|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Sat Sep 16, 2006 8:09 pm
Of Test Tubes and Blood Rituals
Feeling decently alive for the first time in a rather long while, Roman stifled a cough and sipped at his coffee, trying to remain awake. He was tired too often.
"So," he said, his voice rather softer than usual, "what's on the agenda? Anythin' interesting?"
Leslie yawned, stretched, and cracked his back.
"Not before midnight," he half-smiled, "Unless you feel up to going to visit our fetus-what-lives-in-a-tube."
"Midnight...huh. Day's finally here," Roman mused, sipping his coffee again. He brightened at the mention of the child and nodded hard.
"Hell, I'll go now if you want," he said, cautiously energetic.
"Would I bring it up if I didn't want to?" Leslie smiled and stood, offering a hand to Roman, "I'm sure it has some kind of shape by now. Hopefully we'll know if it's a girl or a boy."
The fear of not seeing the child after this visit once again struck him.
Looking quite cheerful despite his thinned out appearance, Roman took Leslie's hand gratefully and got up from the table.
"Little canister-baby," he said thoughtfully. "Hell...huh. Interesting baby pictures to say the least."
"No kidding," Leslie laughed and lead Roman from the house.
---
On the way to the proper room, Leslie was forced to ask various doctors and clinic staff where, exactly, he was supposed to be. Eventually, though, he was able to find their canister and picked up the clipboard beside it.
"Female," he smiled slowly and then peered at the canister.
He stopped and closed one eye, examining the floating fetus again.
"She has 6 limbs."
Roman eyed the canister in definite fascination.
"Cool, and a tad weird at the same time," he said approvingly. Counting the limbs himself he smiled wider.
"Huh! Lookit that. She does," he said cheerily. "Damn, that's cool. She's a..." he trailed off, bending down to get a closer look as he searched for the word.
"Y'know. Those...horse-people...things. Minotaur?"
"That's the giant cow that eats virgins," Leslie snerked, "You're thinking centaur. I guess she kinda is...!"
He wrapped an arm around Roman's waist and continued examining their...well...daughter.
"Deidre is totally not a centaur name."
Roman snorted.
"Hey, I got one part right, that counts," he said, getting in close to examine the little...well, his little girl now, wasn't it? "You're right...Deidre wouldn't really fit. What other ones did we have picked out?"
"Jeez, I don't remember," Leslie pushed his mouth to one side and thought for a moment, "Err...I really don't remember. There was...Alice...and Grace...and...Laine and Holly. That's all I got."
It had been quite a long time ago that names had been chosen, after all.
Roman, who hadn't remembered any of the names they'd picked, considered the ones Leslie'd mentioned.
"...Laine's nice," he said.
"I agree," Leslie nodded and then cocked his head to one side, "but what about a middle name? I mean, we both got 'em. It's only fair."
Thinking hard, Roman touched the glass of the canister gently, letting his fingers trail down the surface. The name came up unbidden.
"...Mary?"
Leslie smiled.
"Took the words out of my mouth," he nodded, and then added, "Of course, we could stick 'Lesedi' in the middle to make it an even 6-syllable ballad-name...coincidentally much like mine" It was, in fact, a complete coincidence, gone unnoticed until he counted his own syllables.
"Yanno, speaking of names...I don't think we ever discussed the change or lack thereof of last names..."
Roman smiled slightly.
"Laine Mary Lesedi...or Lesedi Mary, either's good," he said, feeling pleased. At the mention of last names, he wrinkled his nose and made a 'hmph' noise.
"Not LaFontaine. No kid deserves to get stuck with a s**t name like that," he said darkly. "Hell, I don't want it no more either. I got to have yours after we got married, right?"
"I say it's a lot prettier than Wilburn," Leslie shrugged, "but I respect your opinion. And to answer your question, no, you don't have to. It's your choice."
The thought had never occurred to him that Roman would even consider changing his last name.
Roman thought about this, frowning.
Well, he reasoned, if Ma could've stood havin' that name...
"Yeah," he said finally. "I guess it ain't so bad."
Leslie arched an eyebrow.
"You keepin' it or no?"
Now that the whole discussion had been brought up, he was beginning to warm to the idea of forcing his last name upon Roman. Damn him and his indecisiveness!
Roman paused, then shook his head.
"No. I'm done with that name," he said. "I don't want it anymore."
Leslie smiled and leaned his head against Roman, peering at fetus-Laine.
"Well, I can't say I'm disappointed," he laughed slightly, "If I took your name, I'd sound like a female stripper."
Roman burst out laughing.
"I never thoughta that," he said, grinning. "That's ********' awesome."
"Yanno, Hell, if you think about your own birth-name, you could easily pass for a porn star."
"My name's good only for th' naming of a horny an' bloodthirsty Earth culture, thank you very much," Roman said modestly, still grinning. "I'd say somethin' like Asia'd be a better porn star name."
"For a guy?" Leslie laughed again, "Why are we discussing this in front of our fetus, anyway?!" He thought for a moment and shook his head.
"This poor, poor little girl..."
"Could be one'a those transgender deals," Roman said reasonably. He glanced guiltily at the canister and shrugged. "Yeah...I should just...not talk around her. Her first word'll be "********", I just know it."
He sighed, shaking his head slightly.
"Poor kid."
"Or the luckiest, depending," Leslie shrugged, "Sure as hell's gonna be an open-minded little horse-baby."
He stopped abruptly and squatted, getting to eye-level with the canister.
"Dude...we're going to need to...re-baby-shop."
"Oh...huh. Yeah, we will, won't we," Roman said. "At least we can get a refund for most of the clothes."
He felt a sudden unwelcome burn spread through his chest and turned away, silently coughing. His eyes watered and his breath came ragged, and when the attack subsided he was ********," he said, irritably.
Leslie stood and looked to Roman, a deeply concerned expression crossing his face.
"Let's go home. We can visit again tomorrow morning," he nodded, and then carefully removed his rosary from around his neck before looping it around the base of the canister.
"If we can, I mean."
Roman nodded and clamped his mouth shut, resisting the urge to cough again. He didn't want to go, but there wasn't much other choice.
If we're still alive, we'll come back tomorrow to visit, he thought, looking at the canister. We'll come back.
The thought cheered him up slightly.
Leslie kissed his first two fingers and placed them to the canister, smiling slightly, before he returned to Roman and laced an arm around his neck.
"After tonight, regardless of what happens, we won't have to worry about dying of disease."
Eyes fixed on the baby, Roman nodded slightly.
"Okay," he said, voice croaking.
Leslie kissed Roman on the temple, waved to the nearby staff, and then continued back out the door.
---
At 11:45, a group of people were gathered out behind the cathedral, within the cemetery. This group consisted of two priests, Father Wilburn and Father Logan, and, of course, Leslie and Roman.
It was raining rather hard (which was optimal condition, really), and lightning bugs had apparently taken over.
"This is your last chance to back out," Father Wilburn said finally.
Not minding the rain much at all, Roman shook his head stubbornly.
"I said I'm gonna do it, and I'm gonna do it," he said patiently.
Father Wilburn nodded.
"This is what's going to happen," he began, "Leslie's going to have to draw some of your blood to add to his, and then turn some of your water content to his. Otherwise, the stone would reject you. We'll then have to slit a body part of your choosing for you two to hold together during the...transfusion. While you're solid, Father Logan is going to..."
"He'll slit my throat so you can have my DNA," the elderly priest spoke, smiling.
"Damn. This is morbid," a rather damp Leslie said, voice trembling.
Listening intently, Roman looked at Father Logan the whole time. He was brave, braver and calmer than Roman felt about this whole thing. He's was going to let someone slash his throat, for heaven's sake!
"I guess...I guess my hand'll be okay," he said, forcing himself to look at Father Wilburn. "For the slit-thing."
He looked back over at Father Logan, respectfully.
"Thank you," he said. What else was there to say?
Father Logan nodded.
"I was going to leave this earthly plane quite soon anyway," he nodded, still smiling, "It was either slowly and painfully in the hospital, or quickly here to help you. You have a child. You certainly can't die."
Leslie nodded and gave a weak half-smile, not quite knowing what to say. "You have no idea how much this means to us."
He then peered at the clock upon the tower and sighed.
"What if we don't make it?"
"You will," Father Wilburn forced a smile, exceedingly nervous, "but if, by some deranged twist of fate, you don't, then I'll leave the cathedral and take her myself."
Leslie nodded.
"I guess we should get started, then?"
Roman felt himself smile and wondered why, and nodded at Father Logan's words. He took a breath and nodded.
"Let's get it goin', then," he said, his voice calm.
Father Wilburn handed Leslie the infamous switchblade of his birth and a small vial. Leslie accepted them with a nod, and then looked to Roman and grabbed his hand.
"Sorry," he apologized before slashing a thin ribbon into Roman's flesh and tipping his hand over the vial to let it fill.
Roman watched his blood flow and wondered for the thousandth time how this whole ritual really worked. He'd never had patience for the supernatural, just thinking there was a logical explanation for everything.
Standing in the rain and dark in a church's graveyard, he wondered if there was anything logical at all about any of this.
"This is how I was born," Leslie smiled fondly and capped the vial, "Well, the slashing-a-virgin's-throat-onto-a-statue part, anyway. Except I didn't end up with a genetic clone."
He then grabbed Roman's shoulders and inhaled deeply.
"This is gonna hurt," he exhaled before staring intently into the man's eyes, ever so slowly beginning to turn a portion of his body's water content into the weregoyle's own blood.
Roman nodded, taking another deep breath.
"I know," he said, staring back. He immediately began to feel unwell. He couldn't quite tell what it felt like...just something else his tired and sick body had to deal with.
It was starting to hurt.
Feeling terrible, Leslie only knew to stop when Roman's eyes began to take on a slight pink tinge. He blinked then, and stopped the reaction.
Leslie’s blood, within Roman's body, slowly began to filter through various organs and tissues, even bones, to try and invade Roman's bloodstream.
It was painful, to say the least.
The weregoyle took a few quick breaths as if he were about to dive underwater, and then downed the contents of the vial. He cried out and almost doubled over in pain as his body both rejected and completely accepted Roman's blood.
Roman breathed hard and bit back a cry of pain, trying to ignore it. It was impossible to ignore, unfortunately. He let a low, long sound escape, a groan of pain he refused to let go any louder.
I chose this, he thought defiantly. I chose it, I don't care if it hurts.
Pain swept over his body, and he tried to keep that thought in mind. As Leslie doubled over, he wondered briefly if they were both going to die then and there.
Breaths suddenly sounding as if he'd been stabbed in the lung, Leslie leaned down and scratched a rather large fleshwound into his oft-abused palm with his fangs.
"Go on. Get up," Father Wilburn nodded toward the pedestal, "You've got less than a minute."
Leslie immediately began shambling toward the stone platform, only to be caught halfway by Father Logan.
The priest took Leslie's head in his hands and kissed his forehead lightly.
"Good luck," he said quietly and nodded. Leslie simply gave a pained smile and looked back to Roman.
It hurt.
It hurt.
Roman followed close behind Leslie, sweating bullets and biting his tongue.
I won't make a sound. I'm not gonna scream. It doesn't hurt bad enough to scream.
He caught up to Leslie and walked beside him, catching his eye and nodding in encouragement.
Leslie reached out and clutched Roman's wounded hand with his own, passing the switchblade to his father. Blood began intermixing, and he stepped up onto the platform on which he had been born.
"Hurry," Father Wilburn said calmly as he wiped off the switch, "Twenty-three seconds."
Roman clutched Leslie's hand, pressing the wounds harder together. He shifted his gaze from Leslie to Father Logan, and managed a smile.
"Thanks," he managed. 'You're a better man than I,'.... thank you.
Father Logan nodded and smiled. He was rather proud of himself, albeit a bit hesitant to have his throat slashed. Not for the idea, but for the possible pain.
Leslie breathing had gotten more labored, and he could not pull himself to his feet. He contented himself in simply sitting, clutching Roman's hand, atop the stone platform.
"It's okay," he attempted to comfort Roman in advance.
Being completely solidified for the first time was, he assumed, not a very pleasant experience.
"Thirteen seconds," Father Wilburn said weakly.
Roman looked upwards at the storming sky, feeling pure fear for the first time. It passed as quickly as it had come, and he drew in a long, steady breath.
"Ready when you are."
Immediately as Roman finished his sentence, three events simultaneously took place.
One, the cathedral bell began to mark the 12th hour.
Two, the full moon suddenly began glowing a rather odd blue colour, something like an inverted harvest moon.
Three, the stone from the pedestal slowly began to creep up and engulf the bodies of both Roman and Leslie with a quiet crackling sound, beginning to turn them both into solid stone forms.
Leslie cringed in anticipation.
Oh.
Roman's eyes went wide and his mouth worked, though no sound emerged. This was...there was no word for it. He'd never felt anything like it in his life.
He closed his eyes and tried to grit his teeth, breath turning ragged and an animalistic growl of pain erupting from him. <********. ******** other pain he'd ever felt in his life dulled into nothing compared to this. He tried to bite it back, but he couldn't.
Roman screamed, hoarse and agonized.
His legs now completely fused with the platform, Leslie was forced to twist to the side and wrap a free arm around Roman, pulling his torso closer.
"It won't be long now," he said soothingly, completely used to being solidified by this point in life, "I promise."
Both priests looked deeply concerned.
Roman said nothing. His eyes were squeezed shut and tears leaked out, streaking down his taut face. His breath came raggedly. He couldn't breathe - it had gone wrong, he was sure of it, he was going to be encased in stone and suffocate and die in this churchyard...
He drew a long breath, interrupting his terrorized thoughts, and failed to stifle another scream. It felt as though his bones were on fire. His beating blood felt like acid burning through his body.
God damn it all, he was in pain.
Leslie simply closed his eyes and waited as the stone overtook their lower bodies, and then their bloodied hands, fusing them into a single, solid form.
Finally, mercifully, it overtook the pair completely.
Consciousness and sensation were essentially gone, although a vague awareness remained, not of the situation, but of events around them to be stored and retrieved upon the re-initiation of consciousness.
For all intensive purposes, they were now dead.
"You ready, Father?" Father Wilburn asked as kindly as he could muster. God, it tore him apart to have seen Roman like that.
"Yes," Father Logan nodded and sat on the pedestal, leaning upon the hunched stone forms of the young men.
"Requiescat in pace," Father Wilburn said finally, crossing himself, and then drawing the blade quickly across the other priest's throat. Just as had happened the first time, the body turned to sludge and disappeared as the blood absorbed into the statue.
Various priests began streaming from the cathedral like a steady stream of liquid terror, reacting to Roman's screams. They stared in wonder at the statue, not quite able to fathom what was happening.
All that was left now was to wait.
So this was death.
In the grand scheme of things, it really wasn't so bad.
There was no consciousness...not really... there was something left, though. It existed, and it waited.
Minutes Later
Leslie suddenly opened his eyes to see...nothing. Nothing but absolute blackness, that was. He was allowed only an inch or so of movement, and so squeezed Roman's now-healed hand.
Well, hot damn. They'd lived!
There was pressure coming from somewhere...what was that?
In a startling burst of consciousness, Roman remembered life. He would have jolted from the shock of it if he could have moved more than the barest of inches.
On reflex, he squeezed Leslie's hand back.
Leslie's mama-bear instincts took precedence over self-preservation, and, with one quick twirl of his wrist, he removed the paper-thin layer of stone around their hands, and then down Roman's arm.
Only then did he hear the assorted cries and prayers of the gaggle of priests outside.
He quickly began working on his thin shell, attempting to wriggle free.
Roman sensed movement, and drew his newly freed hands up to his face. The rock peeled away and he drew breath. He felt...he wasn't quite sure. Was he alright?
"I was dead," he said, picking stone from his skin. "I. We. We were. Were we?"
He couldn't quite think straight yet...
"Mmph...not technically," Leslie wriggled a bit and cracked his back, "Consider yourself an honorary weregoyle with the exact same DNA as me...which, of course, brings up the question, is it incest, masturbation, or something else?"
A few of the priests grew immediately silent.
Father Wilburn snerked.
Roman's jumbled thoughts snapped back to reality, and he snorted in a most Roman-like way.
"Way to be ********' mature," he said, laughing. He wondered if he looked different...he felt different. Healthy, for starters.
"Oh, you know you love me," Leslie laughed and slid off of the platform, just slightly weak in the knees.
"Are you alright?!" a rather young priest called out.
"Yeah, yeah. We're fine," Leslie nodded and instinctively checked his ring. It was fine.
Father Fredericks stepped forward and arched an eyebrow. "Do you really think that to be appropriate humor in a house of worship?"
"For the love of Christ, we're in a cemetery behind a large stone building in which you discuss just how moral it is to have relations with people of the same gender. I don't see the issue."
The priest then eyed Leslie's ring finger...and probably would have shrieked in mental anguish had it not been for his permanent state of homeostasis.
Roman slid carefully off the platform, though he clung to its edge for support.
"Hi there," he said cheerfully to the priests. He glanced once at Father Fredericks and yawned. Hell, he'd just been something like dead. He could care less what every homophobic person in the world thought of him at this moment.
A few of the priests whom had yet to meet Roman (but had certainly heard of him) raised and smiled, waving.
Father Wilburn approached his son and looked him over. "It doesn't look like you've changed at all."
"Doesn't seem so," Leslie shrugged, and then peered up at the rain what had filtered down to a mist since the ritual had begun, "I don't really feel any different." He then looked back to Roman, momentarily fearing that he had caused some kind of physical mutation.
Seeing none, he smiled and sighed happily, going back to Roman's side.
Clasping Leslie's hand, Roman nodded cordially to the friendly-seeming priests and cautiously let go of the platform's edge. He wavered slightly, but remained upright.
"We're alive," he said, looking amused by the notion.
"Quite," Leslie smiled and kissed Roman on the temple, and then yawned, "And I want sleep. Shall we return to our humble church-funded domicile?"
"Sleep. God, that'd be nice," Roman said agreeably. Then he paused. "I've never heard the word 'domicile' before. Damn you and your being smarter than me."
"I was raised on literature," Leslie laughed slightly and laced an arm around Roman's shoulders, beginning to lead him from the cathedral grounds to the van, "You should have heard me when I was a prepubescent ********. I was the type people beat the crap out of just to shut them up."
He paused and considered this fact for a moment.
"You've totally annihilated my vocabulary."
Roman grinned and kissed him on the cheek.
"Heh. You're welcome," he said cheerily.
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Sep 18, 2006 2:13 pm
The Visit
Lili rapped lightly on Leslie and Roman's front door.
Nothing.
She knocked harder.
Nothing.
She continued knocking while simultaneously ringing their completely dead doorbell.
Granted, it was 7 a.m. on a Saturday morning, but she wanted to see the canister fetus, and she wanted to see it now, damn it!
Roman heard knocking. He also knew he should get up and answer the door, but...
He rolled over, pulled the covers over his head, and grunted a muffled obscenity.
--
Darrel heard the knocking too. Stretching and cracking bones back into place (sleeping on the couch after watching TV all night was never comfortable), he opened his door and whistled to catch Lili's attention.
"They're probably dead or something," he said, in his special version of greeting.
"I plan to make them not-dead," Lili looked toward the neighbor whose name she couldn't remember and then spotted a rock and decided to heave it at the upstairs window.
---
Leslie groaned and, knowing Roman well enough to see that he was going nowhere, simply rolled out of bed, hit the floor, and slinked down the stairs on all fours.
"Whoever you are, Imma ******** kill you."
Roman said something, but seeing as his face was pressed into his pillow, it wasn't exactly comprehensible.
--
Darrel sighed and shook his head.
"Honestly. Kids today," he said to himself. He stepped out onto the stoop and tried to catch Lili's attention again. "He's gonna ********' tear somethin' off and beat you with it."
Lili blinked at the neighbor, deciding that saying nothing was the better route.
Suddenly, the door flew open, and a rather tired-looking, seated Leslie appeared.
"What the ******** do you want."
"I wanna see the baby."
"It's 7 a.m."
"I wanna see the baby."
"Lili, for the love of Christ..."
"I wanna see the baby."
"Fine. But you have to go wake him up."
"He's not naked, is he?"
"No."
"Too bad for you, then," Lili smiled and scampered up the stairs. Leslie turned to Darrel, only one eye half-opened. His dignitiy had been completely destroyed over time, and so he had no issue in waving before perching, barely clothed, on the top step.
---
"Rooomaaaan~," Lili sang as she made her way to the room, "I've come to awaken theeee~"
Darrel waved.
"Mornin'. Can I come to?"
--
Roman yawned and rolled over, blinking. It took a minute to focus...
"Mary?"
He blinked again and got a better look. Most definitely not. Huh. Must've been the hair that confused him for a second.
"Lili! Sweet Jesus, it's...hell. Early. I'm not awake until two o'clock in the afternoon."
He yawned again and yanked the covers over his head.
"Come back in December."
"Sure," Leslie nodded, slowly opening his other eye, deciding this was a bad idea, and closing it again, "It had 6 limbs, yanno. Kinda nifty."
---
"Nope!" Lili said cheerfully, leaping atop Roman's torso and sitting there, "You're gettin' up now an' bringin' me to the clinic because your husband promised me three weeks ago he would, and now you're better, so you have to." She was rambling.
And beginning to realize that this may be a suicide mission.
"It's December. Get up," she tried to reason as she prodded Roman in the back.
"Huh. Neat," Darrel said, stifling a yawn. "Kid'll make a kick-a** addition to the track team if there's extra legs."
--
Roman made a curious "oomph!" noise as Lili decided to sit on him. It was followed closely by several rather colorful words in at least two other languages, and he shunted her off to the side.
