Neo's Home For Words

Tue, 15 Sep 2009 02:43:00 GMT

R.I.P. Patrick Swazye.

Happiness Is a Warm Gun, 2/?

Tue, 14 Jul 2009 04:09:14 GMT

Title: Happiness Is a Warm Gun
Fandom: Death Sentence
Characters: The whole gang, plus a few OCs
Rated: R, for the usual suspects
Chapters: 2/?
Word Count: ~4,440
Disclaimer: Don't own Death Sentence or any of the characters associated with the movie and the novel it was based on. Anyone else you see is mine.
Summary: There were just some things, some people that had a gravitational pull. Like black holes. When it came to Billy Darley, he was supermassive. And once you fell past his event horizon, there was no being saved.

A/N:There are going to be quite a few terms (mostly gang related) thrown around in this fic, so I've started marking the ones that might not be familiar to some readers with numbers. The definitions can be found at the end of chapter footnotes.
And as always, feedback is welcomed and loved.

Chapter 2

C10H15N.[1] Those were the elements of his life.

Billy peeled out the the parking lot, ignoring the industrial sized bottles of drain cleaner, alcohol, and lye that tipped over in the back of the van. He had one hand on the steering wheel while the other dug in his jacket pockets for his vibrating phone.

He had too much on his mind. Numbers and measurements, chemical balances and ratios. Bones breathing down his neck for crystals that rivaled what the Chinese where bringing in. And now this shit with Fairburn. He finally pulled out the phone, sniffing through his nose that hadn't been the same since he started cooking drugs and inhaling all the fumes.

"What?" He answered, not bothering to look at the caller ID. There was a cacophony of sound coming through the other end and he squinted his eyes as he tried to make out who was speaking.

"Billy, we got a problem!"

"No shit?" He snorted, wedging the phone between his ear and his shoulder so he could light a cigarette. "Where the fuck are you, Bodie?"

"I was heading back the The Kitchen. But when I pulled up into Pine I saw all these fucking fire trucks. The shit's gone, man. Up in smoke."

"What the fuck you going on about?" He eased off the gas some and turned down the radio so he could hear better.

"The Kitchen. It's gone. Burning." Bodie answered. "Half the fucking street is on fire. I can see it from three blocks away."

Billy ground his teeth together, flattening the filter in his mouth as he made a quick U-turn before pulling into a 7-Eleven, tires squealing on the pavement. A middle aged man pumping gas gave him a disapproving look as he parked the van next to the air pumps and he glared back at him until he turned back to his car.

"Who the hell was on guard tonight?"

"TG." Bodie said. "And I haven't seen or heard from him. Hope the little shit wasn't in that house when it was lit up."

He exhaled, blowing twin streams of smoke out through his nostrils. "Get out of there and round up the boys. Meet me at my place in thirty. And you better not be fucking late."

"Okay dawg." There was a pause, "You know what the hell is going on?"

A drive by and their lab going up in flames all in one night. He had a pretty damn good idea. "Just get to the apartment. I'll fill you in there."

He hung up before he could get a response, tossing the phone onto the passenger seat with a scowl. He turned off the engine and got out, the rubber soles of his engineer boots thumping against the oil slicked ground as he headed for the convenience store. The guy that had been eyeing him a few seconds ago had his back to him as he passed, waiting for a receipt. Billy took one last drag from his cigarette before tossing it into the open sun roof of his Audi.

He nodded at the chick behind the counter when he entered, bypassing the aisles of junk food and and headed straight for the coffee machine. Movements jerky with anger and lack of sleep, he filled up the largest cup he could find. Not bothering with a cream or sugar he grabbed a lid and took a sip, burning his tongue a little as he walked back to the front. The girl eyed him wearily as she rung him up, smacking on a piece of gum in a way that made her look like a cow. He reached in his pocket for his wallet after another sip, pulling out the smallest bill he could find.

She looked at the fifty with a sigh and flicked a blue lock over her shoulder. "I can't make change for that."

He narrowed his eyes. "You're fucking joking, right?"

She shrugged and pointed to a sign tapped to the bullet proof glass separating. 'No Bills Larger Then $20 Before 10 am.'

He shoved the money through the slot. "Keep the change. Maybe do something with that fucking mess you call hair."

