shoved his hands deep into his pockets. Never in his life had he wanted to fall back into his old habits more badly, but the revulsion and disgust at the weakness of it was fighting off the desire. For the most part, anyway.
"Need to go," was all he could manage. He seemed quite incapable of speaking further. He pushed violently away from the table and left the house, leaving the door half-open.
11:30 AM.
He started walking.
For a moment, Leslie couldn't move. He was quite literally frozen in time.
And then he snapped out of it.
Follow or leave him?
Once again, his overpowering concern won out, and he stepped out the door, following Roman incredibly slowly. He wanted to give Roman peace, but he'd be damned if he was going to let anything happen to him. Especially now.
It was a long walk.
After a good two hours, Roman felt the beginnings of a stitch in his side as he left Durem behind. He was in the general direction of the industrial city, and he imagined for a minute he could smell smog and the stink of metal in the air.
"Better'n ammonia," he drawled to himself. It was a curious thing how a person's worst memories are always the clearest. He wondered about it briefly before deciding he fully didn't care.
His fingers toyed with something tightly wrapped in paper in his pocket.
Feeling sick with himself, disgusted that he still had the thing, he pulled it out slowly. There was a book of matches in his back pocket that he fished out slowly. He kept walking, staring at the paper-rolled thing.
Stuffing the matchbook back into his pocket, he tore up the paper-rolled thing and brushed dried leaf bits off his fingers.
"Maybe later," he said to himself.
Leslie's skin was reacting rather violently to the change in atmosphere, itching over the entirety of his person and actually bubbling in a few abused patches.
He watched curiously as Roman stared at whatever had been in his pocket and immediately assumed the worst.
And then the weregoyle's shoe caught a can and kicked it to the side. He would wonder later whether or not he had actually subconsciously wanted to be discovered, but that didn't matter at the moment. He tensed for a split second before attempting to hide in the shadows of the nearest building.
Flicking off stubborn bits of leaf from his fingers, Roman came to a halt and didn't bother to turn around.
"Les," he said, then repeated it louder. Waiting a minute for some kind of response and seeming not to hear any, he took a few more steps forward. He could see the ugly brown haze that shrouded Aekea, and it made his lip curl.
He didn't want to go there. He had no reason to go there. Mary wasn't even buried in Aekea; her family had come and gone and taken her far from Gaia, further than he had the cash to get to. Standing watching the wind contort the distant smog and smoke into a shroud-like haze, he turned on his heel and started walking back home.
He half-wished he hadn't torn up the joint. It had been his very last one, and he doubted the people he'd gotten them from were even still alive.
Leslie had, following his best instincts, not replied to Roman's shouts. He waited for the man to pass him before silently slinking around the corner of the building and pressing his hand to it.
There was a burst of excruciating pain before he suddenly felt all of his digits sinking into the ground.
He was The Protector now.
And he was damned heavy.
After a few running leaps, though, he was finally able to go airbourne and, showering the ground below with bits of granite, reach home before Roman.
He simply sat on the front stoop like a dog, waiting. There was no point in pretending he hadn't followed. Roman knew him better than that.
By the time Roman got home, he was deadly pale and looked exhausted. He stopped and looked at the gigantic stone thing sitting on the stoop with a sliver of his usual fascinated curiosity, then threw himself down next to it.
He opened his mouth to speak, and a croaking groan of grief slipped out.
Before he knew it, he had started crying, really crying, doubled over and shaking in misery. He could hardly breathe, tasting tears leaking in past his lips. He spit them out viciously, teeth bared and grit. He kept crying. Peter and Connor hadn't done anything at the funeral, aside from watching Mary lying stiff in a box surrounded by flowers. Roman had cried, and Peter'd called him a whining brat for it.
There was a hot, sick wave of anger that momentarily choked the grief out of Roman, and he wished Peter was dead. It left him as soon as it came, and he was left with his grief again.
Leslie placed a...paw, as it were, carefully on Roman's back. He accepted the same flash of pain and was once again himself...or as he believed himself to be.
He said nothing. He didn't think it would be right to. Instead, he just sat there, watching Roman and feeling his previously garbage-disposaled heart tear into even smaller pieces.
Empty of thought and rather numb, and unsure if that meant he was going to be feeling better any time soon, Roman leaned against Leslie and covered his face in his hands.
"I'm really tired," he said finally. "I'm sorry I was such a d**k. I'll tell you, next time."
"I understand," Leslie sighed and sidled a bit closer, "C'mon. The whole world doesn't have to see you." He stood and offered his hand down to Roman.
Roman stood and fell into Leslie, letting himself be guided inside. Hidden comfortably from the world again, he gave a withering sigh and held onto Leslie for a minute.
"Just tired," he said after a while. "I'm gonna...I need to sleep. I'm tired."
Trailing his hand down Leslie's arm and holding his hand briefly, Roman withdrew into himself again and went upstairs slowly.
Leslie nodded and watched Roman disappear, eerily reminded of the days after the rape. He prayed that it wouldn't be so bad this time.
If not for Roman's sake, for his.
He drew his knees up to his chest and decided to stick where he was and wait.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, wanting something, anything to take the edge off, Roman stole glances at his bag. Maybe there was something in there...anything...
Repulsed by the junkie-like thoughts buzzing in his head, he threw himself onto the bed and jerked the covers over himself.
"Go to sleep," he ordered himself.
And in time, he finally did.
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Posted: Mon Aug 21, 2006 8:23 pm
The Visit
Lili was a damp, sniveling mess as she walked up the steps leading to Leslie's front door. Her hand trembled as she depressed the doorbell's button and then, remembering that the bell had never really worked, knocked lightly.
---
Inside the house, Leslie stood in the kitchen, finishing up filling out forms for the Better Business Bureau (or whatever the Hell it was). He looked up at the light knocking.
"Could you get that, hon? I'm not quite done."
He continued filling in his final form, not giving their visitor a second thought.
"Yup, I got it," Roman said, eyes still fixed on his cryptogram puzzle as he went for the door. "A equals S...or T...Aszuphrik? Huh. Maybe that isn't right."
Groping around blindly for the knob, he tugged the door open and spared their visitor a glance up. He blinked, then looked up again longer.
"Lili?"
Lili gave a convulsive sob and threw herself at Roman, clinging to him and crying into his shirt.
"I'msorryforcominguninvitedbutIjusthadtoand--" she spoke in a single run-on word (if such things exist), and was cut off by yet another heart-wrenching sob.
Leslie, suddenly concerned, scrawled his signature hurriedly and made his way to the door.
"What the-?"
Roman stood awkwardly as Lili sobbed into his shirt, then hugged her carefully trying to be comforting.
"Hey, hey now...it's okay, hon. What happened?" he asked, guiding her carefully to the couch. As soon as they got there he was decidedly unsure how to make her let him go, so they simply stood in a new location.
"I ju--" Lili began, but once again began sobbing uncontrollably. Her freckled cheeks were bright red now, and Leslie feared that the girl might hyperventilate.
"Sit down," he approached Lili and gently pulled her from Roman, sitting her down on the couch, "Tell us what happened."
"I ju--and Johnny--and I--I HATE MEN!"
"Wooooah, there."
Roman winced sympathetically, sitting on the arm of the couch.
"Ah, jeez, Lili... what'd he do?" he asked gently, knowing full well what must have happened. "Can we...I, uh...do anything to help?"
Lili shook her head and leaned against Roman, finding him significantly less threatening at the moment.
"N--no. Not unless y-y-you'll kill him," Lili sniffled and took the box of tissues Leslie offered her. She wiped her face, blew her nose, and crushed the tissue in her hand.
"What'd he do?" Leslie asked, placing a hand on Lili's leg.
"He plaaaaaaaayed me!" Lili shrieked, no doubt startling the neighbors, "and...and...and I found him out...so he...he--!" The girl broke down again, once again clinging to Roman.
Leslie gave his boyfriend a kind of apologetic shrug. He'd had to deal with this before.
Often.
Finding himself once again being clung to, Roman carefully put an arm around her shoulder.
"That blows, hon," he said. "Guy sounds like a b*****d."
Unsure what else to say, he glanced over at Leslie with a pleading expression that clearly said 'I have absolutely no idea what I'm supposed to do.'
The newest neighbor, a kid named Shaun with a recovering addiction and love of eavesdropping, rapped on the wall and seemed to have his face pressed against it as he shouted.
"Ever'thing all right in there?" he called. Roman grit his teeth and stared at the wall resentfully.
"Everything's fine Shaun, thank you," Roman shouted back, adding under his breath, "For god's sake kid, you're really getting creepy."
Leslie stifled a laugh directed at Roman and cleared his throat to cover it up.
"You knew he was an a*****e when you started dating him, sweetie," Leslie gently patted Lili on the back.
"I knoooow," Lili moaned pitifully, "but I looooove hiiiiim!"
Ah, what people would do for love.
Lili suddenly looked up to Roman with wet eyes, a very serious expression etched into her features.
"You've been with a lot of guys," she sniffled, "How can you tell if they're a jerk or not?"
Leslie snerked and stood suddenly before retreating to the freezer. On the way, he patted Roman on the shoulder.
"She was here one of the nights of your peeping, my dear."
Roman blinked, shifted slightly, and then decided to really consider the question.
"Huh...well, usually you tend to notice if they're a complete sleaze pretty early on," he said thoughfully. "I mean...I wasn't exactly going with any of 'em, per say. Half the time it was just to feed a ********' drug habit."
There was no embarassment in his words as Roman spoke, still looking thoughtful.
"Generally...sneaky behavior's a good tip-off. Other than that...huh. I actually dunno, hon."
For one reason or another, this set Lili's emotions straight.
"He was a sleaze," she said, her voice lowered to a truly creepy extent, "Straight men are a bunch of sleazeballs."
She blinked at Roman.
"Well, some of the gay ones are too."
Leslie returned, his ears mercifully spared from Roman's explanation. He held a small container of fat free chocolate ice cream and a spoon.
He immediately handed them both to Lili, who took them happily.
The girl released Roman and sat, beginning to direct her attention toward the chocolate and away from the sleazeball boyfriend she'd left behind.
"Aren't you glad you don't have to deal with girls? I know I am."
Lili gave Les a half-hearted smack on the leg as he sat beside her.
Roman blinked, not sure whether he'd just been insulted or not. Rather glad to be free of her clinging, he suddenly realized how often he'd done it to Les for myriad reasons.
"Mm. Girls. Never understood 'em anyway," he said, watching Lili eat. Immediately wanting something sugary for himself, he slipped off the couch and went for is hoarde of candy in the freezer behind a slightly freezerburned chicken.
"Frozen M&M's...peanut butter cups...naah...ah HA, here we go." Drawing out a frozen nougat chew stick, he unwrapped it and snapped off a bite with an almost painful sounding crack.
Leslie looked down to Lili...then to Roman...and then back to Lili.
Lili looked at Roman's chocolate fix, and then back down at hers.
And then both the redhead and the weregoyle started laughing nearly hysterically at their own little shared observation.
Roman, chewing with slight difficulty, looked around to see what was so funny.
"What?" he asked, the obviousness of it flying way over his head.
Leslie gave what he thought was a final snort and shook his head.
"My, my my...girls and their chocolate," he grinned.
This brought Lili into another convulsive shock of laughter, and leslie couldn't help but follow.
"Roman, dearest," Lili said, deciding to clarify between hysterical guffaws, and then deciding to not, for the sake of personal jokes, "Oh, nevermind."
"Y'know, if and when I finally catch onto your witty observations, I might just be offended," Roman said wryly, throwing himself back onto the couch and restarting his cryptogram. He snapped another hard-as-a-rock bite from his nougat stick and stuck his tongue out in a mark of absolute immaturity.
Lili snorted, "Probably."
She paused for a moment, gnawing thoughtfully on her spoon.
"I think I should go," she said finally, "but thanks, you guys. Really." She leaned over and gave each man a peck on the cheek before standing.
"And I'm keeping the spoon."
With that, Lili disappeared ou the front door.
"...b***h kept my spoon," Leslie murmured with nothing but fondness in his voice. He looked to Roman, shook his head, and grinned.
"Kid kept your spoon," Roman noted, nodding. Noting the grin, he finished off his candy and stowed the wrapper in his pocket for disposal whenever next he remembered it was there.
"You hush now," he said mildly, grinning a bit himself. "You can't flaunt ice cream in front of me and expect I'm not gonna jones for somethin' sweet."
Leslie snorted.
"I would expect nothing different from you," he ruffled Roman's hair in an oddly juvenile display of affection, "but, damn...you're such a girl...in a good way."
Was there really a good way? Eh. Who knew.
Roman snorted and fluttered his eyelashes.
"You ********' love it, admit it," he said easily. "I'm absolutely the girl in this relationship. I make no move to defend myself on this."
"Oh, Hell yes," Leslie said and moved forward, doing no less than crawling atop Roman. He grinned mischeviously and shoved a finger into Roman's chest.
"I love my Human girly-man, oddly-placed facial piercings included."
"What can I say, between that and the gaugings they make me look pretty," Roman countered, pinned to between Leslie and the couch and hardly complaining. Grabbing hold of Leslie's hand he brought it to his lips and kissed it.
"I agree completely," Leslie arched an eyebrow before leaning down and kissing Roman rather hungrily.
Even with all of the absurd, painful things that started happening when Roman showed up, Leslie was damn happy where he was.
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Posted: Wed Aug 23, 2006 9:52 pm
Self Defense
Toby stood down on the street, staring up at a garish mint green duplex. It didn't seem damn likely, but the church directory placed that grey-skinned b*****d here.
For 8 years, the events of that fateful day had coursed through Toby's mind on a constant loop. He'd buffed up, calmed down, and become a rather dangerous character.
There was no more need for baseball bats now.
"C'mon," he nodded and headed up the front stairs.
---
Inside the house, Leslie gave a convulsive shudder. He waited a moment to see if the temperature had dropped. It hadn't. He shrugged it off as nothing and crossed his knees.
Andrew nodded and followed, half a step behind Toby. He was impassive, cold-eyed and expressionless as he stared at the door, waiting for Toby's next move.
He was there for support, not to lead. He waited for what Toby would do.
--
Roman came downstairs, half-ready to go to work and adjusting his anti-eyebrow carelessly.
"I gotta go...um...you okay?" he asked, noticing Leslie on the couch. "You're kinda shivering. You sick?"
Leslie shook his head.
"Nah. I don't think so."
---
Toby depressed the doorbell rather strongly, applying a helluva lot more pressure than he had to.
---
Leslie looked up at the empty click that was his deceased doorbell's call.
"Hrm...who in all Hell's coming over now? Shaun, yah think?"
He stood and went to the door, peering through the little eyehole.
"Totally not Shaun. Roman, you know these goons?"
Said goons seemed vaguely familiar, but Leslie just couldn't place them for the life of him.
---
Toby saw movement through the tiny glass lens and waited patiently. After 8 years, a few more minutes was nothing.
Roman peered through the peephole, instantly not liking what he was seeing.
"No...never seen them before," he said. "They look kinda...huh. Scary, I think the term is."
--
Andrew waited silently behind Toby, his impassive face hiding the violently furious thoughts that roiled beneath the surface. If he'd had his way, the door would've been smashed open by now.
But Toby was in charge. He flexed his hands into fists and out again, waiting as patiently as Toby did.
--
"Um...I really doubt we want these people in the house," Roman said, backing away from the door.
"No kidding," Leslie gave a kind of nervous snerk and looked to Roman, "but you've gotta go to work, and with luck like yours, I don't think you should try to bash through them." He shuddered again and slid open the chain lock, undid the deadbolt, and opened the door.
He stepped outside, leaving the door half-closed. He'd be damned if he was going to let Roman be beaten again, but he'd probably be dead if he'd closed the door.
Witnesses were important.
"Can I help you?"
Toby grinned cynically.
"I believe you can," was all he said before grabbing Leslie roughly by the neck.
As strong and tall as Leslie was, Toby was quite a bit stronger and quite a bit taller.
Leslie suddenly recognized these fine young men.
Oooooh, s**t...
"Luck like mine tends to spread like a disease," Roman said, making a sound of warning as Leslie opened the door. As Leslie went outside, Roman eyed the scene through the crack in the door and bit back a startled cry as Leslie was...
"...grabbed. This is just getting ********' predictable, now," he muttered, crossing himself and yanking out the anti-eyebrow in practiced habit. He yanked the door open and stared the two men down.
"Let him go," he said.
Andrew moved forward and pushed Roman back inside with force. Roman stumbled and darted forward again, snaking past Andrew and wincing as his arm was grabbed and twisted into an unnatural angle.
"What were you saying?" Andrew asked. Roman twitched, but said nothing.
"Ooooh...found yourself a friend?" Toby sneered down at Leslie, flashing a set of dagger-like teeth.
"Don't ******** touch him."
Toby laughed in response and nodded in the general direction of a nearby alleyway.
"C'mon, Andrew," he said, still grinning, "Take the short one with you. This is certainly a fortunate two-fer."
Leslie attempted to squirm from his captor's grasp, but only succeeded in making it keep like his flesh was being pulled off.
Andrew nodded unsmiling, leading Roman along roughly. Roman sighed inwardly and shook his head slightly.
It was bound to happen, a small voice said in the back of his mind. It's been what, a couple weeks since your last bodily injury?
Roman mentally told the small voice to kindly shut the hell up, because it was beginning to annoy him with its observations of the painfully obvious.
Immediately after reaching the cover of the alleyway's shadows, Toby chucked Leslie rather roughly against the back gate.
"How the ******** did you find me?"
Toby replied with a swift punch in the face.
Broken jaw, broken ribs, broken legs, broken arm...
"Church directory."
A punch in the ribs.
"So, where's your boss these days?"
A rather vicious kick in the gut.
Roman shouted in protest, and the shout turned to a cry of pain as Andrew twisted his arm so hard it felt like it had been ripped out of the socket.
"What the <********>" he snarled at his blank-faced captor. "Let me go, you son of a -"
Roman was momentarily silenced by an awkwardly delivered punch to the face. Feeling his teeth bite into his lips, he spit out a bit of the resulting blood and glared.
"-b***h. You son of a b***h," Roman hissed as though he hadn't been interrupted. He struck out and kicked Andrew, momentarily enjoying the man's grunt of pain. He turned on Toby, glaring.
"You ******** let him go!"
"Andrew," Toby snorted, "You're not doing your job." He held out a hand as if to silence Roman.
"Ah, Roman," Les rolled his aching head toward his boyfriend and spoke from bloodied lips, "Just run back and ******** hide. It's not your battle."
"Protecting your slut, huh?" Toby snerked and removed a rather illegal switchblade from his pocket, watching the light glint off of it for a moment.
Oh, Hell no...
Leslie was, for the first time in a long, long time, truly terrified.