"Alright, alright, good god, I'm up. Lemme...find clothing. At least. Or dignity, either or."
"Yup," Leslie nodded, "Four of 'em. Got us a little centaur-baby, we do."
---
"Dignity is over-rated," Lili grinned and scampered to the closet, removed what obviously had to be Roman's clothing, chucked them at him, and scampered out the door.
"If you don't come out in five minutes, I'm gonna come back in and shine lights in yer eyes 'til you go blind. 'Cos I'm mean like that."
Darrel nodded sagely. <********' win. Olympic track star," he said thoughtfully.
--
Roman growled at Lili and dragged his clothing on.
"I don't like you," he said, catching up to her and kissing her with brotherly affection on the forehead. "Now go be perky and chipper outside, I'll be right out."
"No kidding."
---
Lili giggled and scampered out the front door to see Leslie, still barely dressed. His infuriated her.
"Go get dressed, you loser!"
"May I remind you that I write your checks every w--"
"Shut up n' go get dressed."
Leslie sighed and stood, disappearing into the house.
"I have 'em on a leash," Lili grinned to Darrel, "It's kinda like slavery, but not."
---
Leslie, mumbling in Latin, stumbled to his dresser, removed a random assortment of clothes, shoved them on, found them satisfactory, and then spotted Roman.
"Little balls of energy do not the gargoyle like."
"Kill her someday, we will," Roman replied dully, running his fingers through his hair in a half-attempt to make it presentable.
--
Darrel laughed and headed back inside. He appeared less than two minutes later in clean clothes, a pair of socks clenched between his teeth as he finished zippering up his jeans.
"So, an' correct me if I'm wrong wit' this," he said, spitting out the socks onto the steps and tugging them on, "but human plus weregoyle doesn't equal centaur, does it? Or am I missin' somethin' here?"
"Our brains have Yoda invaded," Leslie snerked and attempted to comb his hair with his claws, "One of these days, I'm just gonna shave my head...look like one'uh those Vampires from Blade." With that, he started back down the stairs.
---
"Mmnope," Lili smiled, "The clinic they went to adds animal DNA. The boys picked a...pony or summat. So now they're gonna have a centaur-baby. A very scary-looking centaur baby. We can only hope she ends up looking more like Roman.
"What is this talk of Roman?" Leslie asked, suddenly appearing in the doorway.
"Noofin."
"Indeed he has. The end is near," Roman said cheerily. "I'd make a kickass Jedi, I think."
Putting in earrings and the anti-eyebrow, he traipsed down the stairs and out the door behind Leslie.
"Y'all gossipin' about me behind my back?" he asked as he ventured outside. It was a sunny, pleasant morning.
Roman hissed and shaded his eyes.
"Too. ********. Early."
"Yes," Lili grinned and patted Roman atop teh head, "and shut up. It's, like, 7:30 now! Gay men and you're primping..."
"Hey!"
Lili didn't react and simply threw herself into the back seat of the van.
"I'm...so whipped," Leslie groaned and made his way to the van, eyes half-lidded.
"Exactly. Seven thirty. Early. And I don't primp," Roman retorted mildly, waving to Darrel. "Bein' gay doesn't automatically mean bein' all fashion-chic and talkin' with a lisp."
Darrel snorted and slid into the van, poking Roman as he passed.
"You totally ********' had a lisp in tenth grade," he said. Roman turned red.
"That was from gettin' sucker punched by Hanna Green, you b*****d. I had a fat lip for a month."
"Uh huh. Yeah."
"Shut up."
"Awr, but you're tho cute!" Lili grinned and leaned from the van window, pinching Roman's cheek. Leslie slapped her hand away.
"No touchy."
"But...!"
"Nyeh."
"Fffth."
Leslie climbed into the driver's seat and leaned back.
"We hit a car or stationary object, it's the red h--" he stopped and took a moment to view Darrel's hair, "--the red-head's fault."
"Yaaaaay, death!"
"Why do I put up with you people," Roman mused, staring out the window. Darrel poked the back of his neck, making him automatically cringe and swat his hands away.
"Because you loooove us," Darrel crooned. "An' I'm yo' special bestest buddy and we were gonna be astronauts, remember?"
"Oh yeah...the astronaut phase. God. No wonder Hanna Green belted me. We were ********' losers."
"She belted you 'cause you called her Hanna Green-Teeth. Which, I might add, wasn't very creative."
"Better than calling her 'Hank'. Real snappy, Darry."
"Shove it, you totally laughed at it."
Darrel grinned as Roman offered no response, settling back into his seat.
"Yeah. This is the most mature we're ever gonna be," he informed Lili proudly.
Lili laughed and hugged Darrel impulsively. "I'm glad!"
She released him quickly and settled back into her seat, assuming a nearly upside-down position with her feet on either side of Leslie's head.
Leslie had absolutely nothing to add to the conversation. Not only had he had no social interaction as a child, he'd been designated a single job since birth. Instead of speaking, he started off toward the clinic.
"So I'm in charge of the bakery when the child of doom is born, riiiight, Lessy?" Lili suddenly piped up. <******** Morg wasn't a douchebag, I'd say no."
Lili gave an exaggerated, hurt gasp, "Why?!"
"You painted the entire place lavender to cover up the ******** bloodstain. As if I wasn't gay enough already..."
"Shut up. It's pretty."
"I hate you."
"You know you love me."
"Fneh."
"Lavender and dried blood go well together," Darrel said sagely. Roman nodded slightly, shrugging.
"I like lavender," he said mildly.
Darrel kicked at the back of Roman's seat, Lili's hyperactiveness seeming contagious.
"Quit it."
Kick.
"Quit it."
Kick kick.
"Don't make me come back there. I will end you."
Darrel poked the back of Roman's neck again.
"God DAMMIT, Darry!"
Lili giggled rather loudly and tapped Roman on the back of the head with one of her flip-flop-clad feet.
"Awwww, look. Roman's being violently molested," Leslie snerked as he turned a corner, wishing for the life of him that he could watch the events inside the car instead of out.
"I'm gonna get a taser, then you'll be sorry for po-GUAGH. Stop. Poking."
Darrel laughed evilly.
"What is it with you and getting your neck poked? You ********' spaz out."
"I dunno- QUIT IT!"
Lili, being a 16-year-old hell-bent on pushing people's buttons, sat up straight and prodded Roman in the neck.
And again.
And once more, for good measure, before the rest of the times.
"Yanno, I never knew that," Leslie nodded, "I may have to try it some time. It can be my new defense mechanism."
"Aww gaaawd," Roman said, scrunching down into his seat. "I hate you all."
"Whatcha gonna do about it, Romes?"
"I'm going to get bear mace. And I'm going to spray it in your eyeflesh."
"Oooh, now I'm scared."
"I'll ******** do it. I'll make an example out of you, Darry."
"But you'd never hurt a girl, riiiight, Roman?!" Lili asked, leaning forward and prodding Roman repeatedly.
"Anyway. I got used to bear mace in my 6 years in Vietnam. Or somethin' like that."
Leslie laughed.
Roman sighed, trying to evade all the pokings.
"I will frickin' bite your fingers," he told Lili. "And then I'll douse you in napalm."
"How do you even know a word like 'napalm'?" Darrel asked.
"Shut up. I know lots of words."
"Say one."
"Superfluous."
"You ********' made that up."
"Did not."
"Did too."
"Superfluous," Leslie said simply, "being more than is sufficient or required; excessive, as in: For whatsoever man he be that hath a blemish, he shall not approach: a blind man, or a lame, or he that hath a flat nose, or any thing superfluous."
He stole a parking space and began to climb from the van.
"And we're here."
Darrel seemed at a loss for words. Roman smirked.
"Told ya I knew words," he said smugly. Darrel poked him in the back of the neck and bolted out of the van before Roman could retaliate.
Lili gave a shriek of unadulterated joy and leaped from the van. Leslie then stepped out, and the teen leaped and clung to his back.
"Save me," the weregoyle squeaked, but continued into the clinic nonetheless.
The woman at the desk stared with wide eyes before pointing them in the right direction.
"Happy shall he be who takes your little ones and dashes them against the rock," Leslie groaned, "For once I say we take the bible's advice."
Lili ran her fingers slowly around Leslie's neck.
"GRAH! STOPPIT!"
Lili giggled.
"Be nice," Roman said to Darrel, who was sneaking in for another round of poking. "Or I'll put crayfish in your bed."
Darrel turned gray.
"You wouldn't."
"Oh. OH. But I would. Again."
Darrel shuddered.
"You're mean," he said, looking wounded. Roman laughed in insane victory, and took the opportunity to laugh a bit at Leslie's plight too.
"I'd offer to help, but...y'know, she's kinda stuck on there tight," he said, grinning.
"Peel her off," Leslie wriggled, "I mean, she's totally a back-hugger! She has eggs and everything! How they get into your stomach is a whole different story."
"Eeeew..." Lili wrinkled her freckled nose and dropped to the ground.
"Hah. I win," Leslie grinned and then pointed to the canister against the far wall, "Thar be our fetus!"
"So technically you'd be raping faces to reproduce," Darrel notified Lili thoughtfully. "Damn. Little chestburster Lili-creatures."
Roman laughed loudly, earning a slightly reproving look from random staff as he tried to contain himself. Clearing his throat, he waved Darrel over to the canister.
"Check it out. Centaur-child," he said. Darrel gave a long whistle.
"Badass," he said approvingly.
"I'm going to start counting how many times people cuss around this kid," Leslie mused, leaning down to stare at the baby, "Just for posterity. We can find out the liklihood of her first word."
"Awwww..." Lili squealed, hands clasped together, "She so cute!"
"She's barely large enough to be considered a multi-cellular organism, and you say she's cute?"
"Yes, shut up. She's your child. You should be aggreeing."
Darrel poked Roman again, making him cringe.
"You should just not talk at all, man," he said. "You'll corrupt her before she's two."
Roman snorted.
"Oh, like you have a saintly vocabulary," he said. Darrel shrugged.
"Hey, I'm the charming eccentric neighbor. I'm allowed to swear."
Roman rolled his eyes and shoved Darrel's shoulder.
"She is pretty cute. In a half-formed, embryonic way," Darrel said. Roman nodded his agreement.
Leslie simply sighed.
"I don't think I've ever sworn. Hell, I d--oh...oh, nevermind," Lili said, still beaming over the baby.
Roman noted the sigh.
"What's the matter?"
Darrel, shoving a couple pieces of gum into his mouth, shrugged again.
"Swearin' ain't that big a deal," he said thickly. "I never saw what the big deal was anyway. I was swearin' when I was ten."
"That's because you're the epitome of Satan," Lili giggled and touched the canister lightly, "Floaty, floaty, floaty, floaty-fetus..."
"Nothing," Leslie half-smiled and attempted to shrug it off.
"Nah. Just a Jew," Darrel countered pleasantly, bending down to get a good look at the little creature inside. It was cool and slightly creepy at the same time, really.
Roman arched a brow and crossed his arms.
"Uh huh. So, what's the matter?" he asked, patiently.
"Ask any priest out there. That makes you a Satanic leper with...16 toes. Or something," Lili replied, still smiling and completely oblivious to Leslie and Roman.
"Nothing...just...second thoughts...ish," Leslie shrugged, not realizing quite how bad that must have sounded.
"And goat horns," Darrel added, laughing. "And like....inverted crosses carved into my flesh. That goes well with the picture too."
Roman went cold. Second thoughts?
"Wh...what?"
"Oh, totally," Lili nodded, "And ********' hooves an' wings n' fire-breathing-glands an' s**t."
"Nonono!" Leslie actually laughed and caressed the side of Roman's face gently, "Not like that. Hell no. I just mean...maybe we should have...skipped adding my DNA, yanno?" He dropped his hand, and his smile fell back to its pathetic half-state.
"I'd like fire-breathin' glands," Darrel said thoughtfully. "It'd be badass. No more screwin' around with matches."
Taking a breath and feeling enormously relieved, Roman smiled slightly.
"Ah. Okay. I thought you meant...nevermind. And I don't see why, she's comin' along fine. Your genetics are fine."
This was, Roman decided, the oddest comfort-talk he'd ever had. He'd never reassured someone about their genetics before.
"I don't mean development issues," Leslie shook his head, "I mean...Hell, the poor girl already has 4 legs and a horse-bottom. What the Hell will she have to go through if she looks anything like me on top of that?"
He paused.
"You thought I meant what?"
"She'll be beautiful," Roman said stubbornly. "I dunno why you have something against yourself so bad, you're not bad-lookin' at all."
He paused, mentally cringing at how hokey he'd just sounded. At Leslie's question, his face darkened and his jaw set.
"I got a thing with th' term 'second thoughts'. Peter used to say 'I always had second thoughts about keepin' you, Roman,'. He'd make it out like I was a dog he could kick out on the sidewalk, y'know? That's all. I twitch at the term," Roman said. He shrugged it off. "It doesn't matter. Cockbite's probably dead of blacklung or somethin' by now."
Leslie knew that trying to reason about his physical appearence and its role in his past and current lives would be completely pointless with Roman. Instead he slung and arm around the man's waist.
"I'm sorry. I won't say it again."
Roman nestled in close, feeling rather melancholic.
"Don't worry about it. I've moved past it," he said, forcing unpleasant memories accidentally dredged up to the back of his mind.
"'Course you have," Leslie said, voice only barely smacking of sarcasm.
"SHE MOVED!" Lili suddenly cried, "Not like...floaty...MOVED!" The girl pointed to the fetus' leg, which had twitched a few seconds earlier.
Roman made a small "erk!" noise and skittered back to the canister.
"Holy s**t! She moved? She's not moving now, you sure she moved?"
Darrel laughed, patting Roman's shoulder.
"Dude. Chill the ******** out. She'll move again."
"I missed it!" Roman said, infinitely disappointed. Darrel couldn't help but laugh again.
"Chill. She'll do the embryo-twitch again."
Leslie leaned down, forced to bend over Roman and Lili's head.
For what could have been the first time in her life, Lili regretted saying anything. "I mean...she may not have. It's could've just been my--OHMAHGOD."
The fetus raised its thumb and stuck it beneath its upper lip, almost as if it were sucking its thumb. It was a reflexive movement, but a damn cute one at that.
"Look!" Leslie placed a hand around a side of the canister, not obstructing the view.
This was awesome.
Roman brightened, watching with apt interest.
"Gonna have to get her a couple pacifiers," he said. Darrel leaned in, using Roman's head as an armrest and looking at the baby.
"Dude. If she was knew she was bein' watched she'd be so creeped out right now," he said. Roman laughed.
"Yeah, probably."
"She may, actually," Leslie laughed, "This could all be an elaborate hoax to make us thing she's oh-ehm-gee adorable so she can come out hellspawn and surprise us all."
Seeing as to how this was Roman's child, he wouldn't doubt it.
"And we may need...steel pacifiers. I gnawed through all of mine by the time I was 1."
Lili cooed. "I want her noooow~"
"They probably make those. The steel ones, I mean," Roman said, watching like a hawk for any new sign of life. "All the frickin' magical crap in this place, it's a good market probably."
Darrel spit out his wad of gum and stuffed fresh pieces into his mouth, looking around for a trash bin. Not succeeding in finding one, he sighed and stuffed the old wad back into his mouth. He tried to speak but it came out only as "Sh' pr'ly g'n ty ethoo", which made no sense at all. Roman spared him a glance and laughed at him.
The fetus dropped its thumb and continued floating lazily. Only then did Leslie look away.
"What was that, now?" He laughed slightly, looking to Darrel.
Seeing no alternative and not wanting to hold a slimy wad of gum, Darrel swallowed the old piece. Clearing his throat and chewing on the new one with dignity, he jerked a thumb at the canister.
"I said, 'she's probably gonna try to eat you'. Y'know, teethin' and stuff," he said. "My cousin Trudy's kid liked to bite people while he was teethin'. Vicious."
Leslie laughed. For some reason, that hit him as funny.
"Whatever. We can go heal fairly easily. Not liek we'll bleed all over her," he paused for a moment, "not that she'd mind if we did, in all likelyhood."
"You could set her on the neighbors and stuff," Lili piped up, looking pointedly at Darrel, "You're gonna choke on that stuff, yanno. And I'll laugh. Because I'd have told you 'you're gonna choke on that stuff, yanno.' and you totally didn't listen because I'm 16. So hah."
She paused.
"I'm not this weird on a normal day, I promise."
Darrel regarded Lili for a moment, snapping his gum.
"You talk faster than I can hear," he said, blinking. Roman started laughing, pressing a fist against his mouth hard to stifle the sound.
"But it's either this or smokin', and I'm trying to kick the habit," Darrel continued, elbowing Roman in the head.
"Doesn't mean you ain't gonna choke to death," Lili nodded, "Leslie almost choked to death when he tried to quit."
Leslie kicked Lili's shoe.
"Whaaaat?"
"Shh."
"Huh, you used to smoke?" Darrel asked. Roman jabbed him in the ribs.
"So what, so did you," he said in disinterest. "Like a chimney, I might add."
Darrel nodded.
"Yeah, that's true. ********. Now I want one, thanks a lot Roman," he said grumpily, chewing harder on his gum.
"They have patches, yanno." <******** no, I ain't stickin' that s**t on me. I'm goin' cold turkey."
"Suit yourself."
"The patches just ******** with your innards," Leslie nodded, "although I'm not one to talk. Wasn't recreational or anythin'."
Lili nodded.
"It was funny in a morbid kinda way. I got to blow your cigarettes up, 'cos he couldn't look at 'em," Lii spoke without taking her eyes off of the canister, "It was actually pretty fun."
"I have no self-control, as my criminal record displays," Leslie laughed slightly and tossed his head to get a chunk of hair out from in front of his eye.
Roman made an noise that indicated he was listening, though his attention was fully devoted to the now twitch-free embryo. Darrel on the other hand seemed more interested.
"Blow up?" he asked, predictably interested.
"Yanno Molotov cocktails? We have these little decorative sugar-bottle-things at the bakery..." Lili said, and trailed off there.
"I hope you realize that you are now never allowed to visit him. Ever."
"It's okay. He'd probably rape me or sumthin'. At least that's what I'm told, because he's older n' me an' all."
Darrel laughed slightly.
"Not only that, I'll throw you into a pit in the basement and taunt you with a hose," he said dryly, snapping his gum again.
Lili, as she generally did when hyped up on caffiene, began monologuing multiple roles.
"It rubs the lotion on its skin. It does this whenever it is told. Mister... my family will pay cash. Whatever ransom you're askin' for, they pay it! It rubs the lotion on its skin or else it gets the hose again. Yes, it will, Precious, won't it? It will get the hose! Okay... okay... okay. Mister, if you let me go, I won't - I won't press charges, I promise. See, my mom is a real important woman... I guess you already know that. Now it places the lotion in the basket. "
"...Jesus Christ..."
Roman turned slowly and looked up at Lili.
"You, madam, are out of your mind," he said politely. Darrel blew a bubble and picked it off his face as it burst.
"Huh. Wow. God help us all if you know 'Who's on First?'." he said to her mildly, blowing another bubble. Roman snorted.
"No. I'm on coffee-based narcotics!" Lili grinned broadly, and then turned to Darrel, "Hi. Did you find everything you wanted? Yes, thanks. When is this one due back? The day after tomorrow. Yeah, when's it due back? The day after tomorrow. Yes. The Day After Tomorrow. Right. Right. When's it due back? The day after tomorrow. I mean the movie. The Day After Tomorrow. When is it due?"
Leslie arched an eyebrow.
Lili smiled sweetly to Darrel and clapped her hands together.
"You cannot win, good sir."
Roman simply shook his head.
"I kinda guessed that, hon."
Darrel grinned, infinitely amused.
"You ********' win, kid. Hardcore."
Lili grabbed her nonexistant skirt and curtsied.
"Don't be mean to the employees, Roman," Leslie waggled a finger, "I have to deal with them daily."
Lili suddenly pointed to the canister. "Fetus-twitch."
Roman tore his gaze away from the canister and latched onto Leslie again.
"She started it," he said mildly, smiling slightly. "I fully blame her."
"For what?" Darrel asked, coughing slightly. Swallowing gum always gave him heartburn for some peculiar reason.
"For everything. She woke me up early and disrupted the natural order of the universe."
"Ah, I see."
Leslie's eyes filtered black for a moment, but he blinked it away. How odd...
"Shut up. I wanted to see the fetus," Lili nodded, "and now that I have, I would like to go on my caffiene crash in peace. At home. On my couch or something."
"Short attention span, huh?" Darrel said, waving goodbye to the canister and slouching away. "Caffiene shorts out your brain. You should lay off it or somethin' before it catches fire."
Roman gave the canister one last lingering look before tugging at Leslie's hand.
"The non-adopted kids wanna go," he said, mouth twitching in a repressed smile. "You wanna head out too?"
"Shut up. Imma caffiene-en-en-en-en junkie," Lili said simply and headed toward the door, whether or not the other were following.
"I don't care," Leslie shrugged, "Whatever." Some would call it apathy. People who knew him well would call it confusion.
Either way, he didn't give a damn.
Roman sighed inwardly at Leslie's sudden shift of mood.
Did I do something? he wanted to ask. Instead he said, "What's the matter?"
"I don't know," Leslie laughed nervously and ran his fingers back through his hair, "I...really don't...let's...go."
Lili turned and made a face of concern or confusion, and then continued out the door. She knew to not ask.