She sputtered some insult at him as he headed out the door and walked back to the van. It took four tries for the engine to turn over and he cursed the whole time before it finally caught. It had become a recurring problem the past few days and would only get worse as the weather got colder. He'd have to get under the hood eventually to suss out the problem but that would mean spending time at the body shop. He didn't plan on being within a couple hundred feet of his father for more then a few minutes until it became absolutely necessary. As long as the van started at got him to where he needed to go, it wasn't a pressing matter.

He turned the radio back up, flipping through the stations until he found one that didn't have annoying early morning hosts yapping off at the mouth. The classic rock station was playing Aerosmith, which did little to settle his nerves. He took another sip of coffee before stuffing it in a cup holder and pulling out of the gas station.

The old Ford ate up the road as he sporadically clenched his jaw. The air blowing through the window was cool and moist, the kind that smelt like pre-dawn. He figured the sun would be up in another hour or so, and once again he'd be awake to see it. Eyes bloodshot and gritty, hands shaking from too much caffeine, and that familiar pain behind his forehead throbbing with every heartbeat. There had been too many nights, or mornings (or what-the-fuck-ever) like that lately. He couldn't even remember that last time he gotten a decent amount of sleep. Over the summer was a pretty good guess, when he'd drank damn near a fifth of Jack at a cookout. Heco's cousin, Lucinda, had dragged him to a back room and they spent most of the night and early morning hours sweating out the alcohol and making an impressive imprint of the headboard in the wall before he finally passed out and didn't wake up until almost a day later.

He smirked at the memory while running a red light and ignoring the angry honking of a bakery truck driver that had to swerve to avoid a collision. That had been a good weekend, until Bones found him and dragged him out the bed. He didn't go into one of his usual demeaning, abusive tirades. Instead he hauled him to his feet only to knock him off of them with one meaty fist to his nose, ordering him to get back to work. Billy was lucky the hit didn't break anything. But the cut Bones' ring made bled for almost any hour before he took the nail glue Lucinda offered and sealed it shut.

He thumbed the still raw scar the wound left behind as he pulled into a parking space at the apartment complex, turning off the engine just as Hendrix's cover of 'All Along the Watchtower' came through the speakers, assuring him there must be a way out.

"You might be right Jimi, but forgive me if I don't take your advice." He muttered to himself as he grabbed his cell and climbed out the van with the duffle bag in hand. "You choked on your own fucking vomit and died. So your way out of here isn't exactly the exit I'm looking for."

Bodie was waiting for him a little ways down by the Mustang, hands stuffed in the pockets of the dark hoodie he was wearing. He lifted his head up in greeting as he walked over, checking over the car for any new damage.

"She's fine." Bodie huffed. "I even filled the tank up."

"Good." He said. "Everybody inside?"

"Almost. Tommy's old lady fell down the stairs last night and broke a hip or something. He's still at the hospital with her."

"That old broad needs to kick the bucket already." He tossed the bag at his chest and Bodie caught it with a small grunt and a frown. "Come on."

He started for the apartment and after a few seconds he could hear the scuff of Bodie's sneakers as he followed him. The front door was unlocked when they got to the top of the stairs and he frowned as he walked in, seeing the crowd that had amassed in his sorry excuse for a living room. He gave them a cursory glance before rounding the corner of the breakfast bar into the kitchen and pulling a beer out of the fridge.

"Find something to do, Joe." He ordered as he walked towards the only empty chair in the room.

"I am doing something." Joe protested with a slight whine as he held up the game controller.

Billy shot him a glare. He had little patients for teenagers and Joe needed to grow out of his unnecessarily defiant stage quick because brother or not, he'd still kick his ass.

"Find something to do in another room, Joe." He reiterated, voice low and eyes narrowed. Joe scowled and threw the controller on the coffee table before getting up and stalking down the hall. His anger would have been more effective if he wasn't still in his boxers, showing off knobby knees and skinny ankles.

"Boy needs to drink some protein shakes or something." Baggy muttered as he moved from the armrest of the couch to the now empty seat. "Ain't never gonna be able to survive a beat in[2] if he doesn't put on some pounds."

