Fantasy Welcome to Blackwater Creek

[FaithWynters]

Welcome to Blackwater Creek. With a population of about 500,000 people, its expanding economy has allowed for quite a large amount of growth in the past decade. Beautiful new apartments, parks, and restaurants have been cropping up all around the city. This recent growth around the city has caused unrest throughout the primal founders of this great place.

Unbeknownst to the humans of the city, this place was founded by a were-tribe retreating from the purging of others in their old lands. This place was a sanctuary for all, as the were-beings were required as payment for being allowed to live in the city to protect those living within it who could not protect themselves. While it was once a well-known fact that these humans and beings lived in the protection of these tribes, slowly, these facts faded until this town was just like every other town—human at its core and nothing else. Still, these beings protected their territories around the city in shifts as payment to their elder tribes and, while each species of the tribe has sense separated, they are still ruled by the same powers and organizations.


New tribes and species threaten the territorial lines drawn hundreds of years ago, humans are being attacked and killed in the dangers of night, and tribes are on the brink of war to try and stop it. It is here where the story begins.

 

[FaithWynters]

Episode One


The Savior
​

 

[FaithWynters]

Darkness shrouded the city in a thick danger. A soft breath rushed past the buildings and cooled the warm streets. The sun was gone, and even though the sky had turned from orange, to pink, to purple, and through indigo, the heat of the day still radiated off of the sidewalks. There was a calm that spread out across the quiet of the streets, but that meant nothing. At any moment, danger could bloom from the shadows and take you in a moment. The split between life and death—that line—was very thin. One wrong step down the wrong alleyway and a human would be lost to the evils of the real world. A world that most didn’t even know existed.


Victoria was very aware. That is why she looked silently down the darkness of an alleyway in wanting. The night would be long. Normally, she was fine with her thoughts; she could worry herself with ideas and imagination. She was used to being alone. Alone was walking mindlessly around the city, trying to save the lives of people who would never know she even existed. Alone was knowing that, if those people—those humans—knew what she really was, she would be labeled an outcast and a monster. Alone was walking into a tiny apartment every day and enjoying the silence. Alone was understanding. Alone was worry-free. Alone was peaceful.


Vic’s feet steadily marched her onward. She hadn't been on patrol for long, but, usually, she didn’t stop unless she had to. Today would be a simple day—like most days. Instead of going to look for the orcs that had taken territories in the western woods on the edge of the city, she simply had to walk around the downtown area to make sure there were no night crawlers looking for an easy meal. There had been an increase in the number of human deaths and disappearances in this area—the elders thought it was a new family of vampires that had come to settle—and she was one of the many charged with stopping it. The orcs had to wait anyway. The tribe had to know that they intended on making the woods their home and they weren't simply going through before any action was taken with them. The orcs wouldn't speak to a human, and any sight of one would send them in a frenzied rage; this was a problem for those in the west, for the pathways etching through the wood were often used as jogging trails. That would cause more death than needed, but two orcs were easier to deal with than two adult orcs and a few children. They had to be careful with them, however; skin and bone was paper against an orc’s club. Those who could survive it, probably wouldn’t want to anyway.


So there she was, walking through the darkness. Her hands were shoved naturally in the pockets of dark-washed jeans and Vic jerked slightly to readjust the weight of her pack on her back. It was a very simple pack; it included things to eat and drink, as well as the necessary items to take care of unwanted threats around the city. The tribe had to be very careful about who they let into their city. This wasn’t just a place for human and were anymore. This was a place for all beings—who intended on being peaceful and only taking what they needed in the least harmful way possible—that were outcast from other homes. It was a large job for the tribe, as it seemed that there were an increasing number of creatures who yearned for freedom away from eldest ways of thinking. Still, many could lie to get in, but death would, most likely, be the only justice served to them.


Still, even as her mind wandered across the political problems of the city and the work she had to do, she walked. This would be the time spent working tonight, and tomorrow she could sleep. Wake up, eat, work, shower, sleep, and wake up again. Over and over the cycle continued. It was an endless cycle Victoria could never escape, but it was her livelihood and she had accepted it.

 

[DividesByZer0]

Black Water Creek... More commonly known to Marcus as the creek you're up with no paddle... it was similar to other American cities in that its surface was entirely overgrown with city sprawl for years. But unlike Cities like New York—which was only relatively rundown and dangerous on the lower and under levels of the city—Blackwater was filthy, polluted, and infested with crime everywhere that wasn't a tourist trap or a main street.


The smoggy clouds of the city hung low over the slums, reflecting the sickly orange-red of the running lights. It was never truly dark in that section of the city, and the litter-choked streets trapped the residual heat from the outdated houses that still crawled sluggishly under the concrete and iron shells of the crumbling tenements.


They threaded the grimy windows with spidery black lines, ancient history compared to the current standard for building systems. The carcasses of long-dead vehicles rotted on the sides of the roads, their bodies eaten away by rust and corrosion. The traffic lights in the slums were long since defunct, and any vehicle that attempted to navigate the hazardous streets had to do so on human power. The street lights, too, were mainly out, the LEDs blinking in eerie, irregular patterns-- easy and cheap to fix if anyone had an interest in doing so. But the slums were the exclusive realm of the druggies and squatters and gangs; the city government liked to pretend they didn't exist, and corporate presence of any kind was practically nil.


Only drug users and the insane walked the streets of the slums alone after the lights went down; even the cockiest of the gang members went in twos and threes. It wasn't clear which of the two categories the man coming down the street fell into. His steps were too steady for the first, his posture too erect and easy for the second. He was trim for a man, but the breadth of his shoulders under the smooth leather of his jacket were unmistakable, and a subtle warning. Much more telling was the way his shoes were completely silent over the street, and he never missed a step even when he passed through the deep black shadows thrown by the buildings.


It was enough to warn off the slum residents, who either developed an instinctive and finely-tuned sense for danger or didn't survive for long. He seemed to know exactly where he was going, barely glancing at the abandoned apartment houses that hulked along the sides of the street like jagged, broken teeth. Even when he passed the threatening maws of the alleyways, with their dark promise of unseen dangers, he didn't hesitate at all. His steps finally slowed in front of one building nicer than its neighbors. It was ancient by city standards, with old chic cornices over the tall windows, and the walls were of actual stone that was worn and pitted with age. What little glass remained in the windows bre a black tracery in an ornate, repeating pattern--that hadn't been in vogue for at least a century.


He rounds the corner to his rundown apartment, but someone was lurking in the shadow behind him. He turned to strike before the potential robber could get the drop on him, but his fist collided with solid muscle mass. The flat packing sound was like his fist hitting concrete lined with... fur?


He looked up only to gander at red eyes and large fangs. Before he knew what he was looking at he was viciously attacked. The creature attacked him like a tornado on a trailer park. A hurricane of teeth and claws tore into the depths of him. Then he lost consciousness...

 

[FaithWynters]

A puff of white fog escaped out into the world. It had a life for a moment; its shape moved and compressed with the force of the winds as is rose slowly toward the deep navy sky. Soon, it was high enough and expanded enough that eyes could no longer see it. It was obvious at this point that summer was a faraway memory. Frost clung onto the windows of cars as they were parked, one after the other, along the street.


Tonight had been a very slow night for Victoria. She had done quite a bit more walking, sitting, and freezing her tail off than normally. At least once for every one of her rounds through the city, it seemed she was approached by someone. Whether that was just a poor kid down on their luck or someone trying mug her depended quite frequently on the area of the city she was in. Still, as she walked, there was an eerie quiet to everything. No one dared come out of their homes and walk along the sidewalk unless they really needed to do something—especially not alone unless they wanted to get mugged. Things were very dangerous within this area, but life still flourished: a prostitute walking along the broken sidewalk; a drug dealer leaning against the inner corner of an alleyway in wait for their clients; a stray dog shooting across the street toward the smell of food. Still, there was no movement, and there hadn’t been any movement for quite a long while. It was a little unnerving to Victoria. Something wasn’t right here.


Maybe it was fate of The Gods that had made all of the smaller things align so perfectly. Maybe it was just some strange coincidence that had made the moment so perfect. Had there been any other distractions, or had she not been worrying about the change in the night, Vic probably wouldn’t have caught the warnings. She would have continued walking through the trash and grime of her city, and never recognized what was going on. For a moment, she honestly did think that it was just her mind playing tricks with her. The warning wafted with the wind—a quiet whisper to her senses. At first, it was just an uncomfortable distortion, but as she walked, and as she paid more attention, the scent got stronger until she could tell what exactly was drawing her near.


It was a mixture of two things, really. The first was very obviously the waft of human blood; she had smelt it so much over the years that it was engrained within her. The other was a little more peculiar, but still very real to her. When a were was in their beastly form, they excreted a quite different scent. For any who could pick up on it; there was a sweet tint to it that could draw one in and tantalize their senses. It was a mixture of pure emotion, raw animalistic desire and instinct, and a hint of wet animal—quite alluring for a young and foolish were-creature.


Usually, such a scent could be caught maybe from a few feet away when the beast had willingly transformed themselves into their other form. This was stronger than that though; no, this poor beast had inevitably been caught on his moon cycle—and in the wrong territory too. Yes, that was another thing that Victoria could draw in from the scent. He was male, but he was also not from the feline tribe. Werewolf. A low growl escaped from deep within her chest and she began running.


“Those stupid dogs thing they own everything.” The words crossed her lips as she dashed down the sidewalk. The pain that passed through her body was sharp, as if something inside of her was trying to tear itself out. It began only in her nasal cavity, as bones grew and shifted around in her face. It always began with her head, and soon after would move to her neck and then on to her shoulders. Victoria knew how much time she had—not only before the human was ripped into a million dead little pieces—but until she would lose control of most of herself.


It was then, as her foot splashed in a not-yet frozen puddle at the foot of darkness that she saw the form in the shadows. A growl emitted from her, but not one from deep within her chest as before. This one was loud and angry as she was overtaken by the carnal instincts that would protect her territory from this invader.


She was latched onto his back, claws buried deep into the shoulder muscles before this unknown being could turn around. He was young; his youth could be seen in the dark, yet thin, fur that covered his body in a fuzz and the lack of strength he seemed to have as he began tussling with the adult werecat. Jerking his body back and forth and clawing at the skin of his back did not release Victoria from her hold on him. She could feel the warmth of his blood on her palms as it began sliding down and mixing with the fur to make a sickly blackness all over him. It was then that he moved in a way that she didn’t expect, and one hand sharply gripped her large wrists.


Pulling her over him and slamming her smaller body on the ground, the werewolf now had the upper hand. It snorted and snarled, a thick clear dribble escaping from inside the depths of his mouth. There was only a moment of pause, as it danced with the idea of what action should be made—this was another reason why she knew that he was young. Even though he could fight, his instincts weren’t completely in synchronization.


It took only one strong jaw and a bite to the soft flesh of her abdomen for Victoria to really feel the strength of this young being. She could feel the fangs puncture her skin and the blood begin to warm her fur. Still, she kept fighting. Her claws reaching toward to place where he was attached to give the beast scars that he would not soon forget. Four thick gashes across the beast’s snout was enough to make him cry out in pain and release his grip. The shape rolled around and writhed as it tried to wipe away the pain.


It took the werecat a few moments to regain herself, get up, and launch herself—albeit painfully—onto the wolf again. She scratched and bit ferociously, the taste of blood pooling in her mouth. It wasn’t a taste she ever truly desired to have pass her lips, but it was one that would keep the wolf from forgetting her soon. The wolf only got her release with a hard strike to her mouth, and in the moment it took her to flinch and regain resolve, he had slipped away into the darkness—whimpering in defeat. And by the time that this whimpering was lost to the night, Victoria was once again human.

 

[DividesByZer0]

Slipping in and out of some semblance of sleep, Marcus dreams... it must have been a dream. He knew there was no way giant wolves and cats would be fighting out side of his apartment. Maybe he had drank too much. He search the continuity of his experience, leaving the keys in the door lock, turning and being attacked but something...other.