Roman felt a sudden stab of discomforted curiosity, but didn't press the subject further. He whistled to catch Darrel's attention, and followed Leslie. Darrel, busy looking at shiny things, followed after with reluctance.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Sep 23, 2006 2:12 pm
Breakdown: Take Two
Leslie lat in bed, not anywhere near the realm of sleep. He stared first at the ceiling, and then turned to face the wall. He flipped over once more and placed a hand to his forehead.
God damn it, he wished this would stop eating at him
It was stupid. Unwarranted.
Nonetheless, it was tearing him apart.
He suddenly slung his legs over the edge of the bed, sat up, and buried his head in his hands.
Roman, who'd noted the restlessness but had decided not to question it, looked over at Leslie.
"I'm gonna go out on a limb and guess something's wrong," he said. "You want to tell me?"
"I got a thing with th' term 'second thoughts'..."
"No," Leslie shook his head and pressed his knuckles against his chest, attempting to quell the tightness, "I really don't think I should."
Frowning, Roman sat up regarded Leslie silently for a moment.
"If it's bugging you this bad, it has to be something important," he said carefully. "Is it somethin' with work?"
Is it something I did? he added silently.
Leslie laughed mirthlessly.
"When has work ever stressed me out?" he asked and snorted, "I just...Jesus, I don't know..."
Arching a brow and biting back a sigh, Roman picked lint on the blanket thoughtfully.
"Alright, fine, it ain't work. So, I'll ask again....what is it? I mean, are you mad about something?"
Leslie's eyes filtered to black as his usual self slid back to once again allow the more aggressive Protector to take over.
"Mad doesn't even begin to cover it," he inhaled deeply and exhaled the same, "Disgust, maybe. Loathing. Regret."
There was a sudden tightness in Roman's chest, and his mouth went dry.
...Loathing?
"What did I do?"
"I can't say that there's a single 'worst' incident to point out," Leslie said as he turned to Roman, making air quotes at the appropriate time, "But I'll be damned if I'm not having second thoughts about this whole situation."
It's fine if it bothers you, but God damn, don't take it out on Roman!
The words hit home like a fist to the face.
"I...wait. Wait. What..."
Everything had been fine, hadn't it? What idiotic mistake had he made to get Leslie so angry? Roman slid out of the bed, standing with shoulders hunched and his expression startled.
"Well, of course there' the issue of what you stand for, but that's been previously addressed," Leslie said and stood, a sneer plastered on his face, "What I'm talking about is our current living conditions. I mean, Hell, I wasn't very happy with it all in the beginning, but now that we're hitched, I mean, come on, where does it go from here?"
He paused, and then continued.
"And that kid. What kind of role model you gonna be?"
Shut the <********> up!
Roman flushed, but at the mention of the child he turned deadly pale. His hands twitched into fists and his jaw tightened.
At least I'm not a murderer, he shouted in his mind. You son of a b***h, what the hell is wrong with you?
But all he managed to say was....
"You're the one that asked me to marry you. By my count, looks like this part's your fault."
"If you remember correctly," Leslie said, raising a finger as if scolding a child, "neither of us were quite in the proper state of mind. Part of me still believes that I should have let you go play in traffic like you seemingly planned to."
He cocked his head suddenly.
"Most of me."
Roman was no stranger to abuse such as this. He'd learned from his earliest years to ignore it, to shrug it off, to throw it back in others faces.
But with Leslie, he found he didn't know how to respond.
"I wasn't going into traffic," he managed, softly. "I was just going."
"Just going...just going is better than staying, don't you think?" Leslie laughed, "Maybe you should 'just go'...and maybe you shouldn't 'come back'." Again with the air quotes.
The sane portion of Leslie was now, in fact, mentally shrieking in frustration.
"Get going...?"
Leslie hated him. He wanted Roman to leave. The clarity of the statement was so simple, he wondered how he'd missed the signals before.
Roman sucked in a deep breath, trying to stay cool. It didn't really help. Leslie had done just the right thing to spark his temper, and now he was ******** mad.
"Get ********," he said, seizing his jeans and dragging them on. "Get ********, go to hell, and burn."
He yanked the ring off his finger, the ring he hadn't once taken off since Leslie had put it there, and flicked it off Leslie's forehead.
"It was fun while it lasted," he said. He left the room and slammed the door behind him. "Be seeing you."
Something inside Leslie's brain, if possible, broke further. He flew at the door, throwing it open, before leaping upon and pinning Roman to the ground.
"What the Hell did you just say to me?"
Roman wheezed as the air was forced out of him, but glared up at Leslie fearlessly. There was no hurt on his face, no uncomprehending grief. That was building up steadily, but for now he gracefully ignored it.
"Get," he said, drawing out the words, "-******** style="font-size: 9px">Leslie was pushed beyond words. Nostrils flaring, he inhaled deeply and began to tremble. His grip on Roman's shoulders tightened suddenly, nails peeling away the first layer of ********>. You."
"Nngh-"
A low cry of pain escaped Roman before he could stifle it. He swallowed the rest of it and bared his teeth, expression malicious.
"You already have," he said nastily, though his voice was strained as the pain seemed to grow worse. "I made you dirty. I'm ******** sorry."
Leslie gave a cringed and bared his fangs as they visibly lengthened.
"Apology accepted," he droned sarcastically before leaning down and burying his fangs in the first few layers of skin of Roman's neck. His grip tightened slightly and he gave a guttural growl.
There was no response at first. It felt as though his heart had stopped. His brain had stopped.
He's gonna kill me.
And at the first rush of pain, Roman screamed out of anger, furious that he couldn't hurt Leslie back, sick with grief that Leslie was hurting him in the first place.
"You ******** b*****d!"
Leslie suddenly tore himself away, virtually throwing himself onto the floor behind him. He compulsively wiped his teeth on his palm and looked for blood.
He saw none, but closed his now-blue eyes against the worsening tightness in his chest nonethelees. He the proceeded to bolt for the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.
In moments, he was sitting curled up on the floor, the ring Roman had thrown clutched to his chest as he cried silently.
Roman clapped a hand to his neck, pressing it against the wound to stem the flow of blood.
"Oh no you don't-" he snarled as Leslie retreated, getting up unsteadily and running after. He stumbled into the door and cursed incomprehensibly as he knocked his head against the door. The shock of being bitten had unbalanced him briefly, and he leaned against the doorframe to try to collect himself.
"You open this ********' door and finish it!" he shouted, fumbling for the knob but shaking too badly to make it turn right. "You started it, you come on out and you finish it! Leslie ********' Wilburn, you come out here now!"
He paused and drew a long breath.
"You son of a b***h! Go ahead, c'mon out and try it again!" he screamed, pounding at the door. He felt dizzy, and in his mind he was screaming at himself to shut up. He didn't listen. "Open this ******** door! Leslie Wil- ah. Ah, ah."
Roman choked on his words and put his bloodied hand to his mouth, awful realization dawning.
I sound like Peter. Oh Christ, I sounded like him. No. ********. No.
"Les. Les, I didn't mean it," he rasped, looking sick.
Leslie kicked the door open with his foot. He looked up slowly.
"I deserve it," he said quietly, shaking his head, "It's alright. I deserve it." He curled his leg back up and dropped his head again.
Looking more badly shaken now by the raving that had escaped from him, Roman wiped the blood away from his mouth with his clean hand and pressed the dirtied one back onto his injuries. He didn't seem to hear Leslie clearly.
"I...no, no..." he said. "I can't...I would never..."
I'm not Peter. I'm not I'm not I'm not-
Roman shook harder. He stared at Leslie, anger, sadness and even a trace of fear on his face.
"You bit me."
Leslie began to nod, quickly changed his mind and began to shake his head, and then turned that into another nod.
"I'm so sorry," he whispered, gagging on his own words, "I know that’s not enough, but I am. I swear to God, I am..."
"You can't bite people."
Roman tried to ease his shock-ridden mind back into reality, but it was firmly stuck in a horrified litany of I'm nots and sharp focus of sticky blood on his hand.
"You...you can't bite people. I can't shout at people. I shouted at you. I can't...I'm not supposed to do that."
He sank down next to Leslie, wondering vaguely if he needed stitches. He stared down at the floor, eyes tearing.
Leslie looked to Roman and sighed, wanting to hold him and yet knowing that that would not be a good idea.
"Why the ******** do you deal with me?" was the question he settled on.
Roman shrugged, taking even breaths and trying very hard to calm down.
"Because believe it or not your one outta three people that's ever been good to me," he said coarsely. He shifted his hand on the bite wound, fingers sticking together with drying blood.
Without another word, Leslie stood and disappeared into the connected bathroom, returning with a couple of large band-aids. He sat again and held them out to Roman.
"You're nuts," he stated simply, "Not that I don't admire that."
Taking the band-aids gratefully, Roman unwrapped one and stuck it haphazardly onto his neck. He frowned and got up, going into the bathroom to use the mirror as he patched himself up.
"I think I am. Seriously. Just had a complete ******** mental breakdown," he said, eyes fixed on his reflection. He glanced at Leslie, the shock ebbing and irritation growing. "Speakin' of that, what the ******** did I do to instigate this last bit'a drama?"
"I have a bit of an abandonment complex," Leslie shrugged and stood, refusing to make eye contact, "I'm just...afraid. Marriage ******** with things, and kids even more than that." He nodded.
"I dunno. Second an' third an' fourth thoughts. You haven't done anything wrong."
"Marriage tends to mean sticking together, unless I'm mistaken," Roman said rather snappishly. Being bitten would do that to a person. "And children tend to cement that."
He sighed then, running his hands through his hair and then growling in annoyance as blood slicked his hair back. He washed his hands roughly, glaring at his reflection.
"If you don't mind," he said, tone turning normal again. "Next time these issues come up...."
He trailed off, shrugging slightly. He didn't know what else to say without turning waspish again, so figured silence would be best.
"So say the guy with the crappiest childhood ever," Leslie stated and arched an eyebrow, "The next time these issues come up, an' I go all psycho, don't hesitate to punch me in the ******** face. If it doesn't snap me out of it, with any luck it'll knock me out cold."
He shrugged.
"I have no idea what comes over me. If you haven't done anything wrong and I start to tell you I...Hell. No. If I start telling you I want you to leave, punch me in the teeth, I beg of you."
"I don't think you'll need 'em," Leslie said, shaking his head, "If I'd gone deep as it'd wanted to go, you'd need more than a band-aid or two."
He paused for a minute.
"But if you want it to heal quick, we could go to the cathedral."
Roman shook his head quickly.
"No, no, I'm good," he said. "It'll leave a cool scar. I don't care."
He drummed his hands on his knees, then glanced at his ring finger in remembrance.
"Can I have my ring back?"
Leslie looked down to the ring clutched in his palm, and heaved a sigh.
"Of course," he half-smiled weakly and handed it up to Roman.
Roman slid the ring back on, smiling slightly.
"That's better," he murmured, looking at it. "Sorry I flicked it at you."
He glanced up at Leslie then, with slight caution.
"Is....everything...okay, now?"
Leslie nodded. "I think so."
You're a liar.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Oct 01, 2006 11:48 am
The Visit, take 3
Watching scenery go past his window at what felt like a crawl, Roman fidgeted in the passenger seat of the van, wishing there'd be at least a tiny upping of speed. And possible mowing-down of pedestrians who were making the trip to the facility that much longer.
"Move, you idiots," he grumbled sourly, sparing the people crossing the street a resentful look. He wanted to see his kid now, dammit. "Les, just run over a couple of 'em. It'll scare the rest off."
"DO IT!" Father Wilburn demanded, gripping the back of Les' seat and sitting forward.
"Jesus. Way to be Catholic, Abbas," Leslie laughed, but revved the engine, sending various pedestrians across the street at a quickened pace. He laughed and ran through a yellow light.
"Oh, they'd get over it," Roman said with a laugh. "Couple broken bones, maybe some internal bleeding...meh, nothing to get all worked up about."
Sitting back and watching the now blurring-scenery race past, he glanced at his watch and started fidgeting again. Being patient was rarely something Roman was good at anyway...
Within minutes, Leslie had spun out to park over two spaces in the corner of the clinic parking lot, and leaped out the door.
"See? I can be a bad driver too."
Father Wilburn followed suit and stood beside his son, foot tapping anxiously.
Grinning and half-falling out of the van (he'd tried to leap, but it hadn't been exactly graceful), Roman followed quickly behind.
"Not much longer 'til she's born, right? Or...hatched. Or they use a can opener and crack the canister open. Or...somethin' like that. Right?" he asked Leslie.
Leslie laughed.
"Still a couple of months or so, hon," he half-smiled a bit sadly, "So, yeah, I guess not very long."
"God damn it. Waiting is the hard part. Especially when there's no childbirth to be the hardest part. One of the perks to being a raging homo, I guess."
"Of course." Once again, Leslie lead the group to the room with assorted fetuses, going to the corner in which Laine...floated.
"Oh. Right, gestation and all that," Roman said, looking disappointed. "I forgot."
As they got closer to the canister, he brightened and had to restrain himself from skittering ahead of the others.
"She's bigger," he noted.
"Yes. Fetuses grow," Leslie laughed and squatted to peer into the canister. Damn, she was bigger!
"C'mon," Father Wilburn said, leaning down to prod the canister gently, "Do the fetus-thumb-thing for your avus."
"Psh. We've already begun training her to loathe you."
"b***h."
"Yup.
"Holy s**t, she does have six limbs!"
"Told you."
Roman stuck his tongue out in a mark of pure maturity.
"I knooow," he said, grinning and getting in close to get a good look. While slightly creepy seeing his child floating about not quite wholly-formed, it was good to visit her anyway.
It'd make for a cracked addition to the photo album, too, he thought. Seeing pictures of yourself half formed and in a hightech can. Creepy.
As if reading Roman's mind, Father Wilburn pulled a disposable camera from beneath his jacket, snapped a quick picture of the canister, and placed it back.
"Wow. That's going to be pretty weird to show her," Leslie laughed slightly and arched an eyebrow, " 'See here? You can see your eyeballs through your eyelids!' Yeah. Totally. However, we'll have the most incredibly embarassing baby picture known to man."
"Ah jeez," Roman said, laughing. "She'll probably try to burn it when we aren't looking."
Kneeling down next to Leslie, he watched the baby intently and wished she'd move.
"...they make horse diapers, right?" he asked eventually.
"Christ, I hope so," Leslie arched an eyebrow at Laine, "I know you don't like puppy fluids...what about baby horse fluids?"
"Horse diapers?" Father Wilburn reasoned, "There are centaurs in Gaia, right? I mean, there's gotta be."
"They're bodily fluids," Roman said. "I don't mind cleaning up since it's gotta be done...but Jesus almighty I'd rather not step in them."
He frowned, trying to remember if he'd actually ever seen a centaur before.
"Probably," he said finally. "It's like Mythological Creature Central in the city anyway. Maybe...specialty store or somethin'd have 'em."
Leslie nodded. "Probably."
He paused for a moment adn walked around the canister once, watching for breaths and glancing once at the heart moniter attached.
"Yanno, I've been scared shitless that the clinic's gonna screw up; first test tube baby and whatnot." He sighed and squatted again.
Roman shivered at the thought.
"They won't. Not if they know what's good for 'em," he said darkly, standing and hovering over the canister protectively. "I mean...I'm sure they know how to take care of her."
Leslie nodded. "Of course they do, but I'm overprotective of everything in existence. So there." The fetus then raised its thumb once more and shoved it under it's lower lip.
"Yes! Fetus-thing!"
Leslie ducked down at his father's cry and grinned at the floating baby.
Dropping down beside Leslie again and watching intently, Roman nudged at Father Wilburn.
"Take a picture?" he asked. "It's cute."
Father Wilburn again produced the camera and took another picture, this time taking enough care to aim and focus.
"She's gonna be a cute little mutant," Leslie smiled fondly and ran a finger down the side of the canister, "and I'll gladly tear anyone who calls her that limb from limb."
Roman nodded eagerly.
"I'll hold 'em down for you. And bludgeon them," he said. "And probably get Darry to help burn the remains."
"And I'll pretend I didn't just hear that," Father Wilburn snerked and shook his head, "You'll all have a criminal record as long as an arm by the time this kid's sixteen, won't you?"
"Whose arm? Mine or Roman's?"
"Yours. Roman is too small."
"Da-yumn."
"Ow," Roman said, feigning insult. "I can't help I'm smaller. Faulty genes, I blame Peter. Er. Evil-Peter."
He grinned slightly at the thought of a real criminal record, amused by it for some reason. It'd be worth it, he decided.
"You're not small. We're big," Leslie nodded and draped an arm around Roman's shoulders, "and anyway. You've already got a start on that record, there. Assault. Perfectly reasonable assault, but assault nonetheless."
"Are you ever going to fire that...creepy dude?"
"I need to have at least two employees, or I don't count as a business."
"Hot damn. The law comes back to bite us in the a**."
"Again."
The fetus took the finger out from beneath its lip, left rear leg twitching twice.
Roman winced slightly at the remembrance. In his own defense, he reasoned to himself, he hadn't been exactly right in the head at the time.
"I forgot about that," he said. "Yeesh. Stupid requirement of law."
Grabbing onto Leslie's hand, he settled against him and smiled as he watched the baby move.
Leslie squeezed Roman's and and smiled.
"A year ago, you were fraternizing with the enemy on the other side of the duplex. Now we're having a baby. For the love of God..."
"You see, that's called 'making the fundies crazy'."
"Has it already been a year?" Roman asked, surprised. "I didn't think it was that long...huh. Time flies."
He grinned at Leslie then, looking rather proud.
"Hey, they're fun when they get upset. They turn red and look like they're gonna explode."
"Um...yuh. Almost-ish. April...twelfth it will be," Leslie nodded. Father Wilburn arched an eyebrow and looked to his son.
"What? Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Neat," Roman said. Noticing the look as well, he frowned and glanced around the room and then back at Father Wilburn. "What's the matter?"
"Kid can't remember my birthday," Father Wilburn began, acting hurt, "and yet he remembers the first time he--"
"Shhhhh."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Hey. Laine twitched." And she had. Her left front leg, to be exact.
Roman choked back a laugh and watched the leg-twitch with complete attentiveness.
"Hurry up and be born already," he said to the baby, blatant want in his voice.
Roman muttered something distinctly curse-sounding and nodded, getting up and making a face at the doctor's back.
"Yeah, I guess so," he said. "Bye, Laine."
"Bye, Laine," Leslie waved to the canister and smiled. It was cheesy, saying goodbye to a fetus (even a fairly large one), but hey, some people said they could hear.
Father Wilburn led the group back out to the van. "She's an adorable little centaur-fetus, I must say. She's got good genes." He smiled to Roman and Les.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Oct 01, 2006 7:43 pm
You Know You’ve Seen Too Many Horror Flicks When...
Les lay draped over the steps, head in Roman's lap, fiddling absentmindedly with a dandelion and staring up at nothing in particular as he spoke.
"So. What were you up to last night? Was that unstoppable crashing you or not?"
Darrel, sitting at the base of the stair intently repairing the broken arm of his aviator glasses, shrugged shiftily.
"Maybe, maybe not," he said, cursing as the tiny screw fell onto the ground and instantly seemed to disappear. "God damn, I lost the screw."
"It's by your shoe."
"What? How can you even see it, you're doin' your sudufu puzzle."
Roman, not looking up from the puzzle perched precariously on his knee, shrugged.
"Sudoku. An' I can see it. It's by your shoe."
"You're ly-oh. Here it is."
Restarting his work, Darrel glanced at Leslie.
"Why d'you ask?"
"Because it was loud and suspicious," Leslie laughed slightly and looked down to Darrel, "and you were interrupting my movie with your loud, suspicious noises."
He paused.
"If it was you."
"I wouldn't exactly call it suspicious," Darrel said, adamantly screwing the arm back on. There was an unpleasant snap and the arm fell off again. "If it was me, I mean."
He fiddled with his glasses, looking like a kid who's dog had just been run over.
"God damn...anyway. Sorry 'bout the noise. What movie were ya watchin'?" he asked, patiently rescrewing the piece back on.
Leslie arched an eyebrow and snerked.
"It was rather suspicious, thank you very much," he looked to Darrel again and shrugged, "Jeepers Creepers. One of the worst horror movies ever." He paused then, eyes widening.
"Holy s**t, man!"
"Nothin' suspicious about science. Never heard of that movie, either," Darrel countered smoothly. Roman snorted.
"Nothin' suspicious. Ha. Remember the Chevy?" he said, not looking up from his puzzle.
"Christ, Roman, you always gotta bring up the goddamned Chevy."
"With good reason."
At Leslie's curse Darrel glanced sidelong at him, moderately concerned.
"What's the matter?"
Leslie snickered in reponse to the infamous Chevy, making a mental note to ask for the story some time.
"So...uh...basically, the movie's about this big demony thing that eats people-parts for twenty-three days to keep living and the parts become parts of him and whatever, right?" he began, "So this chick and her brother have to save the town or whatever. The demony-thing is totally a psychotic version of me. And the brother's name was Darry."
He bisected the dandelion stem in his hand with a sharp fingernail.
"And the demony thing totally tears Darry's eyes out through the back of his skull."
Darrel turned his head slowly to stare at Leslie, mouth slightly agape. Roman snorted again and started laughing.
"Dude, that's ********," Darrel said. Roman didn't say anything, his face turning red as he he kept laughing. "Hey, Romes, c'mon, shut up. That's messed."
"No," Roman managed, "that's ********' funny."
Darrel gave Leslie an uneasy look and shoved his sunglasses back on.
"Y'all better not get any ideas," he said. "I happen to like my eyeballs. And, y'know, an intact skull."
"Poor, poor Darry."
"I mean it. Eyes ain't kosher."