A muffling hand clamped over Roman's mouth. He huffed and shouted ineffectually into it, struggling as his arm was bent behind him. His eyes rested on the switchblade for a minute, a sick swoop of fear running through him. Not good, not good at all...
Opening his mouth as best he could and as far apart as possible, Roman bit hard into Andrew's hand. He tasted blood and accidentally swallowed a bit, gagging by forcing his teeth deeper in. Andrew, who until that moment had barely said three words, gave a shout more of surprise than pain and loosened his grip on Roman's arm a bit. Not enough to get free, but it was a start.
Toby's head snapped in Roman's direction, and then slowly returned to Leslie, a grin widening on his face.
He held the switchblade out at his side. Leslie reached for it, but failed.
"Andrew?" Toby said, stilling grinning and staring Leslie down, "Gut him."
"Nghn--" Leslie gagged. He'd begun to scream "no", but received another hard punch.
In the throat this time.
Andrew took the blade and spun Roman around, pinning him into a corner. He exhibited the blade to Roman silently, and stuck the point just beneath his navel.
"f**, gonna gut you like a ******** fish," he told Roman, his voice grating and mechanical. Roman, feeling the point sink into his flesh, didn't think he was ********," he told Andrew politely. Andrew began drawing the knife up.
Leslie was horrified for moment.
And then he heard that word.
You’d better make peace with your maker, you ******** f*****t...
His eyes filtered to black and he bared his fangs.
Get them because they used that word!
Toby immediately regretted not restraining Leslie.
The weregoyle leaped forward suddenly, giving a feral shriek and slashing at Toby's face with his fingernails.
Toby fell to the ground, stunned.
"Leave him the ******** alone, skinhead," Leslie growled, approaching Andrew slowly.
"Hey...HEY!" Toby called and stood.
Roman, already sweating bullets but refusing to let out a sound, started and stared as Toby got his face ripped open.
"Nice," he said, wincing as Andrew tugged the knife up further. Andrew, stolid and face still like a mask, looked down at Toby and then up at Leslie. He withdrew the knife from Roman's gut and flipped it in his fingers, aiming it at Leslie instead.
"Say it again, f*****t, go on," he said, mechanical voice taking on a nasty edge. He took a step forward.
And Roman, not wanting to start off the day on a worse note than it already was, decided now would be a good time to turn his head and look away. Eyes squinched shut, he shook his head slightly.
"Bye bye," he muttered, pressing a hand to his stomach ruefully.
Leslie's chest heaved and his fangs lengthened to that same, oddly unnatural extent.
"What? Don't like being called names? Hurts your manly ego?"
Leslie took another step forward.
"Skinhead."
Toby stood, but hovered back. Jesus Christ, this kid had changed...
Roman had to look again after thirty seconds or so. Leslie looked terrifying, and for a minute Roman almost felt bad for Andrew and what was about to happen to him. Then his newest injury gave a nasty twinge as though on cue, and his sympathy shrivelled.
Andrew took another step forward until he and Leslie had only inches between ******** f**, you and your kind don't belong here," he grated. "You ******** killed him. You dumb enough to think we wouldn't get you back for it?"
He struck out with the knife, unpracticed and unsure with it. He was better attacking with his hands alone, and as the knife sliced across Leslie's arm he wondered why he hadn't just gone for the throat instead. He drew back and stabbed forward again, aiming for it and hoping he wouldn't get his hand bitten off.
Leslie stood stone-still, unflincing even as the blade nicked the left side of his neck.
He was past the point of speaking now.
Three times...three times!
He caught Andrew's hand quickly and squeezed, nails digging into flesh. He smiled spontaneously as the first drops of blood showed.
"Don't do that," Toby demanded, as if it would change the current string of events.
Roman simply stood and watched, unsure what to do and in no way inclined to get Andrew away from Leslie. He leaned back and ignored the sticky blood on his hand as his cut continued to bleed. He'd worry about that later.
Andrew made a dry grunt of pain and tried to wrench his hand out of Leslie's grip, succeeding only in tearing flesh in the idiotic attempt to free himself. He glared at Leslie and spit on him, teeth bared.
"Fa-"
"For god's sake, do you really think that's such a ******** good idea?" Roman interjected, hopelessly annoyed. The guy was like a rock and about as sharp. Andrew bristled.
"Shut the ******** up, a*****e, you're next," he snarled. Roman arched an eyebrow and pressed a hand harder against his stomach.
"I'm all aflutter," he replied snarkily. He then glanced over at Toby, wondering what damage he could do while Leslie was busy. Nothing that required two hands, he hoped...
"Hmmm..." Leslie hummed, as if thinking, and then thrust Andrew against the nearest building, holding both of the man's hands above his head.
One of two things, one of two things...
He decided on the most emotionally damaging, and leaned in. He drew a trail of kisses beginning at Andrew's lips and ending at his neck, just where he felt a pulse.
And then he bit.
Hard.
"What the ********?!" Toby yelled and actually drew further back.
Roman watched passively before turning on Toby. His grin was skull-like as he approached the other man.
"Boo," he said. Toby jolted back, eyes darting between Roman and Andrew. And ******** son of a - ! Let me go, goddammit! Toby, c'mon, help m-AAGH!" Andrew's grating voice shrieked. As he writhed and struggled he was making the damage worse, and struggled all the harder as the pain got worse.
"Are ya really just going to leave him there?" Roman asked conversationally. Toby snarled and struck out, hitting Roman in the jaw.
"f*****t, you and your sick..." he paused, glancing at Leslie, "...your sick whore are gonna pay for this. C'mon. Get closer."
Roman took a wide step forward. Toby took a small step back.
Leslie twitched and snapped his head toward Toby, looking for all the world like some kind of animal. He literally growled...snarled...and turned back to Andrew.
He leaned in close and whispered in his ear.
"Just so yanno? That makes you a f**."
He brought his face down a final time and bit into what he believed to be Andrew's vital throat-related organs, judging by the rush of air and spurting blood.
Toby gave a shout of horror as Andrew spit out a great deal of blood and collapsed to the ground. He pushed Roman out of the way and struck out blindly at Leslie, bent on beating the life out of him.
"You ********! You disgusting filthy f*****t!" he screamed. "I'll ******** kill you!"
Roman came up from behind and kicked Toby hard in the back, knocking him into Leslie. Toby crashed into the other man, and with horrified curses he tried to twist away and half-fell, grabbing onto Leslie's arm for support.
Roman kicked Toby again for good measure as his injury gave another twinge.
Reflexes suddenly supremely tuned, Leslie threw his arm forward, taking advantage of Toby's pain and sending him to the ground.
He then leaped atop the man, attempting to pin him to the ground with all four limbs.
Roman hung back, glancing over at Andrew's body.
"Bye," he said again. He then turned his attentions to Toby, who was currently screaming his wits out pinned beneath Leslie.
"Let me go! Let me go, you son of a b***h! I'll ******** kill you!" he shouted, no malice in his voice, only the terrified threats of someone who can clearly see their imminent death.
Leslie grinned and assumed the position of a dog wanting to play, head close to the ground, rear in the air. His shirt slid down (or up?) to display the horribly ironic celtic cross tattooed on his lower back.
"You go ahead and ******** try," he whispered and stared straight into Toby's eyes.
"Say hi to your brother for me."
Roman blinked in surprise as he got a look at the tattoo.
"Hey! I didn't know you had....a...oh. Nevermind." Feeling rather modest, Roman shut up and returned his gaze to Toby's deathly white face.
"You don't have the guts," Toby snarled, though he clearly didn't believe himself. He gave one last half-hearted struggle, hope abandoned.
Leslie said nothing; just continued staring. He shifted position, now completely laying atop Toby.
It allowed for better concentration, you see.
Slowly, Toby's extremities began to lose their water content...or...not so much lose it, as have it turned to blood.
Leslie snickered.
"Not quite sure, but that may mean you're a f** too."
His eyes unwavering, he let the carnage continue.
Arms crossed and attention unwavering, Roman gave a slight shudder. Hell of a way to go...
Toby gurgled, unable to respond as he felt...he wasn't sure. It was terrifying.
"St-top," was all he could manage, and that was only barely. His vision was starting do dim, and he was bizarrely thankful for it. He didn't want to see this creature on top of him.
Contrary to his intent and overwhelming hatred, Leslie's eyes actually began to well up. He was a hell of a softy when it came to begging.
He was nearly completely unaware of it at the moment, though.
He watched as blood seeped from the wounds he'd previously created in Toby's face, and then drip from the corners of his eyes.
He stood then and, of course, the first thing he saw was Roman. He took a half-step forward, and then stopped himself.
The weregoyle closed his eyes and concentrated on assorted unpleasantries ranging from dead puppies to fundies.
When he opened his eyes again, they had returned to normal along with the rest of him.
He just stood there, breathing hard and staring at Roman, tears running silently down his cheeks.
Toby gave a gurgling sigh, half-dead but still conscious enough to realize maybe Leslie wasn't quite finished with him yet. He shuddered weakly and waited for death.
"Les..." Roman said, approaching slowly. There was no fear or disgust on his face, just simple concern. "You don't have to finish him, if you don't want to. It's okay."
He wasn't really sure what to say, but dammit he wanted to reassure Leslie a little.
Leslie gritted his teeth and turned back down to look at Toby. He turned from Roman, to Toby, and back again.
"One merciless murder a day suits me," he turned suddenly and began to walk to the payphone a few yards away. He dialed quickly and put the phone to his ear.
You're a ******** monster.
"Yeah...there's four of us here," he spoke to the 911 operator with a cold, emotionless voice, "One dead." He rambled off his address and hung up, collapsing to his knees immediately after and beginning to sob uncontrollably.
Roman paused, torn between who to stay with. The indecision lasted less than three seconds, and he was darting over to Leslie and kneeling down beside him, trying to comfort him and unsure how to.
"Leslie, Les, it was self defense, they were going to kill you," he said, sympathetic misery welling up inside him. "Please, it's alright..."
Toby took shallow breaths, his vision returning slowly. He made a faint gurgling noise and shifted slightly, testing limbs. Still alive. Good? Maybe...maybe not.
"Ego sum Monasteriense," Leslie said, choking on his words, but speaking them nonetheless, "Ego mereo mereor morior...praeter lemma."
He gave a shallow gasp and he placed his fingernails on the palm his left hand, directly over the scar caused by numerous shards of glass, blades, and assorted metal objects.
He began pressing down and continued applying pressure until he felt the comforting, warm rush of his own blood. He cringed, making small, breathy noises of pain.
At the moment, he didn't give a damn what Roman saw.
"What? Mona...monasta...oh..." Roman struggled with the unfamiliar words, looking lost. He recognized the long one, though.
"Leslie, you're not a monster," he protested. He desperately wanted to make Leslie stop what he was doing to himself, but he knew full well he couldn't and anyway it wasn't his place.
The wail of by-now familiar sirens could be heard getting closer and closer, until police cars and ambulances were cluttered around. Roman pointed the EMTs towards the alleyway wordlessly, not daring to look back at Toby and what was left of Andrew.
"We just keep running into each other, don't we?" came an unwelcome female voice. Roman looked up.
"Detective," he said cordially. The detective looked down at him and nodded briefly in something like greeting. She looked back at the alleyway as a groaning Toby was carted out on a gurney, and pointed a thin and almost vulture-like woman over to the dead body.
"Mortician," the detective said at Roman's questioning glance. "So."
Leslie didn't reply, only gave a final gasp as his fingers actually penetrated his hand. There was a spurt of blood that landed on the pavement with an audible spatter.
He gave a short scream, cut off only by a quick intake of breath at the removal of his fingers from his palm.
He stood then, the gaping wound in his hand looking for all the world like stigmata.
He figured it was fairly obvious as to who had done what, seeing as to how he was covered in blood and Roman...wasn't.
"Hello, Detective."
"LES!"
Crying out in horror and grabbing hold of Leslie's arm, Roman stared at the wound with mouth wide open. The detective shared Roman's expression, fishing out a grayed handkerchief and pressing it onto the injury.
"My god, what did you just...hello, Mister Wilburn..." the detective said, shaking her head. Roman, hugging Leslie's arm in a panic, muttered nonsensically and looked around, cursing the EMTs for being busy carting off a corpse when someone alive needed their help, god dammit!
Leslie turned his head to Roman, but his eyes didn't follow, deciding to instead drop to the ground. He turned back to the detective.
"Ask away. I won't bleed to death."
Tears continued streaming down the grey-skinned man's face, but his voice and composure were cool and emotionless.
Now, any time something bad happens, they're coming to you. I want you to realize that. No ******** s**t.
The detective shook her head slowly as she glanced over at the mortician, who was busily poking, prodding and examining the body.
"I don't think we've been properly introduced," she said finally. "My name is Detective Lila Morse."
Roman said nothing, still clinging to Leslie. The detective had expected no reaction, and ignored it.
"So..." Morse said slowly. "Would you care to explain? Friends of the thug from the bakery?"
Roman shrugged ******** came here and started it," he said icily. "They were gonna try to beat us up, Les mostly, maybe kill us. I dunno why they were here."
Detective Morse said nothing, though her eyes lingered on the bodybag that was carted into the second ambulance.
"I know these two," she said. "Skinheads, troublemakers, very active in their beliefs of their own superiority. I have no trouble believing they instigated this."
Roman blinked, slightly confused.
"Meaning...?"
"Meaning, I take your statement, and then I leave," Morse replied. She looked up at Leslie (who was a good foot and a half taller than her), not sure whether to ask him anything or just leave him alone. She decided leaving him alone would be smartest. "Mister LaFontaine, if you could come with me, I'll be needing your statement..."
Leslie snorted.
"Why in all Hell will you need his statement?" he cocked his head slightly to one side, and his voice showed nothing but confusion, "He didn't do jack. This is all my fault. Past coming to do assorted things to my a**."
In a normal situation, Leslie would have had plenty of respect for authority...but this detective was getting on his nerves.
Detective Morse slitted her eyes, then waved Roman away.
"Alright. Fine. Mister Wilburn, your statement, then I'll leave. And hopefully we won't meet again," she said, voice brisk. Roman bristled slightly at her tone.
"Look here," he started. Morse silenced him with a slightly annoyed glance.
"I want to be here about as much as you want me here," she said. "So, may we please get this over with?"
She withdrew a notepad and pen, waiting.
Leslie raised a finger as if to scold the detective, but thought better of it rather quickly and crossed his arms.
"They came to my door; dragged us into the alleyway. The living one beat me, the dead one cut him," he nodded toward Roman, "I acted in his defense, and then my own. They were...ah...trying to settle a childhood score."
And now you'll have to be tested for AIDS again.
"Good enough for you?"
Morse nodded, scribbling half-unreadable notes and stowing the memo pad away.
"Be seeing you," she said, sounding wholeheartedly like she hoped she wouldn't.
Roman sighed and watched the police pull away, and poked at the cut on his stomach. He didn't know what to say, and looked up at Leslie questioningly.
"Are you...okay?" he asked carefully.
Leslie didn't reply, only wiped a tear from his eye and started off toward the van.
"I'll drive us to the hospital. I've gotta get tested, at the very least," he climbed into the driver's seat, "Don't worry about the blood. They already love us there, I'm sure."
Roman followed, making sure anyway to keep blood off the upholstery.
"Tested...tested for what?" he asked. Sometimes he hated not being able to pick up on the small things.
"AIDS," Les stated simply before starting off to the hospital.
---
He parked the car and got out without waiting for Roman, heading for the entrance. He was entirely cried-out by this point, and now only cared about getting his wounds stitched and his blood sucked into various vials.
He wasn't at all looking forward to those doctor's that'd almost killed him or the audience in the waiting room.
Roman went very still and decided not to say anymore, for fear of saying the wrong thing.
---
Following close behind, Roman nodded cordially and even waved to familiar members of the staff.
"How's it going," he said to a passing nurse, who gawked at his blood-covered hands.
"Fighting again?" she asked. Roman shrugged and moved on, still following Leslie.
Leslie simply wandered up to the desk and leaned forward.
"I need stitches and an AIDS test. I just killed a man in self-defense. You can leave me in the waiting room, but I'll more than likely either, a, bleed to death or, b, terrify various patients away. How long's the wait gonna be?"
As he spoke, a river of blood was running from his neck and, although he knew nothing vital had been hit, he also knew that it made for a Hell of an intimidating picture.
The woman behind the desk turned pasty white and picked up her phone.
"I'll call someone for you, sir," she said, voice timid. Roman stood next to Leslie, eyeing the injuries in severe worry. Still unsure what to say, he carefully put his hand on top of Leslie's uninjured one in comfort, then withdrew it.
"It'll...it'll be okay," he said.
Leslie gave a defeated sigh and grabbed the hand Roman had withdrawn. He didn't look toward the man, his eyes again straying to the floor.
"I know."
Squeezing Leslie's hand and managing a smile, Roman nodded in affirmation.
"It will," he said.
A small female doctor with steel-grey eyes appeared at Roman's elbow, effectively startling the hell out of him as she reached up to tap his shoulder.
"Come with me," she said, beckoning Leslie and Roman to follow.
Leslie, refusing to let go of Roman's hand, followed the nurse at a rather lethargic pace, considering his usual speed.
He was, in fact, beginning to feel a bit light-headed.
"I hate needles. I hate ******** stitches, too," he mumbled to Roman.
"My name is Doctor U'Maaki, pleased to meet you," the tiny woman said as she lead them through the hospital corridor to private rooms. She halted abruptly and Roman nearly tripped over her.
"Sir, you will go in here please," she said, pointing to an open room. Roman shook his head in blatant refusal.
"I can wait," he said, refusing to let Leslie's hand go. U'Maaki looked deeply displeased at the refusal, then directed Leslie in instead. "Other sir, go in here please. I'll be with you in a moment."
Leaving them alone abruptly, Roman watched the tiny doctor march away.
"God, creepy lady," he said. Glancing into the room, he ran a bloody hand over his hair and opened the door fully. "...'least it's private."
Leslie laughed cynically, mostly out of fear.
"You ain't seen nothin' yet," he shook his head and entered the room, standing anxiously and not doing much else.
"You may not wanna stay. I mean...if you think you might not wanna see..." It didn't once cross his mind that Roman may not know what the Hell he was talking about.
Roman rather didn't like the sound of that.
"See...see what? What's gonna happen?" he asked. He remembered their first jaunt in the hospital, the horrifying sight of Leslie's flesh falling off...he shivered. "I'm not leavin'. Not unless you want me to."
"Nah. Don't want you to," Leslie half-smiled and sighed, "I'll need the moral support."
Ah, you're such a wuss.
Roman nodded and stuck close to Leslie, waiting somewhat apprehensively for the tiny doctor to return. When she did, he took a half-step away from her. Tiny though she was, she seemed to have a Napoleon Complex the size of a small city.