The blackness over taking him and the pain of claws in his back to the soothing sounds of a voice asking him to go to a hospital. He protested and pointed to the keys in his door only saying he needed to go home. Affording something expensive as a hospital was not in the budget for a down and out vet.





What an unusual dream...





...Marcus writhes and moans in a tangled pit of bed sheets, surfacing from the black void of unconsciousness with much farting and belching. He rearranges himself and his sagging underwear. His hangover is evidenced by his breath, the odor of stale gin sweat clings to his tongue. He throws his bulk over the side of the bed landing heavily with a solid thump. His feet make flat packing sounds as he waddles across a busy cable laden floor. He had tripped over something soft that didn't feel much like a cable, but was too tired to bother.


The room is a damp and airless box with computer components everywhere in a slum of BLACK Water Creek. He was a hermit by nature and avoided going out unless it was absolutely necessary. All those villainous, homicidal maniacs and victims of tragic hard-luck stories on Main Street--the shadiest street in all the city--were dried kindling to the misanthropic furnace that powered his pride.


He has the urge to relieve himself which is accompanied by a yell from the burning sensation that makes him wonder if he had mixed those drinks wrong. He stares at his reflection in the cracked mottled mirror, a head as big as a CRT screen, pitted and pock-marked; a nose tipped with a spreading purple patch the shape of a spiderweb that must have been from a fight. teeth like jagged tombstones and a tongue as hairy as a Persian rug. His black hair, or what's left of it after being yanked out--probably by some gangster who tried to mug him--is plastered to a enflamed pate. His face is like a stocking full of porridge. Hideous and grotesque this simply would not do in public. He washes his face and he starts to look the spitting image of perfection--or as perfect as a man who was beaten half to dead could look.


After smelling some clothing, he donned something that was clean enough for government work, then made his way to the kitchen.


Man he was, down and out. To put it lightly. His apartment. Three o'clock in the morning-It's got four walls, a roof, and there isn't one scrap of food left. Even the cockroaches have fled in search of better accommodations. Not exactly a Runner's dream pad... But right now. It's about all he has left.


Forgotten the shadows is all about feast or famine. One day you're novahot. Working private contract jobs that allow you to eat at five star restaurants. The next. well. You're here. This one's a famine for the ages. His Handler hasn't called. The money's run out. And then some. Disavowed and free. Free to starve in the cracks of a society run by corporate gladiators in suits who just want your money. Something needs to change. And soon.


But not before he finishes his nap. He makes his way back to bed only to find a girl sleeping on his floor. What did he do? What the hell?! There wasn't enough Alcohol in the world! Unless...


In his paranoid post traumatic state he reached under his pillow and drew his weapon. He shook her with his foot as he stood ready to fire.


"Wake up sleeping beauty. You one of those gangsters from last night who grew a conscience, or did you think I would die so easy and you could squat here and collect my pension?" He looked her over, but she didn't look homeless, or have the hardened eyes of a street life.


He put his gun down. "Explain." His voice was low and so was his patience.

 

[FaithWynters]

It took quite a few moments before the crumpled heap could finally gain the energy it needed to move. If it had been cold before, the loss of the clothes that had covered her human form before made it even colder. She was covered in the filth of dirt from the alleyway and a film of cold sweat was ensuring that her body shook. The smell of blood was thick with the still night’s air; Victoria could very confidently say that she had been in fights that had gone more in her favor before, and, as she pulled herself slowly to unsteady feet, the taste of blood from a split lip informed her that she wasn’t completely invincible. This was something that she was reminded less often than not in the recent months.


Usually, she—as any other person might—would have been pretty worried about standing in the darkness of an alleyway without anything covering her skin. The only human that could currently see her was unconscious on the ground, so, she quietly walked toward the bag that was near the mouth of the alleyway. Silently the peeled open the front of the bag, taking the clothing out from inside. It wasn’t much—no—only her undergarments, a tank top, and a pair of sweatpants. She lacked shoes, which was very poor planning on her part, but she currently couldn’t feel them anyway, so it wasn’t a problem.


Adrenaline was slowly lessening within her body. She was tired, and her battered mind almost couldn’t think of what she had to do now. What was the next step? It was then that she heard the quietest of noises and remembered the human that had been the beginning of this whole little episode. Still, she could smell his blood as she limped toward him.


“Hey” Kneeling down on the cold concrete, she reached down and snapped her fingers in front of his face. She couldn’t leave him here. Tufts of black hair scattered along the ground, blood streaked the man’s face and there were slices out of his clothing. “Hey!” She snapped his fingers again, this time, it was a little louder. There was the slightest of movements; his eyes opened in the smallest of ways. Victoria could hardly see the shine of his eyes as they did.


“You need to get to the hospital.” She couldn’t help him walk him to the hospital—not in this state. Vic could still feel the thick warmth of blood sliding down her side from the bite she had sustained. That was probably the source of her limp and stiffness on the right side of her body. She waited a few moments, her breath fogging out of her without protest. She was pointed to a nearby door with the shinning of silver in the deadbolt.


From there, the night was a painful blur. She couldn’t get him to wake up again, therefore, Victoria couldn’t get him to walk to his own home. She couldn’t just leave him in the alleyway either; safety was right there. She could see it for him. So, she struggled with his dead weight, having to stop multiple times in order to catch her breath, let pain subside, or regain some strength. From the moment she got him halfway up the stairs, darkness danced across her memories.


The next thing that she could remember was the hot burning feeling on her side. It drew her from the darkness that had settled into her mind. It was cold wherever she was, and her head pounded violently, rattling her thoughts. The light made Vic flinch; wherever she was, it was too early to be moving around.


Sleeping Beauty. The word caught her and pulled her away from the wants that fought with all of her instincts. Her vision cleared, and she saw something she wasn’t expecting—a gun—pointed directly at her. A sharp huff of air escaped from her lips as she watched him. Before she could say anything, he dropped the weapon and ordered an explanation from her. Before she said anything, Victoria pulled herself up from lying down on the ground, groaning at the sharp pain on her side.


“That’s a great way to say thank you for saving your ass, huh?” Her first instinct was to be angry. In fact, her blood boiled on the inside, threatening to make her act on her emotions and not think logically. He had a gun though, and that was the quiet voice in the back of her mind. It calmed her, and reminded her that she was in this man's house. She had saved him, and been unable to slip away before he had awoken. Now, she was more angry with herself, for now she had to try and deal with this irrational human instead of just leaving him to think it was all a dream.


“A dog attacked you; I’m not with the—“Her words were drawn away into the quietest of noises. It ranged somewhere between a groan and a whimper in pain, as her body moved, and stung at her injuries. She couldn’t ignore it anymore; most of her weakness was gone, but she still wouldn’t be able to move comfortably for a while.


“How are you feeling?” Peeling the blood-stained tank-top from her skin revealed a mess. Black and purple splotches marked the skin she could see, and cutting out of her pale skin, was a large bite mark. Right now, she was worried about herself, and not the man that was obviously feeling a lot better than she was—or at least it seemed that way to her.

 

[DividesByZer0]

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“That’s a great way to say thank you for saving your ass, huh?” She was a snarky one. What did she mean save him? Scrawny little girl like couldn't even bust a grape in a food fight.


"Look I don't know what you're talking about, but what are you doing here?" He demanded an explanation with a furrowed brow, his analysis of her reveled to him she was not a threat so he put his gun down; for now.





"A dog attacked you; I’m not with the—" She made a whimper of sorts that sounded equally painful as it was cutesy, but he wasn't falling for that old trick. He knew all to well women just turned on the water works and acted all cute to get her way, but he wasn't a fool and if she made the wrong move he would give her something to whine about.


“How are you feeling?” She took her tank-top off, it was covered in blood. He was equally shocked at the blood and the fact that she was so comfortable around a stranger that she would get half naked. No... He was not falling for it.





Her bruise marked skin was tessellated with large bite marks in a mosaic of some semblance of grotesque art. "I'm fine." He crossed his arms and then added, "I think you should go get that checked out... You're bleeding on my carpet." His voice obviously annoyed, and trying to sound uncaring. What ever trouble she was part of he wanted no part of it. He had seen enough on the battlefield, held bits of limbs from friends who were taken by Tango IEDs. It's a strange feeling when you find yourself getting used to it.


"It's just a flesh wound." He told her to walk it off like John Wayne, growing even more impatient with her as she proceeded to ignore him and rub her hands along wounds on her body.


He sighed and headed to the bathroom, got some hydrogen peroxide to cleanse her wounds and gauze to patch her up. "Here..." He handed the bottle to her and dropped the packages of gauze near by. He wasn't completely soulless, but he still wanted no part of what ever this was. "When you're done you can let yourself out."


He sat down, elbows resting on his knees and hands clasped together. He had to ask. He hoped he didn't. "We... we didn't..." He had a hard time coming up with the right way to ask. She wasn't exactly his type and this would surely indicate that he in fact needed to quit drinking.


"We didn't do it. Did we?" He prayed to God if they did that he at was sober enough to remember to use protection. He couldn't even take care of himself. The last thing he needed was some baby mama drama and some curly haired little git calling him daddy.

 

[FaithWynters]

Distrust radiated off of him in a very thick blanket that covered the room and made Victoria very uncomfortable. She didn’t want it to show, but she watched him more carefully now than she probably would have. He seemed like a wall to her; uncaring features, distrust, and a hint of arrogance danced around every sense, making her not trust him.


"I think you should go get that checked out... You're bleeding on my carpet." Victoria couldn’t help but snort at his words. Of course this ungrateful human would be more worried about the ugly carpet than the person that had saved his life. By the response he had given, however, it seemed like he wasn’t too believing that she had saved him; if he only knew. She wasn’t going to push the issue though, for it really didn’t matter what her actions had been the night before. What mattered was the state they were in now.


Still, she applied some pressure to the wound she had sustained, hoping to keep the blood from dribbling past her fingers so that she could allow scabs to form. Then, she could go home.


Home. While she wasn’t looking forward to going back to the small apartment on the edge of the werecat’s territory, anything would be better than being here. It was stuffy with the awkward feelings that were moving around. He obviously didn’t want her here and she obviously didn’t want to be here.


“Yeah. Flesh still hurts.” The words were simple, but when Victoria looked up to see the emotionless face, he was gone. She paused a moment, listening to the sounds around her. The quiet sound of a creaky hinge, heavy footsteps from the apartment upstairs…The noises were diverse and interesting, but not enough to keep her attention once he had come back.


The brown bottle in his hands told Vic all she needed. She did not hesitate—no—she unscrewed the cap of the bottle with shaking fingers; she was still quite tired from the transformation before. Silently, she began working on cleaning herself up. The bites bubble unforgivingly as she glanced up at the man—she still did not know his name.


"We... we didn't..." He stumbled and stammered his way through the words that he was trying to force from his lips. It was a little sad that such a question seemed so awkward to him. It actually made her let out the lightest of chuckles as stumbled one last time. Then, he finally found the words.


"We didn't do it. Did we?" They were a little bit more sobering that Victoria would have liked them to be. She let out another snort—she seemed full of those today.


“Sorry to burst your bubble, but I don’t do things like that with ungrateful bricks.” She shot him a half glance. She had finally stopped bleeding and was now screwing up the top to the little brown bottle. She quickly pulled her shirt back on, trying to make sure that she had everything she had come in with. “It has been wonderful and all sleeping here on your floor, but I should probably ’let myself out’”. Her pack weighed down her shoulders, her shirt wouldn’t fight much of the cold (but at least she was covered), and her pants would cut down on some of the wind. The only problem was that she still had no shoes. It was going to be a cold walk back home, but she was fine with that.


It took her a moment to pick herself up, and when she finally did, it took a moment for the dull ache to subside. Victoria tried hard not to let the pain show as she started toward the door.


“I’ll catch you on the flipside, eh?” She had made it halfway across the bedroom. Even though she couldn’t remember the last quarter to half an hour that it had taken them to get into this small little room, she would still be able to find her way out of this small little place and back out onto the street.

 

[DividesByZer0]

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“Sorry to burst your bubble, but I don’t do things like that with ungrateful bricks.” She shot him a half glance that made him cross his arms in indignation.