"But-"
"Don't you think'a touchin' that, Roman. I'll beat you."
Roman bit his lip and laughed silently, face redder.
Leslie began to laugh near-hysterically, simply because Roman had. He bent in half a bit and shook his head.
"I'm Catholic. Kosher dun'n't mean jack s**t to me," he snickered and patted Darrel good-naturedly, "Don't worry, though. I don't think I have enough strength to bore through the back of your skull. But then again, we do have a drill somewhere..."
He agreed with himself to audition for Jeepers Creepers 3 if it ever came out.
Darrel made as though to reply, but all that came out was a sigh as he glasses slipped off and hit the ground hard. A lens popped out, and he again wore the grieving look of a kid who's dog had not only been runover, but had witnessed it be hit, dragged, and then carried off by a rogue eagle.
"Y'all are just mean. An' I'm the one with the explosives," he said, shoving Leslie's arm and hitting Roman in the shin. "T'hell with power tools. I could take out half the block with some'a my newer stuff."
Roman laughed, then looked at Darrel seriously.
"Really?"
"Really."
Leslie clapped his hands over his ears.
"Hear no evil...hear no evil!" he gave a strangled cry and closed his eyes momentarily.
"Oh! Oh!" he said suddenly, poking Darrel repeatedly, "Guess what Father Frederick's latest excuse to try and get you kicked out was?"
Toying with his dilapidated glasses, Darrel shrugged.
"Huh...lemme guess...um. Hmm. Oh! Wait, no. Um...nope, I got nothin'. What'd he say?" he asked, genuinely curious. He'd found that Frederick's guy to be rather entertaining.
"You maintain poor personal hygiene, as demonstrated by the current state of your hair," Leslie laughed and shook his head, "He is a dumb ******** and got laughed outta the place. His next step's gotta be a global protest or something." He snerked rather loudly and tossed his oozing dandelion to the ground.
"My hair?"
Feeling rather defensive over his dreadlocks, Darrel tugged at one selfconsciously.
"They're not so messy now," he protested. "An' they're clean. Jeez, it's not like I've got bubonic plague fleas skitterin' around in there."
Roman shoved Darrel's shoulder affectionately, grinning.
"He's just nitpicking, he hates us both an' wants us out," he said patiently. Darrel looked quite insulted at the knock against his dreadlocks, and wrinkled his nose.
"Jerk. I oughta grab that white collar and tug it up over his face," he said sullenly.
"The collar's ain't attached to the robes, Darry."
"I know that, I just want to drag it up over his face and make it pin his nose back."
"What the Hell?!" Leslie laughed and shook his head at Darrel, "You are an odd, odd being. And you have cool hair, so it all works out." He then looked to Roman.
"He recently insulted the piercings and gaugings and such. Not like I have any or anything." Leslie snerked and tugged mindlessly at the cross dangling from his ear.
It was Roman's turn to feel slightly affronted now. He twisted the hook-like gauging in his right ear, the shrugged it off.
"Ah, what does he know. I like your earring. And he's got a face that looks like someone mashed it in with a blender," he said.
"And then turned it on to puree," Darrel added, laughing. Roman grinned and nodded.
"And then mixed it with chunky cat food."
Darrel laughed again.
"Damn, can't top that."
"Nope. I win."
Leslie placed a hand over one side of his face and shook his head.
"Your maturity is mind-blowing," he gave a descending sigh and shook his head once more, grinning, "We're so going to Hell for this."
Roman grinned, looking flattered.
"Our insults are top grade," he said cheerfully. Darrel nodded his agreement, but t the mention of hell simply shrugged.
"Pfft! This guy's off his nut, thinkin' appearance matters. God got too much else to worry 'bout, what with Creation an' all that," he said, going back to repairing his glasses. "I gotta doubt he's carin' what people are wearin' or who they shackin' up with. Seems kinda...oh, what's the word. Philosopher?"
Roman, who'd been examining his puzzle again, tapped his chin in mock-thoughtfulness.
"Narcissistic and egotistical?" he supplied. Darrel nodded, focused on setting the lens back into its frame.
"There you go. My case in point," he said.
"I agree," Leslie nodded, although years of hard teaching still forced him to believe otherwise at times, "He just thinks you're makin' me weak. Gotta protect the cathedral from the demonic forces of some dude that died twenty-one years ago or some s**t like that. I don't even remember any more." He laughed and sat up.
Roman arched his eyebrows, fascinated.
"Huh. Sounds exciting," he said. Darrel grunted in what one could suppose was interest. His thoughts drifted back to the accusation of weakness, and Roman sighed and made a face.
"Jeez. Did he want you to live alone th' rest of your life?" he asked in distaste. "What a freakin' jerk."
"Eeyup," Leslie nodded, "They all do, I think. 'Cept my dad. It's just that most of 'em aren't such asses about it. Feel free to beat them up for it, though." He laughed slightly.
"Okay," Roman said immediately.
"I'll take pictures for the album," Darrel chimed in. Roman nodded.
"Good. And burn the evidence?"
"As always."
Roman grinned and returned to his puzzle.
"Good."
Leslie looked down at Roman's puzzle and pointed to a line.
"There's already a three there," he stated simply and laid down once more, head in Roman's lap.
"Huh? Aaah, s**t, you're right."
Scribbling out a number here and there, Roman stared at the puzzle as though it had personally wronged him.
"Damned sudoku. I hate it," he griped.
"Then quit playin' it."
"I caaan't. Stupid thing's aggravating to the point where I want to get it done just to spite it," Roman protested, setting back to work.
Darrel just rolled his eyes.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Nov 11, 2006 7:21 pm
WARNING: Graphic content. Read at your own discretion.
The day was unremarkable at best.
The visit to the cathedral had been a welcome interruption from a quickly-setting sense of redundant normalcy, a feeling that had crept in some weeks ago and firmly refused to leave.
A change of scenery was pretty nice, all things considered.
"What d'you think would happen if someone drank the holy water out of the little basin things out in the entrance?" he asked randomly. "Is that like a spiritual faux pas or something?"
"Blasphemy," Father Wilburn nodded, "Probably, anyway."
"An' if it were either of us, we'd burn from the inside," Leslie added helpfully. He crossed his hands on the table and leaned forward slightly, as if listening intently to the far wall.
"Oh, hey," Father Wilburn spoke up after a few seconds of uncomfortable silence, "Did you bring it back?"
"...what?"
The priest simply arched an eyebrow at his son.
Roman nodded.
"I figured," he said, chewing at a nail absently. He glanced from Leslie to Father Wilburn for a moment, memory tweaking slightly.
Oh yeah.
"The book, right?"
"Oh, Hell," Leslie straightened a bit, "I think we brought it...I mean...it's still in the car, isn't it?" He turned to Roman for any kind of conformation.
"It'd better be," Father Wilburn tented his fingers in a feeble attempt to look menacing.
"Uh...would you mind going to get it, hon. I mean...I will if you don't ... want to..." the weregoyle's eyes trailed back to Father Wilburn's.
"Yeah, I think I tossed it in the backseat. I'll go get it," Roman said. "Right back."
He left, but then returned a beat later and glanced around for the keys.
"Is that car locked?"
"I don't think so," Leslie shook his head and snerked slightly, "I mean, it's a church, I'm not exactly into the habit of locking the doors when I come here..."
"Yeah, good point. Priests don't usually do the joyriding thing," Roman said, ambling out the door again. "Back in a second."
He took off down the hall, cautiously avoiding any and all priests. He didn't feel like running into anyone that would look at him like he was something rotten and leaking bodily juices over the carpet.
"You don't lock the doors?"
"Uh...no. No I don't."
"What about Fredericks?"
"I'unno. Who cares?"
Absently thinking of a couple things, none particularly important, Roman's trip down to the parking lot was quick, distracted and mercifully priest-free. He rooted through the van and cursed as the book was no where in sight and refused to reveal itself.
"Dammit. I thought I threw it in here..."
---
He didn't like to think of it as stalking. Stalkers generally held some twisted affection for their targets. There was none of that here.
This was revenge, cold and simple.
And what was better, this target was alone.
Perfect.
Father Wilburn and Leslie simply stayed where they were, talking idly and waiting for Roman to return. They were completely unaware of the "stalker" and, had they had the slightest inkling as to his identity, they probably would have already been out in the parking lot with guns drawn.
...but they didn't.
Hands jammed into pockets and complaining irritably about his terrible memory, Roman turned on his heel and headed back towards the cathedral.
---
He watched Roman leave, and crept after. This was beyond any indignity the b*****d had inflicted before, beyond petty lies and thievery and his recent "sobering". It was galling, to think the ******** lived in comfort when he should have been dead in a gutter.
At least that would soon be remedied.
---
Roman was half-aware there was someone behind him, could hear their footsteps on the pavement. But it was probably just someone headed in to...he didn't know, do church-things or something. Not his concern.
Leslie suddenly stopped speaking, brow furrowed with an unknown concern. His chest had tightened and his throat closed into itself.
"What?" Father Wilburn asked.
"I...don't know. Nothing."
The sense of paranoid unease Roman had come to know and loathe was still being determinedly ignored as the footsteps behind him sped up to catch up to him.
Would you just ******** quit it already? he told himself snappishly. Not everything in the world's out to-
"Roman! Hey, Roman. Wait up."
-kill you. Okay. Maybe paranoia isn't such a bad thing.
Feigning disinterest, Roman glanced over his shoulder.
"How's your side?" he asked Harold mildly.
Harold didn't reply.
"What's taking him so long?" Father Wilburn complained.
"Oh, shut up. I'm sure he has a perfectly good reason."
"I'm gonna go help him. That gas-guzzling deathtrap of yours can't be very easy to navigate through."
"It used to be your gas-guzzling deathtrap."
"That's not the point," the miffed priest said and stood then, beginning for the hall.
"You really don't know when to quit, do you?" Roman asked, hands clenched into fists to stop them shaking. Harold's face was set in utter hatred, and Roman had seen before what happened to people he looked at that way.
"I tried to be nice," Harold said, hands in his grubby jacket as he walked towards Roman. Not wanting to turn his back on the man, Roman took a few steps back. "I tried to be reasonable. I was happy to see you, y'know."
"I know," Roman said, unable to keep the distaste out of his voice. Harold's eyes narrowed.
"You're no better than me," he said. His voice was taut and no longer held the coolly calculating fake suaveness. He sounded tired, angry, and more than a little hateful.
"What do you want?" Roman asked, taking another step back. "I'm not gonna help you. I'm not gonna do anything for you."
"I don't need your help," Harold said icily. "You're not so brave without the big gray guy around, are you. I can tell. You're trying to skitter away from trouble again."
Roman halted, glaring at Harold.
"Go away, Harold. Go home," he said harshly. He was fed up being paranoid, and he refused to be scared by this waste of space currently trying to spook him. He turned his back to Harold and walked towards the cathedral again.
Harold closed his eyes briefly and smiled. There was a God. To offer such a beautiful opportunity...
Harold withdrew his hand from his pocket and fired the gun once.
The bullet caught Roman in the shoulder, and it spun him around. He stared at Harold, a mix of stunned horror and fury on his face. The coward had shot him in the back.
Harold tilted his head to one side, considering the expression on Roman's face.
And he pulled the trigger again.
The first shot gained the usual reaction of shock. Nobody moved. Maybe, they all thought, it was just a car backfiring. Hell, half of the priests had never seen a gun, let alone heard one in their close proximity. Regardless, though, they all new, and the entire structure went entirely still.
The second blast was what threw everyone into action. Father Wilburn and Leslie were the first to reach the parking lot.
It is a frightening vantage point of being on the ground when someone is pointing a gun at you, and all you can do is look up.
"Bye," Harold said, his voice light. Roman, tasting blood and overwhelmed by a sense of pain he'd never felt before, didn't have time to make a sound.
It's common knowledge that if you hear a gun go off, you're still alive. Roman heard the third shot.
But after that, he heard nothing at all.
Harold looked up at his audience. His eyes flicked over to Leslie, and his face contorted.
"You don't know a damn thing about him," he said coldly. "If I hadn't done it, someone else would've."
Father Wilburn rushed to Roman, immediately beginning to check for vital signs. Yes, there was a heartbeat...but, oh...
"YOU!" Leslie growled, eyes growing black as his claws extended to some ungodly length, "You ******** son of a b***h. You just can't leave us alone, can you? I should have killed you the first time or, Hell, the second!" He continued approaching Harold slowly, back hunched. He almost seemed...what...taller?
"He deserved it," Harold said, cringing despite himself but refusing to look sorry. He wasn't sorry. He was vindicated. And most likely about to die very, very painfully.
"Admit it," he snarled, gun still in hand. "I doubt you could even stand him. You only pitied him. He feeds off pity. He's a spiteful, useless waste of life."
With all the dire amusement of a man about to die and trying to pretend it didn't scare him, he sneered at Leslie.
"Or...he was."
Leslie gave a final cry. Yes, he could see, or sense that Harold knew what was comind next...and he didn't give a damn. In one swift movement he had the shooter back against the nearest vehicle, a handful of claws rammed up beneath his ribcage, and a set of fangs looming precariously near the jugular.
"For your information, dear," Leslie laughed, "I love 'im. Present tense." He bit down hard then, ramming two claws on his free hand into Harold's temples.
For once, he was glad for his odd proportions.
Harold let out a gurgling last breath. His body twitched and jerked in one last desperate response to the trauma, though he himself was no longer there to struggle.
Roman, sprawled out and eyes half-open, didn't move at all.
Leslie, satisfied, almost spontaneously dropped back into his normal state and rushed to Roman, his confidence gone. Tears streaked his bloodstained face as he knelt.
"You have to get him to the--" one of the younger priests began.
"Abbas? Get in the ******** car."
Father Wilburn obliged quickly, opening both doors on his way. Leslie carefully picked Roman up from the pavement, cradling his head as if he were some kind of infant. He sniveled, sobbed, and bolted for the van. He truthfully believed that he had never felt pain so intense.
And he hadn't been so much as scratched.
As Father Wilburn gunned the engine, the priests dropped to their knees in a single hive-minded motion.
Blood was everywhere. Three small holes, such small things, and life slowly draining out of them.
Pain. Cold. Fading sight and hearing providing incomprehensible sounds, images too difficult to puzzle out.
It was better to just stop thinking for a bit. Ignore the pain. Ignore everything.
Go to sleep.
Leslie was experiencing the worst mental breakdown in his life thus far. He didn't care that his entire body was slick with blood. He didn't care about anything except keeping Roman alive.
The entire ride to the hospital, which could not have lasted more than three minutes, the weregoyle sat hunched over the bleeding form, lips pressed to its...nonono...his forehead. Upon arriving, however, it was a flurry of movement that brought both the priest, the victim, and the murderer into the waiting room; once more coated in Roman's blood.
"Help," Leslie whimpered.
The triage nurse gaped and bolted before the word was fully out of Leslie's mouth. The people in the waiting room sucked in a breath as one, some recoiling in their chairs and some jolted forward, propelled by horrified instinct to see the carnage better.
Familiar faces burst from the emergency room doors, and Doctor U'Maaki stifled a horrified cry, trying to save face.
"Move!" she bellowed at the crowding people. They scattered and Roman was taken from Leslie with urgent force, and in a flurry of movement nearly to o fast to follow the doctors were gone, the only indication they had been there a half-hearted swing from the ER's doors.
And the waiting room was left in a very pregnant silence.
"I'll--" Father Wilburn began, but Leslie had already left the room, defiantly following those goddamned doctors. If they thought they could get rid of him...
The emergency room, always a barely under control riot of noise and urgent action, was in an uproar. Doctors shouted to one another and to interns, who in turn shouted at each other in rattled voices, rushing everywhere.
It was one of the braver interns that approached Leslie, intent on forcing him back into the waiting room, but his resolve deflated instantly as he got a good look at the intruder.
"Hey, you can't be back...um. Nevermind," he said, voice starting off strong and trailing off into a very intimidated squeak.
Leslie gave the poor intern a kind of appreciative half-smile and continued following the doctors. He knew he was trailing blood, smearing it on the floor. He was too distressed to care.
"Blood pressure dropping-"
"Which wound is it?"
"Left lung punctured-"
"Hurry up! Hurry up!"
The operating room was crowded, the maddening noise of many people working to reverse a great deal of damage resonating in the small space. People went in and out, looking dour.
"Pressure's still dropping-"
There was an urgent beeping of a heart monitor, an erratic pitched thing adding awful tempo to the urgency of the voices.
"We need to stop the bleeding-"
"Hurry up, goddammit!"
The intern, trailing after Leslie, could hear the voices clearly from down the hall.
"Look, I'm...I'm sorry, but you really can't go in there," he said, looking encouraged by the smile. At least that meant he wasn't going to be disemboweled, he assumed. "Give us some time, we'll help him. Really."
The beeping sound was growing more erratic.
Leslie's gaze once again dropped to the intern.
"Look," he said in a frightening monotone, "I know how to stay out of the way, and there ain't nothin' I can give him he ain't already got. Don't make me hurt anyone. I don't want to hurt anyone, and I'm going in there. It's on my head, not yours."
Looking efficiently cowed, the intern backed off.
"If you say so," he managed. He wasn't a cowardly person, but confronting a significantly taller person coated in blood could be a little off-putting. He took a couple steps back and bumped into a wall, warily shrinking a bit.
The door to the operating room was still swinging, emitting noise by turn muffled and clear as it moved.
Leslie heaved a sigh, thanking God for all of the strange mutations given him, and pushed himself through the doors.
"Ignore me," he instructed, as if they wouldn't already, and hid in a completely empty corner behind a slew of surgeons, almost dissolving into shadow.
A tall doctor with a vivid red line cutting down over one eye looked up at Leslie in surprise, his surgical mask and front blood spattered. He looked down to the patient laid up on the table, then back to the imposing new person who presumably wore most of what was once inside the patient.
"If I had the time I'd argue," he said bluntly, and he looked down again. The heart monitor was beeping with horrid erratic patterns, spiking and dropping. "Sedra, you know the guy. Do something."
A small form whipped out of the crowd and U'Maaki respectfully ventured towards Leslie.
"Mister Wilburn, please," she started.
The heart monitor cut out behind her, beeping falling into a dreadful single tone. U'Maaki's face went starkly white and she fled back into the mass of people.
"Crash cart ready-"
"Too much bleeding, the trauma-"
"Crash cart ready!"
The wild flurry of activity stepped up instantly, the noise punctuated by the flatlined heart monitor.
It took a moment for the flatlining to register. Sure, he saw the line, heard the noise...but it took Leslie's brain a moment to make the connection between that and a still heart.
He gave a cry of concentrated horror and lunged forward; to the doctors or Roman, he didn't know.
It's all my fault. It's all my ******** fault. Oh, God, why?!
The tall doctor's head snapped up and he ripped his mask off, charging Leslie and pushing him back forcefully.
"HEY!" he shouted, eyes flicking from Leslie to his patient in angry anxiety. "This is my ******** operating room, and you will not disrupt my procedure. Stay out of the way or so help me gods if he dies it will be on your head."
"Doctor Adyamaur!"
The doctor released Leslie but he gave him a long look, face set.
"Charged-"
"Ready-"
"Clear-"
The sound of the defibrillator was unsettling to listen to. The monitor's signal jumped, then flatlined again.
A short wait that seemed to last far too long.
"Clear-"
Another jump. Another flatline.
Again a wait.
"Clear-"
The signal jumped. It slowed, but did not fall into flatline.
It registered a sluggish beat.
"Blood pressure dropped-"
"Get the major injury closed up first. Ignore the shoulder for now."
The doctor looked up at Leslie unapologetically, but also with a flash of relief. One of many crises averted. On to the next one...
Leslie's eyes filtered black once more and he let go a guttural, vibrating growl...
...and then he actually nipped at this pretentious jackass' nose.
Well, once they had Roman closed up...
The heartbeat was slow, painfully slow. But it was a heartbeat nonetheless.
"First bullet grazed a kidney-"
"I'm aware of that - the lung's what we have to worry about-"
Roman coughed, an involuntary action. Blood splattered out of his mouth.
"Suction-"
"For gods' sake, keep it still!"
The heart monitor's beeping was steady but slow, an unnerving backdrop noise to the chatter.
"There's been too much blood loss," Adyamaur said, bent down and making impossibly small sutures, repairing things that to the untrained eye would look only like a mess of flesh. "Pressure'll drop again any second."
"Can fix that," Leslie nodded, "Can fix that in a span of three seconds, you give me the time." He looked desperately to U'Maaki, although any emotion his face held was lost in those cold black eyes.
"You don't let me, an' he dies? Not a one of you is leaving here with all your limbs."
Adyamaur let loose a growl of his own, and his eyes flashed red. Just a trick of the light, it seemed...they were normal and simply annoyed a second later. It was more the unwelcome disturbance than the threats of injury that were irking him.
Besides. The guy had nipped at him. Jeez.
"Sedra," he said urgently, hands open in an expression of distress as the monitor let out a frantic beep. U'Maaki nodded and approached Leslie again. Her expression was caught between utmost fascination and deadly worry.
"If you can, help him," she said, her normally brisk tone vanished. "Help us. He is dying."
Leslie looked down to U-Maaki for a moment, as if he didn't recognize her. In a split second, though, he was beside Roman once more.
He wiped his right arm on the only clean bit of pants he had, crossed himself quickly, and then bit into his wrist; spitting a hunk of flesh he'd removed to the floor.
Without another word, he had cracked open Roman's jaw and placed his wrist thereon, the pulsing jets of blood forcing the dying man's body to receive it.