"Sit, please," she said briskly to Leslie. Setting down a tray of syringes on the counter, she went through what Roman could only classify as Doctor Things before settling beside the chair with needle and thread on a new tray, and a syringe full of local anesthetic in her hand. "We will stitch first, then draw blood for your testing."
"Local anesthetic would kill me," Leslie sighed and gave over his hand hesitantly, "We go without."
He paused for a moment, trying to remember if this had been the doctor that had done his stitching last time.
Naw, couldn't have been.
"...and don't freak out."
U'Maaki had the grace to look slightly worried.
"But sir-"
Roman interrupted her, shaking his head and taking the syringe away.
"Trust him on this," he told her firmly. Looking cross, U'Maaki eyed the neck wound and shrugged.
"It's the patient's choice, whether or not to receive anesthetic for injuries like this," she informed Leslie as she set the needle to his skin. "This will hurt."
And she began to stitch.
No. ********. s**t.
Knowing full well that he shouldn't move his head at all, Leslie simply gritted his teeth and took great advantage of his death grip on Roman's hand.
The neck wasn't so bad. There was no place for violent allergic reactions. The skin was previously unscathed.
And he mentally spoke a Hail Mary once it was over with.
One down, two more to go.
Feeling as though his hand was being crushed, Roman didn't move an inch or say a word, watching as U'Maaki stitched the gash up cleanly. She moved down to the injury on Leslie's arm and finished quickly, then at last moved down to the hand.
"Impaled?" she asked briefly. Roman nodded. U'Maaki made no further comment, rethreading the needle again and beginning to stitch
...Leslie's hand, however, had been..."scathed" 11 times before.
As soon as the needle pierced flesh, he gave a sudden shriek and let go of Roman's hand, burying his face in his bent elbow. The rest of his screams were silent...albeit involuntarily. Tears streams down his face, when he had thought that they had all been spent.
The flesh around the wound had not only turned completely black, but had begun to bubble in more ways than one. First there were the odd lumpings of flesh, and then the actual acidic pus-yellow bubbles from within the edges of the wound that actually made sick sizzling sounds.
The feeling was like a giant papercut, doused in a terminal bath of lemon juice and salt, while thrust in a fire.
It wasn't all that pleasant.
Damned surgical steel.
U'Maaki made a startled sound and hesitated, unsure whether or not to continue. Roman, looking sick with worry, glared at her.
"Get it ******** over with, it's hurting him," he said tightly. U'Maaki nodded and resumed stitching, trying to be efficient and quick with it at the same time. When it was finally finished, she stood abruptly and stared at the wound.
"I have never seen that kind of reaction before," she said, looking quite put out.
Leslie, now trembling and breathing quite heavily as his flesh calmed itself, looked up to the doctor.
"You've never seen a weregoyle before."
He stood and wiped tears from his face with as much dignity as he could muster, and then moved aside.
"We can wait for him to do the blood test...right?"
U'Maaki nodded, still looking flustered, and gently escorted Leslie up. She pointed Roman to the chair and reclaimed her syringe.
"Your turn," she said warily. The injury was minor, all things considered. It had been inflicted to cause pain, not to kill. When Roman was finished, he was shunted off the chair and made room for Leslie to sit down again. U'Maaki took up an empty syringe, looking uncomfortable.
"Ready?" she asked, preparing the vials.
"Yeah," Leslie forced a half-smile, "Don't worry. Reaction won't be that violent. It's scar tissue that hates surgical steel." He gave a nervous laugh and held out an arm.
"I'm a hard stick, though."
He was trying his damndest to be nice now. He seemed to have startled the doctor pretty good.
U'Maaki nodded and carefully drew the blood, privately terrified she was inflicting more pain on Leslie. When the process was finished, she tried to collect herself and cleared her throat. Roman felt a bit badly for her - she looked rattled.
"Your results will come by mail," she said. "...I'm sorry I hurt you."
Leslie's heart melted a bit.
"It not your fault. It's unfortunate biology is all," he smiled and nodded, "Thank you, Doctor."
U'Maaki nodded and left without another word, taking her blood-laden tray with her. Roman leaned against the counter, resisting the urge to scratch at his stitches and breathing a sigh.
"Jeez. s**t morning," he said.
...waitasecond...
A memory suddenly flooded back to Leslie. The memory was, of course, brought upon him by the fact that this was the same hospital in which the event had taken place.
Said event was the severing of Mark's carotid artery, of course.
Leslie was suddenly gripped by a premature feeling of incredible guilt and stuck his head out the door.
"Doctor? Doctor! Ah...I think we may need you again..."
"Yes?"
U'Maaki crept back inside, looking as though expecting to see Leslie's flesh rotting off his bones. Catching his eye nervously, Roman shrugged at her.
"Ask him, not me," he said. U'Maaki looked up at Leslie questioningly
"Uh..." Leslie's gaze dropped to the floor. He was deeply ashamed of himself, and he wasn't even quite sure if he had done anything yet, "I think you...I think you should test him too."
He nodded toward Roman, giving the man only a small glance.
Looking slightly surprised, Roman nonetheless shrugged and nodded.
"Might as well," he said, sitting down with slight apprehension. U'Maaki nodded and disappeared for a moment, then came back with a fresh tray.
"Hold still," she said.
--
After U'Maaki had left again, Roman remained seated, drawing his knees up to his chest.
"I was...I was always careful, Les," he said. "I was with other people but...I mean, I wasn't that much of an idiot."
Oh yeah...your boyfriend's a former manwhore...damn, you could have had AIDs all along and just not known...
"To tell you the truth, I wasn't thinking about you giving it to me," he said sincerely, "I have no ******** idea of Toby or Andrew had anything...or Mark."
He sighed.
"Let's go home."
Roman felt suddenly violently sick and highly guilty for a specific reason. His thoughts screamed in his head, horrified at the sudden realizations.
I always used...but...oh god....what if I gave it to him? Sweet ******** s**t, I've killed him. No, no, no! Shut up, you don't know if you even have anything....ah Jesus, what've I done?
Despite his thoughts, Roman's face was calm, as was his voice.
"Okay."
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Posted: Wed Aug 23, 2006 10:03 pm
The Result
It had almost been a week since the run-in with Toby and Andrew, and Leslie still didn't feel quite right. He couldn't kick the feeling that he'd done something terrible, and the results hadn't even come back yet.
He sat with his feet up on the coffee table, watching some cliche talkshow about who was whose baby's daddy.
He didn't so much hear the mail truck stop in front of the duplex as he felt it.
"I'll get it," the weregoyle stood and stretched, cracking his back and both elbows before starting out lazily.
"Okay," Roman said, deeply involved in a crossword and tuning out the television. He'd had such a difficult time waiting for the results of the testing, he'd decided to conveniently forget and give himself a little peace.
As the mail truck arrived, he felt as though the breath had been knocked out of him. He ignored the feeling and tried to work on his puzzle.
Leslie met the mailman at the street and recieved two envelopes. One was some kind of credit card off, and he quickly tossed it into the waste basket.
The other was from the hospital.
Bring it inside. Open it together.
Almost robotically, Leslie went back inside the duplex, closed the door gently, and stood behind the couch, staring at the envelope in his hands as if it were alive.
"It came," he managed to choke.
Opening it will make it real, no matter what the results are. Don't open it.
Going rigid and feeling like he couldn't get a breath in, Roman glanced at the letter.
"...oh," he said. "D'you...want to....I can open it, if you want."
You're a murderer, Roman. You've killed him. ******** druggie manwhore. Your fault, all your fault if he's sick.
"Yeah," Leslie nodded and sat beside Roman, handing over the envelope. His eyes followed the desperately important paper.
Delay it as long as you can, that's it. You don't want to know.
Taking the letter and holding as though afraid it would bite him, Roman ripped it open. He fumbled for a second and grabbed at the letter inside, pulling it out. He was keenly aware that his heart was starting to pound.
"Okay," he said, randomly. Okay. Get it out, read it, get it done.
He unfolded the letter and scanned it carefully. And as his eyes rested on the word...positive...he felt as though his heart had stopped. He ceased breathing. His eyes went wide and he felt the blood drain from his face.
"What'd I do..." he breathed. Murderer. Murderer. MURDERER.
The letter slipped out of his hands. He looked up at Leslie and jumped off the couch, trying to put distance between the two of them.
"Leslie," he choked. "Leslie, god, what'd I do. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!"
Leslie closed his eyes and gave a convulsive sob. It didn't take a genius to judge a reaction like that.
"It my fault," he said after a moment and stood, "You didn't do anything. God, I've killed us."
He dragged his knees up and sobbed into them, feeling for all the world like a terrified child.
See? See what you've done? No, it wasn't you...the manwhore's probably right. Probably his fault...NO.
Tears streaking down his face, Roman stood rooted to the spot and stared down at the letter.
All I've done is bring trouble. He's blaming himself for something I did. Get out, Roman. Go out and die in the ******** gutter where you belong.
"Leslie...no, my...my fault," he said, the words coming out with difficulty. "We...I..."
The kid. Roman thought suddenly, feeling cold and heartbroken. We...we can't have it now, can we...
The tears grew thicker and he sobbed, covering his face with his hands.
You'll die before the kid's 10th birthday...unless...
Leslie forced himself to stand and he approached Roman, wanting nothing but to be held at the moment.
"Please don't say that. Does it really matter whose gave it to whom?"
Of course it does, you stupid ********. You never think about blood-bourne diseases, do you?
Roman shrugged helplessly, unsure what to say, unsure what to do. He felt repulsed with himself, convinced beyond all reason it had been his fault.
"...Leslie, what're we going to do?" he asked, frightened. "I don't know what to do. I never know what to do."
"I don't know," Leslie crossed his arms and looked everywhere but at Roman, ashamed, "You can...I guess you can go back...get...a prescription for something to...slow it down...Hell, I dunno..."
He gave another convulsive sob, feeling terribly physically ill.
Roman fell back into his seat, leaning forward and holding his head in his hands.
"You can't take anything that'd help..." he said hoarsely, more to himself than to Leslie. "You're gonna...oh...no...no, I won't. I can't. Not while your dying. If you can't take that s**t, I won't."
Tears splattered onto the floor and a corner of the letter, making it curl. Roman wanted nothing more than to rip it to shreds, burn it, make it disappear.
"I wish it could've been different," he said after a few minutes. "I'd do anything to let it be different. ********, anything at all. I wanted to stick with you... I mean, s**t, no way I'd ever leave you... I just wish it could've been...longer..."
He took a long, shuddering breath.
"I would've stayed with you 'til the day I died. I still am, no ******** matter what."
Leslie's heart stopped for a moment.
That's an odd thing to say...well, no, under these circumstances, I guess it's not...
His tears came thicker now, but not so much out of pain as pure, unadulterated hope. He dropped to the couch beside Roman and wrapped an arm around him.
"There is a way...if you mean that...if you mean everything you just said, we can fix this..."
Looking up in surprise, Roman frowned a little.
"D'you think I'd say somethin' like that just to make you feel better?" he said, slightly affronted at the questioning of his honesty but leaning in close to Leslie anyway. He wrapped an arm about Leslie's waist, not wanting to let go. "Hell, of course I meant it. Every goddamn word, for all the good it does."
He then tried to process what Leslie had just said. His mind, numb and shellshocked, played the words over.
Fix this...
"What d'you mean, 'fix this'? There's no cure. We're gonna d-hnn. Y'know."
"No, there's no medical cure," Leslie cringed at the mention of dying, "but I'll be damned if there isn't a ritualistic one. I could make you like me..."
He trailed off, not wanting to explain just, exactly, what something like that entailed.
"The catch is...you'd be stuck. There are stones standing in the city millions of years old. There's a good chance that...if we...if we tried...you'd be stuck...immortal."
At that thought, Leslie clung to Roman, burying his head in the man's shoulder. There was no way someone would agree to an eternity?
"Immortal?"
Roman's first thought was that the shock of the news had officially snapped Leslie's brain in half. His second thought was anger, that this was some kind of joke to get back at him for the infection (since the idea of his being responsible was firmly stuck in his head). And the third....
"...I'll do it," Roman said slowly. "If...not just to get rid of the sickness. I want to stay with you."
Cringing at the absolute hokiness of his words, but standing behind them nonetheless, he hugged Leslie tightly.
"I don't mind...being stuck. I'll do it, whatever has to be done."
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Posted: Thu Aug 24, 2006 9:19 pm
Old Friends
It was a slow day in the music store. And because of this, Roman had time to think, which was rarely a positive or upbeat thing. Lately his thoughts had been drawing more on thinking of mortality, especially his own. It was rather depressing.
As he thought about it, and about Leslie's strange proposal (Immortality...god, I dunno, how would that work? he thought), the door opened with a grating squeal, interrupting Roman's musing. Blinking and looking rather confused for a second, he waved at the lone customer.
"Welcome to DisChord, can I hel- DUDE WHAT THE ******** GET OFF ME!"
The customer had rushed the counter, throwing his arms around Roman and nearly squeezing the life out of him.
"Romey! Romey, good s**t, it's been years!"
"...huh?!"
Leslie had left work absurdly early, feeling particularly down in the dumps about this whole "terminal illness" business. Oddly enough, the only comfort he could think of finding was Roman, the man who may or may not have given him said terminal illness.
He remembered where Roman worked, and as far as he figured, nobody would care if he visited, as long as he bought something and stayed out of the way.
What he saw through the window, though, was all but comforting.
He entered the store and slinked to a rack of CDs near the counter, but not too near. He pretended to browse, watching Roman and whomever this guy was out of his periphery.
"Sir, I feel really ******** inclined to tell you there's a shotgun under this counter I can reach and blow you away with," Roman hissed, trying to twist away from his assailant.
"You don't mean that," came the silky-voiced reply.
"Yeah, I kinda do," Roman replied, scrabbling for the paintball gun. It looked real enough to scare off people looking for trouble, and to Roman this violation of space certainly qualified. "I swear, I will ******** shoot you. Let me go."
The man let Roman go with reluctance, hands trailing down to his waist, intending to go lower. Swatting them away, Roman bared his teeth in a snarl and leveled the paintball gun at the man's throat.
"Don't tempt me," he spat. After a second, he blinked and lowered his paint-loaded weapon. "...Harold?"
Leslie's eyes went immediately black at the man's busy hands, only widening his periphery further.
I have half a mind to grab that gun myself.
Not helping fend this urge off was the fact that, in his overly-humble opinion, this "Harold" character was a great deal more attractive than Leslie had ever been and was likely to ever be.
"Aren't you even marginally glad to see me?" Harold asked, tone sweet. Roman curled his lip and busied himself with the cash register, randomly counting its scant contents.
"No. Quite frankly, I wish you were currently having your head being jackhammered open with your brain splattering over bystanders," he replied politely. Harold looked hurt.
"Well, that's cruel of you," he said, reaching over the counter and hand traveling steadily downwards again, "What'd I do to deserve that, Romey? You were always a bitter little b*****d, but that's a new-oww, hey!"
Roman had grabbed hold of Harold's hand and twisted his fingers.
"Don't. Touch. Me." he said, letting Harold's hand go. Harold sniffed, looking wounded, then grabbed Roman's hand and yanked it up to his lips.
"Missed you, Roman," he said, kissing it and licking one of Roman's fingers. Roman tried to wrench his hand away, looking irritated beyond words.
Leslie gave a distinctively canine growl, cutting himself off shortly after he realized he was doing it. It was a damn good way to attract attention, growling like the creature from the black lagoon.
He shuffled a bit away and shook his head, letting his hair fall a bit in front of his face.
The longer he could pretend he was the average Human customer, the better.
Finally ripping his hand out of Harold's grip, Roman made a noise of disgust and wiped it clean on his jeans.
"I don't want your ********' cooties," he said. "Go try and screw something else, I don't want your or your Thing anywhere near me."
Harold tutted.
"Do you think this is just a visit for fun?" he asked, voice practically a purr. Roman snorted.
"Quite frankly, yeah. I'm talking to a guy who'd bang a plant if it had the proper equipment," Roman said casually, feeling victorious at the dull flush in Harold's face. "So, what the hell do you want?"
And why do people I never want to see again keep ******** FINDING ME, he thought irritably. Harold cleared his throat, trying to get past Roman's comment.
"I need a fav-"
"No."
"Let me finish."
"Go ahead."
"I ne-"
"No."
That was the last straw.
"Well, why don't you just hear the man out, sir?" Leslie gave a sly grin and turned, pushing his hair behind his ear, "I mean, I know it's none of my business, but it seems like you two know each other, don't you?"
C'mon, boy. Spill. What's your favor?
Leslie was a damned good liar and thusly a fairly decent actor. Pretending he didn't know Roman was...a bit mentally damaging, but hey, it could lead to some really passionate beatings in time.
Harold's expression turned icy cold and he glared at the other customer.
"Sir, go ******** yourself. This is a private conversation," he said, turning his attentions back onto Roman. "Will you just let me talk?"
Roman, who'd been trying to see past Harold to get a decent look at the other customer, though he had a decent idea of who it was.
"Fine. Spit it out already."
Harold drew a tightly wrapped package out of his pocket, an unremarkable brown paper bundle tied with string. Roman recoiled from it.
"Get that s**t away from me. I'm clean now," he said tightly. Harold snorted.
"You're never clean, Roman. Someone like you is never clean. Sometimes you just take extended breaks, that's all," Harold said sweetly. "You never had a problem holding stock before."
Roman's hands curled into fists.
"Get that away from me and get the hell out of my store," he said in a dangerous voice.
Leslie laughed cynically and took a step toward Harold, hands in his pockets.
"You get the ******** away from him before I tear your trachea out with my teeth."
"What the hell did I tell you- oh. Oh...uh," Harold squeaked as he turned on Leslie, visibly shrinking a bit. "Um..."
Roman, looking deeply relieved, picked up the package and threw it hard at Harold's head. It glanced off his skull, making him squeak again in pain.
"Get that s**t out of here," he said coldly. "And if you ever come here again I'll tear your ******** guts out before he even gets near you."
Harold picked up his brown paper package warily, trying to keep a distance between him and Leslie. He glared at Roman, looking betrayed.
"I won't forget this," he said warningly. Roman smirked.
Leslie laughed again.
"I sincerely doubt we'll be seeing you again. I work for your dearest Roman, you see. And I have a good word in with the feds."
He grinned and cocked his head to one side.
"Buh-bye now."
Harold turned sickly gray and Roman had to bite his tongue nearly clean through to keep from laughing.
"I'll...I'll be going, then," Harold said with false calm, pocketing his package and strolling out the door. The minute he was outside, though, he bolted away.
"Good god," Roman said, leaning on the counter and looking tired. "These people...I just gotta start picking them off the minute I see them. I need a sniper rifle or something."
He grinned up at Leslie then.
"Excellent performance, by the way."
Leslie gave the usual arm-twirling, gentlemanly bow and smiled.