"Good." He huffed. "You're not my type anyway. I was only worried that I would have to stop drinking." He quipped.





She quickly pulled her shirt back on, “It has been wonderful and all sleeping here on your floor, but I should probably ’let myself out’.” She began to collect herself and he tried to act unaffected.





As she got up and headed out the for she said, “I’ll catch you on the flipside, eh?” Who even said that anymore, was she like 40 years old? He had also noticed she was missing shoes. How far did she live? Did she have to walk? What if she was telling the truth? Maybe he should get her a cab?


But he was broke...


"Wait..." he said, "I don’t exactly have cab money, but if it's true... that you... saved--" The ridiculous idea that this petite little girl saved him from anyone made him double guess his drinking again. "--me. Maybe, I should walk you home." He said having a really hard time with the idea. Showing gratitude to someone for a wild claim was preposterous, but to not thank this person if it were true; that's unforgivable.


As he insisted and got his coat the loud noises upstairs grew to a loud thumping. The floor boards creeked as if the wood was under stress then suddenly a loud crack!


"Woah." He jumped looking at the stress fracture in the ceiling. "God I need to find a new place." He said as he opened the door for her, ushering her outside. "Let's get out of here befor--"


Another loud crack and the floor began to buckle.

 

[FaithWynters]

“I was only worried that I would have to stop drinking." She couldn’t help giving him a shake of her head in disapproval from his words. He probably should stop doing that anyway. It obviously wasn’t helping the situation he was in at all. Either way, he still had to live through reality, and drinking meant making more mistakes.


Still, she didn’t worry about telling him any of this. It was his life to live how he chose. She had made it to the door, hand grasping the metal doorknob when he spoke. What? Walk her home? She surely didn’t need his help getting to her apartment. Still, it caused Victoria to pause and glance back at him.


“If you can’t even trust me at my word, why would I want you walking me home?” She hadn’t intended on waiting for an answer, but there was another noise that made her pause. Looking up curiously, she felt a hand on hers, turning the knob and pulling the door open.


“This place isn’t—Hey!” A few urges made her unwillingly walk out of the apartment and down the small triplet of stairs to the alley. She could remember a lot from last night, but it seemed that she was lucky enough that a fresh blanket of snow had covered the scene; she wasn’t sure what kind of nightmare she would have been able to smell and he would have been able to see. Victoria could still catch the faint rusty hint every now and again, but she was much more worried about the crumbling apartment she had just been urged out of.


As she turned back toward the very small porch, Vic placed her hands on her hips. There was so much she could say in this moment, but as the loud and harsh sounds of cracking wood and groans of the entire building made themselves present in the silence of the snowy morning, Victoria found herself at a loss for words.


“Uh…” It was the most she could get out. Partially, it could probably be attributed to the cold and wet that was slowly sinking into her feet and chilling her to her bone. How could she have forgotten to pack shoes? It was stupid, but she was being punished for it now. Another reason was probably attributed to the fact that she didn’t really know what to say. While there were millions of possibilities, Victoria found that she was unequipped to even say one of them.

 

[DividesByZer0]

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He eyed her with her hand on her hips and a smile on his face. She was kind of cute when she was mad, but he wouldn't tell her that. Noticing she didn't have shoes he told her to wait here a moment.


He disappeared inside and re-emerged with wool socks. "It's not much and any other shoes probably won't fit..." He noted kneeling down to help her put them on. He noted the fresh snow might wet the socks and make her cold. He didn't want to risk frost bite. "Hope on." He turned his back offering a piggy back ride, turning his face in embarrassment. He did feel bad about the situation and hoped his actions said the words he couldn't bring himself to say. Sorry.


“Uh…” Her loss of words made him uneasy. He wasn't used to this stuff. The extent of his social prowess was fighting. Always figthing. He wasn't sure how to live a normal life away from the constant vigilance of dodging bullets for a living. No IEDs to stray upon, losing your limbs to. But in its quietness was a whole different level of fight. A fight with his own nature.


"Well?" He tried not to sound aggressive. "What are you waiting for?" He prompted her, before just picking her up starting to walk with her in toe. "Don't think this means anything special or anything. I would do this for anyone." He tried to make it clear.


As he walked with her something set off a flash back of carrying his friend who had lost his legs in the war. He carried him 20 kilometers back to base in the scorching heat of the desert. The snow was no better and he almost prefered the heat. His heart started pounding and he began to hyperventilate, his hands shaking. Was this another attack?


Then something snapped him back to reality. The intoxicating scent of her perfume lingering, beckoned him back to the present and he remembered what he was doing. "So... where is it that you live exactly?" He realized he didn't even know and he had already carried her several blocks. Not that he minded, there was something very soothing about her essence and the warmth of her pressed up against him. It was almost like... home.

 

[FaithWynters]

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She couldn’t deny it; the snow beneath her feet froze her toes and made her shake. Victoria tensed her body; she wouldn’t let him see her shake—even if that meant going cold. She watched him silently for a moment, but he stared straight back at her. He could see through the strong face that she put forward; she could almost bet her life on it. For before she could call him back and stop him from leaving, he had disappeared into the house.


Great; once again she had shown a weakness. She didn’t like it, but as he came back out of the apartment, her face softened slightly. He was thinking of her—at least that was something different. While she didn’t want to accept the charity that he offered, she knew that he was doing it for her own well-being. This is what made her relax a little bit. She accepted the assistance putting the wool socks on with only the slightest of pauses. They wouldn’t do much for long, but it would be enough to keep her from completely freezing.


“Thanks” A smile grazed her face for the flitting moment, but then he did something she didn’t expect. Shaking her head, Victoria took another step back and further into the snow melting beneath her feet. “I won’t get on your back; I’ll be fine walki—“ She let out a yelp, and it took everything Victoria had to keep from hissing at him. While the ground had been beneath her feet only moments before, it now was a few feet below. Hands gripped onto strong shoulders and legs were hooked still by arms with the same strength.


“Put me down” It was a quiet whine, for only a moment, until they stepped out of the alleyway. A gust of wind danced up her spine and pulled goosebumps up across her skin. It took her breath and her words as Victoria instinctively pulled her body as close to the only source of heat she could find. There was a rumble in her chest as she tried to block out the wind, but for the most part, they fell into silence.


Honestly, Victoria was oblivious to the happenings directly below her for quite a few moments. As she lost herself in her own selfish thoughts of warmth, Vic truly believed that the shaking she could feel as the man’s hands pressed against her shins was from the cold, but as time passed quickly; something changed about him. His scent, while normally muted and heftier against the backdrop of trash and piss smell that came with the wind, was now more vibrant. It was harsher now, with a slight nauseating scent that she couldn’t put her finger on. It made her heart jolt with worry for a moment. Should she say something? What if that was the wrong choice? What if that triggered something? Victoria didn’t know what to do. Still, she pressed herself tight against him as she waited another moment. Taking in a very slow breath, she prepared herself to speak.


“Ar—“


"So... where is it that you live exactly?" The scent slowly muted again with the wind, and the moment passed. Vic was left with her words lodged in her throat for a moment, and it took another deep breath to dislodge them.


“Uh…” That seemed to be a frequent word that crawled past her lips. “Actually,” For once, she was in luck. In the time that they had walked, the two had been going in the right direction. “, do you see the taller brown building on the next block?” Pulling her hand from in-between her chest and his back, she pointed down the street. “I live there on the third floor.”


It wasn’t a great place to live. Still in the rundown part of the city, it still had its problems. Within the building lived seven or eight (she hadn’t bothered counting) tenants. Some she hadn’t even met, and others she had wished she hadn’t met. There was a beautiful woman—older than her by only a few years—with a small boy that lived on the first floor, he often could be found playing on the many stairs of the building. The woman—Annie—was pleasant enough, but that seemed to be the only nice people Victoria had met. She didn’t even want to think about the sleazeball in 319. She was blessed though that the floor didn’t bend or buckle beneath her feet; with the thought, she couldn’t help but glance down at the man that was still walking easily along the street.


“So I never got your name, and if I did, I don’t remember it.” There was just a slight pause so she could push her hair out of her face before continuing. “I’m Victoria, by the way.” She couldn’t help letting out the softest of laughs. “Under any other circumstances than this, I would say that it’s a pleasure.” Again, she had to stop to pull the hair out of her mouth. “I guess in some ways it still is, though too.” Leaning back in, Victoria regained her hold on the man’s shoulders, and watched the buildings as they passed by, unmoving and unmoved.

 

[DividesByZer0]

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"Marcus." He answered simply, as they pause before Victoria's apartment complex in a mercifully quiet walk that takes them from "probably going to be mugged" to "probably going to pay too much for our drinks."


Compared to the urban wasteland of where Marcus lived, the Downtown area of Black water is filled with modern buildings, lighted streets, and unbarred shops. All living beneath the shadows of massive corporate arcologies.


For many these arcologies are home. For others, they are hulking monuments to where the world went wrong. Famous for it's cuisine and fashion, down town shops have been around since the the earliest of centuries. Now, the area is a market for all things, legal and illegal. A melting pot of the haves and have-nots. Even though most of the shops are closed at this hour, the sights, sounds, and smells of the streets hit them from the moment they step on the curb.


There are a cluster of dilapidated buildings that appears to be the remnants of a public-housing project. The buildings look like a regal and elegant place, yet its covered in the shit like cesspool, filled with human debris.


Marcus and Victoria are standing on a street corner. Eyeing the roofs, the doorways, the windows. Victoria barely says a word as they weave their way through the tenements of the street. He walks purposefully. His hand flexing open and closed with each step. It's unclear to Marcus whether the action is voluntary or not. Maybe his nerves were getting to him.


Down town is your typical touristy area: Glitz, Glam, Grit, Grime, and Green. The cold snow doesn't help matters any. Layers of dirt mix with abandoned wooden pallets, re-purposed into makeshift furniture for the have-nots who live in near by alleyways. Garbage collects in the gutters of the broken down street. "Disreputable" is this district's middle name. Their destination, Victoria's apartment is located on a little strip of street overlooking the town square. Despite the presence of hooligans who linger out front, it's quiet as they approach the building.


They roll up on the most impressive bit of glamorous tenement squalor Marcus has seen in a long time. There's few streetlamps here. And what light there is flickers with uncertainty. Most of the buildings next door are damaged and tagged. The smell of old rotting trash mixed with you-don't-want-to-know is overwhelming. It's no wonder people living here turn to drugs. Anything's better than this. Desomorphine or Krokodil as the junkies call it, is the newest drug on the market. You don't need a good life-you can numb the pain, live through it, and wreck your body in the process. Ten times the high and none of the sickness, yet during the process of creating it, there are multiple isomers. A, B, C, D. You never know which one your gonna get. A is the good stuff, and the others... well they eat your flesh from the Inside out, quite literally.


The front doors of the Royale Apartments aren't even locked. As they step inside, Marcus can hear a junkie crying for another hit as they enter the first floor. The drug trade must be one of this area's lucrative businesses.





Victoria hits the elevator button for the third floor. As they go up the glass elevator Marcus notices the top of the proverbial pyramid is exponentially nicer than the bottom. The capstone of this apartment complex might have been really nice at one point in time. Classic, even. But now it's filled with a degenerate crew, neon tube lighting, overly used yet regal furniture, piles of take out containers, pizza boxes, and crates containing who-knows-what. Still, compared to the rest of what Marcus had seen on the lower floors, it's positively palatial.


The only thing marring the place's pseudo luxury is a woman crying in pain, or pleasure? in the distance, followed by laughter. Someone being tortured for another's pleasure? They step into her apartment...

 

[FaithWynters]

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No longer did she need him to carry her. Yes, for Victoria, the comfort it brought to her sore and tired body was welcomed, but she would not rely on his strength any longer. Marcus. The name was not one she had heard in quite a long time. Yes, you heard a lot of different names working in the way she did. Names ranging from Henry and Alfred to Bookie and Jump. They were words that probably should have never become names, but, as the hardened life took over, everyone found a name with a family—whether they were biological or not. Yes, the floor would be dirty, but as she pulled herself out of his grip and back on the cool floor of the glass elevator, she sighed quietly. Marcus wasn’t some hood name that he had gathered somewhere on the streets. It was authentic; something you couldn’t really find anymore from humans. From where Victoria came from, it was either junkies, prostitutes, or the were-people she called family. Well… family she tried to distance herself from whenever possible, but still family.