There was an audible sound, something like running water, that accompanied a slew of reddish waves riding visibly beneath Roman's flesh, and then dissolving in.
Ah, home-made transfusions. It was one of the upsides to virus-like blood.
A bewildered silence swept over the room as the collected doctors watched...what on earth was going on...
"Wow," U'Maaki offered.
The heart monitor gave a helpful beep, catching Adyamaur's attention with effort.
"Pressure leveling off..."
U'Maaki, the infinite fascination dominating her face, craned her head to look up at Leslie.
"How did you..." she asked, voice trailing off.
Leslie waited a few more seconds, and only puleld his wrist away when he saw the blue ooze begin to take the place of his blood.
"O-negative. Infectious," he said after a moment, stumbling away and holding his wrist. Most of the colour had flushed from his face, more out of horror than bloodloss. Again came the fizzing and foaming, and his wrist was healed.
"May want to keep me in mind."
"Infectious...?"
The heart monitor's beeping was steady now. The doctors, bewildered and confused but too busy to question it, set to working again. U'Maaki regretfully pulled herself away from Leslie's side and disappeared into the crowd of people again.
For a while, Leslie was basically ignored.
Leslie as content with hovering in the back, gnawing on his pointer finger and watching with absolute concentration. He'd be alright now...maybe. Probably? God, he hoped...
And that thought process once again pushed him to tears.
Tense silence punctuated only by the clattering of metal and brief muttered instructions swept over the room.
"Close 'im up."
U'Maaki stood back, stripping her gloves off.
"Bring him to the seventh floor..."
Adyamaur, hunched over again, finished a neat row of sutures and righted himself again slowly, stretching tensed muscles. He directed instructions at the general vicinity, and glared when they were not immediately carried out.
"Go, for Christ's sake," he snapped. The room was a flurry of activity again, and then it was empty. Roman too was gone.
"I'm sorry I yelled at you," Adyamaur said, looking embarrassed now. "Sedra..."
U'Maaki took over, shooing him out the door. Adyamaur left with an apologetic glance, then disappeared out the door.
U'Maaki looked up at Leslie cautiously.
"So," she offered weakly.
"So," Leslie parroted, "Tired of us yet?" He offered a weak half-smile.
U'Maaki smiled slightly in return, beckoning Leslie to follow her.
"I will admit, I wouldn't mind seeing less of you...it would mean you're not getting into so much trouble," she said, pushing the door open. "...but I am glad to see you both still alive."
She looked at the blood that currently soaked Leslie and spattered the operating room floor, that expression of fascination springing up again involuntarily.
"I doubt even if you explained I'd understand what happened in there, so I won't ask," she said, though everything in her longed to sit Leslie down and subject him to a serious inquisition. This was damn interesting, right here!
"He's been taken to a private ward for recovery. I'll notify you the minute he is moved to one of the lower wards," she added, stripping off the gown and cap and disposing of them in a bin by the door.
Leslie groaned and looked away, then down at himself.
"Well, maybe when one of us isn't dying I can take the time to--" and then he stopped as his gaze reached his wrist. There was no scar, no pain, just a patch of fresh skin where he'd previously bitten himself open.
"I hate to impede upon your...doctorly duties, but I demand you take me to him. I think I can..." He trailed off.
They were genetically the same person, right? So who was to say that the blue ooze could tell the difference?
U'Maaki looked uncertain.
"What do you plan on doing?" she asked, having missed out on the blue ooze's brief appearance before. She hesitated then...the "transfusion" had been terribly fascinating, and it had helped....what the hell. She wanted to see more of what this guy could do.
"Alright. Come with me," she said abruptly, seizing Leslie's hand and dragging him with her towards one of the elevators.
"Um...but I'm still--" Leslie began, but gave up on speaking as he was dragged. Okay, so he was covered in blood. Hospitals usually were.
That's what janitors were for.
The only thing he wasn't looking forward to was having to deal with Adyamaur again...
"Bloody? Yes, I know. I somehow doubt there's anything infectious in there, though," U'Maaki said, a note of excitement in her voice. "I'm guessing right in thinking you got rid of the virus..."
Shooing Leslie into the elevator, the doors snapping shut abruptly behind her, she smashed in the button to the seventh floor. The elevator rose with a slightly nauseating speed, and the much shorter woman dragged Leslie out and into the ward.
"Wait right here," she said, releasing Leslie and going towards the nurses station.
"Nn-hn," Leslie nodded in response to absolutely everything the doctor was rambling about. She was rather amusing when you got right down to it.
U'Maaki, looking positively glowing with anticipation now, returned quickly.
"Room seventeen. Come on, come on!" she said, grabbing hold of Leslie again and dragging him. She was acting almost like a kid at Christmas who'd woken to find their very own surgical bone saw set.
The room was small and comfortless, sterile-smelling and rather on the chill side. Roman was laid up on the bed, eyes closed. The heart monitor's precise beeping was the only sound.
"Here he is," U'Maaki said, ushering Leslie inside and her enthusiasm dying down a bit.
Leslie heaved a sigh at Roman's current condition. Oh, what had he done...
Hoping that U'Maaki would just let him do what he had to do, he carefully removed an IV from one of Roman's arms and poked a small hole in his own palm with a claw.
This time, blood was skipped. The blue ooze slipped out slightly before the tiny hole closed. Hurriedly, Leslie put some on his finger and dabbed it on the IV pinprick.
He waited a few moments as it fizzed, popped, and eventually disappeared along with the tiny red dot.
"Unstick him," he commanded then, turning to U'Maaki, "Unhook him, unstitch him, get all that crap out of him."
U'Maaki wavered, painful curiosity and duty to her patient conflicting horridly.
She relented and undid what had been painstakingly done, deftly and with rather disturbing ease breaking the stitches. Half-congealed scabbing broke and blood began seeping again.
U'Maaki hesitated, looking up at Leslie.
"All...all right..." she said, growing nervous now. "What ever you're going to do...do it."
Her hands rested on the heart monitor, and with great misgivings she switched it off.
Leslie nodded, feeling a kind of urgency in teh air. After all, Roman wasn't fixed yet. He peered about him, looking for something sharp...ah!
He went to a nearby cabinet and removed a hypodermic needle quickly, bending it in half and ignoring the blood that welled up on his fingertips. He gave a look to U'Maaki, considering that she may have a weak constitution, then remembered that she was a surgeon and then stabbed the double-pronged end of the bent needle into his wrist.
Blue stuff welled, pumped, ran as he dragged the needle down his arm, a frantic squeak of pain his only display of emotion. He then held the wound over Roman's various wounds, squeezing his arm to coax the ooze to flow. He paled and fell back once the gruesome deed was done, holding his healing wrist and watching as the near-acidic neon goo began to fizz on Roman's body.
"Oh my..."
Watching the process with interest bordering on slight mortification, U'Maaki did little more than stare. More than anything she wanted to get a sample of that stuff...but the fizzing noise was a little off-putting. She stayed put. But put her hands in her pockets to remove temptation.
And in slow, arduous response, Roman twitched slightly.
Leslie rushed to Roman's side after the ooze had evaporated and grasped one of his hands, watching intently for any other signs of life. He looked to U'Maaki for a short moment, and then back to Roman.
It was a long wait.
Roman's head shifted slightly to one side eventually, and his eyes opened a crack. He was looking at a very small, quite anxious looking woman...
"Nh."
He closed his eyes again. He was vaguely aware of someone holding onto his hand...
"Hn?"
He lifted his head the barest of inches, trying to see who it was.
Leslie gave a relieved half-laugh and kissed the top of Roman's hand.
"Don't try to move," he said, "You've just been shot, died, and brought back."
Roman stared at Leslie uncomprehending, mouth slightly open.
"Sh..."
He found he could only force out half the word 'shot', being otherwise too...tired? Strange. He felt alright. At least, he thought he felt alright. Had he been shot?
Huh. Maybe.
His head fell back a minuscule distance and Roman closed his eyes again.
Leslie snickered again.
"Yeah. Shot. But he's been taken care of," he said and then stood once more, stepping back.
"I...can we...move him down? I'd like to...stay."
"Incredible. Amazing....full recovery, no sign of previous trauma, no bleeding," U'Maaki said, her voice trembling. What a discovery! Fantastic!
She heard Leslie's question about sixty seconds after he'd spoken.
"Oh! Oh, yes, yes, it shouldn't be a problem now - gracious, three wounds, a punctured lung, no damage at all-er. I'll. Yes. I'll have him moved immediately," she said, leaving with effort.
Roman, had he been awake enough to hear the woman, probably would have laughed at her positively bouncing elation.
"Mmkay," Leslie half-smiled to the little doctor, "I'll...I'll wait out...there." He pointed to the door.
"I kinda don't wanna be in here if the big guy comes back." And with that, he headed for the hall.
"Who, Julian? Pfft. I could take him in a fair fight," U'Maaki said dismissively. "He gets edgy during procedures like that, that's all. I doubt he meant to be rude."
Barging into the nurses station and directing them briskly, U'Maaki sent the startled nurses towards Roman's room authoritatively.
"Seeing as the patient has made a...full...recovery," she said to Leslie, that manic look of fascination back again, "-he should probably be able to go home fairly soon. They're taking him to the second floor."
She watched as Roman was wheeled past and taken into an elevator. He seemed to be unconscious again.
Leslie nodded appreciately and gave the small doctor a smile. He half-turned, as if to follow, but decided that something else had to be said first.
"Visiting hours? Yeah. About those? No."
He shrugged to her in a kind of dismissive 'sucks for them' way and continued after the nurses.
Later
Roman had been sleeping for awhile with no sign of waking anytime soon.
It was only the sudden blasting of a television next door that jerked him awake.
"YERK!"
The sound of squealing tires and raised voices had scared the living daylights out of him, and in sleepy anger he seized his pillow and threw it.
"Keep it down, Darry," he said, spitting the name like a curse. "Good Christ."
Slumping down on the bed again, Roman's eyes suddenly shot open again. This wasn't the bedroom at home.
What in the...
"Huh?"
Leslie, having leaned over the edge of the bed to retrieve the projectile and hand it back, smiled up to Roman and offered the pillow to him.
"Welcome back."
Father Wilburn, who had been staring intently out the window, then turned to Roman and grinned.
Roman took the pillow and looked around, utterly disoriented.
"Welcome...what? Why are we..." he said, trying to remember. There was a twinge of memory...
Roman sat back, a hand clapping against his chest. There had been a hole there a few hours ago.
"...oh."
"Yeah," Leslie laughed slightly, " 'Oh'. But now there's nothing to worry about. They say you'll be fine."
Looking deeply rattled, Roman nodded and looked up at Leslie.
"Good. That's...that's good," he said, checking himself for holes anyway. Finding none, he collapsed onto the bed again.
"Good ********' grief," he muttered, staring at the ceiling. "Did anything...was anyone..."
He swallowed, shivering slightly.
"Is everybody else alright?"
"Except for Harold, yeah," Leslie nodded, "Nobody was hurt but you. God damn it, Roman, you died. You scared the crap out of me." He leaned forward, rested his head in his arms on Roman's bed, and then looked up again.
Suddenly, the door opened. A young man peeked his head in, looking rather startled.
"Um...?" Father Wilburn began, brow arched.
"Can I...can I come in?"
"Sure," Leslie nodded, still having no idea as to who this man was. He stepped in, though, revealing himself to be one of the younger priests. He looked to Father Wilburn and Leslie, wiping his perfectly clean hands on his black slacks, and then turned to Roman.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
"I..."
Roman grew very quiet. His thoughts scattered wildly and rested on something highly unsettling...
No...he didn't want to think about that right now. The arrival of the stranger was a happy distraction.
"Huh? Oh...uh, yeah. Yeah, I'm okay," he said. He hesitated for a moment. "Um...I'm sorry but...er. Who're you?"
"Uh..."
"That's...Daniel. The resident new fundie," Father Wilburn explained and nodded, "Please, sit down."
"N-no..." Daniel stumbled over his own words, "I can't stay. I just wanted to make sure that everything was...alright. When they...took that guy away I just...I...yes, well, I'm glad you're alright. I'll...I'll be going. Good day. God bless." And with that, the little priest disappeared.
Leslie watched him leave, and then turned to Roman and shrugged.
"That was a bit odd."
"Okay then...uh. Hi and bye," Roman said, leaning on the side of his bed to watch the new guy take off.
"Huh."
Righting himself and sitting cross-legged, he looked around the room once more and shifted uncomfortably.
"Well...since I'm not bleeding or de-" he choked slightly on the word, but then regained himself, "-dead, how about we...y'know...leave."
"I don't know," Leslie shrugged, "I kinda hadta...pull some strings to even get you to, yanno, keep living. It'd probably be best if we just...did what they told us. You can call and ask a doc, though..." He shrugged.
Roman frowned, and without warning jumped out of bed. To hell with following orders.
He was hungry, dammit.
Ducking out the door before either Leslie or Father Wilburn could so much as protest, he ambled to the nurses station and leaned on the desk. The woman looked up at him with eyebrows raised.
"Yeaaah...full recovery, y'know, I was hoping I could get sprung a little early?" he asked. Her eyebrows arched higher and she picked up the phone.
"Just a moment," she said tartly.
And just a moment later, U'Maaki was practically sprinting through the door.
"Un-be-lieve-able," she said, looking ecstatic. Roman, startled, did little more than wave.
"Um. Hi."
"Hello!"
Roman took a slight step back.
"Um, I was kind of hoping I could...leave..."
Leslie laughed and followed. Father Wilburn simpy trailed behind, hands in his pockets.
"Whaddya say, doc? Can he go home?" Leslie half-smiled to the tiny woman, "I mean, as far as internal bleeding goes, we're all set."
"Leave? Well...I suppose...no injury, no need to stay," U'Maaki said as she investigatively poked and prodded at what she could reach of Roman.
"Um. Great. Okay then," he said, batting her hands away. "See you later."
"Don't say that!" U'Maaki said with surprising vehemence. "If anything you shouldn't want to ever see me again. Go. Out, out, out."
Shooing Roman away towards the elevator, she abruptly pointed Leslie and and Father Wilburn after him.
"I will take care of the paperwork," she said, dismissing them. "Try to stay out of trouble, won't you?"
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Nov 12, 2006 12:21 pm
Warning! Gruesome content!
The Dihydrogen Oxide Allergy
Leslie sighed, laying on the couch downstairs and listening to the torrential downpour of what he hoped was rain pelting the house like so many tiny bullets. He held his keys in his hand, twirling them absentmindedly about one finger.
Yeah, he'd just take a drive. There wasn't much of a chance to get soaked in water when inside a vehicle.
He stood and started for the garage on the ground floor.
Roman was sleeping again, buried under covers. The sound of rain hardly reached him at all. He shifted once, eyes half-opening, but only for a second. He dragged the covers further up and slept on.
Leslie began down the stairs, eyes on the van...
...and then he heard it.
It started off a faint crackle, barely audible, but then grew to a creaking crackle and then to a full-blown oh-my-God-your-stairs-are-breaking splitting noise. He attempted to step back, eyes traveling to the rotted stair, but this shift in weight distribution only worsened the matter and he plunged through into the cellar mere feet below.
Said cellar was engorged with something like four feet of water, beginning just beneath the stairs and going all the way to the cement floor.
Watching the ceiling (or garage floor, as it were) disappear above him, Leslie sank like...well...a rock.
Between the rain and the muffling of walls, Roman hardly heard the sound of the stairs. He shifted again, unwoken.
Leslie was able to hold his breath for a good long time as he attempted to somehow swim to the surface. As his fingers breached the waves, however, things began to fade before him. He grew faint and...oh, here it went again...
He sank once more, falling unconscious.
It was a roll of thunder that disturbed Roman into half-wakefulness. Not rattling-the-windows, seems-like-its-smashed-the-ceiling kind, but enough to get him to open his eyes.
"Hnf," he said, rolling over again. There was the brief silence, and then the thunder rolled again. "HNF!"
Annoyed by the inconvenience of weather, Roman clamped the pillow over his head. He could still hear the goddamned thunder, and dammit all, now he was awake.
"Fine. Jeez. I'm up."
Leslie remained on the concrete floor of the cellar, inhaling only sparsely, water absorbing into his bloodstream as he did so. The liquid began to penetrate flesh, ever so slightly, and loosen it from bone.
Clumsily redressing and nearly slipping down the stairs once, Roman looked around to find the house seemingly empty.
"Les?"
Looking around, Roman had the slight sense that something was off. It was pouring outside...no way Leslie would want to go out in that.
"Leslie?"
Empty house. Odd...
Leslie was in his odd hybernative state once more, hearing but not hearing, nothing registering quite right. He continued to defy physics, pulled down to the floor at the highest degree. The only moving bit of him was his hair, briefly obscuring his eyes, which had rolled back and appeared to have gone completely black.
Getting more and more unsettled by the second, Roman combed the house and then stepped outside, watching the rain uncomfortably. Had he left on his own?
...had he been forced out?
"Shut up. Paranoid idiot," Roman chided himself dully, stepping back in. He'd checked everywhere...
Except the garage.
"Worth a shot," he muttered, and headed off.
The first thing he noticed at a glance was a broken stair.
"Huh..."
Leslie saw, but did not see and heard, but did not hear Roman approaching. A muscle spasmed as a few layers of flesh floated free from a small patch on the back of Leslie's right hand.
Walking on the stairs was probably a pretty bad idea, but Roman had the kind of curiosity common in both adventurous people and complete idiots.
"Gotta get this fixed," he muttered, hopping over it and landing on the next safest stair. The garage seemed empty at first, but there seemed to be movement on the floor.
"Water?"
And...something floating...garbage? Leaves?
"Oh...oh, come on," Roman protested. "That can't be fair."
Thundering down the stairs, Roman jumped into four feet of water, and picked up the ******** style="font-size: 9px">Leslie's neck involuntarily arched as his throat closed, sapped of all usefulness by the water it detested. His fingers twitched slightly, but once more returned to their previous flaccid position.
The water's surface was disturbed by the motion beneath it, and the gentle sound of sloshing caught Roman's attention. The bit of Leslie he'd picked up fell back into the water with a sad little splash as Roman dropped it, whirling around fast enough to unbalance himself. He fell onto his knees hard and toppled to all fours, arms half-submerged.
"Leslie!"
Good god in heaven, but we're just not catching a break.
Scrambling up and wading to Leslie, Roman plunged his arms into the murky water and lifted Leslie half-out with terrible effort.
"Leslie?" he asked, voice very small. How long had he been under, if flesh had started to give way?
Leslie, of course, made no sound. He stayed limp, save the hand that clutched Roman's arm in a spasmodic reaction to contact. His flesh had gone a sickish blue-white by this time, and his heart had ceased to function.
Now, that by no means meant that Leslie was dead. His blood was still flowing rather nicely, being almost its own organism, but his heart had been cheated of purpose for the time being.
"Oh no, no no no, okay, out of the water-"
Roman hefted Leslie out of the water as best he could, but the dead weight of him was difficult to maneuver with. He looked around for a dry place, any dry place, the suddenly teetering and horridly tall seeming staircase looming before ******** that, not happening," he said, still clinging to Leslie. He looked around, and the answer stood out in glaring obviousness.
The van.
"Okay, stay right here," he said, dragging Leslie to the stairs and laying him as high up as possible. Keys, keys, where were the goddamned keys?
He went on all fours again, blindly groping in the water for them. The idea was simple. Unlock van, stow Leslie, hope for recovery.
Or drive through the garage door and speed to the cathedral and scream for help.
Either or.
Leslie dropped, still completely unconscious, muscles in his hand staying loosely positioned as if still gripping.
The keys lay, ironically enough, just a few feet below the floating bit of Leslie.
The cursing echoed in the garage, and Roman splashed through the water furiously. Something so important had no right to be missing right ******** hell. I will ******** kill something, where are you, you stupid miserable- hnngh!"
The cry was accidental, but grabbing hold of flesh, no matter who's it was, in the grand scheme of things really was kind of disturbing. Roman shook off the shed flesh and plunged his hands down into the water again, and immediately yanked them out again as metal cut into his palm.
"Ow! Son of a biwaitaminute."
Plunging his hand in again with identical force, Roman ignored the jab of pain and crowed in victory as he found the keys. Half-scuttling over to the van he unlocked it and yanked the door open.
"Ha. HA. I ******** win," he told the dripping keys, turning back to Leslie and hefting him up again. The keys logically had no response.
Also logically, neither did Leslie. Not vocally, anyway. A knee dragged up, as if the young man was attempting to stand, but just as quickly slid back down.
Half-bent under Leslie's weight, Roman trudged to the van and eased him in as best he could. The weird motion had unsettled Roman, and he briefly wondered if Leslie was dead and his body was in post mortem twitch-mode.
"Shut up," he hissed at himself. "He's alive. Get him in the van, idiot."
The strain of keeping Leslie as far out of the water as he could was tiring Roman out, but he ignored it. Half-way in...
"C'mon...c'mon, get in-"
Leslie regained consciousness then, if only for a moment. His eyes opened and rolled back to their proper position, peering at Roman with a kind of unfamiliar fear. He seemed to understand the situation, though, and used whatever strength he had left to pull himself into the van.
And then all went black once more.
"Huh? Oh - yeah, okay, good! That's good! Alive is good!"
Rambling out of utter relief, Roman made sure Leslie was safe on the backseat before collapsing onto the flooded floor, not caring he was sitting in four feet of water.
"Holy s**t," he said, head falling back and resting uncomfortably on the edge of the van. He chose to ignore that he had no idea what to do next.
Leslie's hand twitched and returned him to consciousness. Now came the gut-wrenching agony. He arched, legs drawing up and pushing back against the seat. He gritted his teeth as tears began to fall.