"Thank you," he said as his eyes filtered back to their usual state.
"I must ask, Romey...old thing, or just a favor-mule?"
There was no malice in his voice, only genuine curiosity.
Roman made a face.
"Ucch, don't call me that," he protested. He sighed then, shaking his head. "Favor-mule. Worst one out of all of 'em, the sumbitch b*****d."
He looked a little ashamed, then, and turned away. Busying himself with the register again, the shame grew into a look of disgust.
"I'd hold on to crap for him sometimes. And..let him...do stuff... so I could get a good share in what he sold," he said finally. He looked deeply repulsed and wiped his hand on his jeans again. "********. Miserable son of a.... I ever get a car I'll hunt him down and run him over."
Leslie laughed at the repulsion to the nickname, but then shook his head and cringed.
"You could always use mine," he said and leaned on the counter, "I'd like to kill the b*****d myself, but that's just the boyfriend in me talki--ooh." He abruptly turned from the counter and disappeared into the corner as a young woman entered the store.
It would be counter-productive to scare customers away, after all.
Roman nodded, looking deadly serious as he considered the offer. Harold would crunch nicely underneath those wheels...
He automatically hitched a smile on as he waved to the customer, a girl probably no older than fifteen and in full-blown emo get up. There was a brief banter between the two, mostly over a band Roman had never heard of.
"...yeah, um, Fire Behind the Heart'd probably be in...er... alternative," Roman said finally, pointing her in the general direction of the emo section. The girl smiled brightly.
"Thank you, Roman," she chirped. Roman smiled slightly, a genuine one this time, as she skittered over to the CD rack.
"Yup," he said, waving Leslie back over.
Leslie slinked back to the counter, keeping half an eye on the girl.
"I really hate having to do that...ah! Anyway. Back to the murder of the note-so-very innocent..."
In the back of his mind, Leslie was already picturing how lovely Harold's innards would look splattered all over the road. He would never admit to it, though.
Roman laughed, looking slightly sinister.
"I'd do it. I really will," he said, shaking his head. There was a lingering smell on his hands from the package, and he kept wiping them on his jeans as though to get rid of it. "I'm seriously considering the rifle, too. Paintball gun ain't gonna cut it. Anyway..." he trailed off, shrugging the unpleasant encounter off.
Leaning on the counter again, he looked at Leslie seriously.
"How're you doing?" he asked, voice soft.
Leslie pushed his mouth to one side and considered the question for a moment.
"Not so hot," he shrugged, "Both of my ever-so-mature employees are trying to hide the fact that they're avoiding me like I carry the plague, and I've started being afraid to work without a hazmat suit. Such is the way of psychosomatic ailments."
He shrugged.
"...and you?"
Leslie was very keen to the fact that Roman blamed himself for this whole fiasco, as he usually did.
At that moment, Roman wished for the rifle not for personal use but to launch a full-out attack on the bakery. His angry expression was forced away as he shrugged slightly.
"Alright," he said, inwardly berating himself savagely. Your fault, your fault ran in a loop through his head. "I'm not sure what's...y'know, supposed to happen, so I just keep workin' and crap. Wait for something to happen."
"I don't think anything's...gonna happen," Leslie shrugged, "I mean...not until...yanno..."
He stood back a little and thought for a moment.
"And my offer still stands."
"I'm just...kinda scared," Roman said slowly. He glanced up at Leslie then, slightly confused. "Wait, the offer for the use of the car to kill someone, or the immortali-heeey, Lisa. Check out time?"
The girl, who'd hung back a bit and been trying to keep herself from interrupting, blushed and nodded. Roman took the CD and cashed her out, waving as she smiled and left.
"Cute kid," he said after she'd gone. "She's got like a crush on me an' Tom. She flirts with him, blushes an' stammers with me. Gotta be in...I dunno, seventh grade or something."
His thoughts drifted then onto the child he and Leslie were supposed to have, and his breath caught. He didn't want to die in front of his child, if they could even have it now. Dying in front of it would be the cruelest thing imaginable.
Leslie half-smiled, mentally thanking The Powers That Be that Roman was about as straight as a curly fry.
He nodded then, and after realizing that a nod meant nothing to people who weren't inside your head, he spoke.
"The immortality," he kept his voice low, "but I want you to think about it. Really think about it. We have plenty of time...I think..." He closed his eyes for a moment, picturing the moon the night before and mentally running through it's cycles.
"At least a few weeks."
"You already know my answer," Roman said immediately. "I have no regret, no worry, and no second thoughts. I meant it when I said it the first time. I'll do it."
He smiled then, taking Leslie's hand and holding it.
"If anything, I'm more worried about you gettin' sick of me," he said.
Leslie gave a snort and smiled.
"Not gonna happen," he took Roman's hand and shook his head.
"..and if you're sure you want to go through with it...I'll...we'll have to bring it up my father."
"I'm sure. Really," Roman said patiently. He winced then, sudden dread welling up. "Ooh man. Father Wilburn..."
Guilt, tearing and awful, came in close after the dread. He shook it off then, nodding determinedly.
"We will. You an' me'll do this together," he said.
Good Christ, his dad's gonna kill me.
Oh, God, you're father's going to kill you...
Leslie nodded and stated simply, "We will."
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Posted: Fri Aug 25, 2006 7:10 pm
The Commitment
Leslie parked his van in the cathedral parking lot and just sat there for a minute, staring. A horrible feeling of dread had come over him, and he was half-tempted to turn around now, go back, and die in peace.
He inhaled deeply and turned to Roman.
"Ready?"
Roman, whose mouth had gone quite dry, nodded.
"Ready," he managed.
Leslie sighed and slid out of the van, closing the door carefully for the first time in the poor vehicle's existence. He didn't want to alert anyone to his presence any earlier than he had to.
"We have to go in the back way," he said as he headed for the rear door, "I used to do it all the time as a kid. I don't think we'll come upon much resistance that way."
"Okay," Roman said, following closely behind. The cathedral looked imposing as ever, and he freely admitted to himself he was feeling pretty nervous at the moment.
Leslie casually went through the back door and was greeted by the concentrated profiles of a great number of church-goers. He listened to the preacher's voice and recognized it almost immediately.
"Father Fredericks," he said quietly before going through a door neatly hidden in the wall. Behind it was a room no larger than a closet, only half-done, with a ladder leading upward, "The kind and caring priests put this in when I was seven so their fundies wouldn't have to see me. Sweet, innit?"
Without another word, he started up the ladder.
Roman strained to hear the words of the preacher, though he was more interested in what Leslie was saying.
"Oh," he said, unsure what else to say as he followed behind. He wrinkled his nose at Father Fredericks' voice and considered making a rude gesture in the man's general direction, but refrained. He was in a church, after all.
Leslie lifted a trap door and pushed it aside before climbing up into what had once been his room. It was now stacked with boxes and smelled of moth balls...but his bed was still there. He gave the piece of furniture a short glance before reaching for the knob in the sole door, the one leading into his father's quarters.
It was locked.
He paused for a moment, considering the situation, and then knocked.
"Abbas, it's me. Unlock the goddamned door."
Roman looked around the room in curiosity, glancing inside a couple of the boxes. Nothing incriminating or shiny catching his attention, he abandoned the boxes and stood close beside Leslie. He was nervous beyond words, and was fairly certain Father Wilburn was going to try to rip his heart out with a rusty teaspoon.
There was a click and a voice from behind the door.
"Alright, what do you nee--" Father WIlburn began until he got a good look at the pair before him, "Oh, Jesus, what happened?"
"You'll be wanting to sit down," Leslie said, looking his father in the eyes with some pain.
"Alright..."
The priest took his usual seat in the computer chair, this time facing forward. He motioned for the bed, but Leslie had already perched there.
"What is it?" Father Wilburn asked.
Roman, not wanting to touch anything, barely daring to move and making himself very, very small, decided to bite the bullet.
"Father Wilburn...sir..." he swallowed, painfully. "Leslie and I..."
He choked. Because of ME, his thoughts added unhelpfully.
"...Leslie and I have...AIDS..."
The word slipped from his lips like poison. He couldn't bear to look at Father Wilburn, and turned his eyes down to the floor.
Leslie could almost hear his father's heart stop.
"Leslie, you told me the only p--" Father Wilburn began, but Leslie cut him off with a wave of his hand.
"Roman's the only one, Abbas. I swear."
The priest turned an accusing eye on Roman and cocked his head slightly to one side.
"I did it."
Roman's voice was small and filled with self-loathing.
"I was always careful, but... I've gone and done it anyway."
Leslie made no move to disagree, and Father Wilburn gave a defeated sigh, buring his face in his hand. He stood and approached the pair on his bed, kneeling before them.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to accuse anyone," he nodded, "I...I...is there anything I can do?" The priest looked immediately dumbfounded at his own question.
"Yes, actually," Leslie replied, "Roman's...he's...ah...agreed to..." His disbelief disallowed him to finish the sentence.
Sick with himself and what he'd done, Roman turned away and tried to make himself as unobtrusive as possible. He half-turned his head, indicating he was still listening, still part of the conversation.
And for the hundredth time wondered what the hell Leslie meant when he'd said they could "fix" this thing.
Leslie looked to Roman for a moment and took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.
"He's agreed to follow through with the blood ritual."
Father Wilburn looked incredibly taken-aback.
"Are you positive?" he asked Roman, "Do you realize the pain involved and the...full implications of...are you positive?"
That was precisely my reaction, Leslie thought bitterly.
Roman nodded without hesitation.
"I'm gonna do it," he said, oddly fearless. Pain? Whoopty s**t. Pain went away after a while. "Les keeps asking me if it's really what I want to do, an' it is."
He smiled thinly and guiltily at Father Wilburn, grateful the man hadn't tried to kill him. Yet.
"I wanna stay with him," he said. "I don't want anyone else. I never will."
Leslie leaned into Roman and laughed slightly, eyes closed momentarily.
"He keeps saying that, too."
Father Wilburn thought for what felt like a good, long time, but was probably closer to a few seconds. People didn't stay in relationships forever, nor did they never stray. It was a fact of life.
Or so he had previously believed.
"I've been waiting for someone like you," he said, placing a hand on Roman's knee, "Not necessarily of your gender, but...ah...someone like you." He smiled and stood, walking to his calendar on the wall. He flipped a few pages over (he'd never been very good with keeping it at the right month), and then stared intently at a single date before circling it with a red sharpie.
"You have 8 weeks, exactly," he nodded, "but that's only if the weather cooperates. Otherwise it'll be another 8 weeks every time it doesn't rain. You'll have plenty of time before the child is...ah...born."
The priest recapped the marker and turned to Roman again.
"I couldn't ask for anyone better for my son."
Roman blushed.
"Thank you, sir," he said quickly, looking down at the floor. A parental figure outside of Mary had never paid him a real compliment in his life. It was a hard thing to get used to again.
Eight weeks...what shape will we be in, in eight weeks?
"You're welcome," Father Wilburn smiled, and then turned to Leslie, "You remember what's in your bottom drawer, now."
Leslie snerked.
"Yes, Abbas, I do."
Suddenly, the door flew open. Father Fredericks entered, and both Leslie and his father stood, looking more than a little stunned.
"Bottom drawer...?" Roman asked, trailing off and looking up slowly at the intruder. "Um. Hi."
Father Fredericks smirked and arched an eyebrow, looking Roman over rather obviously. He started the man in the eyes for a moment, and then turned to Leslie.
"Thank God for AIDs, hm?" he ******** piece of...
Leslie's eyes went immediately black, but he said nothing.
Flinching slightly, Roman took a breath and then smiled at the man.
"Oh, wow. Never heard that one before," he drawled. "You got something original or you gonna resort to throwin' fundie monkey s**t?"
"Ego prex ut vos licentia meus cella statim," Father Wilburn said, arching an eyebrow and crossing his arms at teh weasely priest at his door.
Father Fredericks scoffed and turned out.
"People like him make me regret my profession."
"Hm," Leslie shook his head, eyes returning to normal, "Don't worry. I promise to vomit blood on him again some time soon." He looked down to Roman and nodded toward the door.
"Lessgo."
Roman immediately looked apologetic again.
"Goddamn, I just swore in a church," he chided himself. Waving goodbye to Father Wilburn, he followed close behind Leslie.
"See you in...eight weeks, I guess then," he said. "Or, earlier, I dunno. Either or. Bye."
"Bottom drawer, meus filius, bottom drawer!"
"Shut. UP. Abbas," Leslie yelled before closing the door and blushed profusely, "That man and his...bah." He began down the ladder once more.
"What's in the bottom drawer?" Roman asked as he followed Leslie down the ladder. "I don't get it. I'm missing something, aren't I."
Just tell him. The man's going through a blood-bonding ritual, for the love of God!
Leslie sighed.
"You'll find out soon enough. Nothing important."
Curiosity unfulfilled, Roman shrugged and nodded.
"Alright, later then," he said. He looked around a little warily for the Fundie Priest of Doom, wondering of the man was skulking around in a corner somewhere ready to bash their heads in with a collection plate.
Father Fredericks was there, in fact, but watching from afar. He turned and began down the hall to the dining hall to tell his fellow Fathers of this new development before going to give that goddamned Peter Wilburn a good talking-to.
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Posted: Fri Aug 25, 2006 8:55 pm
The Alley
"Bye, Penny,"
"Bye handsome."
"Taken, Pen."
"A girl can dream."
Roman snorted and rolled his eyes, waving as he left DisChord and headed off for home. Dragging a set of only slightly damaged headphones from around his neck and fixing them over his ears, he cranked the volume on his only slightly smashed CD player and decided to ignore the world as he walked. Halfway home, taking the route through a neighborhood he'd visited a few times in earlier years, Roman glanced at a stoop, a corner and an alley he'd spent his share of time in. All abandoned now.
Except for something crumpled up behind a trash can.
Feeling his stomach turn to ice, Roman fidgeted in indecision. He took a few steps towards home, then backtracked.
"I'm gonna regret this," he muttered to himself, ripping off his headphones and stowing them away. He crossed the street and ducked into the alleyway.
"Hey. Still alive?" he asked the lump that was in fact a person, the words uninvited in natural habit.
Leslie walked slowly, tugging on Sheila's lead and clicking his tongue. The poor little thing was forced to wear a rabbit harness, and she wasn't very happy about it.
The pair soon happened upon a bit of the city Leslie had never seen before...or had seen and hadn't noticed.
Sheila began barking and wagging her tail as she sniffed the air. Leslie disregarded it as temporary canine insanity and continued into the neighborhood.
"If you wanna call it that... then yeah. Still 'live."
Roman sat back on his heels, watching the figure shift into a sitting position and brush dirty dreadlocks out of its face. Roman sucked in a breath.
"Darrel," he said. The figure blinked at Roman with tired eyes.
"Do I know you?" the man called Darrel asked in a voice as tired as his eyes. Roman looked confused for a second, then nodded.
"Once. It was a long time ago," Roman said sadly. "Tenth grade, we got thrown out of science class for throwing that...heh, that frog, remember? And it splattered on Miss Frank's desk, and..."
Darrel wasn't listening. His eyes closed and he nodded into sedated sleep, leaving Roman to talk to himself.
"Darry," Roman said urgently, shaking his shoulder. "Darry, c'mon. It's...rrgh. It's Romey. Remember me?"
Darrel didn't respond. There was a rattling cough somewher deeper in the alleyway, making Roman jump.
"Hello?" he called. His only response was another cough.
Leslie didn't quite believe what he heard the first time, but the second time, there was no doubt.
Roman was somewhere in the general vicinity.
"Stay here," Leslie kneeled and tied Sheila to a parking metre. The puppy just sat, her stump of a tail thumping against the pavement, "and don't get run over by anything."
With that, Leslie crouched to all fours and began slowly in the general direction Roman's voice had come from.
Roman taking to himself generally meant there was someone around...and Roman's "someone"s hadn't turned out to be the best people thus far.
Venturing further into the alley, feeling (to his disgust) rather at home, Roman looked around for the cougher.
"Anybody alive back here?" he called. "Come out, come out..."
The alleyway split off into a veritable maze at this point, smoky and twilit. A city unto itself of the people shunted out of a society barely ten feet away.
The cough came again, mixed with a mumbling of voices. Roman followed the sound, taking familiar steps down a cramped alley, which had been turned into a fort of sorts from abandoned boxes and tarps. The cougher sat outside on a plastic milk crate.
As Roman approached, the cougher looked up, focused on him with difficulty, and then cracked a slow smile.
"Look who came on home to me," the cougher said with slurred warmth. Roman said nothing.
God damn it, slow down!
Les thought to himself, although it was quite directed at Roman. It was damn hard scampering through this...Hell, he had no idea what it was, but it didn't have enough shadows for him.
He found a suitable dark place, though, and sat there much like an animal, one ear cocked toward Roman and whomever this was' conversation.
Coughing wetly and spitting phlegm onto the ground, the man on the milk crate beckoned Roman forward. Shaking his head, Roman crossed his arms and stood a healthy distance away.
"You haven't visited me in awhile," the man drawled, taking a hand rolled cigarette out of his pocket and offering it to Roman like it was candy. "C'mon and sit, we need to catch up."
Roman stared at the cigarette, then shook his head.
"Darrel's not looking that great," he said. "I figured I oughtta tell somebody 'fore he dies in that alley."
The man snorted and pocketed the cigarette.
"Doesn't matter if he dies in that one or this one," the man replied, snorting again for a different reason and spitting onto the ground again. "Where'd you up an' go to, Roman? Left me all alone."
"I went to the island."
"Must've been nice. Warm in the winter."
"Yeah. I told you to come with me."
"I don't like the ocean. Salt air makes me nauseated."
Roman sighed, a long hollow sound, and leaned against the crumbling brick wall. There was a murmur of voices within the cardboard and tarp tent again.
"Is that Shelley and Fred in there?" he asked without hope. The man's eyes dimmed.
"No," he said shortly. Roman flinched and looked away.
Leslie cringed in disgust, and then felt a pang of mistrust...or jealousy. There was no difference to him.
He scampered across the ground to get a bit closer, revealing himself for only a moment. He then slid down against the wall and watched Roman carefully.
"What happened to them?" Roman managed finally. The man glared at him.
"I know you're not that thick that I gotta tell you, Roman Jonas," he said shortly.
"You sound like my father."
"No need to be insulting," the man replied mildly. Taking the cigarette out again and lighting it for himself, he took a drag and blew smoke in Roman's direction.
"Adrian," Roman said, waving the smoke away like it was poisonous. "Adrian, you can't live back here anymore. C'mon. Look at this place, not even the rats want to be here."
Adrian grinned like a skull.
"I eat rats, Romey," he said, slurred voice growing almost incomprehensible. Roman's face twitched and he ventured forward.
"Put that out."