As the quiet ding let the pair know that the doors were opening, the lights from the entrance of her floor flooded into opening doors. While the place could once be called extravagant with its dark tiled floors and lighting, it was now in a place of disrepair. Vic often found herself wondering when the elevator would just stop working, and she and everyone else would be left with only the stairs. Tattered armchairs were scattered throughout this main room. In the corner, three young men sat, talking quietly amongst themselves—they couldn’t be any older than eighteen, the youngest looking to be sixteen.


Very few noises could be heard from where they were. Victoria walked with the slightest limp, but gritted her teeth to ignore the new burning sensation in her side. It had been a mistake to let Marcus carry her, for now her body was stiff from the lack of movement and was fighting against her. Still, she walked on, ignoring the catcalls of the young men. Sometimes, it seemed like they were blind to anything. She was covered in blood, her clothes deep red from the night previous, her hair was a mess, and she looked quite tired. It was too early in the morning for her to care about her appearance, but still, the men made comments at her from across the rooms.


“Stupid humans.” She couldn’t help muttering the words lightly under her breath. Still, she didn’t glance back at the man that she assumed was still following her. She could feel the dirt and grit beneath her feet as she walked down the hallway. The flooring had gone from tile to wood as they exited the large open space and made it to one of the many hallways—this one contained the door to her apartment.


The yelps of torture and moans of pleasure now drowned out any sounds of the men behind them. Still, Vic was aware of the fact that the men might try and pay her a visit later on tonight—as she gave a single glance back for Marcus, she could see them standing at the mouth of the hallway. They would be no problem, in fact, she might be a problem they didn’t soon forget. As always, her mind wandered and worried her of things that might not ever come to be.


Reaching behind her, into her pack, Victoria pulled out the small keychain from the pocket on the side of her pack. It made quiet little tinkling sounds as she fiddled with unlocking the deadbolt. Soon enough, the cool rush of air made its way into the hallway, and Victoria stepped into her small little home.


There was nothing awe-inspiring inside. Her living-room and kitchen combo was quiet clean, and yet almost barren of anything more than a couch and record player sitting in the corner. While there was very little that could be seen of the home—for she was hardly ever there and only used it as a place to rest—there was a prayer book on the counter, a calendar hanging on the refrigerator, and a hotplate sitting near the prayer book.


“It isn’t much, but make yourself at home.” Her body was tired, and everything in her head was telling her that she needed to sleep. Still, she waited until he had walked into her home, closed the door, and locked it behind her. It was only the most hospitable thing to do. Yet, after she ensured that the door was secure, she walked across the room, sat her bag neatly beside the couch, and sat down. Another groan escaped her throat, but it wasn’t as loud as before. Ignoring the discomfort, she leaned down and pulled off the cold socks. They had helped her get here, but now, they were no longer needed.


“Thanks for your help back….” She could feel an awkward heat dancing across her skin. Why should she be thanking a human? She had saved him in the first place…Still, she waited a moment, looked toward the dark window, saw that there was still quite a bit more night left, and pulled herself off the couch again. What should she be doing? Should she...offer him the couch? Turn him back to the cold? She wasn’t used to this kind of social encounter, and the sounds coming through the walls weren’t helping them either.


“You must be cold; I’ll make you some tea.” She hadn’t thought of the words before she spoke them, and, before there was time for him to deny her, she walked past him, and into the small kitchenette area of the apartment to put a kettle on the hot plate.

 

[DividesByZer0]

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There was a certain forlorn feeling as the warmth of Victoria's small frame left his back. Having her hold him was the only semblance of a hug he had in years. And her pleasant scent wafted and lingered around him invoking something primal he hadn't felt in years.


He remembered the heart break from the only woman he ever loved and how she seemed to shrug off the years like it was nothing to her. Anastasia was a French national and an alternative hair model going to school for politics. They met in the most unlikely of places while he was gaming. She was a dork like him who enjoyed many of the nerdy things he did from movies, to books, games and the like. They had plans of getting married in the Pyrenees Mountains, honey mooning in Paris, and living a perfect life in New York after he finished his medical degree and she got a career in politics at the UN. He believed in the dream so much it became more of a plan. A plan is something you can take action on and a dream, is just that. He never realized that those years was just another game to her. One of her roleplays on the stage of her life. He no longer fit the part in her personal drama as she fancied to cast a guy she used to have a crush on in high school as her new boyfriend. She furthered his pain by saying she wanted to be friends... Marcus was a strong man though and thought if she really found happiness he was happy for her. He told her, invite me to the wedding. She cried what he would later find out were crocodile tears as she told him he was too good for the world. Their friendship didn't last long, soon after she decided that Marcus didn't fit the role as her friend either and cut all ties from him without so much as a reason why. He never bothered to ask either.


Putting Victoria down he faked a well-practiced smile to hide the gaping wound in his chest. They had bigger concerns like the wounds of her legs. "I hope you're ok. I really don't mind." He tried, but she was strong and adamant so he didn't argue. Sometimes a woman has to do what a woman has to do. Walking her up to her apartment left him on guard. How could she live here? All alone. When the guys cat called to her he fought an urge to punch them in the face. He never felt the need to be overly macho, but it didn't set right with him. They had no respect for women.


Victoria limped and Marcus fought hard to remain stone faced every time she so much as winced. He couldn't let people know he cared, that's how they get you. Caring got you hurt or dead and it was a hard lesson he learned not only in the battlefield of love, but in war too. One wounded soldier is 3 dead he was always told. Then one day he would find out why as his squad tried to help someone hit by sniper fire. The sniper had wounded one of them in the leg and shot the others who tried to save him. Four men died that day.


Vicky was covered in blood, her hair was a mess, and she looked quite tired. But it was clear to any man that she was a stone cold fox. Marcus wasn't the type to blatantly hit on someone like that, but as a man he could understand what they saw in her despite their poorly contrived attempts.


“Stupid humans.” Marcus heard Victoria muttering under her breath.


"Yeah if you want to call 'em that." He chuckled a bit despite himself.


He thought she had a very interesting sense of humor. Like she was an alien or something. He could relate in some ways, he had lived such a crazy life that few would ever believe, and that he never cared to talk about, so he too felt like he didn't belong to the human race.


Reaching into her bag, Victoria pulled out the small key chain and Marcus had a sudden rush of anxiety. He never knew what to do in these situations. It gave him more stress than dodging bullets. Did he go in? Should he go home? Do they hug? If so does he hug ass out and shoulders only or an actual hug? Does he say goodbye or see you later? Society has no clear cut things for this sort of situation.


The door popped open and derailed his train of thought as Victoria stepped into her small apartment. He noted how barren it was and wondered if she was like him only staying there for sleep but working or schooling most of the time. There was a record player sitting in the corner that he couldn't help but want to play and run through her music collection. Music was the only thing Marcus could love freely and know it would love him back. It spoke to his soul. Music is a higher revelation than all wisdom and philosophy; It communicates that which cannot be put into words, nor remain silent... He wish he could play a song on his guitar to express this weird sensation he felt around her.


I guess I should go. He was about to say before she cut him off and invited him inside. “It isn’t much, but make yourself at home.” Her melodious voice made music to his ears.


Sheepishly he had walked into her home taking a very proper and erect seat on her couch as she closed the door, and locked it behind her. Another groan from her as she peeled off the socks and he rocked forward as if ready to catch her if she fell. “Thanks for your help back--” She started.


"--Don't mention it." he interjected, but he wasn't exactly sure what he did other than walking her home. He didn't remember much of their encounter. His back was clawed. The warm sensation of his blood contrasted by the cool snow. Waking up next to a half-naked woman he thought was a street walker or perhaps a con-artist. He didn't make it a habit to hang around that sort.


“You must be cold; I’ll make you some tea.” She went to the kitchen area to make some before he even answered. He did enjoy his tea and felt like she was someone who would know and have the good stuff.


"So..." He trailed off thinking about what to talk about. It wasn't so much that he felt like he had to talk like most people do. He felt like she was a comfortable person he could enjoy a moment of silence with like their walk here, yet he couldn't shake the urge to want to ask her a million and one questions.


She made him feel goofy. Goofy like he blushed when the cat callers mentioned her name. Goofy like he had a bazillion things he wanted to tell her. Like he is all thumbs and no place to put them. Whatever random cool he was able to harness leaps from his grasp when she was in the room. He felt old school, like grade school. Like back in the day when the space between wanting to touch someone’s hand and actually touching it could hold life times of passionate yearning. He didn’t want to make out with her… He want to make a fort with her, right in the middle of the living room, with all the sheets and all the blankets and every chair in the whole house. A soft labyrinth scented with fabric softener and hot chocolate with marshmallows. Lying on their tummies on the shag carpeting, and eating snacks… right out of the box. And having cut throat scrabble wars where she would always accuse him of cheating, but he would still swear that ISHKABIBLE is a real word, it just wasn’t in the dictionary yet!


They could both stay at home from school or work and talk all day long and watch movies and Netflix taking breaks just for dinner and the bathroom. Until it was bedtime and they whispered under the covers in the dark until they got really sleepy and he would say, “Are you asleep?”


And she would say, “yessss.”


And a little while later, he would ask, “Are you still awake?” and she wouldn’t say anything. And he would just lay there, listening to the sound of her breathing, a comfort that would lull him to sleep.


On his homemade Valentine’s Day card, he would write, “I LIKE YOU” in sparkles and glue, only his handwriting is so bad all his K’s look like V’s, but they decided it was better anyway… "I LIVE YOU”


They’d make pinky swears while biting their thumbs and cross their hearts and hope to die promises, with words like ALWAYS and FOREVER, and NEVER EVER EVER, promises you could only make when you’re a kid and don’t know any better. Back when 3 weeks of summer was an eternity. Back before pimples, before underarm hair, back before bra straps and make up. Before graduation, and college, and graduation, and real like. Back before resumes and jobs and careers and mortgages, and marriage and divorce and debt and disappointment... Back when summers…lasted…forever… And their very first kiss… On the cheek… Would be the most awkward and scary and wonderful thing in the whole wide world. That’s how he liked her…


like…a lot. He didn't even really know her or know why...


But he wanted to ask, So which is it?


yes,


no,


or maybe?


Marcus cleared his throat and finished is question that he began a second before his heart beats interrupted his brain. "So... what's your story?" He asked nonchalantly with a small semblance of a smile.

 

[FaithWynters]

It seemed that almost as soon as the door was closed, time grew closer and closer to stopping. It was such an odd snapshot of Victoria’s life, that she was almost certain that some of this had to be a dream. Only a little over an hour before, he had accused her of being some floozy tramp that has just walked in with him from off the street while he was in such a drunken stupor that he couldn’t remember. She had saved his, and—at that point in time—had hated every moment of it. Every cut and bite was another reason why she tried to keep away from these parts of town; was another reason that she took her job so damn seriously; why the fight was so vicious to her, not just this time, but every time Victoria had to protect another life. It was another reason that she had disliked protecting people; it was another responsibility, and they never appreciated it in the end. Hell, most of the time they never knew. Even after their walk over here, she had not heard the words, “Thanks for your help last night,” come from him. She was no longer expecting it. She had come to accept that people didn’t thank others for kindness. Victoria was almost certain, however, that he didn’t believe that she had saved him.


For a moment, Vic wondered what he did believe. What was going through his mind that let him justify her being in his home and justify him walking the young lady back to her apartment? They were speaking to one another—no longer with venom that could poison the heart—but as if their meeting had been some form of casual normalcy that humans shared every day. If he no longer believed that she was trying to take his home, yet didn’t believe that she had protected him from certain death—or at least what Marcus thought had been some mugging in an alleyway. So why were they so cordial now? Why could they smile at one another and make quips about people and be completely fine with one another now?