This really, really sucked.
Aware of the motion before he saw it, Roman's head whipped around and cracked against the side of the van.
"Grrrrrhhhk!"
Swallowing the exclamation of pain that was doubtless microscopic against Leslie's, Roman stood, one hand pressed against his aching skull, and ripped the keys out of the door with the other.
"Okay. Cathedral'd be great now," he said to whatever was listening. He smashed the garage door opener's button and shut the van door as gently as possible, climbing into the drivers seat.
"And we're off," he remarked, trying to keep his tone dry to edge out the utter panic. It didn't work. He backed out at top speed and ignored the scandalized beeping of cars out on the road as he cut in front of them.
"Les, hold on, just a second," he said anxiously, looking back at Leslie once or twice as he drove.
Thank God for Roman, Leslie thought to himself through his blinding pain. If it weren't for Roman, he'd probably have dissolved.
Dissolving was no fun.
He beat his head against that little pointless cup-thing near the door handle, trying to concentrate the pain elsewhere. Needless to say, it didn't quite work.
The ride to the cathedral lasted a short time, and so in Roman-standard was far too long. By the time the van skidded and hydroplaned into the parking lot he'd become convinced his driving was too sluggish and Leslie was most likely good as dead.
"Okay, wait right here, I'm gonna go get help, I swear I'll be right back," he said, eyes lingering on Leslie in terrorized worry. Leaping out of the van and taking off at a sprint for the cathedral, he burst in soaking wet and wild-eyed.
"HEY CAN I GET SOME HELP HERE PLEASE?" came out in a bellow, and Roman heaved for breath. "ANYBODY?!"
Every head in the cathedral turned. Various terrified church-goers stared in shock. Father Wilburn, who stood at the back of the room, knew much better than that.
He sprinted toward Roman, skidding across the rug in his bare feet.
"What the f--frig did you get yourself into now?!"
Roman had the feeling that maybe he'd just interrupted something important.
Oops.
"What? Oh, wait, no no, nothing like last time, staircase, um, broken stair, flooded garage, flesh bits," Roman said quickly. Realizing he was more incomprehensible than usual he took a deep breath.
"Les fell in the garage, and it was flooded, and now he's in the van and he's hurt," he amended. He glanced slowly towards the congregation and cringed slightly. "Um...sorry."
Father Wilburn immediately took off at a sprint for the door, bellowing a clumsy "PARDON ME!" as he did so. He slid into the van quite literally and looked through the back door.
"Oh, Christ, Leslie..."
Roman spared the congregation one last apologetic glance before taking off after Father Wilburn. He skidded to a halt, half-slipping on the wet asphalt.
"I got him out as fast as I could," he said weakly.
"I don't doubt that," Father Wilburn cringed, "but we can't help him."
Leslie writhed a bit, partially in dismay. Great. Now he was going to eternally suffocate. Awesome.
"What?!"
Roman gaped. Why not? Why not?
"What...how...why can't we? Can't I do something? The pedestal, anything," he said, face horror struck.
"He's a sack of waterlogged flesh. It'd be like putting a pancake on a dead rat. Part of it'd soak in, and that's it," Father Wilburn began ever-so-comfortingly and took to the driver's seat, "I'll get you to the hospital. See if they can't get him intubated or something."
He closed the front door then and waited for Roman to get in.
Roman jumped into the passenger seat, twisting so he could look 'round at Leslie.
"That was actually an interesting comparison," he said to Father Wilburn after a beat.
Leslie, partially emotionally wounded and wanting company, wrapped his arms around himself and curled into the fetal position. Father Wilburn, shaking his head, gunned the engine and got the pair to the hospital within the span of two minutes. He stumbled from the van, threw open the back door, and tugged at Les' foot.
"C'mon. You have to hurry."
Roman skittered out of the van and waited outside the door with Father Wilburn, twitching in anxiety.
He was utterly certain the medical staff would not be pleased to see them.
"I could get a wheelchair," he offered. "Or a gurney. Or something."
Father Wilburn gave a frustrated huff and Leslie sat up, using his father's shoulder as a crutch. He got to his own two feet and stumbled once, doubled over a bit, and then continued. Neither man paid Roman much attention.
"Or I can stand here and babble to no one," Roman said, rather stung. "I'll get someone out here, hold on."
He went ahead of them and entered the by now horridly familiar waiting room.
"Yeah...emergency," he said uneasily, waving to the triage nurse who was glaring at him.
The nurse clapped a hand to her forehead and sighed.
"No blood this time," Father Wilburn said as he went through the door, practically dragging Leslie, "Not yet anyway."
Leslie was beginning to see stars. He closed his eyes and swayed drunkenly before collapsing to his knees by Roman's feet, face in his hands.
Roman bit back a cry and knelt beside Leslie, slinging an arm around his shoulders and glaring at the nurse.
"For god's sake, why don't you people just keep a gurney waiting out in the lobby for us?" he said. The nurse, looking scandalized, then switched to a considering expression.
"Good question," she said as the doctors came out in their usual way, expressions bordering on incredulous.
"Hi," he said, looking for U'Maaki but not seeing her. The doctors, who by now knew of the pair, removed Leslie from his grasp and transferred him to the gurney.
"You'll have to come with us," a young, slightly cowed-looking intern said, his eyes flicking to Leslie and the injury on his right hand. "We heard about the time when he was kind of...crumbling..."
Leslie also looked for the tiny doctor, and not seeing her made him rather nervous. So far, she was the only one who had not yet almost killed him. Another wave of pain took over, though, and he gave a silent scream, sitting upright and then doubling over in pain.
He reached a trembling hand to Roman as a display of ******** style="font-size: 9px">Roman cringed at Leslie's expression of pain, following the group into the emergency room. He grabbed the intern by the shoulders and turned him 'round roughly, looking anxious.
"Go get U'Maaki. She knows us," he said. The intern shrank slightly.
"I'm sorry, I can't, she's in ******** son of a god-blessed grave-pissing whore," Roman interrupted angrily, launching into a stream of cursing that made the intern's face turn bright red. Pushing the kid aside and following after again, he whistled to get their attention.
"He's allergic to water," he said quickly. "It makes his flesh rot off. Do something, get it out of him, he's...well, waterlogged."
Leslie gave an expression that was half-grimace, half-grin. He threw his head back and looked to the intern.
Have fun figuring it out, he thought as if the poor guy could hear, I don't have aaaany ******** clue.
"For Crissakes, get someone else to do the surgery!" Roman said to the intern bitingly. "I mean, c'mon, what about that Adya...tisement...guy?"
The intern, face still flushed a painful shade of red, shook his head.
"There was a couple car accidents, everyone's in surgery," he said, looking skittish.
"You people are of absolutely no help," Roman said tightly.
"Sorry!"
"Yeah. Hmph."
"Do you know his blood type?" one of the other interns asked, eyeing the raw-looking wound with a slightly ill expression. Roman nodded absently.
"Yeah, same as mine," he said conveniently.
Leslie rolled his eyes and dug into his own flesh with a claw.
'O-' oozed blood on the back of his left forearm.
"Sir, don't do that!" the intern squeaked, half in the reflex of swatting his hands away before jerking them back. Blood-drenched or not, the guy still managed to scare the kid plenty.
Roman gestured with resignation at the wound.
"Give me that," he said, yanking a clipboard and pen out of a nurse's hand as they passed her. The nurse made to protest but Roman ignored it, flipping a possibly important paper over and presenting the board to Leslie.
"Just in case," he said worriedly. At last the group found an empty room and the gurney was wheeled in, and Roman suddenly found himself the center of attention.
"...Yes?" he said eventually, looking at them with eyebrows raised.
"Sir...what next?"
"Ah. Uh-huh. Y'know, I'm betting your YEARS OF MEDICAL SCHOOL are reeeeally paying off right now. Lemme think."
The physical pain had subsided now. The only issue was the starving of oxygen to the lungs and blood.
Yanno, the 'fatal' part of 'fatal allergy'.
Leslie checked the front of the paper, shrugged, and scribbled on the back.
'Dry me the ******** out.'
"Can't get much more blatant than that," Roman said, arms crossing. The collected doctors glared at him.
"When will you stop being so sarcastic?" the second intern asked.
"When you stop being so ******** inept."
"Ah."
There was a flurry of activity as the group scattered, grabbing IVs and empty plastic bags and half-hearted discussion over the usefulness of heat lamps. Roman watched authoritatively, mimicking U'Maaki as best he could. They all seemed scared of her and did their jobs better under her scowl. Maybe vicarious scowling would help.
Leslie rolled his eyes again.
Fine. He'd do it himself. It'd just be so much easier with more hands...
He tore his shirt off, chucked it to the floor, and pressed a hand against his chest. Water gushed from the flesh and ran to the floor.
He grabbed the clipboard again.
'See?'
The first interns jaw dropped.
Roman, taking initiative when they (for god's sake, these people were doctors? ) did not, pressed his hands down firmly on Leslie's chest. He looked up at the others impatiently.
"I swear, I'm gonna come in here with a sniper rifle," he said tartly. The doctors crowded around muttering and glaring at him, but copied, hands applying pressure all over Leslie's body.
Feeling especially sarcastic (Roman tended to have that effect on him), Leslie wrote one last note on the clipboard.
'You usually have to pay for something like this'
Expression completely unchanged, he aided in the wringing-out of his person.
A bit of flesh peeled off in an intern's hand.
He ignored it.
The intern bit her lip especially hard, drawing a bit of blood, and ignored the Leslie-bit that had come off in her hands.
"Sorry," she said, switching to a new area.
Roman, who'd seen the note, snorted.
"If there's even a breath about charging for this, I'll send my friend in here. He'll blow you up," he said with a coarse laugh. The doctors, unsure if he was joking or not, decided as one not to reply.
"How much d'you think is left in him?" the intern with the now bleeding lip asked.
Leslie struggled out of everyone's grip and slid to his feet. He looked down at his waterlogged pants, considered for a moment, and decided to not take them off. Instead, he sat down and gave everyone a thumbs up.
He peered around the room for a second, then returned to his dearest clipboard.
'Need something sharp'
"Get him a scalpel-"
"Right, right, hold on-"
Looking efficiently embarrassed about their inability to help Leslie on their own, a doctor pressed the scalpel into his hand. He didn't dare look at Roman, who'd begun muttering obscenities under his breath.
Leslie looked to the interns for a moment, the scalpel in hand, and proceeded to write in a rather violent convulsion.
Cool. Now his brain was exploding.
He turned his attention to his wounds and re-traced over the 'O-', blood rising first, and then the usual acidic blue ooze. He did the same for his peel flesh, using the scalpel like a rather efficient potato-peeler. Again came blood, and then ooze.
Roman visibly paled as Leslie went into the convulsion, face set in pained worry. He glared at the doctors as a couple of them gasped as Leslie cut at himself, then at the reaction his body responded with.
More than anything he wished U'Maaki was around. At least she attempted to help.
Leslie simply chucked the extra bits of skin into the nearest biohazard box, and then stopped abruptly. The scalpel dropped to the gurney as he covered his face with his hands, the stars blazing up again. When he returned his gaze to his doubtlessly horrified audience, there was a ring of black around his vision.
He picked up the clipboard, scribbled something, went over it three times, and underlined it six.
'O-!'
Roman went to the tray with surgical tools laid out in obsessive neatness and seized a new scalpel, edging back to his place by the gurney.
"Which one an' how deep?" he asked Leslie. The first intern balked and took the scalpel away, grabbing onto Roman's arm.
"Sir! We have-"
"Stow it."
"Okay. Fine. You can donate. Get an IV-"
"Get your hand offa me."
"Oh...right, sorry."
Leslie grabbed the used scalpel, figuring it couldn't do much harm, and grabbed Roman's arm by the wrist. He pushed the sleeve up a bit, eyed the veins for a moment, gave Roman a quick kiss on the cheek, and then drew the scalpel quickly down a portion of a minor vein.
Attempting to avoid the imminent pain, he drew the wound to his mouth and watched Roman's face for any sign of physical pain. As the blood ran, his throat slowly began to open.
Roman simply watched as the others flinched or cringed, waiting and hoping very badly it would work. More than anything the cut just kind of itched.
"What is he-" an intern began.
"Shut up."
"Shutting."
Leslie bit his own tongue then, oozing blue after a moment and healing the wound he'd created. He pulled back and exhaled slowly, a grin spreading across his face.
"Unless you want your floor coated in my bodily fluids," he said and swallowed hard, "I suggest you give me some kind of...disposable bin." He swallowed again, coughed, cringed, and swallowed harder.
A hazardous waste bin was suddenly there, toted by the female intern. Bodily fluids, at least, she knew how to handle.
Roman decided to take a slight step back.
Leslie gave an inward hiss and cringed, leaning over the bin and shielding any view of his head-area form the poor, traumatized interns as he could. The water and excess blood from his system absorbed into his bloodstream, and then from his bloodstream into his throat. His trachea gave a violent spasm and the fluid was purged (unfortunately) via the only available facial orifice.
And this process, also unfortunately, had to be repeated five times due to the amount of water inhaled.
Leslie heaved a trembling sigh once the gruesome purging process had finished, lifted his head, wiped his mouth on his arm, and looked down at the bin.
"What, exactly, does one do with a bucket of...diluted blood and spit?"
All of his previous delicacy had obviously been completely obliterated by this complete annihilation of dignity.
Wide eyed and looking slightly traumatized by the sounds that accompanied the purging, the intern slowly set the bin down.
"Um. We...put 'em in the bin and...uh...burning," she managed. She nudged the first intern in the ribs. "Bobby. Go get rid of the..."
The first intern nodded and picked up the bin, exiting quickly. He didn't come back.
Roman, unconcerned about anyone else outside Leslie, grabbed onto his arms and looked at him in utter worry.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
"Sorry," Leslie apologized, giving the poor interns a look of absolute pity. He then turned to Roman and smiled.
"Nn-hn," he nodded and slid from the table, wrapping his arms about Roman's shoulders, "Thanks."
As an afterthought, he turned to the intern.
"How much money have you won off of our coming here?" He had to know if it was true...
There was an uncomfortable silence before the second intern piped up.
"Ten bucks from the last time you two were here," she said meekly.
Roman stared, and then could not help but to burst out laughing.
Leslie snerked, clutched his stomach, and burst into a fit of laughter. He clung to Roman, not quite strong enough to hold himself up but, god damn it, they were famous in this goddamned hospital now!
"A little hint? Put 50 bucks on puncture wounds," he snerked after a while.
The intern blushed and half-nodded, infinitely embarrassed. It wasn't like the whole staff joined in on the pool...
...just the ones that knew the pair, really.
Roman, unable to breathe and his laughing reduced to a kind of amused spasm, wiped the tears out of his eyes. This was just too ******** much.
"That really tells something about our lives, doesn't it," he said, trying to catch his breath.
Leslie gave a final spasmodic laugh and clung to Roman, rather giddy at still being alive.
"C'mon," he snorted and shook his head, "We should fix that stair."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Dec 23, 2006 7:31 pm
The Day Before Christmas-Eve-Eve
Leslie was awake early. Absurdly early. He had no intention of letting Roman know what was going on. None of the priests would call, he was sure, and very few people knew about the occasion outside of the cathedral.
And that one person was his partner in crime.
He had no intention of accepting an invitation to sing in front of an entire congregation when looking like a demon.
Not smart.
So, at 6:30 am, Leslie had pinned a note to the bedroom door, announcing that he would be home around 1:00, and left. It broke his heart to not take Roman with him.
Christ, I'm obsessed...
---
Travis arrived at the front door a few hours later, some time around 11:15, and knocked lightly. He'd helped Les.
It was time to get Roman.
No way in hell he was missing this.
Travis blinked, eyes rolling in his head.
"Mmph," he nodded, and then, "Over there."
He pointed to the rogue shoe or what was, in fact, a dog running away to the kitchen with a shoe, presumably to eat it.
Sheila snorted. She hadn't gotten BREAKFAST, damnit, and the shoe smelled GOOD!
She eventually spotted the nearest chair leg, though, and released the shoe. Sure, there was a puncture wound in the tongue and it was kinda damp...but she hadn't had time to eat it.
And the chair leg looked a lot better.
"I'm here to take you away. You have no option in the matter," Travis said, leaning cooly in the doorway.
Roman put his sneaker on gingerly, trying to ignore the dampness. Ugh. He glanced over at Travis again and shrugged.
"Okay. Where to?"
"The cathedral," Travis replied, straightening out again, "Choir concert. They're pretty good." He eyed the shoe and cringed.
If Roman could see all the germs crawling on that piece of--
"Ready?"
"Nope. No say," Travis said and began down the steps, "Anyway, with your boytoy gone, what else you have to do? We can make fun of the robes."
He approached an absurdly shiny blue motorcycle parked on the side of the road.
"Hope you don't mind. I don't own a car."
"You're cruel and evil and I'm not sure I like you anymore," Roman said, following after Travis and walking alongside him. He gave a low appreciative whistle at the sight of the motorcycle. "Ooh...nope. I don't mind."
He wondered briefly where Les had disappeared to... it was a church thing after all, he'd probably want to go. Or maybe he'd share Roman's brand of enthusiasm. Who knew.
"You see 'im at all today?"
Travis took a helmet up from the seat, considered putting it on, and then turned and handed it to Roman.
"Les? Yah," he nodded, "He visited me before he left. Now into the bitchseat with ye." He nodded toward the odd raised seat with the metal rack behind it.
He was paranoid about people touching him, and also about people falling off and leaking into their brainbuckets. It was a compromise.
Buckling the chinstrap to the helmet, Roman settled onto his part of the seat and snorted.
"Yup. Sittin' on the bitchseat. I feel diginified," he said cheerfully. He wondered briefly how a motorcycle would be received pulling up to the cathedral...
"Oh, most definitely," Travis snerked and started off before quite getting his feet where they should have been. Nary a bug dared fwap him in the face.
4th-dimensional manipulation was damned fun...
As per usual, they reached the cathedral rather quickly. Travis kicked down the stand and leaped off.
"Just leave the brainbucket on the seat. None of these fundie's dare touch it."
He popped a stick of gum into him mouth, blew a bubble, and snapped it.
Wrenching the helmet off and running a hand over his badly tousled hair, Roman followed after Travis a step behind.
"When's the...concert...start?" he asked, trying to keep a positive attitude if at least for Travis' sake. Not that one was really owed...after all, he was the one dragging Roman to this thing.
"To Hell if I know," Travis shrugged, "There's only one part I wanna see." He walked through the half-open door to a flood of what he truly dreaded.
Religious music being sang to and by religious people.
They only cared stare for a moment and he took a seat in a pew a few rows back. He wondered how long it'd be...
The woman to his left skootched away from him. He moved closer to make room for Roman.
Roman cringed involuntarily as the music jangled unpleasantly in his ears.
"Good grief. Nothing against God and all that but jeez, they need better music," he said, more to himself than Travis as he sat down. He was certain he'd only be able to bear listening to this for ten minutes or so before brain cells started to implode.
"Don't listen to the words," Travis said, looking to Roman and completely ignoring the horrified people around him, "It's pretty when you don't. Kinda depends on the singer too. You can tell when they're fundies."
The woman beside him cleared her throat. Travis looked at her.
She shut up.
Roman nodded absently, trying to listen to the music rather than the voices. It wasn't working out that well -every once in a while the singer would hit a note that jarred his mind back into a growing state of fidgety boredom. He tried to keep still, looking down at the floor in disinterest.
"...and for our final..."
That was about all Travis caught. He perked and looked to the announcer, absently snapping another bubble.
"...sang by..."
Don't say it, don't say it...
"A lifelong member of our congregation."
Hah!
"Watchwatchwatchwatch," Travis said, nudging Roman with his various arms as he said it.
The choir itself parted like some kind of proverbial sea and someone stepped down from the back, not in robes but instead in a black shirt and black pants.
He was tall...damned tall...and kind of fair-skinned. His hair was jet-black and spiked in a significantly un-fundie fashion, and his eyes were strikingly blue, as could even be seen from where Travis was sitting.
He was pretty damn easy to look at, too.
The pianist began to play, and the singer waited for his cue before beginning to belt Ave Maria in a low baritone voice that demanded attention.
"Nnfh..." Travis mumbled, watching. Damn, he'd had no idea...
"Jeez! Watch it with those arms, you'll poke an eye out..."
Roman obliged, looking up at the stage. Special singer? Whoopty s**t. But when the song started...
"Huh. He's pretty good."
"Yeah," Travis nodded, and then shoved Roman one more time, "Shhh. Shut up and listen."
The guy up on stage seemed rather into the music (although Travis knew for a fact that said singer didn't like the subject matter ********), but it was rather easy to see his hand shaking.
Haaaa-haaaaa...
Roman made a face at Travis and shoved him back half-heartedly, looking back down at the floor. Yeah, this was great and all...but it was difficult for him to convey even pretending he cared. Though the song was alright, he did rather like it. Kind of, anyway.
The song finished, standing ovation, blah-de-blah. The cathedral slowly emptied, but Travis stayed put, a leg crossed over a knee and a pair of arms thrown over the back of the pew.
The singer and Father Wilburn conversed on the risers for a moment before the priest was yanked off...but not before pointing Travis out.
The multi-armed man smiled and waved.
The singer who was, in fact, Leslie approached, looking rather apprehensive.
"Traaaaavis," he said, arching a brow, "What in the Lord's name are you doing here?" His voice was the only thing still even remotely the same about him.
"I brought Roman."
"I can seeeee that. Whyyy?"
"'Cos."