A cloud of smoke hit Roman in the face, startling him. He didn't cough, but desperately tried to hold his breath as he waved the noxious cloud away again. He took the cigarette out of Adrian's hand and threw it into a foul-smelling puddle, ignoring the man's protests.
"Look at you, mister high and mighty," Adrian said snappishly. "I like my life pretty ******** fine, thank you. Y'know, you were a good screw, Roman, not much else. Don't you try and pretend your better'n me because it's Fred in your grave 'stead of you."
Roman flinched as though he'd been struck.
"You miserable ********," he said, grabbing onto Adrian's collar. "For all I know you prolly strangled him to get his share."
An intense posessive wave washed through Leslie as his eyes grew black.
A good screw? ********. Last. Straw.
The weregoyle stood and cracked his back before shoving his hands in his pockets and standing half-shadowed beside the building.
Part of him hoped that they saw him. Part of him prayed to God that they didn't.
Adrian stared at the half-shadowed thing uninterestedly, knuckling his eyes.
"Huh. Lookit that," he said. Roman glanced over his shoulder and blanched.
"It's not what it looks like," he blurted. "I was just...he...that kid in the alley, he was my..."
Letting go of Adrian's filthy shirt, Roman shuddered and wiped his hands on his jeans.
"He's gonna die, Ade," he mumbled, attentions temporarily diverted. Adrian shrugged boredly.
"Everybody dies, Roman. Matter of when and how you do it, that's all," Adrian replied, fishing another cigarette out of his pocket. He flicked it at Roman, who caught it unthinking. "Now you can die here with us, or die out there. I guarantee you'd like it more on this side."
Roman's lip curled and he threw the cigarette back at Adrian.
"What happened to you, Ade." he said. Adrian laughed, painfully.
"You! You, and Fred, and Shelley, and Darrel, and Harold! You all are what happened!" he said, still laughing. "I did have a life Out There once, y'know! But here I am, sittin' in a ********' alley talkin' to a stoner who's no better'n me!"
Adrian's laughter echoed in the alleyway.
"So that half-dead stoner in the alley's one of yours?" Leslie finally spoke and nodded in the general direction of whomever it was Roman was talking to.
He strode forward, hands shoved in his pockets, movements oddly fluid. He couldn't pull off stoner any better than he could pull off female, but a cold heart was something he was well-versed in.
Roman flushed, mouth working but no words coming out. Adrian laughed a bit longer, nodded in half-interest.
"Him and Romey were friends," he said, drawing out the word nastily. Roman raised a fist and made as though to hit Adrian, then seemed to lose momentum and crossed his arms again. Adrian gave a yellow-toothed smile, then glanced up at Leslie again.
"Who're you? Roman find someone new to play with?" he asked. Roman felt the blood rush out of his face.
"Listen here, you son of a-"
"Shut up when the big kids are talking, Roman. Why don't you go check on Darrel, if you're so scared he's gonna kick it?"
Roman paused, unsure what to do, eyes darting between Leslie and Adrian.
Why didn't I just ******** go HOME.
Leslie laughed uncharacteristically coldly and came closer, hovering beside Adrain.
"Romey?" the weregoyle nodded toward Roman and laughed again, "I found him, m'friend."
Well, that's not a lie, is it?
Roman groaned at the sound of his hated nickname.
God dammit. I could travel to ********' China and I'd still find someone who'd call me that.
Adrian leered at Leslie, unimpressed.
"Hmph. Watch him close, then," he said. "b*****d'll waste his share and trick you outta yours before you can blink twice."
Roman muttered something low, presumably a particularly filthy curse. Adrian laughed again.
"You know I still love ya, Romey,"
"Get bent."
Adrian snorted, taking a minute to, by the sound of it, hack out a lung.
"You never did ever say it back," he said, wiping spit off his lips with his sleeve. Roman shrugged.
"Did you think I ever would?" he asked, sneaking a look over at Leslie.
Leslie caught Roman's eye momentarily and gave him a kind of sympathetic smile before turning back to Adrain.
"I'll take your word for it," he nodded, "You sound like you speak from experience...?"
---
Back on the street, a rather large and huge-pawed Boxer was trotting about like noone's business, looking desperately for her Master.
The remains of what had once been a lead and harness dangled limpy from a powerful, long leg.
The dog stopped abruptly, though, upon seeing a crumpled heap of a person in an alleyway. She trotted over and leaned down, licking the man's face.
He looked almost...dead...but didn't smell quite so good as that.
Adrian nodded.
"I barely ever got anything," he said, almost whining. "b*****d hoarded it all for himself."
He leered up at Roman then, smiling in a way that made Roman's skin crawl.
"He made up to me for it, though," Adrian said in an oil-slick voice. Roman gagged.
--
Darrel twitched. A guy couldn't die in peace anywhere these days, not even an abandoned alley.
"Go," he managed to croak. "Leave."
And he rolled over and retched, sighing as he started to feel cold.
"Oh, really?" Leslie arched an eyebrow and half smiled at Roman, "but I'd have to agree. He'd pretty damn good at what he does."
Leslie then dropped to one knee and looked up to Adrain.
"Although he's clean, you see. And if you ever talk like that about my Roman again, and believe me, I'll know, I'll come here and personally dissect you. Got me?"
---
The dog snorted and layed down, lying against the dying man, trying to warm him. If only Master were here!
Adrian made a choked noise, glaring up at Roman and then back down to Leslie. He stood, swaying, and staggered through the opening in the makeshift tent.
"Boy," he said, giving Roman a look by turn lusting and hateful, "you can have him."
He went inside, and with the scrap of duct tape that served as a lock for the tarp tent-flap, shut himself away inside. Roman, looking nauseous, turned away as smoke started to filter through the numerous holes in the little shelter.
"Let's go," he said to Leslie.
--
Darrel felt something warm next to him and cracked an eye open.
"Good dog," he said, deciding he didn't want to be alone after all. Petting the dog's head awkwardly, Darrel closed his eyes again and coughed weakly.
"Mm. Please," Leslie shook his head, "An' sorry for that. Just needed to know if I actually wanted to kill the b*****d."
He paused.
"Trust me, I do."
When he reached the mouth of the alley, however, his heart melted. Had it not been for the familiar lead, he would have never believed that that huge-a** dog was his Sheila.
He whistled for the dog, and she came obediently, leaping up. Leslie laughed and patted the dog's head before fishing his cellphone out of his pocket and handing it over to Roman.
"Call Shaun, will you?" he asked and made his way toward whomever this "half-dead stoner" was, "Tell him that he has 4 days to vacate the premesis, due to a larger need."
"There's not a person in this city that doesn't want to kill that gu-what the ******** happened to Sheila."
Roman gawked at the dog that had, in very recent memory, been very very tiny. Fumbling with the phone, he launched into a rambling conversation with Shaun, trying to get to the point as he nudged Darrel with his shoe. Darrel turned and curled on his other side, a hand groping blindly for Sheila.
"Dog's gone," he said, presumably to himself. "Dead. Ever'one's dead."
He sighed and craned his head up to look at Leslie.
"I'm dead," he informed Leslie seriously, laying his head down on the ground again.
"-yeah, Shaun, that's really something. Uh huh. Great. Woodworking's a good hobby. Yup. Listen -no, I'm not really into carving - listen, we need - NO, Shaun. Listen. You, four days, other person really needs the house. Okay. Okay. Bye. BYE."
Roman clicked the phone off and handed it back to Leslie in purest irritation.
"He still kicking?" he asked, looking down at a motionless Darrel.
"No you're not," Leslie kneeled, "You're still talking. You see, that leads me to believe that you're still alive. The rest is up t'you, alright?"
Sheila returned to Darrel's side and nudged her nose under his hand.
Leslie sighed and ran his hand through his hair.
"I promised myself I would never do this, but...God..." he pressed his hand against the nearest wall and shook his head, "You'd damn well better feel loved, Roman. Climb on quickly, and hold the boy and the dog on tight. Tie him on if you have to."
After another burst of pain, Leslie was once again a rather large stone behemoth. He layed on the ground and nodded for Roman to do what else than get Darrel and Sheila onto his back.
Roman obeyed, lifting Darrel up gingerly and wincing as the smell of vomit and body odor hit him full in the face.
"Ah, Christ, Darry," he said, whistling for Sheila and helping her up onto Leslie's back. "You need a shower, buddy." <******** you," Darrel replied in a wavering voice. "Dead people stink."
Roman sighed and clung to Sheila and Darrel, hoping no one was lost along the way. <******** yeah I feel loved at the moment," he told Leslie matter-of-factly. "Ready to go when you are."
Leslie folded his wings back in an attempt to further protect his passengers and them, trying to maintain as much dignity as possibly, he raced for the hospital, head bent against the wind.
Shelia kept pressed up against the dying man, feeling obligated to do as such by her canine mternal instincts.
---
Upon reaching the entrance to the hospital, Leslie lay down once more and unfolded his wings.
Dignity? What's that?
Roman kissed Leslie's stone face in purest gratitude.
"I'll make it up to you hon, I swear," he said, Darrel hanging off him and making the wet gag of someone about to vomit violently. "Just give me a minute, I'll set him straight in there."
"I want the dog," Darrel said, head hanging and sweat pouring off his face. Roman grunted and raced inside, ignoring Darrel's sickly moan and another gag.
The triage nurse didn't look particularly pleased to see Roman, and picked up the phone before he managed to say a word. A moment later a familar tiny doctor was coming down the hall, hands on her hips.
"You again," U'Maaki said. Roman shrugged and hefted Darrel's dead weight, praying the kid wouldn't puke on him. U'Maaki sighed as the gurney was wheeled in and snapped her fingers at the tall tan doctor that had followed, and he claimed Darrel from Roman carefully.
"Do I dare to ask?" he asked dryly. Roman shrugged.
"Hell, you guys know us well 'nough by now," he said. "Take a wild guess."
The doctor snorted and dug something out of his pocket. It was a black-handled switchblade, and he offered it to Roman.
"Memento from your first visit, I figured you'd want it back," the doctor said. Roman made a face.
"You can keep it," he said, turning away. Going back outside he sighed and went back over to Leslie.
"One of these days, I swear, I'm gonna start ******** picking these people off," he said, looking moody.
Leslie, miffed that he'd been left outside, gave Roman a half-hearted smack and turned back into himself.
"You owe me, boy," he said and shook his head before striding into the hospital.
"Hello, good doctors whom I will probably all know personally before next week! I be the man who brought in that half-dead young man. How much's it gonna cost?"
Sheila followed, her head hanging low. The dying man wanted her...she just knew it!
"Sheila, no. No puppies in the hospital. Go out. Out."
The dog reluctantly strode out the doors, her immense weight causing them to slide open, and sat outside the first set of doors, looking particularly sullen.
"I do. My soul for starters," Roman said, striding after Leslie back inside. The doctor who'd kept Mark's switchblade ventured over, looking over his shoulder as the gurney was wheeled away.
"Depends, all things considered," he said to Leslie, shaking hands with him and eyeing the dog. "Hospital has a charity insurance kind of deal. If he lives, that'll take care of it, along with a twenty dollar co-pay from who ever signs for him. If he dies..." the doctor looked over his shoulder again. "We'll get back to you on that."
"Will he be okay?" Roman asked, blurting the question before he could stop himself. The doctor shrugged reluctantly.
"Too early to tell," he said. He was about to say more when U'Maaki stuck her head out from behind the emergency room doors.
"Doctor Adyamaur," she said tightly. The doctor winced.
"Alright, ishta, I'm coming," he said as U'Maaki went back inside. "Scary woman. You guys can wait here. We'll let you know if he stabalizes or..." he trailed off, needing explain no further as he went back into the ER. Roman sighed and sank into a chair.
Leslie sighed and shook his head. It would take too long to get to the chapel, seeing as to how he didn't quite know where it was, and thusly just sat beside Roman, grabbed the crucifix around his neck, and started mumbling to himself.
"Me again. Dunno if you're even there any more, same old, same old. Just keep this kid alive, alright? Give him a second chance." He made the sign of the cross over himself and flopped back.
"He'll be alright," Leslie turned to Roman and put an arm around his shoulders, "So help me God, he'll be alright."
Roman nodded slowly, staring down at the floor.
"I think he did it on purpose," he said eventually. "You saw where they lived. He probably though death'd be better."
He glanced at the emergency room doors without hope, and turned his gaze back down to the floor.
---
After half an hour, U'Maaki came back covered in gritty black liquid Roman recognized as charcoal slurry. Her expression was irritated and victorious as she stood in front of Roman, hands on her hips.
"He will recover," she said briskly. "We will call you when he is ready to be released. He needs to stay here for a few days. You can leave now."
She turned on her heel and left, but not before giving Leslie an out-of-place shy smile and wave. Roman blinked.
"Um. Okay then, Miss...U'Maaki Scary Lady sir," he called after her as she went back into the ER. "Guess that covers that, then."
Leslie nodded.
"She said we can go," he shrugged, "not that we had to."
He cracked his back and grimaced at the rather audible pops.
"I needta sit for a bit. Three-hundred plus pounds does a number on your back. Tell me about him." Leslie nodded toward the ER door.
Eyeing the dribbles of slurry that spotted the floor, Roman glanced at the ER doors again.
"Old school friend," he said finally. "Met in fifth grade, had classes together in seventh, did drugs in tenth, downhill from there."
He leaned back in his chair and toyed with the frayed pullstring of his hoodie.
"We were friends. Messed up in school left an' right but we had a good time doing it. You'd like him, I think, when he's sober."
Pushing the memory of his meeting with Adrian out of his mind, as well as the news and the leers and the comments and the stinking cloud of smoke in hs face, Roman settled into the chair and cracked his knuckles loudly.
"Not really much to add," he said dully. "That's what my life was, what you saw. What else can I possibly add to that?"
"His name," Leslie looked up, brow furrowed, "What's his name?"
He was neither happy nor proud of what Roman's life had been, and just wished he'd shown up sooner. Then again, the weregoyle's presence may not have done jack at the time.
He was still a recluse back then.
"Darrel. Darrel Hodgson." Roman said, glancing over at Leslie. "Like I said, if he's sober long enough you'd like him. Scatterbrained, but pretty decent."
He eyed Sheila through the sliding door.
"He likes dogs, too."
"Or so I've noticed," Leslie half-smiled and looked to Sheila for a moment.
"AhGod, this is gonna be a pain in the a**. Gotta pull some strings to get the forms...people're supposed to come to my dad for help. Only way they're deemed 'worthy'. Hopefully the church'll pick up the rehab, if he wants it. Prolly will. ... Neh. It's worth it."
He paused and scratched his head.
"God willing, he'll stay sober."
Counting the linoleum tiles to stave off boredom, Roman half-nodded as Leslie spoke. He wasn't really listening...
I wonder how bad he really is, he thought. If he's really damaged. Kid was worse than me.
"I don't know if he will," he said finally. "He...I just...I dunno if he will."
There was very little else to say outside the truth. Darrel would either clean up or wind up dead in the duplex. But better dead there than in that godforsaken alley.
Leslie gave Roman's shoulder a quick squeeze and stood.
"We can only do so much," he shrugged and nodded toward the door, "C'mon. All we can do now is wait."
Three days later
The phone was ringing just before Roman reached the door. Muttering an absentminded curse as he went for it, he struggled with his overladen arms and threw three boxes of used CDs and a stuffed deer head onto the couch.
"Why the hell do we need a stuffed deer head," he wondered aloud as he picked up the phone. "Hello?"
"Mister LaFontaine?"
"Speaking. Listen, I'm late for work, and I don't want anything you're selling-"
"Sir, it's about Darrel Hodgson, the man you brought to the hospital-"
"Is he okay?" Roman interrupted. "Did he run off? Is he dead? Did you people ******** lose him?!"
"Sir. Mister Hodgson is ready for discharge, we request you come and pick him up."
"He can walk."
The voice on the other end of the line turned deeply irritated.
"We're aware of that. We're also aware of his liking for the hospital wheelchairs, and-"
Roman cut the woman off, starting to laugh.
"Holy s**t, he's racing them, isn't he." he said. There was an irritated huff on the other end, and he took that as a 'yes'. "Alright, alright. I'll go and get 'im. Thank you."
Leslie, who had been standing aimlessly nearby, arched an eyebrow. He didnt have to be to work for another half hour, at least.
"You're late for work. I have a car and a dog to keep him occupied," he shrugged, "Want me to go get 'im?"
That was one of the many beauties of being your own boss; you could be as late as you wanted, and nobody could do a damn thing about it.
Roman hesitated, then nodded.
"Alright. Just....keep him away from anything flammable," he said. "And call me when you get him, okay?"
---
Darrel was sitting outside the hospital foyer, wheeling himself boredly around in a banged up hospital wheelchair. He looked around for his ride, if any was coming, then glanced over his shoulder. The nurses and doctors who'd had to suffer his presence were all watching him. He waved at them sardonically and continued to amuse himself with the wheelchair.
Leslie nodded and smiled.
"No problem."
---
Upon reaching the hospital, Leslie had absolutely no trouble guessing which patient was Darrel. He gave a short laugh and went in, approaching the bored young man in the wheelchair.
"Darrel?"
"More or less," Darrel replied, balancing the wheels precariously. He glanced up at Leslie through his messy dreadlocks.
"You're the guy from the alley, right?" he asked. "The one with the dog."
He paused, looking Leslie up and down as though trying to refresh his memory.
"You're Roman's friend." he said finally, nodding slightly. "Nice to meet you."
"That'd be me," Leslie nodded, "and if you'll kindly follow me to my car, there's a rather large canine there waiting for you. I think I have to...pay for you, though."
He arched an eyebrow at the person behind the front desk.
Darrel abandoned the wheelchair and followed him inside, occasionally waving at the medical staff audience. They all glared at him.
"Well, what the ******** did you think I was gonna do when you started force-feedin' me charcoal?" he asked them mildly. "Sorry I threw up on ya."
There was no response. The woman behind the counter gave Leslie a few forms to sign, shaking her head slightly.
"Take him, and god help you," she said. Darrel grinned in something like pride.
"Eh. He can't be much worse than what I'm stuck with already," Leslie smiled fondly and filled out the paper work, handing over the co-pay easily.
He then returned to Darrel and waved for him to follow.
Back out in the van, Sheila was going absolutely spaztic, clawing at every avaliable surface (which would have been an issue, had it not been for her neatly filed claws). She saw dying-man and she wanted him, goddammit!
Before opening the door, Leslie turned to Darrel again.
"Brace yourself for the onslaught."
Darrel waved goodbye one last time and followed Leslie to the care. His eyes lit up when he saw Sheila, and he braced himself accordingly.
"Heya, dog," he said in his quiet voice, tapping slightly at the window. "Good dog."
Leslie opened the door and Sheila leaped out, sniffing Darrel hand carefully before leaping up onto him and licking his face. She would have looked like a fairly formidable enemy with her spiked collar and mean looks, but her adoration of this man dashed all of that out.