She knew this wasn’t normal, but as she peered across the counter and to the couch, she couldn’t help but smile again, even if it was only a slight flick to the corners of her lips. The logical part of her mind was just shutting down as Victoria was a strong believer that there weren’t answers to everything. The kettle was beginning to heat, and Vic turned her eyes away from Marcus to get cups from the cabinet. 'Stop acting like an idiot!' As she peered into the shadows, she tried to give her head one swift kick in the ass. Maybe it was the loss of blood that made her act so stupid, or maybe it was just the tired feeling that sunk through her bones and made her want to just curl up in a ball on the couch and rest. She did miss the warmth she had felt before, pressed close to his back, enjoying the calm night and comfort; now the air danced through the always-open widow in her bedroom, and entwined with her fingers and toes, making her shiver slightly.


Tonight had been the first contact with another being that her small frame had felt in a while, and Vic couldn’t deny that the feeling was missed. She did go through a time in her life where the longing was so great that drowning herself in liquor and going home with a stranger wasn’t a strange occurrence. Thankfully, she had matured, and she was happy with herself and her quiet to get through the days and nights. She was definitely an older feline and that made Victoria a little more content with being alone.


Two cups clanked together as Victoria sat them both on the counter next to the kettle. She could tell that, very soon, it would be whistling at her that it was hot, and that she needed to take care of it. It wasn’t until she had put honey in the bottom of both of the cups that she saw which two cups she had chosen. Their art and letterings being probably equally as embarrassing between the two of them.

“So…” The word stifled the quiet little groan that almost escaped her lips. For a moment, Vic glanced up again, but before any other words crossed from Marcus’ lips, it seemed that he had been lost in some type of thought. Either that, or he was awkwardly staring at a single place on the floor because he didn’t really know what to say. Maybe, it was that he didn’t want to speak, he was only trying to be nice and keep the silence at bay. Victoria really couldn’t tell.


Long thin fingers unwrapped tea bags and dropped them into the cups. Usually, Victoria found herself only entertaining a single person—her. So usually, having cups that she thought was cool or snarky wouldn’t have been a problem. Still, as she looked at the black words that contrast the white mug, she couldn’t help worrying that he might thing her a child—or at least a nerd. Still, she wouldn’t waste water washing it—and she sure as hell wouldn’t waste the honey.


"So... what's your story?" The words rang out as thoughtless fingers twisted tiny cotton strings around cup handles. Large brown eyes looked up to the couch again, and she smiled. While the smile reached her lips, the only thing the question seemed to do was rattle her mind and brain. She hadn’t thought up some excuse as to why she was out. She didn’t have a story of her life—at least not one that she really wanted to tell—and especially not a life that a human would understand. Besides…she couldn’t tell him. That wasn’t something you did—and it especially wasn’t something you did when you didn’t know the human. Honestly, besides knowing that his name was Marcus and that he could carry her weight on his back, she really knew nothing. That was something she couldn’t trust.


“There’s not much of a story.” She would keep her cool; a half smirk nonchalantly hanging from her lips. Still, she could say at least a little bit about herself—enough to keep him trusting her, or it would at least keep this bond that they had—whatever you wanted to call it. Victoria wanted anything but him getting angry or vile again. What they had going for them right now was pleasant; she wanted to keep that way until she no longer had to see this human ever again. She just had to keep the conversation going until then…Victoria hoped deep in her heart that at some point, this human would leave and never come back. It wasn’t anything personal, she just had never found a good place with them. They couldn’t be trusted, and they would stab you in the back any chance they got….Really though, who wouldn’t?


“I mean; I’ve lived here all my life. No family and not too many friends.” Vic let out a quiet snort. “Keep to myself mostly.” While she waited, the girl leaned silently upon the counter, looking out into the darkness of the window for a moment. “I work nights—well most nights I guess, and sleep throughout the day.” There was a slight pause as her eyes shifted back down to the two cups. “I come here to sleep, and then I head back out to work again.” The kettle began the shriek throughout the apartment, breaking what little silence there was. The others that had been enjoying themselves somewhere in the complex had probably found their climax already and were sleeping. Quickly, she picked up the kettle, and, began pouring the water.


“There’s not much to me, but, if my instincts serve me well—and they usually do—you’ve got quite a story behind ya; that’s what I want to know.” She smiled—she was already halfway across the living room with their cups. They warmed her cool fingers. She sat down on the couch next to Marcus, making sure that their legs didn’t touch. Although she found herself missing the comfort that came to her when she rested on his back, she wasn’t going to make the mistake of getting too comfortable. She offered the cup to Marcus.

“It’s not espresso, but it’ll warm you up.” Honestly, she didn’t know how she was feeling about this encounter. This had been the wildest, most interesting, and at the same time, confusing night that she had been able to enjoy in a while. Her thoughts and feelings were conflicting with one another and she still wasn’t sure how she had made it from him pointing a gun at her to him sitting beside her on her couch, enjoying tea together. Any other human, she wouldn’t have wanted anything to do with, but now…now of all times, as they sat there battered and still pretty bloody together, she wanted to know about him—a human! How ridiculous! Still, as she took a slow sip of her tea, and the warmth slid down her throat and danced across her chest, and even as confused and awkward as she felt, she didn’t want him to leave yet, and she wasn’t ready for this night to end.

 

[DividesByZer0]

It seemed to Marcus that there was something on Victoria's mind while she brewed tea, some deep contemplation of sorts. He thought maybe she was being nice and trying to figure out how to tell him to get lost, but then again she wouldn't be making tea now would she? Perhaps she recalled what ever it was that happened to them. He only remembered a strange dream about a monster. A dog attacked him, so she said, and she looked pretty banged up herself. However, he had lived with a dog most his life and dogs didn't just go around attacking people like that. It wasn't in their nature and it didn't sound like a dog attack. He wondered what actually happened and if he indeed owed her some kind of Wookiee life debt by the way she looked as if expecting gratitude. Certainly sounds like a con. He figured he'd ask her about it when the time presented itself.


For a moment, he wondered just who she was and why she strolled the streets in the middle of the night all alone on the slums. She wasn't a hooker or a criminal and she certianly didn't live there. It just didn't make sense. Something about her was off and he felt like she was probably hiding something too.


As she peered across the counter to him, she flashed a smile. He thought she looked like a girl with a school yard crush. He fought a laugh and flashed a wide goofy grin. Maybe he felt one too, but he couldn't let that get the best of him. The possiblity that she was less than honest was still there.


Marcus was the type who believed there's an answer to everything. Everything had a purpose and there is no such thing as coincidence; she was there for a reason.


The kettle began to cryout when the flames tickled it's tender belly. Marcus feels a lump in his throat as Victoria got a pair of cups and prepared the tea.


She absent mindedly put honey into both cups before he could tell her he liked it striaght. He huffed ever so slightly out his nostrils in a hint of disappointment. What a waste of perfectly good tea! A crime against tea if there ever was one. Honey was for the cheap stuff. He would hope to god if she ever served him coffee it would be black and 100% Arabica.


"So... what's your story?" He asked her as she dropped the bag in the cups and began to pour. Oh her heart warming smile again, he beamed one back at her. He could tell that not many people would ever be graced with the brillant radiance of her sun scorching smile.


“There’s not much of a story.” She deflected. Not really of a lie, but it wasn't exactly the truth. Marcus became guarded again sensing that she too had thrown up her seige defenses around her seemingly icey heart.


"I see..." He said with a disappointed sigh. That must have been his cue to leave and he was about to stand up until she finally broke the tension.


“I mean; I’ve lived here all my life. No family and not too many friends.” Victoria snorted like a little piglet with her nervous laugh. A smile played at Marcus' lips. “Keep to myself mostly.” She continued as she leaned upon the counter, looking out of the window, and Marcus' eyes and mind wander slightly. He thought Victoria so graceful she couldn't even break wind without arousing jealousy in zephyer himself.


“I work nights—well most nights I guess, and sleep throughout the day. I come here to sleep, and then I head back out to work again.” She told him what he already gathered when he first got here.


“There’s not much to me, but, if my instincts serve me well—and they usually do—you’ve got quite a story behind ya; that’s what I want to know.” She smiled as she approached him with tea in hand.


She sat down on the couch next to him, making sure that their legs didn’t touch in a most awkward display. Marcus thought her strange treating him as if he had cooties. Defiantly with a troll like smile he made a show of raising his knee and nudging hers. He gave her a piggyback ride already why was she 2 steps forward and one step back?


She offered Marcus a cup and he read it thinking them cutesy. Victoria was indeed a delicate fucking flower. He chuckled to himself. Then the cup in his hand caused him to stifle a laugh.





“It’s not espresso, but it’ll warm you up.” She told him.


"So long as its not Amortentia or Veritaserum I think I'll be fine." He dorked out with her hoping she would get a kick out of it.


He took a gulp and fought to taste the tea flavor amidst the honey. Perhaps she was trying to hide the flavor of poison the thought crossed his mind. Well this wasn't such a bad place to die..


"As for my story..." He wondered how much he should tell her, if she would even believe the kind of life he had lived, which might have been plain as day to those who recognized the tell tale signs of his particular skill sets and Jack of all trade knowledge. He was a spook. "There's not much to tell." He smiled back at her. "I'm just a nobody working for more hours than I'm paid trying to ice skate up hill into some comfortable living condition. I'm content no matter what I do its certianly better than..." He trailed off trying not to get ahead of himself. "--better than what I used to do. You could say I've had a couple of odd jobs here and there. Some world traveling. Nothing to glamorous or as exciting as one would expect." He added hastily.


"You ever do some traveling?" He asked trying to take the spot light off himself.

 

[FaithWynters]

The disappointment that she had caught not too long ago seemed to have dissipated into the air and out the window. Victoria wasn’t sure why she was so relieved when she made herself comfortable on the couch, and there was an obvious bump of their knees. As she glanced up, his smirk told her everything, and it was warming for her. The walk home hadn’t just been some gentlemanly thing that Marcus had decided to do. No—there was something else there that was pulling him along. What it was, she wasn’t sure, for she had to keep reminding herself that people always have their own motives for doing things. It didn’t mean much more than the fact that the two were growing a little more comfortable with one another, but still…that was a step.


Then, he said something to her that almost made her spit out the tea—mid sip. Vic had to swallow quickly as to not risk choking. As her lips parted ways from the mug, she couldn’t keep the quiet giggle inside of her. It was another relief, as they sat there, for her to know that he was just as dorky as she was—if not more.


As much as she wanted to quip back at him, she quieted down. She was very interested in what Marcus was made up of, what his memories and life had been like before their meeting. Their walks of life were much different, for Victoria had never found a human that she could relate her experiences to. Surely, he must have been just down on his luck though. For what she had already met of him was funny, intelligent, and charming (although there would be no way in a million moons that she would tell him that). No—these slums were no place for him; this was just a stepping stone to someplace, she could almost be sure of it.


She felt it, as the two travelled down the pathway of his past, when they made it to that brick wall that he wasn’t sure he was willing to help her over. The wall that stopped him slightly in his speech, and she could see the tension in his eyes. Victoria was almost certain that it wasn’t a place that she wanted to go—not with this stranger’s memories and his past. No…She still needed to remember that they would be parting ways soon, and that this would all just be a fond memory in the back of both of their minds. It would be a memory one might remember as they walked in the brisk cold, or when they drank a hot cup of tea with honey. They would remember it in the little things, but it would be nothing more than a flitting image in their minds. She took another sip of her tea, in hopes that it would wash away the itching feeling she did have somewhere in her heart to ask him more. Still, she couldn’t expect much, for she wouldn’t relay much on her end either.


Before she knew it, he had posed her a question. There had been a few moments of silence, as Vicky pulled herself out of her thoughts and realized that it had not been another statement of vagueness, but a question prompted at her. She looked at him for a moment, before she turned her head away once more to look out the dark window. Her thoughtful yet expressionless face was replaced with another smile, and she pulled her feet up onto the couch. This smile was unlike the others, it wasn’t the same happy and carefree smile she had been throwing around all evening.


