One phone call

He had taken his extra days leave, the one that they had been given after the gigantic zombie debacle, along with some bonus cash that he had already spent. His weekend with Ripley had been amazing nice. It was a refreshing change to be away from the prying eyes of Deus. From pink haired girls who knew too much or at the very least guessed too well. From paper thin walls that let half the hallway know exactly what you were doing and who you were doing it with. From all his a*****e friends, or his incompetent ones that he needlessly felt a strange urge to watch over, for seemingly no reason other than that they were his, and that meant that he got to choose when they got hurt, or when they died, not somebody else.

He sat in the hotel room, collapsed on the couch with one leg splayed over the edge, foot grazing the floor, the other up on the arm. He stared at the disposable cellphone in his hand, his thumb running over the hard outer plastic of the screen before flipping it open.

He stared at the numbers for a long time, and than, slowly, he began to dial, thumb roaming over the eleven digits needed to call long distance.

He pressed the phone to his ear. One ring. Two.

"Hello?"

He didn't speak, didn't breathe, didn't make a sound.

"........Hellllloooo?"

He listened carefully, not to the voice, but to what he heard in the background. Other voices....most like a television playing. Daily soaps. The music certainly fit, and the sound of it brought back a wave of nostalgia that formed a sickening knot in his belly.

"Hello? Anybody there??"

He knew she would hang up soon, and that he wouldn't be able to call again, and he was okay with that. He was, in fact, ready to just hang up himself.

Another sound in the background stopped him. A doorbell ringing. A dog barking.

Finn's hand clenched tighter on the phone, and he had to grit his teeth to keep himself from saying something, from screaming "YOU b***h!" right into the mouthpiece of the phone.

"-Click-"

Brief silence, followed by a dial tone.

Finn sat up in one smooth motion, and winged the phone towards the nearest wall, the small electronic device sailing through the air and hitting a hard wooden surface with a satisfying crack, breaking in half, spinning, falling to the floor.

He threw himself back into his collapsed position on the couch, one hand going to his forehead, a thumb and forefinger massaging at his temples, a deep set scowl etched into his brow.

b***h took my dog, Trynt.

The wyvern only gave a derisive snort in response, before going back to his soft rumbles of growls that made it sound like he was perpetually at rest in Finn's mind, awaiting something more exciting to entice him out of his slumber. The ownership of some mere pet hardly seemed worth his time, no matter how disgruntled his master might be.

Or how horribly fascinating the vivid displays of imagery were that followed, as Finn thought of how very satisfying it would be to feel his own Mother's neck crack beneath his fingers.