"You can just get in. She'll follow."
Leslie slid into the driver's seat and pulled out his cellphone, dialing Roman's number and waiting as it rang.
Wiping dog spit off his face in good humor, Darrel slid into the passenger seat and twisted around so he could still pet her.
"Good dog," he said from time to time, petting every inch of her he could reach.
---
"I'm telling you, stuffed deer heads aren't gonna do anything for the decor."
"Pen-ny, just trust me with this!"
"Says the man who has a toilet in one corner of his office."
Roman leaned on the counter watching Tom and Penny bicker in amusement, then shot straight up and toppled off his stool as his cheap cellphone started vibrating.
"JESUS H. CHRIST," he howled as he fell. Digging the cellphone out and cursing himself for thinking the 'vibrate' setting would be a good idea, he clicked it on.
"Hello?" he said, groaning as he pushed himself up off the floor. Penny leaned over the counter to stare at him.
"Didja break anything?"
"Just what's left of my pride."
Sheila leaned over the back seat, placing her ample paws and head in Darrel's lap and staring up at him with huge brown cow eyes. Her stump of a tail thumped rapidly against the back seat.
"Alo, Roman," Leslie spoke as he started the car and began carefully out of the parking lot, "Got Darrel here. Gonna bring him home."
He paused for a split second and turned to Darrel.
"Right. Forgot to mention. You're being kidnapped and relocated."
Darrel shrugged.
"Okay," he said. "S'long as it isn't an alley I'm good."
He scratched behind Sheila's ears, clicking his tongue.
"Pretty girl," he said. "I had a dog once too, wasn't half as pretty as you."
---
Roman, testing the arm he'd landed on and hoping he hadn't broke it, shook the phone once and put it back to his ear. The stupid thing was already crapping out on him.
"Alright. Just keep a really close eye on him. And if he's got a pack of cigarettes on him just take 'em away," he said. "And I meant it when I said keep him away from flammable stuff. Kid's like a pyrokinetic...no, that's the psychic people. Pyro-somethin'."
Leslie nodded to Darrel before turning back to the cellphone.
"A pyromaniac. Got it," Leslie laughed, "Don't tell me I have to bring him to work with me?"
Sheila's entire rear end began wiggling. She understood "pretty girl" and "dog", and those words put together in a sentence generally meant much luffings.
"Hey, not that again," Darrel protested mildly. "He's only sayin' that 'cause of the time I lit his curtains on fire. That was for science, okay?"
Continuing to pet Sheila, he looked out the window and watched the scenery going by.
"Not that curtains really have anything to do with science," he added after a minute.
---
"Oh, right, right. Pyromaniac. Okay. I dunno, he might just want to lay up and recoup for a bit," Roman said, holding the phone between ear and shoulder as he rang up a customer. "It's up to you."
"Alright," Leslie nodded, "You get back to work. I need to not kill people. See you later." With that he hung up and narrowly avoided a head-on collision with a Rolls Royce.
"The curtains where you go are inflammable, so hah. But seriously, if you fee like lighting anything on fire, do it in the fireplace?"
He continued down his street and tried to explain the situation as quickly as possible.
"The church owns a duplex down the road, here. Roman n' I got one side, and various people get the other. You'll have it until you clean up, get a job, whatever. If you feel like relapsing, it'll just be a neat place until we find out what you're doing and have to kick you out on your a**. Church'll pay for rehab if you want it, if not, they pick up your bills anyway."
He parked in the driveway and stepped out of the car.
"You do anything stupid, it's me that's getting in trouble. People are supposed to come to us, not vice versa. I had to pull some strings to get you here, and it's my a** on the line. Can I trust you?"
Sheila cocked her head at Master's ramblings before leaping over the front seats and stumbling out of the van.
Darrel listened intently, then finally nodded.
"Mister Leslie, sir," he said hesitantly, "I was tryin' to kill myself when you guys found me. I'm not gonna screw up having a roof over my head that's not made of cardboard. I'll be good n' all that stuff. You guys can trust me."
To prove his point, he fished out a beaten and torn pack of Marlboros out of his pants pocket.
"Here. I don't want them anymore," he said, handing them over.
"Good thing Sheila found you then, hm?" Leslie smiled with an almost paternal proudness and took the cigarette box. Sheila trotted to Darrel's side as Leslie went up the stairs to his side of the duplex.
"We gave Shaun another day to clear out, so you'll be staying with us 'til then," Leslie unlocked the door and held it open, "You can rest in here alone until...ah...4 or so, or I can take my work home with me. Your choice."
Feeling much like an intruder no matter what Leslie said, Darrel nodded and looked around interestedly.
"I'll just stick around here," he said, eyeing the couch with longing. "I'm kinda tired. I promise I won't steal anythin'. "
"Alright," Leslie nodded, "Make yourself at home. There's food in the fridge, if ye want it. Just kindly stay away from the water jug."
Leslie then turned to Sheila.
"Now, you be good." Sheila understood the command and sat, peering up anxiously.
"I trust you, Darrel," Leslie said before leaving the duplex, "I really do."
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Posted: Mon Aug 28, 2006 4:57 pm
The Tattoo
Leslie had been home for just over a half hour, sitting at the dining room table poring over a slew of books open in front of him. Some were Flash and others were fonts, but all had something to do with tattooing.
The weregoyle took the pencil from beneath his teeth and ran the eraser in a straight line across his bicep. He then shook his head, sighed, and returned to his books.
Roman jumped the steps to the house and slid in through the door in a (in his own opinion) fantastic entrance.
"I'm home," he said unnecessarily, removing his headphones and placing them safely 'round his neck. Wandering over to the table and kissing Leslie in greeting, he glanced down at the books. "Hey, what's all this?"
Leslie kissed Roman back quickly before returning his gaze to his books.
"Welcome home," he said and gnawed on his poor abused pencil, "I'm thinking about getting summore ink, but I dunno where." The vagueness was intentional.
He huffed and looked to Roman again.
"Help."
Drawing up a chair and leaning over the books, Roman idly flipped through the pages of one.
"Huh...I dunno, anything specific in mind?" he asked, looking at the pictures carefully. "You could always put it on your arm or something."
"Just a word...and a fairly short one at that," Leslie shrugged, "It'd look weird all alone on my arm. There'd have to be somethin' around it, and I dunno what."
He continued gnawing on his pencil and peered down at some flash of naked women. He snerked and flipped the page.
"Huh....you could put it...oh! Like, maybe on scrollwork over your collarbone or something," Roman said, then frowned. "Wait, no, that'd look like kitsch. Nevermind."
Putting the book down and taking up another, he flipped to a random page and looked through it. Hmm...
"Maybe it could be surrounded by barbwire or...hmm...something that'd actually look good," he said, mostly talking to himself as he examined the pictures. "Jeez. This is tough."
"You like that barbed-wire stuff?" Leslie asked as he ran across some himself. For some reason the idea of tattoos that looked like they were biting into your flesh was horribly unattractive.
"Maybe I should just cop-out tattoo it on my forehead."
"Blecch, no, that was just a half-assed suggestion. Pay no attention," Roman said, flipping through the book. "Huh...what's the word, anyway?"
He paused to look at a picture of a tattoo a man had around his belly button. Looked like a lady lying down...wait. Was that...ew...yup, it was. Roman stuck out his tongue and flipped to another page.
"Guh. Some people're just perverted," he said, shaking his head slightly. "Anyway. The scrollwork could be a good idea, I guess."
"Mmh," Leslie said, only half-listening. His hand traveled down to his current tattoo and lingered for a moment. There was a space, he knew, where a word wouldn't look so odd...
...nah. Far too small.
"Shoulder bl--hmm...gah! Damn. Shoulder blade, chest, shoulder blade, chest..."
"Ooh, go with the shoulder blade. It'd look cool there," Roman said. Giving up on the books, he leaned back in his chair and considered his scant ideas.
"Maybe just surround it by fire or something. Just no tribals, those violate every reasonable law of reality," he suggested.
Roman blushed.
"Oooh...right. Sorry about that," he said quickly. "It looks good! I mean, I've never really...seen it up close and...okay. Yeah. Fire's good."
"Very well," Leslie laughed, "Flames it is, then." He hiked his pants back up.
"I'm gonna go down an' make an appointment. I'll be back in...ah...a half hour. Alright?"
Still blushing at his mistake, Roman nodded.
"Could...could I go with you?" he asked.
"Suuuuure," Les nodded, already grabbing his keys and heading for the door. He glanced over his shoulder and smiled to Roman, "I'm pretty sure you'll like Travis n' Margaret n' them."
---
Leslie parked on the street just outside Lucky Soul Tattoo in a bad part of town. Without hesitating, he got out of the car and stood by the door, waiting for Roman.
The waiting room of sorts was a small room with a battered couch and a chair. There was flash hanging on the right wall, and a horizontal rack of smaller flash beneath the gaping hole in the front wall that lead to the tattooists' stations. On the left was a glass case filled with assorted jewelry, and between the case and window was a short saloon-style swinging door marked "Employees Only".
The entire place was done up in red and gold with African and Tibetan masks, and even a large Chinese dragon kite.
Roman looked around in the kind of awe one usually finds with children in candy stores.
"This place is...holy s**t, this place is cool," he said, eyes wide. Examining one of the masks in extreme interest, he grinned over at Leslie. "We need one of these. Really."
"My dad supplied that one, believe it or not," Leslie nodded to the mask beside the one Roman was ogling. He then leaned on the glass case, feeling right at home.
The piercer, Margaret, came out from her room with a smile on her face. She was a short girl in platform sneakers with black hair, gauged ears, and a nose ring.
"Hey, Les! Haven't seen you in a while."
"Mm. Did you really expect me to come back after last time?"
Margaret laughed and shrugged, "Makin' an appointment, then?"
"Yes'm."
The piercer pulled a date book out from beneath and behind the glass case and flipped through it. "Thursday eight o'clock good for you?"
"Fine for me."
Margaret scribbled something quick down and shoved the book back beneath the desk.
"Soooo," she cooed, "Who's the pretty one?" She nodded to Roman.
"He did? Good cripes, where'd he get it..." Roman said, tilting his head nearly horizontal as he looked at it. "Damn....I want one."
Not at all sure what he would do with a mask like that, but certain in his desire to own one, he wandered over to the case and decided to ignore the minimal height difference.
Goddamn Peter genetics. I'm too ******** short.
"Hey," he said to the girl, waving. "I'm Roman. Nice to meet you."
"Hi," Margaret smiled and waved back, "You taken?"
"He's with me, dear."
"Aw, damn! Why do all the cute ones hafta be gay?!" The young woman took on a look of deep disappointment and shrugged, "Ah well." She looked Roman over for a moment, eyeing his piercings with a happy smirk.
"I like. I like a lot," she nodded approvingly.
Roman snerked.
"There's a girl I know who'd agree with you wholeheartedly," he said, thinking of Penny. "Sorry to disappoint."
Feeling himself blush slightly as she looked over his piercings, he managed a sheepishly proud smile.
"Really? Thanks," he said, self-esteem rising a bit.
"Apology accepted," Margaret snorted and nodded, "Yeah, I mean it. The anti-eyebrow doesn't get nearly as much positive attention as it should."
There was sudden movement behind the tattoo artists' window.
"Travis!" Margaret called suddenly, "Leslie n' his boytoy! Appointment! Thursday!"
A man...if he could be considered to be a man...suddenly appeared and came out from behind the saloon-style door.
He was a tall man, an inch or so taller than Leslie, and his skin was a colour somewhere between yellow-orange and brown. There were flourescent blue stripes covering his body in intricate patters, and he sported a pale blue soul patch to match his neatly pulled-back hair. His eyes were completely the same colour as his stripes, and seemed to glow even in normal light. This man was very obviously a tattoo artist, one could see, by his numerous ear and facial piercings.
None of this was quite the disturbing bit, though.
This man had a row of jagged, razor-sharp teeth decorating his upper and lower jaw, and a figure so thin and sharp, you could almost hurt yourself on him. That, and he had 4 pairs of arms: one where they should be, one above that (of which the left was small and almost t-rex-like), and one below, and a final sprouting from above his shoulder blades.
"Hey, man!" the freaky being grinned and waved to Leslie with one of his normally-placed arms.
"Heeey, Travis. Long time no see."
Travis nodded and then noticed the significantly shorter man with Leslie. He stuck out the hand he had waved with.
"Travis Styx. Nice to meet you...?"
Looking deeply pleased now, Roman touched the anti-eyebrow lightly.
"Yeah, heh, I really liked it, still do," he said. Blushing slightly as he was marked again as the "boy-toy", he gave a resigned sigh. At least they were calling him "Romey".
As Travis entered, Roman turned and raised a hand in greeting, not expecting to see something half as interesting as he did. Eyes lighting up in the same kid-in-a-candy-store fanatic interest, Roman grinned widely and shook Travis's hand.
"I'm Roman. Roman LaFontaine. Nice to meet you," he said, eyes flicking only once over the extra arms.
"Roman. Nice to meet you," Travis smirked and nodded, "So! Les. What you comin' in for?"
"Err..." Leslie thought good and hard for a moment. How to tell the artist without telling the boyfriend?
AH!
He thought hard back to his younger years in which his father had attempted teaching him sign language. He vaguely remembered the alphabet and thusly spelled out what he wanted.
Travis snerked in reply.
"Alright. I'll have a few sketches for you on Thursday."
"Thanks, man."
"Noooo problem."
Travis then moved to greet a suddenly-appearing customer and Leslie nodded to Margaret.
"Thassit," he smirked to Roman, noticing the pride in his piercings.
Watching the exchange blankly, Roman waved goodbye to Travis and nudged Leslie in the arm.
"What was all that a...ah, nevermind," he said, changing thoughts midsentence. "Top secret tattoo-thing."
"Like I said, nothing important," Leslie leaned down and kissed Roman atop the head before climbing into the van, "You'll see on Thursday, anyway."
---
Thursday night
Leslie sat on the couch, tapping his fingers anxiously on the coffee table. His eyes were glued to the time displayed on the cable box.
7:54...better start going...
"Nyerk. Time ta go..."
Roman, as usual deeply involved with a puzzle game, glanced up.
"Can I come with you, or is it still top secret?" he asked, grinning slightly.
"That depends," Leslie smiled and stood, retrieving his coat, "Do you wanna watch and be my moral support, or do you wanna be surprised by a pretty flesh wound when I get home?"
He grabbed his keys with a slightly trembling hand and started out the door.
“Oh...and I meant to ask. What’s your favourite colour?”
"I'm good at moral support," Roman said, abandoning the puzzle and jumping up. "I wanna see! I've never seen somebody get tattooed before."
Scrounging for his ripped hoodie and dragging it on, he frowned briefly in thought.
"Green," he said eventually. "I think. No..yeah! Green is."
Leslie nodded. Green might work. Travis was ******** magical when it came to tattoos.
...literally.
---
Back at the tattoo shop, Travis was waiting for Leslie and Roman, all arms crossed.
"Ah, my favourite customer."
"Psh."
"Nervous?"
"A bit."
"Come on back, I'll show you the sketches."
Travis lead the pair into the piercing room...and then back out through it. They made it to the dingy office...and then passed through a door in the back. There was an absurdly clean room with a black-leather and metal tattooing chair and a desk as its featured items.
Travis went over to the desk and brought up two sketches, holding them just under Leslie's nose with a normal sheet of paper beneath so as to hide it from Roman.
"Door number one or door number two?"
Leslie reached up and pointed to the one on the left...kinda like a wing, kinda not.
"Alright. I'll go make a stencil. You two stay here. I won't be a minute."
Leslie sighed and flopped into a nearby chair as Travis disappeared out the door.
Roman tried to sneak a look at the tattoo sketches, feeling slight disappointment as he failed to see anything at all.
"Whatever it is, I'm sure it looks awesome," he said, trying to start up the support-thing early.
"If you don't like it, I'm getting it ******** lasered off," Leslie snorted, completely serious, "and you d--"
"He's returned!" Travis shouted as he...well...returned. Leslie obediently assumed his position on the chair, legs bent on the leg rests and arms folded about the back of the chair.
"D'you trust me?" Travis asked as he placed the stencil on.
"Of course, my dearest Travis."
"Alrighty," the multi-armed man nodded and then spun around in his wheely-chair to the table behind him, assembling a deranged tattooing...hell...gun. It was larger than a normal machine, and held a barrel full of hissing liquid. The needles were longer and a bit thicker than usual, too.
Leslie sighed and laid his face in the headrest, reveling in the momentary cool.
This was going to suck. Hardcore.
Cringing back slightly at the sight of the tattoo gun, Roman gave Leslie a slightly non-believable encouraging smile.
"It'll be fine," he said. Holy freaking Christ, that thing's practically a torture device.
"Welcome to the wonderful world of having an allergic reaction to absolutely everything," Leslie gave a nervous laugh.
"Ready?" Travis turned back.
"Ready as I'll ever be."
"Good man," Travis smiled as he leaned down, one pair of hands stretching the skin, another holding the machine, and the rest pinning Leslie to the chair.
The weregoyle felt the needle puncture skin and gave a strangled yelp. It wasn't nearly as painful as getting his hand stitched, but it was still pretty damn bad. After all, the sizzling liquid was an acidic compound to immediately scar the ink into the skin.
It was the only way it'd stay.
"Ngerk...you'd better feel loved," he murmured to himself, but at Roman.
Roman winced in sympathy as Travis started his work.
"I do, I do," he said patiently, drawing up the chair Leslie had abandoned for the torture seat. Drawing his legs up to his chest, he watched the process with morbid interest.
After a short time, Leslie's endorphins had kicked in. He simply lay there, watching Roman and giving the occasional tweak of pain as an already-inked bit of flesh was re-inked.
Travis was having one Hell of a time with the copious amounts of blood the weregoyle was losing, but it was his job, after all.
Finally, once the tattooing was over with, Travis spoke as he dabbed Les' back off.
"Final wash coming..." he spoke and turned around, grabbing what looked like a bedpan and a small container of sizzling liquid "...nnnnow." Travis poured the container upon Leslie's tattoo, catching it at his lower back with the plastic pan. Leslie gave a short shriek ending in a laugh as his flesh ceased its bubbling. He then stood and cracked his back.
"Ow."
Travis laughed and removed his gloves and began to throw away the blood-soaked gauze, thanking the Gods that he was immune to blood-bourne disease.
"May wanna check it out now before I bandage it up," he spoke to Roman and smiled.
Watching the process and cringing in sympathy every now and then, Roman was relieved when the process was finally over.
"Huh? Oh...okay," he said, getting up and sneaking over. He looked at the new tattoo interestedly, then blinked in surprise.
"That's my..."
He looked up at Leslie, feeling himself blush and a slow smile creeping onto his face.
"Les...that's..." he said, pointing to it, the smile growing wider. "That's my name."