“Nah.” It was a simple statement that came out in more of a sigh than anything else. “I’ve never actually been out of the city.” An awkward half-laugh escaped into the air. “My schedule doesn’t particularly allow for vacations, or even business trips. Nope, nothing like that.” A quick sip of her tea separated her words, only for a moment. “I’d love to travel though.” She smiled slightly, a giggle once again escaping into the air. “I’ve always wanted to go to Egypt and see the pyramids, though.” Victoria took another sip of her tea. “I bet it’s warm there right now, huh?” She nodded her head in agreement to her own words. Vic moved slightly on the couch, relieving some of the tension that had built up in her side before closing her eyes and leaning her head back slightly on the light brown fabric.


“Name some places you’ve been; you say they weren’t glamorous or exciting, but I bet they were.” Really, she didn’t know how else to continue this conversation, but as the sleepy feeling began to sink into her bones, she just wanted to listen to sounds and enjoy Marcus’ company.

 

[DividesByZer0]

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“Nah. I’ve never actually been out of the city.” Her awkward half-laugh made him smile. He loved how coy she was. A bit of a dork yet something about her so very... Intriguing. “My schedule doesn’t particularly allow for vacations, or even business trips. Nope, nothing like that.” She quickly sipped of her tea as if nervously filling in the gaps of silence between them. He smiled at that, never himself feeling a need to talk. Why can't two people just shut up and enjoy a moment of silence?


“I’d love to travel though.” She smiled and giggled as if nervously. Marcus liked the way she did that. He leaned back and got comfortable. “I’ve always wanted to go to Egypt and see the pyramids, though.” Victoria sipped her tea. “I bet it’s warm there right now, huh?” She nodded her head agreeing to her own words. “Name some places you’ve been; you say they weren’t glamorous or exciting, but I bet they were.”


The pyramids? That's nice Marcus thought to himself. He never really had a desire to travel or see the world. He already had seen the worse that the world had to offer and no desire to find the good. "I've been to..." He tried to think of a way to fulfill her expectations with out letting her know too much. "A few places for business: Taiwan, Germany, Japan." He thought of some nice places he had only been stationed at. He remembered the crazy traffic and the good food.


Then the not so nice places crept into his mind and he monotones the rest. "Romania," He is at an airport getting his clothes stolen by the airport security. They just tried them on right there. It's normal in these shit countries. "I think Afghan, or umm, well, I think some place in the middle east, but I can't be sure nor do I know where it was exactly." His mind flashed to a poppy field and horror he had seen going door to door, kicking them in to fight Russians in an unknown proxy war. "Granada," He remembers crawling through a jungle rifle in hand. Rolling over 3 times to pee and poop to roll over again and cradle his rifle, waiting 2 weeks for the shot. "Rhodesia," He remembers being buried neck deep in the dirt as a prisoner of war and people pissing in his face. Being so thirsty that you hoped it would reach your mouth so you can have a drink.


He shakes his head out of it, out of that place. That was another life. He is here. He is safe. He sips his tea. She is here and that has a soothing effect on his mind. There's just something so therapeutic being around her. Like stroking your pet, it calms the nerves. He decided against going into further details hoping if she did ask it would be about one of the nicer places.


"I mean I've been a lot of places and speaking as someone who has traveled I can honestly say there is no better place in the world than America." He said with confidence. No safer place anyway. Sheeple had not a freaking clue what they took for granted, Africa was hell on earth, let alone the other places. It must be nice living in obliviousness with first world problems sweating homework and the like. There really wasn't a coming back from that. It changes you fundamentally at a deep seated level. He tried to live a normal life, but he could see why so many of his fellow vets fell victim to private military contracts, reenlistment as a lifer, or suicide. Civi life was just so... banal.


"Well, how did you come to Black water?" He deflected. "Born and raised? Parents move you here?" He tried and then sipped his tea nervously.

 

[FaithWynters]

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Victoria could feel the impact of her words before she could see them. The slightest tingle in her skin, the feeling as the muscles in his legs tensed—almost as if they wanted to get up from the couch and walk away from what had come to face them in this moment. She felt it in her stomach, as it curled around itself in protest to the scent that now danced across the room and out of the partially-open window. She wanted to take it back, even if it was just a harmless question.


She just wanted to take it back.


That was still something that she didn’t understand. Why? Why was she doing this to herself? He was a human. Even if she found out all of his life’s secrets, she wouldn’t be able to keep any sort of friendship going. It just didn’t work…Vic had tried and failed many times, and this time would be no different. So, what would be the point in really trying again? Even if she found him interesting, and comfortable…


She had to stop, and remind herself that they had only known each other for less than twenty-four hours. She had to remind herself how they had come to meet, and the circumstances that had brought them to her apartment. “Taiwan, Germany, Japan,” Still, she was pulled in by these places, all stepping stones of his life. Some seemed exciting and fun, although she knew not of what he had done in the places. "Romania, some place in the middle east, Granada," They took small steps down these pathways. Some were smooth and relaxing, but others crumbled beneath their feet, stabbed them mercilessly, and took their breath away. It was a steady rhythm that the words flowed from his lips, but she could sense the emotions that circled around him as they shifted and changed slowly.


Victoria told herself that they were just like each other in some ways. She told herself that she didn’t need to feel sorry for him; he had gotten past those times—although he wouldn’t reveal what those times were. She told herself that she still needed to only worry about herself, and not dwell on things she couldn’t change…And yet, as his words slowed in her mind, she fought the urge to reach her hand out and take his in comfort and apology. She had almost gotten herself to do it too, with her eyes now open, staring quietly at the ground, she moved in the slightest to move in a position where she could grab his fingers, almost in the way that a child might, and let him know that someone was there.


"Well, how did you come to Black water?" She hadn’t moved, and now, she wouldn’t. She just sat there, looking at the dark wood floor. "Born and raised? Parents move you here?" Victoria could guess that this one was a trade. A hard question for another equally hard question. She was willing to take on the challenge, if only for some of her own deep seeded reasons that she wasn’t sure she wanted to shed light on—or even knew herself. It was now only a challenge to decide what all she wanted to show him of herself, and what needed to just stay hidden away in the back of her memories.


Either way, it all began with a slow inhale.


“I don’t actually know…” She let out one more of her nervous laughs to try and lighten the mood. “I haven’t met my parents.” A warming sip of her tea calmed her thoughts and nerves. “I was one of the thousands of ‘children of the system’ that they’ve got here in Blackwater.” That wasn’t completely false. While she didn’t end up in the same homes as the other human children, Victoria was alone just the same. She could remember the whippings by the elder’s for hiding under her bed to read her books of fantasy and adventure while the others were in their lessons. She remembered asking one day where her mother was, and getting only sad looks in return. Memories flooded back to her from all sides, but she smiled through them—even if they tugged at her heartstrings.


“I don’t know where I come from,” She shrugged as if she were brushing it off her shoulder,” but there’s a lot worse that could happen to a person.” Another—and the last—sip pushed away the deepening feeling that was washing over her body. “They actually found me, face down in a storm drain on the other side of the city—at least that’s what the elder’s tell me.” She didn’t want to think about what could be the truth, but that was the only thing she had ever known.


Sadness. This was the first time she had felt so in quite a long time. She had always hidden the thoughts and memories away someplace so she didn’t have to think about how alone she was. She remembered the harsh training to become better, and being the smallest were-cat when she was young. She remembered the fights in the small yard on the roof of the home where they were allowed to play. She remembered never winning those fights. She remembered the cage that wrapped them in, and made sure none of them ran away or jumped. Victoria could feel the cool air on her skin from the nights where she would sit out in that playground as a teenager and cry—Cry because she was becoming stronger than the others in this place, cry because she wanted to have friends, and cry sometimes just because.


“Well,” Vic’s voice cut through the silence that she had allowed to settle around them. “, we both survived, huh?” Pushing herself up off the couch, she walked slowly to the kitchen. She fought the feeling welling up in her chest viciously and without mercy. This would not happen now, nor would it ever happen.


She washed the cup quietly in the sink, using water so hot that it made her hands pink. A glance to the clock on the counter made her sigh quietly. She moved to place the warm mug on the drying rack, only glancing up once to make sure a form was still on the couch.


“It has gotten late hasn’t it?” She walked across the room and toward a door to the side. Victoria could feel the stiffness in her body, but she fought and ignored the limp that came with the pain in her side. She needed to get a shower, and she needed to sleep. Her skin was still sticky with dried blood, and her feet were still dark in places from the dirt of the ground outside of her apartment. It took her a moment, standing still in the doorway, to decide what she was going to say. She couldn’t just kick him out—not after he had helped her get home and provided conversation.


“I’ve got some extra blankets in the closet, if you’d rather just crash here tonight.” Victoria didn’t wait for an answer. She had already decided in her mind that he was staying, even if he wasn’t. She still turned to move into the bedroom. In the corner of the room, with its deep purple bedding and smoke-stained walls, Vic opened the door to the closet. Pulling a single pillow and blanket from the top shelf, she walked back into the doorway, holding them with a smile.


“They aren’t much, but you’re welcome to them.” Victoria made her way across the room again, setting the bedding down on the coffee table. She yawned a quiet and fake little yawn before finding her hands in her hair, attempting to brush through them, and forget the conversation they had had a few moments ago.

 

[DividesByZer0]

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As Marcus listened to Vic's story, really listened he began to paint a picture of the girl in his mind. Who she was from what he had seen so far and where she came from. The more he heard and learned about her the more he wanted to know. She was like this fun puzzle he couldn't get enough of yet couldn't quite figure out. She's a Rubik's cube, a Bucky bubbled lego block of life, spherical spiral of golden multicolored plasma layered hot and cold. She left him in wonder and he lost in a myriad of endless possibilities created amongst the rubble left littered on the remains of a battlefield between effect and causality. Like him, she seemed to live life in a formless form, a state of flux between chaos and order. She is bold yet shy. Friendly yet cautious. Sweet yet sarcastic. Quiet, but when around people, she just can't seem to shut up. She's a walking contradiction in the way that only a woman can be. She cascades the contrast between reality and illusion, a real person yet, not having really met the woman, the "She" that Marcus thought he grew to know only exists in thought and dream.





Who was Victoria? The question plagued his mind with endless possibilities and he smiled at her.


Marcus' hobbies included learning. He knew that was a foreign concept to some people, but he loved to learn everything about everything. The universe is so fascinating. He saw Fibonacci in everything as it makes its evolution towards the perfection of Phi the golden ratio. Who we are and how we came to be... He spent an inordinate amount of time pondering the nature of consciousness. And one day hoped to do something great with his life. Even if it was to touch the life of someone, one person at a time.


Or maybe get super powers, build a robot or time machine, or meet an alien... He smirked as he tried to lighten the mood. He obviously hit a tender spot as her tension grew ever evident in combination with his. Only she could speed up his heart and slow it down at the same time.


He sighed. It was late.


“It has gotten late hasn’t it?” She walked across the room and toward a door to the side.





Perhaps that was his cue to leave. "Yeah." He answered and made his way to the door each step subtly more reluctant than the last. Part of him feared if he walked out that door he would never get to see her again, but it was nice while it lasted. He smiled at her, "Thanks for the tea."





“I’ve got some extra blankets in the closet, if you’d rather just crash here tonight.” Victoria didn’t wait for his answer as she made her way to the closet, pulling out a pillow and blanket and walked back, holding them with a smile. “They aren’t much, but you’re welcome to them.” Then she plopped the bedding down on the coffee table. She yawned and her fingers brushed her hair back.


Marcus looked a tad dumbfounded as this wasn't the reaction he was expecting. "Uh sure." He said hesitantly like an ally cat that secretly wanted to be pet by that nice home owner, but couldn't quite trust due to years of abuse. "Thanks, it is cold and quite a walk back home." He sounded like he tried to convince himself it was a good idea. "And dangerous." He added, not really out of fear, but they had been through something really weird together. Maybe that thing would come back? And him without a weapon he thought. Would she think him a weirdo to sleep with a kitchen knife under the pillow for lack of a gun? The Beatles were right, happiness is a warm gun.