"Hatechoo."
"Mind giving Roman a ride ******** you."
"Mmh. Thanks."
Leslie sighed, rolled his eyes, and started for the door.
I'm going to kill him. Kill hi-- ...this could be fun.
"At least be a little nicer," Travis nodded and stepped carelessly over him, "Those fundies try hard."
"Yeah, Roman," Leslie snerked and ran a still-trembling hand backward through his hair, "I'm offended. Was I really all that bad?" He enjoyed imagining Roman's thought process. He was now intent on making an enemy out of Roman before the night was through.
Travis was the first to the car and gladly invited himself into the driver's seat. Momentarily stunned, Leslie slipped into the back seat. He and Travis were now officially partners in heinous crime.
"Get in," Travis ordered.
Roman gave a noncommittal shrug, giving the singer a sidelong speculative look.
"I dunno," he said. "Song was in Latin, for all I know you were just swearing at us the whole time."
Giving Travis another look, Roman slid into the passenger seat up front.
"I don't have a say, huh?," he said. "I'm gonna sic Darry on you one of these days."
Travis easily pushed Roman from the passenger's seat and attempted to close the door.
"No. Personal space. Bitchseat.”
Leslie was staring out the window. Getting Roman in the back was Travis' job, not his.
"No, I'm not going into the ******** - Travis, let me back in the- oh, ******** you."
Roman stood outside and glared only half-seriously, then relented and slid into the back.
"I'm putting cyanide in your coffee next chance I get," he said tartly. "Who'll be in the bitchseat then, huh?"
"Still you," Travis replied simply and started off.
Leslie was, he had to admit, a bit stung. Sure, Roman didn't actually know who he was, but that made it hurt all the more.
Even more fuel for the fire.
"Hey," he said and nodded to Roman, giving him a rather obvious once-over, "Been a while."
deal with conversation.
And the look he was given did not escape him. Lip curling slightly, Roman looked back down at his fingernails.
"Uh huh. That mean we've met? 'Cause I'm drawin' a blank. Sorry."
"You don't remember me," Leslie snerked, "Well, there's a shocker. I didn't think someone like you'd easily forget." He tapped a thumb against the seat, sidled closer, and placed his arm behind Roman, only barely touching.
"Unless you've blocked it, of course."
"Beg pardon?"
Roman, shifting obviously away from the guy's arm and trying to preserve a little personal space, gave up biting his nails. He was bored still, and irritated now. Guy seemed stuck up his own a**...how the ******** was Roman supposed to know who he was? He wracked his brain anyway, trying to remember. Unless...wait. "Blocked"?
...crap. Was he a favor-mule?
"Mm," Leslie nodded, "Blocked. I mean, Hell, shared a bed on more than one occasion."
Travis, up in the front seat, stopped a laugh before it was vocalized, gnawing on a finger. Oh, Hell, this was amusing...
Roman's face turned ashen gray and his gaze grew fixed, not daring to look over in the man's direction again. The click was audible as he clenched his teeth.
"Shut up."
The words were cold as ice.
Travis pulled into the driveway then and unlocked the doors.
"Nyaaaw," Leslie said and patted Roman's shoulder, "I'm an a*****e, I know." He flashed his ring once before sliding out of the van and letting himself into the house, Travis following.
Sure, it was a totally nondescript band of gold, but hey.
Wrenching away from the touch in repulsion, Roman managed to get a glimpse at the gold ring as the man got out of the car. The sick, growing feeling of humiliation sputtered out, replaced by utter surprise.
"Les?"
Roman got out of the car, expression unreadable as he followed the others into the house.
Leslie leaned backward, looking at Roman upside down from the doorway.
"Yup," he nodded, "And you're allowed to punch me. Hard." He stood then and Travis cocked his head.
Without any flashes or fading or mind-numbing changed, Leslie was suddenly...Leslie again; all grey skin and weird pupils and screwy proportions.
"But that's watcha get for offhandedly tellin' me I suck."
Travis then turned to grin at Roman.
Roman watched the transformation silently, expression the same. He glanced between Travis and Leslie, realizing the fun they'd gotten out of their joke.
Not saying a word, Roman pushed past them and went into the house.
It hurt.
Bad.
And, for some reason, Leslie didn't care.
He scratched his head at this thought, wondering if he was reverting.
Travis looked to him worriedly. "Aren't you gonna...?"
"Nah," Leslie shrugged, "He will violently abuse me."
"Then why did you...?"
"To Hell if I know."
It wasn't the anger that unsettled Roman the most. It was the humiliation. Leslie had done it on purpose. And for what? Some joke. He ground his teeth, ignoring the pain of it.
He grabbed his ancient wallet off the kitchen table where he'd forgotten it earlier, stowing it in a back pocket. It was his day off, sure, but maybe Tom would let him sneak a couple hours in at the store...he didn't want to be anywhere near these two at the moment. He started off for the door again, not looking at Travis or Leslie.
Leslie kicked the door closed.
"No."
"Les...I--what the...?" Travis said, squinting into Leslie's face. Something about his eyes...
He stepped away and kind of huddled into the kitchen archway.
"You're not going."
Roman stood still, jaw still working.
"Get out of the way," he said, voice blank.
Leslie was, in fact, having a rather violent internal battle with himself...or a part of himself.
Something like that.
"No...hnnn...don't go, pl--gn. No."
"Christ..."
"You shut up," Leslie said, pointing.
He was no longer in any kind of control.
Roman watched impassively. So. Leslie was having a schizo-attack.
"Fine."
Roman abandoned the door and went for a window, lifting it and working at the screen. He wouldn't mind just kicking it out right about now, but then one of them would have to just screw it back in later. Stupid thing seemed jammed shut, though.
Leslie's arm snapped forward and snatched a hold of Roman's shirt. No, he wasn't going anywhere. Not with all of his li--
"What the ********?" Leslie asked, snapping out of it in that odd, spontaneous way he had. He let go of Roman and held his arms up as if arrested. He then gave a cry and clutched the sides of his head before rushing past Travis to the kitchen.
You're coming out. NOW. Oh, Hell, who are you talking to? No! The blue s**t...it's gotta be--
"...Les?"
"Shut up, Travis. Just...shut up."
Roman stumbled back a step and whirled 'round to face Leslie, expression breaking at last into anger. The look was replaced involuntarily with concern, albeit very little, as Leslie cried out. Was he in pain? Did...did Roman even care, really, right now?
Nonetheless, he followed Leslie, keeping a step behind.
Leslie was tempted to tell Roman to just go, go and never come back and sign off on that goddamned kid as a sole guardian. Christ, what had possessed him to ever do anything like that to--
You.
The weregoyle fumbled with a couple of kitchen knives and forced them into the space between the hinge and side of a cabinet drawer, not hesitating a moment to impale both hands on them. He gritted his teeth and lowered his head before giving a great expulsion of air and speaking.
"I'm sorry, Roman."
Part of him laughed, though, as the odd blue ooze began to flow. For such a small amount of pain, he figured he was doing enough good to forget. After all, you couldn't heal a perpetually opened wound.
Travis made a confused sound, eyes wide. Huh. He'd been warned about the psychotic breakdowns, but never really believed him. Christ, the guy was always so calm...
Roman's eyes widened painfully and his jaw dropped.
"NO!"
Dammit, he'd done it again! No, no, no, this was bad. Roman bolted into the kitchen, ripping the place apart looking for something to stem the flow of the blue...whatever the hell it was...
"Leslie, Jesus Christ, why do you keep doing that! You're gonna hit something and the ******** aterial spray and Jesus CHRIST! Stop hurting yourself!"
Anger and horrified worry mixing unpleasantly, Roman kicked at a cabinet in frustration.
"Where are the ******** paper towels!"
Leslie gave a low, rumbling laugh, much unlike himself.
But he was satisfied to find that, yes, he was still himself. He watched as the blue began to tinge red and removed his hands. They healed slowly, but he'd be damned if it wasn't worth it.
At least he hoped so.
He silently went for a roll of paper towels and began to sop up what had once been his own bodily fluids, clearing his throat once to try and keep from experiencing yet another post-breakdown meltdown.
"What were you thinking? What if...what if...Jesus Christ."
Roman glared at Leslie, expression a wild mix of fury and concern. He was beyond words and so contented himself just to look, not caring if Leslie came swinging at him and clawed his throat out. He'd seen this abuse far too many times before, but no matter what it still horrified him.
"It's gone for now," Leslie said after a while, disposing of the soggy paper product, "I don't know what it is, or was, but it's gone for now."
Travis couldn't help but ask. "What?"
Leslie simply shrugged.
Please believe me, I never would have done any of that low crap to you if It hadn't been there... he thought, but didn't dare voice. It'd just start something else, he was sure.
"I'm sorry."
Eyeing the sodden paper towels, Roman's concern faded off as the humiliated anger that had been there first came back. What, so Les thought injuring himself would earn Roman's forgiveness? It had worked before, very easily. But now... how much of an idiot did Leslie think he was?
"Yeah," Roman said, voice bitter. "It's alright."
"It's not. It's not ******** alright," Leslie said simply and removed the knifes from their place, beginning to wash them off rather calmly, "If you think I can't tell, you're...you're...hnf. Hell, I dunno."
Travis disappeared to the basement, not wanting to get in the way.
"I just there's no taking to you," he said as he put the knives back on the rack and started out of the room to go...well...to go do something. He'd figure it out when he started doing it.
"You think I know?" Leslie asked, looking back, "I used to be like that all the time. Huh. Imagine. But whatever it is, it seems to reeeeally want you gone." He looked sympathetically back to Roman.
He wasn't trying to guilt trip. He wasn't trying for pity or sympathy or a quick accepted apology. He just wanted this goddamned whatever-it-was gone.
"Seems to hate me too, really," he said, peering at the scar on his left palm. Every time he'd done that...impaled himself...had it been to stop It? He wasn't entirely sure.
Roman digested Leslie's words, thinking harder than ever. What could he say to that? This strange, nasty little split of Leslie's personality was responsible for instigating most of the fights they'd ever had. It would like nothing better than to see Roman gone or dead, he figured.
"I remember you telling me to hit you the next time you ever acted like that," he said aloud, breaking the accidental spiraling silence. "You know I would never do that."
"Right," Leslie nodded, "So I have to do this." He raised his hand and gave it a wave out of frustration. He heaved a sigh and leaned against the nearest piece of furniture.
Sheila scampered in and sat by Master's feet. He patted her on the head.
"I really don't mean to do what I do. Please, believe me."
There. It was out.
And would probably incite more violence.
Roman eyed the scar, no longer thinking on what he'd learned. He was tired, dammit. These fights always left him so tired afterwards...
"I know you don't," Roman said, no trace of bitterness in his tone this time. "I know. It's just...sometimes it's hard to tell. No, not sometimes. Every time."
He looked at Leslie regretfully, wishing he hadn't just said that but glad he'd finally admitted it.
"I know you don't mean it. You always tell me, an'...an' I know you mean it when you say sorry," he added quickly.
Leslie was, needless to say, a bit surprised by Roman's reaction.
"Lookit it this way," he spoke and shook his head, "The last thing I want to do is have you dislike me. Even slightly, even for a moment. If I flip out..." He trailed off, not quite knowing how to end the sentence.
Arms crossed and head ducked down, Roman ran Leslie's words over in his mind.
"I don't. Never. I mean...I don't have it in me, to dislike you. Or hate you, or resent you....I just...don't. I get angry as hell but it always goes away quick as it came."
He glanced up at Leslie ruefully.
"Maybe it's not that thing, that makes you do stuff like that sometimes. Maybe it's..." he swallowed slightly. The idea had plagued him before, but he'd never really put it into words. Nothing he'd said aloud, at least. "Maybe it's because part of you just regrets getting...stuck with me."
"Nah," Leslie said instantly, not having thought for a moment, "There's a part of me that's angry with you, sure...or more angry with me? With me for not showing up sooner, for not being able to help...I'unno." He sighed. It made no sense, but it was there, and it all boiled down to Roman's...
...unfortunate past.
And that was what It seemed to like to exploit most.
"My entire life revolves around you, yanno that? It's damned unhealthy. I miss you going to the damned corner store." He laughed slightly. It was true, too.
Roman finally drew closer, biting at a nail and looking down at the floor somewhat vacantly, thinking on other things.
"If you had shown up earlier," he said finally, "I don't think things would've ended up like they have now. I was...different. I wasn't a stable person."
His words could have been taken as overshadowing of the drug use alone, but Roman hazarded a guess Leslie could figure out what else he'd meant. He looked up at Leslie, shoving his hands into his pockets and hunching his shoulders.
"Really?" he asked, a faint smile appearing for a moment. "I mean, I know...really?"
"I know," Leslie said and shook his head, "I know, and I think that's what pisses me off. Knowing that I can't do anything now, and couldn't have done anything then. I'm mad at them. Not you."
Leslie felt safe then to approach Roman, and did as such. He ran a hand down' Roman's arm and smiled.
"Really. I can't stand you being out of my sight," he laughed a bit, embarrassed, "For completely selfish reasons, too. That hour between when I get home and when you do? I try to sleep it away. It generally doesn't work, but I try." He heaved a sigh.
"I'm obsessed. It's supposed to be like this the first...few weeks. Then things are supposed to get boring and we're supposed to get tired of each other. It's almost been a year. And I love it." Well, he'd finally said. it. He probably sounded like a stalker, but he was glad to get it off of his chest.
Roman wasn't at all sure how to respond. Even after a year he wasn't used to the fact that Leslie wasn't going to get tired of him. To finally hear the extent of how much Leslie did care for him, it caught him off guard to say the least.
"...really?"
It was a question born of instinct, and it came out before Roman could stifle it.
"I-I mean, I don't....I mean. Wait."
Feeling like an idiot for tripping over his words, he looked up at Leslie.
"I didn't know that," he said finally, smiling slightly.
"Well, now you do," Leslie said and, acting completely on his usual please-hug-me instinct, clung to Roman and rested his chin atop Roman's head.
"Don't get sick of me," he said suddenly, "Please."
Wrapping his arms around Leslie and resting against him, Roman glanced up and grinned slightly.
"I never would. I never will. I promise."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Dec 23, 2006 7:38 pm
The Christmas Party
Leslie wasn't doing much of anything but gnawing on his fingernails, wrapped in various layers of clothing and blankets to try and keep warm. He had quite a lot to meditate upon in the next short expanse of time, ranging from going out in the snow and possibly melting to dragging a Jew to a Christmas party.
Life as a priest's statue-incarnation son was rather complicated when it all came down to it...
"I heard that if you bite your nails long enough they pop off," Roman said, busy with a puzzle. He glanced up at Leslie, smiling slightly. "While that'd admittedly be cool on anyone else..."
Looking back down at his puzzle, he filled in the final word space with a flourish and set it aside triumphantly.
"So."
Leslie removed his finger from his mouth and peered down at his claws skeptically.
"So," he parroted and paused a moment before speaking again, "What's your take on spending Christmas with that damnable gaggle of priests?"
Wow. That could have been a lot more eloquent.
Chewing reflectively on the end of his pen, Roman shrugged slightly.
"Well..."
He paused, biting harder at the pen. Hmm.
"Huh. Well...there are worse ways to spend a evening. And your dad'll be there, right? That'll make up for it," he said eventually.
Damn.
"Yeah, he'll be there," Leslie nodded, "but, I mean, if you don't want to go, you don't have to. I'm kinda obligated this year. Lili's going and I can't rightly leave her there alone..." He trailed off, regretting what his next words would be.
" 'N they want Darry there too. Or my dad does anyway."
Isn't he both of yours now? Huh. Technically...
Roman shrugged again, leaning back against the couch.
"Hey, I'm not gonna make you suffer that alone, I'll go too," he said. He snorted then, doodling on his hand with the pen. "Darry'll go, just to see 'em cringe when he walks in the door."
Grinning at the thought, he drew blue-ink spirals all over his hand absently. <********, that's gonna be more funny than it oughta be..."
Leslie watched Roman's doodling with distracted interest.
"...ah...alright...but, I mean, there's going to be--" Would it really matter if other people were drinking? Smoking? Were Darrel and Roman really that high-maintainence of company? It was possible...but he preferred to believe not.
"Alright, then. Christmas it is." He slipped from the couch to call his father, wishing for all the world that Roman wasn't so goddamned loyal.
Later
"I'll have you know I'm not a novelty item."
"Duly noted."
"And bringing me into a Christmas party by no circumstances means there will be any sort of funny reaction."
"Also noted."
"You just don't care, do you."
"Not in the slightest."
Darrel snorted.
"You're cold, man."
Roman grinned at him, shrugging.
"What d'you care? Free food. New people. It has the possibility of being fun," he said. He looked over at Leslie, smiling innocently. "It's a good possibility, right?"
"A slew of Jew-hating, sexually frustrated priests save Daniel and my father and everyone I positively loathe," Leslie gave an irritated grin and an exaggerated thumbs-up, "Awesome possibilities abound!"
He opened the van door and slid in, sighing dramatically as Sheila heaved herself against the front door.
"Get in the goddamned death trap. We have us some men of God to terrorize."
This is gonna suck.
Darrel offered another snort.
"Like swimming in a piranha pool with fresh flesh wounds," he said mildly, sliding into the back. "My kind of party."
Roman bit back a laugh.
"And we're off," he said to no one in particular, lounging in his seat.
Unfortunately, the duplex was pretty much three minutes from anywhere. This included the rented-out dining hall.
The entire place was decked out in various obnoxiously sparkly objects, and leslie thought he saw a tree that could very well be a person through the window.
"It'll be alright, Darrel," Leslie said, still rather uncomfortable with calling the man by his nickname to his face, "My dad's on your side, remember. He has no qualms about punching a holy man." With that, he slid from the vehicle to see Lili bolt out the hall door, closely followed by her brother Lysander, a tiny blonde child Leslie didn't quite recognize, and Father Wilburn.
"Happy faces, people. Happy!"
"Ah, Christ," Father Wilburn snorted, "The gang's all here, eh?"
"I ain't worried," Darry said unconcernedly. "Worse comes to worst I'll tell 'em I have lice or something, scare 'em off."
Roman put on his best 'happy' look, which didn't equate to much in the long run. Darrel half-smiled and pushed his aviator glasses up into his hair, attempting to look excited.
"Hey," Darry said, waving to the priest. Roman, squinting as he looked around at the garish decorations, nodded a greeting to the others.
Lili grinned and threw herself at Darrel, Leslie, and Roman in turn, embracing each as if she'd known them her entire life.
"Hi!" she called, "This is Janice, and she doesn't believe that you exist."
"Well, we exist," Leslie nodded and patted the girl. She shrank back.
Awesome Christmas, he could tell already.
Father Wilburn snorted slightly and shook his head. "Just come in. I promise, you don't have to stay for long. I can imagine how uncomfortable you'll all be."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Abbas," Leslie couldn't help but laugh as he leaped up the stairs and threw open the hall door, greeted by a wave of absolute silence.
"Yep. The little grey thing is now a slightly larger grey thing. Staring isn't polite."
The chatter began again and Leslie looked back for Roman. He needed a hug now.
Both smiling at Lili in a brotherly way, Darry and Roman followed after and entered the hall, smiles fading at the silence and beginning to look deeply unimpressed.
"Wow. This certainly isn't awkward," Darry remarked dryly, readjusting his glasses over his eyes. Roman nodded, instinctively looping one arm over Leslie's shoulders.
"Don't let the positive atmosphere overwhelm you," he said mildly, casting an eye around.
Leslie snorked and wrapped an arm around Roman's waist. People stared. He didn't care.
Darrel and Roman certainly stood out in the crowd as a whole...but when you considered the multi-limbed Travis and the fully tattooed Margaret waving from a nearly empty table, all was well again.
But there was someone else there too.
"Ah, jeez. Don't punch him," Leslie sighed as he lead the group to the table. Father Wilburn, Lili, and Janice sat down easily.
Morgan stared up at Roman, glaring in all of his broke-nosed glory.
"My brother was here. Lysander," Lili shrugged, "He must have gone outside."
Roman took a seat, blithely indulging in a long-disused habit of ignoring another person's existence. He was really rather good at it... Darry noticed Morgan's expression, but decided not to comment. He waved to Margaret and tried valiantly not to stare at Travis, for all that the man still completely awed him.
"Hey."
Leslie sat beside Roman, grabbing for the pitcher of water, pouring himself a glass, and staring at it until it went red. He caught Janice watching and stared her down.
Margaret smiled and waved to Darrel, moving her chair to sit beside him. "Heya."
"Thanks," Travis snorted, "Abandon the crip." He rested his head in two of his arms and arched a brow at Roman. "Frankly, I wasn't expecting you to show."
Leslie chugged the contents of his glass...and then smelled...something? Something familiar...
He looked to the side and saw a small group of tattooed young men (the relatives of priests, he assumed) happily smoking in the corner.
s**t.
Darry grinned, sliding his glasses down his nose to better look at Margaret.
"You look lovely this evening," he said, joking expression leeching most complimentary sincerity from the words.
Roman, taking the pitcher and pouring a glass for himself, looked at Travis in surprise.
"How come? I make an attempt to leave the house once in awhile," he said.
Darry, reaching for the pitcher himself, sniffed slightly. He paused then, sniffing again. He knew that smell. Oh no. Come on. What idiot would be.... <********," he said under his breath, shaking his head slightly. Ignore it. The stink was familiar, and he didn't want to deal with it.
And he sneaked a slight look at Roman...
"Why, thank you," Margaret laughed and leaned back, waving to one of the boys in the corner.