"Yes. Yes it is," Les grinned, blushing himself, "Hope you don't mind."
Travis smiled to himself and then stood, placing an ointment-slathered bandage over the tattoo and taping it down with surgical tape.
"Mind? God, I don't...I don't mind..." Roman said, laughing. He wished he could have gotten another good look before it was bandaged up, but then the idea struck him that, quite incredibly, tattoos were permanent. He'd get to look at it any time he liked.
And in a way... it meant he really belonged to Leslie now. He grinned at the thought, feeling happier than he'd been in weeks.
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Posted: Fri Sep 08, 2006 6:03 pm
Questions, Answers, and Results
Roman was sitting at the dining room table and aimlessly scribbling over his newspaper with a bitten-up old pen. Not bothering to watch where the pen traveled, it traveled here and there over the table's surface leaving thin black lines.
"So."
"So," Leslie said, hugging one knee and staring blankly out the window behind Roman. He'd done a lot of thinking all that day.
And Leslie thinking was never a good thing.
"Stuff."
"Yup."
Unsure where to further take the conversation, Roman resorted to biting on the much-abused pen again.
"...so..."
"I'm...I'm gonna...just...yeah," Leslie said, not making eye contact and swirling his finger in a random general direction. With that, he stood from the table and made his way up the stairs.
He entered the main bedroom and locked the door behind him before making his way to the book case and pressing in a small, hidden button. The front of the base popped off to reveal a drawer, the contents of which he removed and began examining carefully.
"Mmh."
Roman watched him go, curiously neutral. He bit down harder on his pen and felt the plastic crunch between his teeth. He frowned and spit out a splinter of it, making a face.
"Ucch."
Leslie soon returned to Roman, the previous contents of the bottom drawer now "hidden" rather obviously on his person.
"So," he began, leaving a pregnant pause, "Do anything interesting today?"
"Not really," Roman said carefully. "Store was pretty busy today."
He trailed off into silence, letting it grow until it had reached the point of being uncomfortable.
"Whatcha got there?" he asked finally.
"Where?" Leslie arched an eyebrow, sliding his hand into his jacket, successfully hiding his...depressing little objects of evil.
There was nothing special about them, after all. Not yet.
He then coughed into his hand and shook his head. <******** disease.
Roman shrank as Leslie coughed. He couldn't catch himself in time, and felt annoyed at the response.
We're not going to die.
"Um...huh. Never mind," he said, dismissing his behavior. "...yeah."
Leslie peered up at the clock and heaved a sigh. It was late enough, he guessed.
"I'm going to bed," he stood and stretched, his back giving an audible pop. He then traveled up teh stairs rather quickly, kicking his shoes off on the way.
Pushing away from the table, Roman wondered if he should just stay downstairs that night.
"Les, wait," he said. Or he would have said it, had Leslie not already disappeared upstairs. He sighed slightly, and unsure what else to do, followed.
In the span of less than a minute, Leslie was curled in a ball under the sheets, eyes closed, but still fully conscious.
That damnable bookcase was still right there.
Taunting him.
Roman crept into the room, taking out his piercings for the night and setting them safely away. He glanced at the bed once and sighed inwardly.
"I know you're still awake."
"It takes the average being seven minutes to fall asleep," Leslie mumbled, "No kidding." He rolled over to face the wall and sighed.
God damn it...
"Huh, really? Didn't know that."
Roman gave up on trying to follow his nightly routine, and sat on the edge of the bed. It creaked, rather ominously, under his weight.
"You gonna tell me whatever that was, or do I have to ask?" he said, glancing over his shoulder.
"Just go to sleep, Roman," Leslie coughed again, "It's nothing important." His free hand traveled to the other and clasped it almost completely, once again hiding the trinkets.
The weregoyle refused to turn over. Especially now that his eyes were growing wet.
"You brought it out and you brought it down for a reason. Please tell me what it was."
Roman had looked away as Leslie started coughing again, cursing himself hatefully.
Leslie turned slightly and peered over his shoulder.
"I'll tell you when you need to know," he spoke, voice altered by his craned neck, "Don't worry about it, alright?" He turned back to the wall almost immediately.
"Alright," Roman said reluctantly. Finishing his obsessive-compulsive routine, he climbed into bed a few minutes later and curled onto his side.
" 'Night."
Leslie said nothing. After a few minutes, though, his eyes shot open.
"Roman?" he asked carefully, giving a nervous huff.
Half-drowsing, Roman shifted onto his back and cracked an eye open.
"Yeah?"
"Can I ask you something?" Leslie questioned, and then added quickly, "Something you...may or may not want to answer."
He continued staring at the wall, not daring to make eye contact.
"Go ahead."
Roman had the feeling he wasn't going to like what was said. He shifted slightly, glancing over at Leslie warily.
"How long were you doing drug while you lived here?" Leslie asked, shifting slightly, "I mean, I just assume you were."
...and so began the first of a great list of pre-planned questions.
Roman felt his mouth go dry. He swallowed with difficulty, feeling heat rush to his face and his hands go cold.
"Off and on...about two weeks out of the two months," he said.
"Figured," Leslie nodded. It wasn't really the drugs he was all that concerned about.
"And what, exactly, were you doing to get said drugs? You weren't working."
The heat in Roman's face began to grow unbearable.
"I traded the only thing I could," he said roughly. "It was all I had. And I was desperate."
Leslie's stomach gave an uncomfortable twist. He half-groaned, but stopped himself quickly.
"How many?" he choked, "Before me, I mean."
Roman shifted again, trying to get as much distance between himself and Leslie as possible. This whole discussion was beginning to get uncomfortable fast.
"You mean those two, or from before we met?" he asked, feebly.
Leslie twitched.
"I meant before we...before you moved in."
Roman was glad, at least, that he didn't have to struggle to count them all or speak some outrageous number.
"Nine," he said. He felt sick saying it. "Four years, raging drug problem...I did it to get what I needed. I didn't care back then."
Leslie was beginning to feel sick.
"Lost it to a favor-mule, then?"
What was the point of lying?
"Yes."
Leslie made a move as if to run his finger through his hair, but ended up raking small slices into his face with his claws. He let them rest there.
"More than one at a time?"
Revolted, Roman sat up and twisted even further away from Leslie.
"No!" he said, rather angrily. "It'd be a cold day in hell before I did somethin' like that."
Oh, thank God, Leslie thought, muscles loosening slightly.
"Only one more thing," he said and sat up, hugging his knees, "How well did you know these people before your...ah...trades..."
"People I knew from school. I wasn't going around lettin' strangers....I had rules, y'know," Roman said. "I wanted to stay alive long enough to get blitzed on what they gave me. I played it safe."
His voice was very bitter, and he didn't look over at Leslie as he spoke.
There was almost an audible snap.
Leslie made a choked noise, something like a gag, and stood before sprinting into the bathroom, throwing himself into the shower, and turning on the water.
He simply stood there, trying to wash Roman off of him.
Roman flinched as though he'd been struck. He felt his eyes go wide as he heard the water, stinging with tears, and stumbled out of the bed.
I make him sick. He hates me. I'm foul, filthy, disgusting-
Blindly pulling on his clothes again, Roman left the room, half-falling down the stairs. He wanted to vomit. He'd never felt so hateful of himself before. Going for the door, he turned and stared up the stairs.
"I was trying to leave that day!" he shouted, eyes brimming with tears. "Maybe you shouldn't have brought a ******** junkie home!"
Feeling nothing but revulsion at himself, he stumbled out of the house. He didn't care that he had no where else to go.
Leslie slid against the back wall of the shower, only barely hearing Roman's voice. He felt intensely nauseous, and beat his head once against the hard tile.
You shouldn't have done that. Now you'll have nobody.
The weregoyle buried his hands in his hair, gripping the back of his head, and shrieked. Tears began streaming down his cheeks, mixing with the cascading water.
Oh, Darrel must be just loving this.
Darrel, in fact, was sitting out on his stairs and chewing on a piece of beef jerky, trying to ignore the pangs of want for nicotine and watching the night sky. He found the leathery stuff was an excellent substitute - it tasted about as good as a cigarette and it lasted longer. He'd heard Roman shout, and watched him leave blankly. The delayed surprise kicked in a moment later, and he jumped up and after his friend.
"Whoa, whoa, hey now," he said, catching up to Roman easily. He grabbed the other man's arm and latched on, knowing full well that Roman was stronger and when he wanted to move, he wanted to move now, dammit.
"You ******** son of a b***h, you ******** let me go," Roman snarled, trying to jerk his arm away. "Your fault. Yours, Adrian's, Harold's, all your ******** fault!"
"What? What'd I-"
"You made me a junkie!" Roman roared, tears streaking down his face. "All of you!"
Feeling his flesh beginning to give way, Leslie crawled on all fours from the shower, not caring enough to turn the water off, and fell to the carpet panting like a dog.
Not good. Gotta find him. Don't want him gone. No, we want him gone, no, no we don't.
He stood and took a step toward the door.
Pants.
He scampered to his dresser, grabbed a pair of jeans, and struggled into them as he flew clumsily down the stairs.
"Roman, hey, come on..."
Darrel was cut off as Roman's fist swung into his face. Darrel rocked back, blinking and his grip momentarily loosening.
"You hit me," he said, startled. Roman raised his fist again, thrashing.
"Let me go or I'll ******** knock your teeth in," he hissed. Darrel shrugged and tightened his grip, refusing to let go.
"You hit like a p***y," he said patiently. Roman struck Darrel again, barely phasing him.
"LET. ME. GO."
"Hit me hard 'nough and I will."
Leslie flew out the door and watched Darrel and Roman for an almost hypnotized moment before collapsing to his knees on the front long.
His limbs had ceased to function, and so he just watched, helpless.
Neither man was aware of Leslie's presence, focused entirely on each other. Roman thrashed, his fist glancing off Darrel's cheekbone and causing more damage to himself than his target.
"It was you!" he snarled. "You and your ******** pills. You started this!"
Darrel caught Roman's arm as it swung towards him again, twisting it away.
"Yes. I gave you pills," he said, in a tone that one would hear a preschool teacher use on a particularly tantrum-prone toddler. "And Adrian gave you coke. Shelley gave you weed. It's our fault for givin' it, but it's just as much your fault for takin' it."
Roman sobbed, trying to wrench his arms away.
"Les knows about them," he said, choked. Darrel winced.
"The boys...Roman. Romes. C'mon. You had a ********' jones bad enough to kill people, what the hell were you supposed to do?"
Roman fell into Darrel, sobbing.
"He hates me," he croaked. Darrel shushed him, comfortingly.
Leslie closed his eyes for a moment. Something like rage at Darrel bubbled up inside of him, but he supressed it.
Judge not, lest ye be judged.
He opened his eyes and stood, slowly, using his own knee for support. He approached Darrel and Roman, eyes unfocused.
Darrel noticed Leslie's approach, and bowed his head regretfully.
"None of us were plannin' on livin' this long," he said blatantly. "I can't make up for what I did."
Roman looked up, tears running thicker than ever, and made a sound like a wounded animal as he saw Leslie.
"Let me go!"
He wrenched his arm free and turned to run, but Darrel was faster. Glancing at Leslie apologetically, he swung an arm around Roman's neck and pulled him back in a chokehold.
Currently only able to utilize a single body part at a time, Leslie sat where he was. He was damn greatful that someone was able to catch Roman.
"Don't hate you," he was finally able to piece together.
Roman laughed with self-hating derision.
"Bullshit. Everyone does eventually," he said, struggling to remove Darrel's arm. "Darry, for the love of Christ, lemme go, you're choking me."
Darrel obliged, grabbing hold of Roman's arms again.
"You gon' say sorry for hitting me?" <******** off."
"Apology accepted."
Darrel glanced over at Leslie and got a good look at his condition, face creasing into a worried expression.
"Cripes, you alright?" he asked.
In a single, spontaneous milisecond, Leslie's brain fused back into a single form. He stood.
"Honestly? No," he brushed himself off, "I'm slowly dying from an incurable disease, my skin is spongey, and my boyfriend thinks I hate him."
After he spoke, Leslie realized that his brain had probably not, in fact, fused back together. He was speaking completely calmly with tears rolling down his face.
That was not generally considered a sane bodily function.
"Oh. Huh, well. Sorry 'bout all that," Darrel said, his blunt sympathy legitimate. Roman made a low sound and looked away, looking miserable.
"Ahh, I get it. You're in the ********' It's-my-fault-why-people-die-an'-cats-run-up-trees phase again, aren'tcha," Darrel said, looking almost amused. Roman spat something extremely obscene in response.
"C'mon, Romes. Y'all havin' a ********' meltdown, might as well do it as a couple," Darrel replied, pushing him towards Leslie unceremoniously. Roman stumbled and nearly crashed into Leslie, but pulled himself back.
"I'm sorry," he sputtered, quick and miserable.
Leslie shook his head.
"Whatever, In the past n'...all that s**t," he said and twisted a ring around his finger, "Doesn't make me dislike it any less, but ain't nothin' I can do about it now."
"I don't do it anymore," Roman said, desperate to make it clear. "I'm clean, I don't go near them anymore, never."
Darrel watched the scene with detached interest, feeling like a bit of a snoop.
"It's true," he added, unsure what he was supposed to do. Go in? Stay? He might have to catch Roman again if he went into wandering-mode...
Leslie arched an eyebrow.
"I don't think either or you are stupid enough to...not be clean," he shrugged, "and that isn't what bothers me anyway." He gave Roman a final glance before shoving his hands in his pockets and starting up the front steps.
"Then what is it?" Roman said, rooted to the spot. He didn't know if he was welcome in the house anymore. He didn't want to move. "What is it?"
Darrel nudged him forward, looking rather tense.
"Go'n," he said. "Get it done and over with."
Roman glared, then nodded, and slowly followed Leslie.
Leslie only spoke once both he and Roman were within the house.
"Because you were a filthy whore, you played me, and I'm not sure I trust you any more." He said simply before turning for the stairs.
Oh,
"He's right," Roman said, voice hollow. "Leave it alone."
Darrel's eyes flicked from Roman to Leslie and back again, and he gave a forced shrug.
"Alright, alright," he said. Roman waved him off to his door, and Darrel went obediently. He glanced over once at Leslie before going inside.
"You and Peter sho' sound alike," he said politely, entering and closing the door quietly behind him. Roman remained outside, hands in his pockets and looking very lost.
Leslie only turned once to Darrel before continuing on his way.
And then, of course, he turned abruptly and returned outside.
"Jesus Christ, I didn't mean that," he moaned, "I didn't."
Yes you did...maybe I did...regardless, no.
He stood there, arms crossed over his shoulders.
"It's the truth," Roman said flatly. "You're not the first one to tell me that."
He sighed, long and tiredly.
I shoulda just gone, he thought dully. I shoulda just kicked Darrel in the gut and ran.
"I don't deserve trust," he said finally. "I'm a ******** and a whore, and it's my fault you're dying. You're better off if I just go."
]"No!" Leslie cried out, convulsively throwing his arms around Roman. He immediately started crying and pulled back, clinging to himself once more.
"Don't say that. Please don't go..."
Feeling tears start again and brushing them away savagely, Roman rounded on Leslie.
"What good will it do?" he said, tears springing back up in his eyes and trickling downwards. "Look at all the s**t that's happened since I came here! It's all my fault!"
Breaking down again, he flung his arms around Leslie and clung to him, his mind cleanly snapped in two.
"I should just go," he said miserably, holding on tightly and shaking like a leaf.
Leslie gladly clung back, rather happy that Roman hadn't run the other direction this time around.
"Why me?" he whispered, refusing to revisit the thought of Roman leaving, "Out of everyone you could have had, why me?"
"Because," Roman said, holding on for dear life. "You're different. You didn't look at me like I was garbage. You gave me a home."
He paused, wondering how he could put his thoughts into words without sounding ridiculously hokey.
"I'm yours," he said finally. "I never wanted anyone before, an' they didn't want me. You did. You're the only one that ever did. I didn't want to lose that. That's why."
Leslie suddenly pulled away, sniffled, and twisted a plain band, one of two rings he'd taken from his bottom drawer, off of his finger.
"You're a crazy b*****d," he said fondly as he dropped to one knee, "Marry me, will you?" He held the ring up and gave a weak half-smile.
He's going to say no. But what the Hell.
"Hell, I know- hey, what are you..."
As Leslie dropped down and pulled out the - holy crap, was that a ring-Roman blushed violently, mouth working but no sound coming out. He stared at the ring, then back at Leslie, eyes huge.
"You an' me..." he said, voice thready. He stared at the ring, and a slow smile spread over his face. He nodded hard.
"Yes. Yes. Yes! I will, I will!" he choked, looking overjoyed.
Leslie laughed and stood again, shoving the ring onto Roman's finger. It slid fairly easily, and Leslie mentally thanked God for that.
He embraced Roman again, once more starting to cry, and gave a short laugh.
"That was in the bottom drawer."
Holding on tight, wildly happy, Roman laughed.
"I figured it was...hell, I dunno what," he said, his snapped brain finally beginning to fix itself. This had been a hell of an evening.
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Posted: Sun Sep 10, 2006 5:03 pm
The Announcement
Twisting the ring on his finger idly, Roman glanced at the cathedral from the vantage point available from the parked van.
"I wonder if he'd do the services. Or ceremony. Whatever they call it," he said, looking down at the ring and the now-familiar feeling of delighted disbelief springing up again. "He's probably the only guy in there wouldn't try to beat us to death with collection plates, right? Or at least me, anyway."
"Are you suggesting they'd beat me?" Leslie grinned and slid out of the van easily. He was neither nervous nor afraid of the priests.
Damn them all.
"But, yeah. He's been telling me he's in charge of my wedding since I was twelve.”
"What? Oh, nah, nothin' like that. Perhaps just a blow to the head for me, though," Roman said cheerfully, jumping out of the van. "Hey, that's pretty cool. Glad he likes to plan ahead."
Feeling intimidated by the cathedral as usual, he hung back a bit and glanced around, searching for the skulking priests. He didn't see anyone...but perhaps they were in stealth mode.
"Heh. Stealth-priests," Roman said to himself, grinning absurdly at the thought.
Leslie arched an eyebrow at Roman and laughed slightly.
"They may wear black, but that doesn't make them ninjas," he paused moment, "Even if that would be ******** cool."
The weregoyle continued into the cathedral, rather gladly accepting the fact that no particularly hate-filled priests were wandering about.
"Stairs or ladder?" he asked, turning to Roman after a moment.
"It would be, wouldn't it," Roman said wistfully. "********' ninja-battles during Mass? It'd up church popularity tenfold. They should consider having massive swordfights when things start gettin' dull."
Glancing around once more, he shrugged.
"Stairs are fine by me. I don't care if any of 'em see," he said pleasantly.