During the night he tried to sleep, but he never could sleep for too long without having nightmares. And now he is a symphony of shivers and his heart chimes like a well worn clock. Loud, consistent and echoing longer than time would like to remember, because the past will always be an open wound and the present will always be that bitter sweet taste between pleasure and the sour tinge of moments turned black from luminescent.





Sharing those memories of the days he gave himself away to the unfaithful lover of the government still leaves a sick taste in the back of his throat and pulls at his neck like a noose. He thought himself lucky that he slowly learned how to untie that rope before he erased himself. We are own our worst enemies the suicide bomber lives in us all cause in the end we would all die for love, for the longing to be touched, coerced, and etched into someone else’s memory, like breath on a day you would swear your heart broke a thousand times and made holes in your skin that will never heal. Because the truth is learning to give ourselves away is what society wants us to do. Teaches us to defer to authority to the women in our lives who’d rather side step holding hands and instead hold knives, and ain't it funny that we sing songs to plagues to baby’s rocked out of cradles as if they are celebrations of beauty?


sick sick sick


tick tick tick


His mind won't shut off and give him sleep; those small slices of death... and so the story unfurls and we keep unraveling our hearts in the hope that somewhere someday someone will stick around long enough to traces its curves and remember the places where it hurts and aches and begs for just one more finger, one more caress, one more touch to make you remember that sometimes it’s better to shiver together than stand out in the cold with a street sign in your eyes that says: detour...


When all you really wanted on that first day you stepped out off the curb was to hold up the sign in your heart that says:


Prepare to stop.

 

[FaithWynters]

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It was only a few more moments that she sat there, looking around the room and making sure that everything was in the place it needed to be. Slowly, mental ticks kept track of everything in the room. It was a natural response for her, to keep herself and her home safe. A slow breath escaped from Victoria’s lips, and, as her lungs felt as if they’d deflated to the point where she can’t let out anything else, she picked herself up from the couch.


She knew that it would be a walk for him, but still, there was the part of her mind who knew she had to be careful. This was not the first time a human had kept place in her home—although these occurrences were on much different terms—and yet, she still went through some of the same motions. Vic had gotten things stolen from her before, and she was about to make sure that didn’t happen again.


“Well, try to sleep well. I know the couch isn’t much.” She shot him a sideways smile as she walked back to the kitchen. She picked up the small prayer book from the counter—no human needed to know about the prayers of the were, and his meddling didn’t need to find himself reading up on the teachings of her people. Victoria gripped the leather book in between strong fingers. The smooth and worn leather was soothing against her skin.


She’d made it across the room as quickly as her legs would take her. A jerk on the front door told her that it was locked, and she’d made it in her room before she knew what exactly she should say to him. Was that enough of a goodbye? Everything felt very strange to her. She argued with herself for a moment, before she turned back; her hand still placed on the doorframe to her bedroom.


“Goodnight Marcus.” Victoria’s voice is soaked up by the walls as she turns away from the man who had made the night so memorable. She didn’t wait for a response, she simply walked into the room and closed the door. There was a moment where Victoria stood in the silence, just listening to the sounds of her heartbeat. There is nothing else; it is silent.


She moved herself toward the dresser on the other side of the room. It always sat silently and alone on the barren wall with its cracked and yellowing paint. When Victoria came to face it, small little flakes of paint rest on the top of the wooden dresser that she’s had so long in the little apartment that she couldn’t even remember who gave it to her or what dumpster she pulled it out of. With her empty hand, Vic brushed off its top, and the little flakes dance like snow to the floor in their own silent limbo.


She replaced the displaced snow with the leather book. Peeling the cover back and picking a random page, Victoria began to read. She needed the comfort and guidance that her little brown book could provide for her.

Be strong in his word and in the word of your people, for they will never abandon you. In my power, you path has been cobbled, and you are not alone. For you will find others along your journey that provide hope in the darkest and unexpected of places.

She let out the quietest of snorts, removing her hand and letting it close with the quietest of thumps. She pulled out the topmost drawer to the dresser, picked out clothing to sleep in, and made her way to the bathroom.


Victoria had expected to not look the greatest, but when she looked at herself in the cloudy mirror, she was a little surprised—she looked as if she had been hit by a semi. Still, she cut on water and peeled off her clothes, one bit at a time. Her body fought against her, but with each piece gone, her muscles loosened and relaxed. She had found herself in the place many times. Blindly, she reached for the little brown bottle under the sink. Mercilessly, the peroxide bubbled in the cuts and bites. They were tender, but they had since stopped bleeding, which was a step in the right direction. She was already starting to feel better, and knew the steam would help her relax even more. Victoria didn’t hesitate as she stepped into the hot shower. Long ago, some tiles had fallen off the wall, which left some places looking like patches of brown mud had just dried on the wall there. Still, a shower was a shower, and Victoria had definitely showered in worse.


Victoria was alone with her thoughts now and all the memories that she would have preferred never surface again for the rest of her life. The feelings welled up inside of her without any hesitation as if the hot water had stripped her heart and mind of the only armor they had left anymore. It was the only place of weakness there was, and with every breath she tried to fight off the memories.


Girls pouring bleach in her bottle of shampoo. Having to run 10 miles every morning before breakfast with legs like jelly and burning lungs, just to prove that you could run off of nothing if you had to. Fighting for your life every time one of the girls unexpectedly got caught in their moon cycle. Making your own friends because the real children around you didn’t want to have anything to do with you.


Hot water ran down her face and into her eyes, washing away the tears and the quiet sobs. Her head was pressed into her knees and she found herself sitting on the floor of the bathtub. This hadn’t happened in a while; she hadn’t cried, and yet, somehow, some simple human could bring it all out of her like this. Victoria couldn’t help but think about Marcus, and remember the way his body tensed when he thought of his own memories. Could a human go through something that horrible? In their blissful ignorance that they were the only dangerous thing on this planet besides the elements, could they have memories that shocked the senses and took their breath away? It was something that Victoria had never even thought about before this moment. She sat in the bathtub, water running down her spine and toward the drain, until the water ran cold and she was shaking, just trying to find the answer to her questions somewhere in her thoughts.


And when Victoria’s eyes opened again, the warmth of her bed was all she felt. She didn’t remember getting there, but as the sun shot through the curtainless window and blinded her, she remembered not of how she got here, and hoped that all of what she could remember had been some strange dream. While she couldn’t make certain of that, she knew that it was time to get up.

 

[DividesByZer0]

"Yo! Snap out of it!" A voice gently called to Marcus looks around. It's not Victoria is in the dark room as she is in the shower which is had been running for the past half hour.


The image of a dark figure comes into focus as Marcus' eyes veer upward for a better field of view. Someone has invited themself in.


"I'm out here, sleepy head!" It's Alexa, his handler from another life time, spinning on a booted heel and climbing out to the fire escape. "Try a little less sleep and more reality. You spend too much time sleeping in the company of strangers," She says.


Marcus gets up flips on his ear phones and says, "I've already had more reality than I can handle." The melodious sounds of a singer and old legato 88 piano come on his earbuds through his cell.


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"Roland called me. He was tired of waiting and he said he has a job for ya. It's big enough for him to fly here from DC." Alexa said.


"What do you mean?" Marcus yawned slipped off the couch ever so sluggishly.


"Just hurry up we don't have a lot of time Roland will explain at the rendezvous."


As Marcus climbed up the fire escape to the roof with Alexa they approach the vast skyline of the city and over look the street while they walk from roof top to roof top in the city. Towards where the meeting is to take place, the solid felicitous quality of the street lights attracts gangsters like food crumbs draw cockroaches.


When they get closer to the overpass, it becomes a lost cause trying to go to street level, which are so thick with degenerates and night traffic. It would be like putting on crampons and trying to walk through a room full of puppies. They have to nose their way along the roof tops ignoring the sirens and flashing lights of the city.


Finally, they catch a glimpse in the distance of his own apartment building that constitutes the stage for today's briefing. "Oh, still keeping tabs on me?"


"Once you're part of the company you're never truly out." She answered cryptically.


There's a non-sequitur that has been nibbling on the edges of Marcus' mind for the last ten minutes: Laser light has a particular kind of gritty intensity, a molecular purity reflecting its origins. Your eye notices this, somehow knows that it's unnatural. It stands out anywhere, but especially in the spire under a dirty overpass in the middle of the night.


He keeps getting flashes of it in his peripheral vision, keeps glancing over to track down it's source. It's obvious to him and Alexa, but no one else seems to notice. Someone in that overpass, somewhere, is bouncing a laser beam off his face.


It 's annoying. Without being too obvious about it, they change direction and make their way down a fire escape to street level, and wander over to a point down wind of a trash fire that's burning in a steel drum. Now he's standing in the middle of a plume of diluted smoke that he can smell but can't quite see.


But the next time the laser darts into his face, it scatters off a million tiny, ashy particulates and reveals itself as a pure geometric line in space, pointing straight back to its source.


It's a watcher, standing in the dimness next to a shanty. Just in case he's not already conspicuous enough, he's wearing a rig. Watchers represent the embarrassing side of Intelligence. Instead of using computers, phones, and com-links, they wear their computers on and in their bodies, broken in a separate modules that hang on the waist, on the back, and in head. They serve as human surveillance devices recording everything that happens around them.


Nothing looks stupider these get-ups are the modern-day equivalent of the slide-rule scabbard or the calculator pouch on the belt, marking the user as belonging to a class that is at once above and far below human society.


They are a boon to Alexa because they embody the worst stereotype of intelligence stringer. They draw all of the attention. The payoff for this self-imposed ostracism is that you can be in the net all the time, and gather intelligence all the time.


Intelligence brass can't stand these guys because they upload staggering quantities of useless information to the database, on the off chance that some of it will eventually be useful. It's like writing down the license number of every car you see on your way to work each morning, just in case one of them will be involved in a hit-and-run accident. Even the database can only hold so much garbage. So, usually, these habitual watcher gets kicked out before too long.


This guy hasn't been kicked out yet. And to judge from the quality of his equipment-which is very expensive-he's been at it for a while. So he must be pretty good. If so, what's he doing hanging around this place?


"Alexa Snow..." The watcher says as, Alexa and Marcus tracked him down on the darkness beside a shanty. "And... Marcus Knight; ...Central Intelligence stringer for eleven months. Specializing in industry, former hacker, security guard, pizza deliverer, concert promoter and military drug smuggler. Good work in Afghanistan, you should be proud son." He sort of mumbles it, not wanting Alexa or Marcus to waste his time reciting a bunch of known facts.


The laser that kept jabbing Marcus in the eye shot out of the guy's contact lens camera, military grade and not as clunky as the Sony consumer model, it sends data to a peripheral device that sits above his his belt in the middle of his navel. A long-range retinal scanner. If you turn towards him with your eyes open the laser of his lens shoots out penetrates your iris, tenderest of sphincters, and scans your retina. The results are shot back to Humint which has a database several tens of millions of scanned retinas. Within a few minutes if you were in the database already, the owner finds out who you are, if you're not already in a database, well, you are now.


Of course, the user has to have access privileges. And once he gets her identity he has to have more access privileges to find out personal information about you. This guy apparently has a lot of access privileges. A lot more than Marcus.


"Watcher 3." He says.


Marcus considers asking him what the hell he's doing here, but he's pissed off. Watcher 3 is being rude to him (watchers are rude by definition).


"You here on that Roland thing? or just that fuzzy M.Knight tip you've been working on for the last, uh, 36 days approximately?" Watcher 3 says to Alexa disregarding Marcus like a sack of potatoes.


Watchers are no fun to talk to. They never finish a sentence. They are a drift in a internet world, scanning retinas in all directions, doing background checks on everyone within a thousand yards, seeing everything in visual light, infrared, ultra violet, millimeter-wave radar, and ultrasound all at once. You think they're talking to you, but they are actually pouring over the credit record of some stranger on the other side of the room, or identifying the make and model of airships flying overhead for all she knows, watcher 3 is standing there measuring the size of Alexa's breasts through her clothes while they pretend to make conversation.