Travis said nothing in reply to Roman and simply pointed with one of his free arms to Father Fredericks, who was now approaching the table with a tray of...oh, Hell.
What kind of priest served alcohol?
He dropped the tray onto the table and stood there, arms crossed.
"You know very well I can't drink that," Leslie said bluntly. Now the b*****d was trying to--
"Oh, but certainly your guests will be gracious."
Leslie rubbed his temples. Margaret, completely ignorant to the goings-on, reached for a glass. Travis looked rather nervous, eyeing Darrel carefully.
Janice had begun sucking on her hair, and Lili was oblivious.
Roman looked up at Father Fredericks, strangely still oblivious to the smell, and took a long, deliberate gulp of water.
"Father. You're looking well. The embalming must be doing wonders," he said cheerily.
Darrel gave the alcohol a long look, and felt the slow burning resentment he felt for the priest flare up again. Anyone that insulted the dreadlocks, in his view, did not deserve to live. Inspiration struck, and Darry took up his water glass.
"I quite agree, Roman. He looks positively...preserved. Mazel tov," he said, clinking his glass against Roman's and taking a sip.
Leslie quite nearly snorted blood-what-had-once-been water out his nose, adn had to pinch it closed to keep that from happening. Once the priest disappeared, he broke into full-blown laughter.
"I ******** love you both."
"What happened?" Margaret asked, pulling a cigarette from her pocket and lighting up right there at the table.
A slow smile crept up on Morgan's face.
"Aaah..." Travis tapped a finger against the table, "Maybe you shouldn't do that here, Peg."
"Why not?" Margaret shrugged and took a drag, "This isn't non-smoking or anything."
Travis, continuing to see 4-dimensional things beyond anyone's comprehension, sighed heavily.
"I'm just sayin', maybe you shouldn't..."
"It's a gift," Roman said easily, knocking back the rest of his water and pouring more. He gave the tray of alcohol a look and pushed it to the middle of the table, his dislike of Fredericks kindling into full-force. Of all the dirty moves to play...
Darrel caught a sniff of something else familiar, and bit back a groan. Now, that just wasn't fair. And he'd left his jerky at home, dammit. He sighed, and tried not to breathe the secondhand smoke. This lead to him sinking down in his seat slightly.
Margaret continued to be completely oblivious.
"Want one?" she asked, holding out the pack to Darrel.
"HGNRK," Leslie voiced, pushing his chair back and abruptly rising to his feet, "What do you say to going outside, huh? Fresh air. Less priests."
"Yeah," Travis agreed, standing with just as much enthusiasm, "Let's go...out. Out there. Far away."
Lili blinked at Leslie. Janice choked on hair.
Darry choked.
"YES," he said, loudly and abruptly. He caught himself and directed his answer towards Leslie. "Um. I mean. Outside is good. Sorry," he said to Margaret hastily. "Um. Gotta...go outside. I'm...allergic to...priests. Make me nauseous."
Pushing himself away from the table (and internalizing a groan as a whiff of cigarette smoke caught him full in the face), Darry stood and tried to ignore the god-awful pangs of his nicotine addiction flaring up again. Whoever had first said going cold turkey was a good idea was a total jackass.
Roman stood as well, glancing at Janice as she seemed to gack on her own hair. He frowned slightly and sniffed.
"D'you..." he said to Darry, nudging him. He didn't have to finish his question - Darrel gave a nod, his expression caught between longing for Margaret's cigarette and one of disgust.
Leslie had already begun for the door, resisting the urge to go batshit crazy and just end it all now, and breaking out into the absurd cold.
Travis followed close behind, litterally dragging Roman and Darrel with him. Not that he didn't trust them...he wanted to save them.
"I'm sorry," Leslie groaned and glanced to Darrel when he made it out the door, "Terribly, horribly, you-can-kill-me-now-an-I-won't-mind sorry."
"What the Hell did I do?" Margaret asked, arching an eyebrow.
Lili heaved a sigh, "Well..."
Roman began to laugh out of sheer incredulity.
"I swear on my mother, it's like some kind of cosmic joke in there," he said, hunching his shoulders against the cold and shaking from his laughing. "Drugs, booze, cigarettes, all we need is ******** explosives and a Chevy."
Darry, looking deeply put-out and not at all like himself, kicked snow at Roman.
"Aw, come on," he scolded, taking off his glasses and polishing the lenses with obsessive care, trying to ignore the screaming want for a cigarette. "Don't bring that up. It's Christmas."
Roman simply started laughing harder.
Travis groaned.
"I'll detract that from her paycheck."
Leslie sighed and leaned his head against the outer wall, then giving a cry and dodging any rogue flying snow and perching atop a picnic table.
"I've yet to see drugs," he hunched his shoulders, "Jesus, this is difficult."
He didn't notice the 2 forms approaching slowly from the distance.
Roman, having to wipe tears from his eyes, shook his head in amused despair.
"I smelled it," he said, sighing. "Disgusting, stick-to-your-face kind of stink..."
Darrel, still polishing his glasses like mad, made a face.
"I smelled it before you did," he said competitively.
"Did not."
"Did too."
"Nuh uh."
"Yuh huh. Times infinity, so there."
Roman snorted, shaking his head again, and glanced around.
"Hey....who's that?"
Leslie shrugged and turned simoltaneously. It was someone almost his height, and someone absurdly short.
"To Hell if I know."
Travis pulled a pack of gum from his pocket and offered it to Darrel.
"Want some?" His brow was furrowed in an almost uncharacteristic display of concern.
Darrel took two sticks gratefully, stuffing them into his mouth.
"Fanks," he said thickly, chewing on the gum at hyper speed. This is what he got from leaving the house, he thought dully to himself. Nothing but trouble.
Roman spared the figures another look before turning, shivering against the cold and his amusement all faded.
"Well, I still hold to what I said. There are worse ways to spend an evening," he said, nodding to himself slightly.
"No prob," Travis shrugged (a rather odd action with eight arms) and shoved the gum back into his pocket.
"Leslieee~" one of the approaching forms crooned, "Hiiiiii~ I didn't know you came out here."
"...Morg?"
"Yeah, it's me. Me an' Lysander...we were jus'...out here."
"Uh...kay?" Something was right. Morgan was never this calm in...anyone's presence, let alone Roman's. He squinted as the two forms approached...and suddenly saw why. He gave Roman a quick, terrified glance.
"What the ********?!" Travis threw a pair of arms in the air, "Who the Hell smokes pot at a church function?!"
Morgan giggled as if he'd just been told some hilarious dirty joke. "Me!"
Roman arched a brow, a curious mix of feelings running through him. There was the old junkie thoughts, of course, but that was, unfortunately, to be expected. How much was there, where'd he get it...but then came the thoughts of someone with hard-won sobriety. Cold, empty amusement at another's expense. Incredulity. Intense loathing... but then, that was how Roman felt about Morgan anyway.
Darry chewed harder on his gum and started polishing his glasses again.
"Morgan, you go put that out and leap off a cliff," Leslie said relatively calmly, considering.
"No."
"Did you just tell me no?"
"Yep."
Leslie huffed.
"Whaaat?" Morgan laughed again, leaning against an equally-stoned Lysander for support, "Afraid your little junkie-friends will relapse, huh? They probably won't..." He trailed off, took an absurdly long drag, and blew a cloud of smoke in Roman's face.
"Then again...maybe they will."
Leslie curled his hand into a fist, eyes going black.
Roman panicked. He tried to suck in clean air, wanting nothing else but to hold his breath, but he breathed in nothing but the exhalation.
He gagged, coughed, and turned away. Hatred flamed up in him, and he hoped that he wouldn't succumb to the smoke. For Leslie to see him that way...to ever see him high...it was his worst nightmare.
A hand flew to his nose and mouth and he decided right then and there he'd rather smother himself than breathe, not so long as Morgan was there.
"Excuse me."
Darrel had dropped his glasses and spit out his gum, and he tapped Morgan politely on the shoulder.
"We haven't met," he said, his tone so light and nice it was alarming, "but I have to say, that was really kind of rude."
Allowing only a few seconds for response and seeming pleased that none was instantly given, Darrel swung a fist back and mashed it into Morgan's face.
"And so was that... but hey."
Leslie gave a strangled cry of anguish and stood, ready to leap atop Morgan and tear his throat out. Travis lunged forward and held him back, though. He wasn't in the mood to see anyone murdered.
Leslie fell back, defeated, and instead clung to Roman. The smoke had not entirely dissipated, as such things didn't, and he tried his damndest to not breathe.
As he was punched, Morgan gave a shriek of agony that abruptly changed into a wave of laughter as he clutched his bleeding nose. Oh, yeah...he was dead to the world.
"I'd like to backhand you both," Travis said simply, stealing various kinds of paraphenalia off of the two young men, "but I think I'd rather watch." He dug a hole with the toe of his boot, chucked the offending materials in, and covered the hole again.
Darrel blinked, looking at his knuckles where they had split from impact, and then laughed right alongside Morgan.
"Haha, yeah, I'm gonna beat your skull in," he said to Morgan, all smiles and pleasant tone. He threw a arm 'round Morgan's shoulders and patted it in a very friendly fashion. "Hahaha...bye now."
He moved lightly, shifting so he was standing in front of Morgan at very close proximity, and brought his knee up hard into Morgan's crotch.
"Ha. Ha."
Roman, still coughing and terrified he'd succumb to the godforsaken smoke he'd inhaled, tried to shake Leslie off.
Please, don't let it have been enough, he begged to himself, to God, to whatever happened to be listening. Please, not in front of Leslie. I've been good. I don't want it, PLEASE-
Morgan, of course, gave a violent gasp of pain and collapsed to his knees.
Travis nodded approvingly and offered up the pack of gum again. He'd seen plenty of people beaten half to death in his lifetime.
Leslie refused to let go, as he generally did, although he tried to get a good look at Roman's eyes...just to make sure. God, who was he kidding? He didn't know anything about drugs.
Three forms suddenly appeared in the hall doorway. One was Daniel, and he burst forward to kneel beside Morgan. "What happened?!"
The other, presumably Father Fredericks, laughed...and subsequently gave a cry of pain and retreated.
The final form rushed foward at last. Father Wilburn.
"Everything okay arou--" he inhaled, "Ah, Hell. You guys alright?"
Roman, eyes watering and wild-looking, stared back into Leslie's. Wild and fearful, yes, but not bloodshot or dilated. His built-up resistance to marijuana's chemicals had, if only this once, come in handy.
Of course, Roman didn't realize this.
Still bent on smothering himself, he tore away from Leslie and bolted a small distance away, shamefaced and irrational fear getting the best of him.
Darrel, looking infinitely calm, picked his glasses up off the ground and began polishing them again. After a beat he took another stick of gum and popped it into his mouth.
"Awesome party," he said to Father Wilburn, nodding his approval.
"It's not usually like this," Father Wilburn shrugged, and the paused with his shoulders raised, "...well...yes it is." He heaved a sigh and lifted Daniel up by the back of his shirt.
"Trust me. Don't worry about him."
Daniel nodded and stood, brushing himself off and watching Roman worriedly. Travis sighed heavily as he replaced his gum.
"Roman?" Leslie called, eyes returned to normal and partially watery, "You're alright. Really, you are."
"I don't think you got enough in you for a contact high, dude," Travis said, attempting to be comforting.
Sitting hunched over at another picnic table, hand pressed against his mouth and nose, Roman was lightheaded and dizzy only from a lack of air. He looked at Leslie and Travis with such fear on his face it was almost pitiful. The reasonable part of his mind was scolding him, trying to clarify that yes, they were right, there hadn't been enough. He knew far too well how much it took to get high from weed, if at all anymore...
With grudging slowness, Roman removed his hand and sucked in a deep breath.
Darrel, watching Roman with concern, glanced down at Morgan and sniffed slightly.
"p***k," he said, politely. He looked over at Father Wilburn and Daniel, eyebrows raised. "If that's the case...hell, I shoulda started coming to things like this earlier."
"Next thing you know, Fredericks is going to start injecting you with heroin in your sleep. Just watch," Father Wilburn huffed. He wasn't quite sure how much he was kidding either.
Leslie sniffled in a rather unusual way (for him, at least), and ran a finger down the side of Roman's face.
"Calm down."
Travis blinked and sighed. This was all rather depressing.
"Look," he said, "Why don't we all go somewhere else? I know there's a diner downtown, or we could go to the shop or something. My treat."
Daniel wrung his hands nervously.
Darry sighed.
"Somehow, I don't doubt ********. I always wanted to learn how to sleep with one eye open anyway," he said, snapping his gum.
Air deprivation was hardly fun, and Roman winced at the beginnings of a headache, drawing another deep breath to ward it off.
"I'm sorry, I just...I panicked," he said, looking perfectly humiliated. He disliked kicking a man when he was down, but oh, everything in him wanted to go up to Morgan right then and there and pull his teeth out one by one. Trying to reign his temper into check, he glanced up at Travis and nodded slightly.
"Sure. Yeah. Let's get the ******** out of here....if you don't mind, Les," he said, unable to look Leslie in the eye. He hadn't felt so filthy in a long time...over nothing, too. Not even the faintest hint of a buzz, to his infinite relief.
And in the that fiercely-ignored part of his mind that he reviled, a slight disappointment.
Father Wilburn laughed.
"I know," Leslie nodded, "Don't worry about it. And, if you remember correctly, I never wanted to come here in the first place." His expression, however, was infinitely sad. He had a fairly good idea as to what was going on in Roman's mind...and he didn't like it.
"Alright," Travis nodded, "Let's go."
Leslie looked to the multi-limbed man and nodded.
Then, suddenly, Margaret and Lili burst through the back doors.
"Jeez, Darrel, I'm sorry," Margaret apologized (which was a mirace in and of itself) and shrugged.
Lili looked about. "We goin' somewhere?"
Leslie nodded, and then counted off the heads.
Him, Roman, Darry...Daniel, his father, Travis...Margaret and Lili.
"We can all fit in the van."
And with those words, he began off toward it.
Following after Leslie with his head still bowed down, resisting the urge to keep coughing, Roman glanced once over his shoulder to look at Morgan. A sick, hateful wave of anger threatened to consume him, and he looked away again.
Miserable ********. One of these days Roman was going to shove him down a flight of stairs.
Darrel stepped into stride next to Margaret and shrugged.
"Don't worry 'bout it," he said nonchalantly. "I shoulda told you I was tryin' to quit anyway."
"Well, yeah," Margaret said and removed the pack from her pocket, chucking it to the ground, "But so am I."
The group was at the van in no time. Leslie attempted to go for the driver's seat, but Father Wilburn quickly shoved him out of the way.
"Go fraternize with the people that you don't want to kill."
"...Abbas? Shouldn't you stay there?"
"I just kidney-punched a priest. I really don't think that's a good idea."
Leslie snickered and slid into the back seat, couting out the remaining places. Crap, he was one short.
Ah well, someone had to sit ontop of...someone else. No big deal.
"Good, we can suffer together," Darry said, sliding into the backseat and snapping his gum again. "Huh. I just realized I have no idea where we're going."
Roman, buckling himself in and the humiliation starting to fade off, cracked his knuckles repeatedly to try to gather himself. In the grand scheme of things it had been nothing, what had just happened - but it didn't matter. He was embarrassed, and mad, and damn it all if he was ever going out to do something social after this for awhile.
Lili huffed and climbed into the car, perching atop Leslie's lap and attempting to stretch the seatbelt over the both of them.
It only barely worked.
"Me neither," Father Wilburn looked back to Darrel, and then to Travis.
"Ah, right," Travis said, leaning forward from the very back row, "Yanno where the shop is, right?"
"Yeah?"
"Take a left instead of a right."
"Gotcha," the priest nodded and began off.
Leslie looked to Roman's knuckles, and then to the man himself.
"Are you okay?"
Roman nodded, repetitiously cracking his knuckles.
"Fine. Just mad. Feelin' pretty stupid too," he said, ignoring the pain he was starting to cause in his fingers as he cracked them over and over. Merry ********' Christmas. Jeez.
"Romes."
"What."
"Quit crackin' your knuckles, you'll snap your fingers off."
Roman snorted, but obediently stopped, resorting to biting at a thumbnail instead. Maybe his nail would pop off....all things considered, he actually would like to see that happen. Might be interesting.
"Stopstopstopstopstop," Leslie rambled, grabbing Roman's hand and pulling it away, "No feeling stupid, no being mad. Just think'a that time you bashed his head into the floor. You made 'im half-blind, yanno."
Travis perked up. "Who? Morgue?" Although he spoke the nickname no differently than anyone else, one could easily see how he intended it to be spelled.
"Yeah," Leslie nodded and turned.
"Awesome. Good job."
Margaret wriggled a bit, attempting to get comfortable, and slung an arm around Darrel's shoulders to make herself some more room.
"Frankly, I think all of those fundies are a bunch of pricks. No offense, Father."
"None taken."
"I did?"
Huh. No wonder he'd been glaring at Roman...heh. Maybe it hadn't been a glare at all, maybe he'd just been squinting so he could try to see Roman better.
Feeling cheered, Roman allowed himself to smile slightly.
"You bashed his head into the floor, Romes? How come?I ********, not that I'm too upset over it," Darry said, peering over his glasses at Roman in curiosity. Roman snorted.
"I'll tell you when you're older."
"Yeah, you did," Leslie nodded and grinned. At the mention of why, however, he heaved a sigh and ran a finger down the side of Roman's face.
My fault.
"And hopefully you've destroyed his ability to reproduce," Travis said sincerely, leaning over the back of the seat, "I mean, not that he'll ever get any, but still."
"This it...?" Father Wilburn as skeptically as he slowed and pulled into a parking space outside of what appeared to be a decrepit bar.
"Yup," Travis nodded and leaned over the seat further to open Leslie's door and climb out himself, "Don't worry. It's not as bad as it look."
Leslie arched an eyebrow and followed, Lili hanging happily beneath his arm.
Smiling at the touch, Roman gave Leslie a quick kiss on the cheek before sliding out of the van. At Travis' words, Darrel laughed aloud, looking at once pleased with himself and a little guilty.
"I mashed him hard enough to make something burst, most likely," he said, the crudeness of the words displaced by a thoughtful tone. "At the least...hell, if he's not shootin' blanks he'll have some pretty deformed kids."
Roman burst out laughing.
"You sadistic ********," he said, shaking his head. Darry grinned, toying with his glasses.
Margaret laughed and slid from the van, shaking her head in absolute amusement. "You win, sir. Hardcore."
As the van emptied, Father Wilburn finally took a better look at the place.
...nope. It still looked like a bar.
Leslie grasped Roman's hand and started toward the door, lead by Travis. He didn't like the look of the place either, buyt he trusted Travis enough to not be leading them into some deranged brothel.
Darrel smiled at Margaret charmingly.
"Heh. I try," he said easily, shrugging.
Holding onto Leslie's hand, Roman eyed the new place with something like misgivings, but decided he didn't care. As long as no one inside would attempt to dismember anyone else or shove broken bottles in their faces, he didn't care.
Travis reached the door first and knocked in an odd, unrhythmic beat. The door swung open seemingly by itself, and he held it open.
"Inside, everyone. We don't want Les melting."
The inside of the...bar? diner?...was much more inviting than the outside and, Leslie assumed, that was probably the point. The innards of the bulding was aglow with warm light, although no windows were within the walls. Tables were scattered about the floor, most full of...well...people like the gang of misfits standing at the door. There was some kind of Drow clan off in a corner (holy s**t, did that guy have a spider body?), and, Hell, one of the musicians on stage was winged.
"Awesome," Leslie mused and stepped inside, staring in wonderment. Huh. So this is where the freaks of nature hung out.
"Wow."
"Holy..."
Roman and Darrel exchanged looks, identical grins on their faces.
"I believe the evening's hit an upswing," Darry said.
"I'm inclined to agree," Roman replied, nodding.
"C'mon," Travis smiled, glad to lighten to mood with his knowledge of completly obscure watering holes, "Big table in the corner." He started off toward said table, large and fairly empty, waving to all those who waved to him...simoltaneously.
Leslie eyed the wall where various decorations hung, looking well-worn. Huh. Quite a mixture of obscure religions, there.
"Hey, look. Your kind's welcome here," Father Wilburn snerked and pointed to a Star of David.
"And it's non-smoking and non-alcoholic," Travis laughed and sank into a chair in the row.
Darry snorted, looking up at the Star and mocking an evil laugh.
"Yes, yes, excellent. Our infiltration has reached all corners of the city," he said, tone turned in what he clearly thought was his 'evil voice'.
"Good," Roman said, nodding at Travis. "Very good to know."
Pulling out a seat for Leslie first, Roman slid into his chair and stretched, looking around with a child's interest.
"Thank you," Leslie nodded and sat in the chair offered him, followed closely by the rest of the gang.
"Psh. We agnostics are totally going to annihilate you Jews, ain't we, Les?"
"Quite."
Suddenly, someone passed a trays of various foodstuffs and a pitcher of water down the table.
"Hm? Thanks!" Travis waved to...whomever had pass it, really.
"So, has glowy spider boy done well?" he asked as he began puring and distributing glasses of water.
"Oh, please. My people control all the world's finances, you don't scare me," Darry said, grabbing random tidbits off the tray and nibbling at them experimentally.
"I think that's only on Earth, Darry," Roman said, snatching at the tray and stuffing something he didn't even look at into his mouth. Hmm. Tasted like...coconut?
"Your stubborn logic serves you well, puny mortal," Darry replied, flicking crumbs in Roman's direction. Roman snorted again, and looked over to Travis.
"Glowy spider boy done fantastic," he said. Darry nodded enthusiastically in agreement.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Reply