"Aw, c'mon. Priests are pussies. Half of them would start bawling mid-battle," Leslie snerked and tapped his chin, "We took the ladder last time. I think it'd be best we took it again."
He began off toward the door leading to the ladder.
"Just play along, alright?"
Roman snorted, finding nothing wrong with that assessment.
"Um...sure, okay. Lead on," he said, following closely.
It wasn't long before Leslie once again stood before the door between his old room and his father's. He tested the doorknob, found it unlocked, and simply stepped in.
Father Wilburn looked up from a slew of papers on his desk.
"Yes?"
"We've...got something to tell you," Leslie said suddenly, looking either very guilty or very depressed.
Roman was briefly confused by this sudden switch in mood, comprehension dawned closely after. He copied Leslie's expression and hung back a bit.
Play along, he thought in amusement. He clasped his hands behind him to hide the ring.
"Oh, God," Father Wilburn sighed and ran a hand through his hair, "What happened? Who'd you kill?"
"No, no," Leslie said, shaking his head, "It's nothing like that. There's just been a new...development..."
"Something to do with the kid?"
"No...nothing like that..."
Resorting to biting his tongue particularly hard to keep from smiling, Roman fixed his gaze onto the floor.
We are bad, bad people, he thought, struggling against the urge to laugh.
Had Leslie not had years of practice, he would have already broken down into hysterics.
"Well then what?" Father Wilburn continued his barrage of questions, "Stop dancing around the point. Just tell me."
"I--mmh..." Leslie said as he placed his left hand to his face in a display of mock anguish.
"Tell me right now or--what's that?"
Leslie smiled and peered through his fingers.
"What's what?"
Turning a laugh that had inadvertently escaped into a cough, Roman pressed a hand against his lips to silence himself. The glint of light on metal was very obvious.
"Holy s**t," Father Wilburn said, obviously disbelieving before a wide grin spread across his face. He laughed then and stood, embracing his son rather tightly.
"Only took me 21 years, huh?" Leslie laughed.
"Errrg," was Father Wilburn's only reply. He seemed to have lost the power of literacy. He then was forced to lean over and hug Roman, although standing back up raised the poor man off of the ******** style="font-size: 9px">"Yerk!"
Briefly startled as he was lifted so easily, Roman burst out laughing and hugged Father Wilburn back fondly.
"Heh. Surprise," he said, grinning.
"So now you...and then...so..." Father Wilburn shook his head rapidly to clear it.
"Yeah," Leslie laughed slightly and blushed.
"This is severely ******** up," Father Wilburn gave a near-hysterical laugh, "but I don't give a damn!"
Not following the thread of narrative at all, Roman contented himself to smile politely and nod.
"Yes," he added helpfully. Poor Father Wilburn. Stuck with me as his son-in-law, sweet Jesus.
"You willing ********> yes," Father Wilburn replied and patted his son on the back, "I assume you'll want to do it before the ritual?"
Leslie twitched slightly, "Definitely."
"Good, good. Jesus Christ, they're going to excommunicate me." The priest laughed again.
Feeling at once terribly excited once he grasped that 'it' most likely meant 'wedding', then slightly less excited and more steadily nervous at the mention of the ritual, Roman wondered briefly what "ex-communicated" meant.
He decided not to ask.
"When can we do it?" he asked eagerly. "Any time is good."
Father Wilburn shrugged.
Leslie grinned and looked to Roman. "Whenever you're up for it."
"Hell, I could go it tonight if you wanted me to."
Roman's heart leapt.
"Okay!" he blurted, excited to the point of exploding. He tried to calm down and found he just couldn't. "I mean, if you wanna do that, Les. I'm up for it."
Leslie laughed. "Yeah. Totally up for it."
"We'll have to use the cemetery, I think," Father Wilburn thought aloud, tapping his chin. He mumbled some more, and then spoke directly to Roman and Les.
"How's eight? ...and how many people do you plan on dragging, may I ask?"
"Cool, cemetary wedding," Roman said, fascinated. "Um...huh. I can ask Darry if he'd like to come...maybe Tom an' Penny."
Out of all the people he knew, Roman could think of only four people he'd want to invite. He'd mentioned three already, and the fourth was unfortunately quite dead.
"Five or six or so, then. If I can get Li alone. Otherwise, I don't wanna risk Morg showing up," Leslie laughed and itched the back of his neck.
"Alright, alright," Father Wilburn sighed and furrowed his brow in concentration, "Whatever you like. It won't be more'n a half hour, I promise you that." He looked up.
"Damn. This is exciting."
Roman twitched at the thought of Morgan, both hateful and terribly guilty. He wondered if Morgan had swallowed any teeth after their last encounter...
"We're gettin' married," he murmured, trying to get his mind around the thought. It was wonderfully impossible to think on it. "I...we're...holy crap. We're gettin' married."
He smiled brilliantly, looking extremely excited.
Leslie smiled lightly and kissed Roman briefly.
"We are," he agreed, far beyond words by this point.
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Posted: Fri Sep 15, 2006 6:22 pm
The Wedding
Leslie sat perched atop the cemetery gate with Lili on the tombstone before him.
"I can't believe you're getting married!" the girl squealed, clapping her hands together.
"Yeaaah," Leslie shrugged and laughed slightly, "Doesn't seem quite real yet. I'm sure it'll hit me later." He toyed with his ring nervously.
Such a very, very unconventional wedding this would be...
"So, you're gettin' hitched," Darrel said, examining a marble headstone interestedly.
"Yeah. Guess I am," Roman said cheerfully.
"Cool."
"Yup."
Leslie's head snapped toward the cathedral window as it gave a hollow thud.
It took him a moment to realize that the thud was his father falling from said window.
"Alright," the priest said as he stood and brushed himself off, "The fundies are sleeping. The freaks can get hitched."
"Oh, thanks, Abbas," Leslie smiled and stood, approaching his father before the stone platform.
"Priest just fell out the window," Darrel noted. Roman snorted.
"I can see that," he said, grinning. Glancing around once, he spotted Tom and Penny skulking around in front of the graveyard and waved them over. "I guess it's time now. C'mon."
"Hell of a place to have a wedding," Penny noted cheerfully as she approached. Tom looked around warily and mumbled something about zombies.
Leslie snerked at Penny's statement. He was born there, he was getting married there, and, if things went wrong, he'd die there quite soon too.
He loved his cemetery.
"Y'ready?" Father Wilburn raised his eyebrow and bounced on his heels.
Leslie shrugged.
"I am," Roman said, his nerves catching up with him at last and making his voice crack. He cleared his throat and repeated his words, grinning.
Tom, Penny and Darrel took seats on graves behind them, looking amused (or in Tom's case, still a little wary and paranoid about the walking dead).
Leslie snerked.
Father Wilburn smiled.
"Alright," he said, looking down at his hands instinctively for a book of some sort, "We are gathered here...tonight...in a cemetery behind a rather rigid-backed cathedral to witness the union of Leslie Wilburn and Roman LaFontaine. I believe they know what to do."
With that, the priest hopped up onto the platform and crossed his knees.
Leslie's hand suddenly began to shake, and he gave Roman a short glance.
Roman gulped, infinitely nervous. Did he know what to do? Should he have asked what to do first?
Oh boy.
"Um."
Lili giggled in her usual fashion.
Leslie laughed and grabbed Roman's hands.
"I guess it's my turn," he smiled and inhaled deeply, "We've been through a lot. Mostly bad things, but still, a lot. It may sound cheesy, but I would sincerely die without you."
With that, he broke into memorized lines.
"I will cherish our union and love you more each day than I did the day before. I will trust you and respect you, laugh with you and cry with you, loving you faithfully through good times and bad, regardless of the obstacles we may face together. I give you my hand, my heart, and my love, from this day forward, for as long as we both shall live."
Roman by turn laughed and tried to bite the laugh back, smiled, and blushed brilliantly. Realizing it was his turn, he thought hard on what to say.
"Well...what can I say," he said. "I really woulda died without you. You saved me, and I love you more than anything."
He carefully said what he remembered of the vows, missing only a small word here and there and substituting fairly well. His eyes had gone peculiarly bright and he tried not to start crying in front of the guests.
Father Wilburn leaped off of the platform and once again assumed the general priest-position.
"By the power vested in me by the land of Gaia, I now pronounce you..." there was a pregnant pause, "man and...other man."
He paused again.
"You may kiss...your..."
"...spouse."
Leslie supressed a laugh by clapping a hand over his mouth momentarily. He leaned down, lifted Roman's chin with his pointer finger, and kissed him lightly.
Lili, Travis, and Margaret, who were crowded nearby, broke into a fit of applause and occasional whistling.
Roman laughed, kissing Leslie back. Darrel, Penny and Tom joined in on the applause with enthusiasm.
"Acch, another of my friends married," Penny said wistfully. Darrel patted her shoulder reassuringly.
"Don't worry about it. You're like...hot'n stuff. You'll land somethin' eventually," he said. Penny blushed, though Darrel was completely oblivious to the response as he looked back up at Roman.
"Congratulations, Romes," he said fondly. Roman laughed and grinned, looking exceedingly happy.
Margaret gave an aggrivated huff and moved a gravestone closer to Darrel. She had already claimed him as her personal property. He just didn't know it yet.
"HIIIIII!" Lili suddenly shouted, waving upward. Leslie followed her gaze to see one of the younger priests standing wide-eyed in a window.
He laughed and waved, and the light immediately went out.
"We're so screwed," he laughed and grinned to Roman.
"Uh oh," Roman said, frowning up at the window. "They're gonna like...eat us or something, aren't they."
Then he shrugged, stuck his tongue out, and turned his back on the cathedral. He honestly didn't care at the moment.
Darrel glanced over at the new woman, smiling politely.
"Hey."
"Oh, I don't care," Leslie grinned, "Although we probably shouldn't stay too long." He refused to let go of Roman's hand.
"Hey," Margaret smiled and stuck out her hand, "The name's Margaret."
"Yeah, I guess not," Roman agreed. He squeezed Leslie's hand, glancing over at him sidelong and smiling rather shyly.
Darrel shook the woman's hand, grinning easily.
"Darrel. Nice to meet you."
Leslie glanced in the direction of the exit, and then turned back to Roman.
"We could just, yanno, abandon them now. I don't think anyone'd notice."
"Pleasure's all mine. How do you kn--"
"Who's this, hun?" Travis grinned and leaned forward, lacing an arm around Margaret's shoulder. He offered another up, "Travis Styx."
Margaret shot him the '******** hatechoo' look.
Nodding agreeably, Roman glanced over at his friends. All were pretty distracted at the moment and he doubted they'd notice the newlywed's exit.
Darrel's eyebrows shot up and a slightly awestruck expression crossed his face as he got his first good look at Travis.
"Wow. Hey. Um, I'm Darrel," he said. "Sorry. She your girlfriend?"
"C'mon," Leslie half whispered and carefully made his way out of the cemetery and to the van, dragging Roman behind him.
Father Wilburn sighed and slapped a hand to his face. "There is no way I gave birth to that."
"She's my--"
"He's my boss," Margaret cut Travis off, "He also happens to be a professional a*****e. Ignore him."
"I'm hurt."
"Good."
Roman followed willingly, half-turning to wave goodbye to who ever was bothering to look (which happened only to be Penny).
Darrel looked relieved.
"Ah, okay. 'Cause like the last time I met up with a girl her boyfriend totally ********' tried to beat me up. He was a lot shorter so it was kinda sad. I let him hit me so he wouldn't like, y'know, feel un-masculine or some s**t."
Reaching into his back pocket for a cigarette and remembering there were none there, he dug out gum instead and popped a piece into his mouth.
"So. Nice weddin' in the boneyard, huh?" he said cheerfully, sitting on a grave.
Leslie gave Penny a sad sort of half-glance.
"Poor girl. You're such a heartbreaker."
"Not only am I taller than you, I have three and a half times the arms. I could totally probably not beat you," Travis said, spotted a female that hadn't kicked him in the nads 3 times that day, and moved to sit next to her.
"Yo."
Margaret grinned. "A bit creepy, I gotta say. I feel bad for the poor window-priest, though. He's gonna have to burn his eyes out with acid or somethin'."
"I'm a spinster-in-training," Penny said resignedly. "I have four cats. I'm already on my way out. Pretty soon I'll be eating Fancy Feast and have a fetish for cat jewelry."
She started and glanced up at the multi-limbed guy, smiling her best 'please stay, I don't have rabies' smile.
"Hey there," she said, throwing her hair back in a way she hoped was fetching. Tom, who'd discovered what looked like a finger bone, eagerly popped up from behind the grave smiling like a child.
"Pen! Lookit what I-"
"Not now, Thomas."
"Oooh. Right. Sorry. Gone!" Tom said, ducking away again. Penny bit back an embarrassed groan and hitched the smile back on.
Darrel snorted, making a mildly obscene gesture in the priest's general direction.
"Hmph. Screw 'em. They don't like it so much, they should just pretend th' whole situation don't exist or some crap. Like...'ignore the problem an' it'll go away'. Had an uncle that ignored a tumor like that once," he said, pausing. " 'Course, it did kill him eventually."
Travis laughed and waved to Tom before offering a hand to the girl.
"Travis. You're...Penny, right? Les' mentioned you," he then leaned over the tombstone, "Unless that's Penny."
"Eh," Margaret shrugged, "Priests tend to be raging bastards. Yanno I'm going to Hell because I have a hole in my eyebrow? Yeah. Let's blow them up. It'd be pretty."
Penny sighed.
"That's my business partner. Don't mind him. He's an idiot."
"An idiot who has a human finger bone, thank you."
"Thomas, I swear, you put that back or I'll make you choke on it."
Catching herself and blushing, Penny tugged nervously at the fine silver chain leading from her nose to her ear.
"I mean. Erm. Um. Pleased to meet you, Travis," she said quickly to cover herself, shaking his proffered hand graciously.
Laughing in an amused and slightly sinister way, Darrel reclined on the grave and glanced over at Margaret.
"I could do that. It'd be fun, too."
Travis shook Penny hand while laughing near-hysterically.
Something about her and Tom's almost sibling-like relationship struck his as incredibly funny.
"I see, I see. And, dude," he turned to Tom again, "You really should put that back. They say that this place is ********' haunted. If you want your head torn off, though, be my guest." Simply having female companionship was enough for him.
He'd never been very good at flirting, either.
"Oooh...I'd pay to see that," Margaret nodded, "What d'you say to Sunday, hm? Add insult to injury. Or irony to death. Whatever."
Tom made a choked sound and scrabbled up, holding the bone gingerly.
"I didn't think about that," he said worriedly. "Hell. I don't want my brain eaten."
"Thomas, put that back now."
"Putting!"
Watching Tom scamper away, Penny sighed and clapped a hand to her forehead.
"I swear...anyway. So. Whatcha doing after this?" she asked before she could catch herself. I'm picking up a multi-armed man in a graveyard.
...ah, ******** it. I don't WANT to be a crazy cat lady, goddammit.
Darrel pulled a firecracker shell from his back pocket and showed it off to Margaret with pride.
"Any time's good for me. You bring the camera. I'll take care of the explosives," he said, grinning widely.
"Me?" Travius arched an eyebrow, "Going back to lock up the shop an' then...going home. Why?"
He thought for a moment.
Wait a second...
Margaret's eyes went incredibly wide.
"You win. Hardcore."
"Um. Maybe you'd like to go for coffee. Or beer. Something drinkable," Penny said, blushing.
Darrel laughed and stuffed the shell back into his pocket.
"I try," he said, amused.
"Sure," Travis smiled nodded, "and if you don't mind following me, my place of work is conveniently placed across the street from a bar of sorts."
Dude. What the Hell. Does she have extra limbs I don't know about? Or a p***s? Girls don't do this. Not to me.
"You live with Roman n' Les, right?" Margaret asked suddenly, "I may have to come visit you some time. You could show me your various explosives n' s**t."
He's agreeing. He doesn't think I'm a well-disguised drag queen or carrying bubonic plague. YES. I ******** WIN. I should've tried picking up guys at weddings ages ago.
"Great! Um, I mean...no, I mean great. Sounds good," Penny said.
Darrel nodded.
"Yeah, on th' other side of the duplex," he said. "It's nice. There's like...a big bloodstain on the kitchen floor, but it adds character. You can come on over anytime, I'm usually always there."
He smiled, fingering the firecracker shell nestled in his pocket.
"It's nothin' to really brag about. You can blow a couple of 'em up, though. I been workin' on making them explode louder an' s**t like that. Perfectly good way to hang out, blowin' s**t up."
"Alright, then," Travis smiled and stood, offering Penny his normally-placed hand, "After you, m'friend."
Margaret laughed slightly and nodded.
"You ever think of becomin' one of those...pyro-dudes?" she inquired, "I mean, y'might be good at it. And, yuh, totally the best way to spend the day."
Penny beamed, taking his hand delicately and leading him out of the cemetery. Tom showed up a few minutes later, looking relieved that he'd disposed of the bone.
"Pen? Penny?" he called, looking around. "s**t. She must've gotten eaten."
Looking distraught at this thought, he waved goodbye randomly to the general area and left.
Darrel smiled brightly at Margaret.
"Pyrotechnician. I have, yeah," he said, looking flattered. "Not a big job market, though, but what the hell. Go with what you're good at, right?"
He glanced around and realized the graveyard was slowly and surely being emptied of living inhabitants.
"Well. Guess the wedding's over, then."
Only then did Margaret notice that they were two of three people remaining in the cemetery.
"Friend-of-Roman and Women-Who-Punches-Holes-In-My-Son," Father WIlburn addressed them, "You're welcome to stay, but I don't suggest it." That was all before he disppeared in a door.
"So. What're your plans for tonight?"
"You're a horrible person," Margaret said, but laughed, "Sure. I'll go." She stood and straightened her skirt clumsily.
Later
"So. It's official," Roman said, thoughtfully. "Ma would've loved the service. She probably woulda thought it was funny, havin' it in the cemetary."
He smiled then, perfectly happy.
"I hope the others didn't mind that we ditched 'em."
"Nah, they probably didn't even notice," Leslie grinned, sitting behind and flopped over Roman, "Aside from Penny, I mean."
It took him a moment, and then his breath caught audibly.
"Ah god, Penny," Roman said, wincing and laughing at the same time. "Girl's totally certain she's gonna end up a crazy cat lady. Maybe she hooked up with someone at the...what? What's the matter?"
He frowned at Leslie, concerned.
"Jesus Christ..." Leslie murmured, "It just hit me." He gave a rather gleeful laugh and clung to Roman.
"We're married."
Clinging back with enthusiasm, Roman grinned widely.
"Yup," he said happily. "I suppose we are."
He kissed Leslie on the cheek, nestling in closer.
Leslie grinned and leaned his cheek atop Roman's head, completely comfortable and the happiest he'd ever been.
Fundies be damned.
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