"You're the guy working with Roland?" She asked.


"Or he is working with me. Or something like that."


"Alexa said she wanted me to meet Roland. Says he has a job for us. Where is he?"


For several seconds watcher 3 is frozen. He is ransacking more data. Marcus wants to throw a bucket of water on him.


Just then Roland pulls up to the shanty on a motorcycle. "Late as always." Alexa says.


"Yeah, yeah." Roland pulled off his helmet.


Alexa has a big smile. She's obviously happy to see him. "It's been a long time since the crew was back together."


"Too long." Roland said.


"Makes sense." The watcher finally breaks his silence and continues as if nothing had happened, "You're as familiar with net as anyone. Freelance hacker--that's exactly right."


"Exactly right for what? No one wants freelance hackers anymore." Marcus answered.


"The college grad, corporate assembly-line hackers are suckers for defection. They're going to out by the thousands, just like Edward Snowden in the war against privacy." Says watcher 3 almost mockingly as if there where still such a thing as privacy this day in age.


"defection? Before the war?" Marcus was confused.


"And you can defend yourself in Reality, too--that'll be good if you ever go up against our new enemies. Remember their fangs are as sharp as a molecule wide blade. They''ll go into a bullet proof jacket like lingerie."


"Come again?" Marcus is perplexed.


'You'll probably see one tonight. Don’t mess with it."


"Okay," Marcus says slightly annoyed. "I'll look out for it."


"That's not what I said," Watcher 3 says, "I said, don't mess with it."


"Why not?"


"It's a dangerous world," Watcher 3 says. "getting more dangerous all the time. So we don't want to upset the balance of terror. Just think about the great war."


"Yup." All Marcus wants to do now is walk away and never see this guy again, but he won't wind up the conversation. "Roland why am I here?" He tried to get an answer.


"You're a hacker. That means you have neuro-structures to worry about too." Watcher 3 continued after Roland told him to let the watcher finish.


"Neuro-structures?"


"Neuro-linguistic path ways in your brain. Remember the first time you learned binary code?"


"Sure."


"You were forming pathways in your brain. Deep structures. Your nerves grow new connections as you use them--the axons split and push their way between the dividing glial cells--your bio-works self-modifies--the software becomes part of the hardware. So now you're vulnerable, all hackers are vulnerable, to the virus. We have to look out for each other."


"What's that and why am I vulnerable to it?"


"Just don't let anyone scratch or bite you. Anyone try to do that to you lately?"


Interesting. "Now that you mention it, I was attacked by a dog or something 4 or 5 hours ago. I never thought a bite would lead to mind control."


"There are very old beings and a cult who worships them that learned to spread the disease of their mind domination through the vector of your human blood and sharp mind. Which is synonymous with evil of sorts. Sounds melodramatic? Not really. You know, to the Ancient Sumerians, there was no independent concept of evil. Just disease and ill health. Evil was a synonym for disease. So what does that tell you?"


Marcus walks away, with Alexa and Roland not following, the same way Marcus walks away from psychotic street people who follow him down the street.


"It tells you its a virus! He is taking over Central Intelligence command. We have to wipe them all from the face of the Earth! The only good one is a dead one!" Watcher 3 calls after him. "Don't let the virus into your operating system!"


.............................


Marcus makes his way back up the fire escape to Victoria's room. He wasn't sure why. Normally he would have went home but for some reason he thought it would be rude if she was expecting him to be there in the morning. Coming up into the window he hears clawing and strange noises from her room. It sounds like she's in trouble, a solid thump and a sound of fabric tearing he is worried enough to kick in the door.


She's laying there naked upon her bed, her room is completely trashed. "I..." He doesn't know whether he should leave or offer help.


"Are you ok?" He asked with a perplexed look.

 

[FaithWynters]

​

Victoria’s small body was still pulled together on itself in the floor of the shower. The water was freezing and goosebumps danced up and down her bare skin. There was a shifting from inside of her; it was a pressure that told her everything. How long had she been in the floor of this tub? Honestly, there was no telling how long it took the young woman to finally stumble out of the shower. Some things were still blurry to her; she remembered an empty couch cast in shadows and alone, but for some reason, she couldn’t remember ever turning off the water in the shower. She remembered feeling almost sad that Marcus was gone, but there was part of her that wasn’t surprised. Victoria could not deny that the one part of her that had been looking forward to waking up the next morning with Marcus there.


Loneliness was a strange feeling. It was so easy to be contempt with being alone. It was easy to walk down the street every single night and listen to the sound of other’s conversations from afar. It was easy to call them silly for getting so wrapped up in social endeavors like dates and parties and “Netflix and Chill”ing with guys that they met online. For Victoria, it had been a happy place to be in life. She could get wrapped up in her work, not socialize with those that were unneeded, and continue helping the clan as was her job. It was a blow to realize that there was something better. Someone else being there was definitely a source of annoyances and stress, but they could also provide something that Vic had been missing in her life. She went to bars, had a drink or two, took in the surroundings, and went home on the rare occasion, but just knowing that there was someone that you could connect to… Honestly, they had known each other for less than twenty-four hours, and yet she found herself disappointed in his disappearance. Vic could not deny that she had been formulating her own little course of actions for what might happen the next morning in case that she needed to have better answers—less painful answers—for Marcus’ tough questions. Still, Victoria was ready and willing to answer them. Marcus had somehow become a dim beacon of hope. Yes, she didn’t expect him to stay around; it was just expected that they would part ways after tomorrow and probably never talk again. Still, he provided the realization to Vic that being social wasn’t always a bad thing. Still, she had hoped that he might stick around—even if it went against everything her mind was telling her was good and bad. Realizing that she was going to be alone again pushed her even closer to her breaking point.


Victoria couldn’t recall how she had made it out of the building. She did find it odd when she made it to the front door, it was securely locked. Vic didn’t have time to question it, but she did wonder how he could have locked it when he left. It was certain that she hadn’t locked the it behind her. In times like these, nothing could be brought with; for it would be lost to the grunge of the city and she would never be able to find it. The next thing she remembered was the cool night air chilling her still-damp skin, and the freezing concrete beneath bare feet. At this point, she was still in control. The street had lost much of its life since it had last been seen. As she walked down the broken sidewalk, past the corpse of a dismembered baby doll and a tossed away trashcan, Victoria could remember the sound of something breaking within the dark depths of an alleyway. She remembered all too clearly the smell of piss and garbage combining together to remind her that we she was still here; her consciousness was still in Blackwater Creek. Not yet had she lost herself. The world was trying to bring her out of this situation by keeping her in this dark and dirty reality. Vic could feel and hear and smell, and that allowed her to hold on a little bit longer. Reality would never be enough though.


Over the years, Vic had grown accustomed to losing all sense of freedom. It was and incredibly out of body experience to transform like she did. It was like being able to see and hear and feel everything, and yet, each action and movement was controlled by something you couldn’t see. It was knowing that everything that was going to happen was your fault. It was like being tied down to a chair and watching your body do whatever it wanted. Begging and pleading didn’t make the episodes draw to an end, and instead, the extra tension almost seemed to elongate them. You were trapped by the monster inside, and there was no escape.


It was painful for the first half an hour it took for her to change. If Victoria could remain calm, the pain wasn’t as intense as it would be if she just forced herself. She didn’t even remember where she had finally collapsed from being unable to handle it. It had to have been pretty far away from the apartment; Vic had been walking for quite a while. The feeling of her skin ripping away from flesh and bone made her see white and let out a soft whimper into the frost-covered grass beneath her. White soon turned into black, and she was no longer in control.[


From that point on, there wasn’t much Victoria could really remember. By the swift cold breeze coming through the window, she assumed that her form had scaled the side of the building to get back inside at some point. It wouldn’t have been the first time that had been the choice way of returning home. This usually resulted in loud noises that shook the apartment while she was transforming back. That usually resulted in passive aggressive notes left on her door or being reported to the manager the following morning.


It was sometime after this point that small flashes of the night had begun to surface as she lay in bed. At first, she could only tell by the exhaustion that seemed to pull on her eyelids and the tightness in her muscles of what had happened. The only problem with transforming back in her home was her room always ended up being a mess when the transformation was finally complete. As she picked her head slightly up from the pillow, she could see the shape her room was in. The dresser that sat against the wall had been pushed over on its side; the top drawer was pulled out and sitting about three feet away from the rest. Her underwear, having been strewn across the floor from the drawer, seemed to be the casualties of some unknown war. Obviously, she had tried to dress herself while still morphed and failed miserably—Victoria found herself stark in bed now. The prayer book that had been sitting atop was sitting open in front of the door. Victoria stopped looking around; knowing she would have to clean up later, Vic opted to not worry about it right now. Grabbing the thin sheet that was laying ripped on the bed, she pulled it around her body. As Victoria pulled it , she heard it rip again, breaking the silence once more. She was naked, but that was normal for the night she had just had. So, the cool breeze that drifted through the open window gave her goosebumps and she needed what little bit of the sheet was left to warm her. For now, she just wanted to sleep off what had happened.


She was so groggy at this point that she hadn’t heard the harsh footsteps across the hardwood in the living room. There was absolutely no time between when she closed her eyes and when she heard the door being kicked open. She didn’t know what it was at first; she could hear the sound of wood cracking and splintering, but there was nothing more.


She was lucky that the person trying to break into the room wasn’t someone looking to do her harm because her reaction time was lacking this morning. She picked herself up again, her eyes only halfway opening to look toward the door. There was probably no way for her to be fast at this point; her body was completely exhausted.


“I…” It was then that she realized who the figure was that was still standing in the doorway.


“Marcus?” Her voice was one of sleepy confusion. Honestly, she had assumed that Marcus was still gone. Why would he come back after leaving last night? What had he done when he left if he had decided to return? She honestly couldn’t formulate an opinion at this point. Either way, Marcus was there. The instant sinking feeling in Victoria’s stomach wasn’t pleasant. He had probably heard her transforming in the room just before and came in worried about her. Instinctively, she pulled the sheet tighter against her body.


“Are you ok?” Vic rubbed her eyes. She really didn’t know what to say. Was she okay? Kinda. Her bedroom was completely trashed and she had no explanation for what had happened. Great…He’s going to think that you’re crazy now. If Victoria had been thinking clearly, this might not have been her first thought. She might have asked herself exactly what her life had turned into, or why he came back to her apartment, but never in her life would she expect to worry about what a human thought of her. It was obvious that things were different now.


Vic put her head in her hands, rubbing her eyes to try and fight the exhausted feeling that washed over her. No matter how exhausted she became, her mind was already trying to formulate a lie that might keep him from just storming out of the apartment. She really wasn’t in the mood to be called a freak right now. She let out a quiet groan, and let herself fall back on the bed again.


“What happened?” She prayed to her gods that she would be able to convince him. “I remember being in the shower last night, but I don’t…” She trailed off, picking herself up again to look at him. “I don’t remember anything after that.” Her voice was calm and soft against the silence around her. Victoria had to play this up without seeming too unbelievable. She looked down at the tatters of sheet on her body. It was just enough fabric to cover the parts of her body that mattered. She could see her bruised stomach through a huge rip. It was now that it hit her—she was sitting here, basically naked in front of him.


Almost instantly, Victoria’s cheeks flushed a deep shade of pink; she refused to look up from where he eyes had fallen on the hardwood floor at Marcus’ feet. She was just so tired and so out of it, that something incredible happened. She let out the softest and most worried noises as she lifted her eyes to the rest of the room. To her right, the nightstand had been tipped over and the lamp it had housed had its bulb shattered all over the floor. There were little glass pieces everywhere.


“Marcus…What happened?” Her voice was still quiet and dead calm with the slightest of wavers. She repeated her question, tears slowly welling up in her eyes. She didn’t know what else to do that might make this believable. Crying was not her thing; never in a million years would she actually let herself cry in front of someone like this. She was strong and hardheaded as hell. Maybe, those qualities would make this more believable than anything else she could have done. Truly, it was Victoria's only hope at this point.