"Fuck it, we got more important things to be worried about." Billy said as fished his lighter out of a pocket and used it to pop the cap off the bottle in his hand. If he had his way Joe wouldn't have any part of the gang. But the kid was fifteen now and Bones was making it quite clear that it was past time for him to really start getting involved in the 'family business.' And Joe was only too eager to agree.

He took a swallow of beer while looking at the five other men in the room. The RB was only a small fraction of his fathers empire, but he liked to keep mum about it. Didn't want just anyone on the street to know how deep his roots on the crime tree went. He allowed Billy to have complete control of the crew as along as he had complete control of the money they brought in. Which was fine for both of them when the selling was good and nobody caused any trouble.

They had trouble now, though. And if his gut feeling was right (which it almost always was) it went a lot deeper then it looked. He and Fairburn's leader, Mack, had a history. It was shaky at best but they came from the same streets and messed up backgrounds and survived, which automatically bred mutual respect. If it was corners they wanted, Mack would have enough sense to negotiate for them instead of spilling blood. But if a RB member had caused a problem...

"So which one of you assholes pissed off Mack enough for him to torch the lab and shoot up one of our corners?" He asked finally, leaning forward in his seat so that his elbows rested on his knees, the neck of the bottle clenched between two knuckles.

He wasn't expecting an answer right away. There were a lot of people involved in their operation and he knew them all, but didn't always interact with them. There was a good chance that someone lower in the order of things was responsible for the whole mess and hadn't owned up to it. That was easy to deal with. But if it was one of the OGs[3] in the room, a veteran like himself, then no good was going to come of a solution. He trusted these men. Had grown up with them, bleed with them, killed with them. He didn't like it when he had to make an example out of one of them. If the loss of the lab and Perry's death was one of their fault, the punishment would have to be harsh. As in 'body never being found' harsh. Bones wouldn't be satisfied any other way.

They exchanged looks with each other, no one speaking either out of innocence or fear of being guilty. Billy took another sip of his beer after watching for something other then confusion and weariness on their faces. He knew his boys and could tell when they were lying or hiding something.

"So," he said finally, "I take it that none of you are responsible for what happened."

It wasn't a question but they responded anyway with shaking heads and a few muttered negatives. His eyes flicked to Bodie who was leaning against the wall by the television with one foot propped up behind him.

"There was a drive-by on our corner at West and Ninth. That's how Perry got popped. Your sister thinks Chuey probably got pulled in by the cops after he bounced."

Bodie started. "Shit, Lady was there? Where's she at, Billy? She alright?" He pushed away from the wall.

"She's sleeping in the back. Just banged up her wrist and scratched her face a little."

Bodie made as if to go down the hall and Billy shook his head. "Hey, let her rest. I need you in here so we can take care of this clusterfuck. And she doesn't need to be involved."

Bodie scowled, opened his mouth as if to protest then closed it just as quickly. Taking a deep breath he nodded and settled back against the wall.

"How does Fairburn come into this?" Heco asked, running a hand across his recently shaved head. "I get that somebody's trying to send a message, but it could be any of the those fucks that don't like how we do business. B-Street's been itching for retaliation ever since we put Big Tony in a wheelchair."

Billy leaned back in his chair. "Ladybug said it was Mack's Crown Vic."

"We did relieve him of some prime real estate when we took those corners." Baggy added. "If I were him, the first thing on my list would be making sure there's nothing to sell on the spots I want back. Burning the lab makes that as good as done."

"And the drive-by?" Spink asked as he lit a cigarette. "That's not really Mack's style. He'd rather stick us where it hurts. Putting holes in a few pushers ain't enough. Guys like Perry are at the bottom of the food chain. Expendable and easy to replace."

"He's right." Bodie nodded. "Mack wouldn't take the risk of getting caught unless he was taking out someone important. One of us, maybe."

"Where the fuck does that leave us, boys?" Billy sniffed. "Shit's got Fairburn written all over it."

"Don't feel right." Dog spoke up for the first time. "All we know for sure is someone's gunning for us. We shouldn't do nothing drastic 'till we know what the hell is going on."

"So we do nothing?" Baggy asked, clearly agitated. "Just sit here with our thumbs up our asses waiting for the next move?"

Billy sat his beer down on the table. "No. We get people to start talking. What's that bird's name that works down at the precinct? The secretary?" He looked in Spink's direction

"Angela," He supplied for him.

"Yeah. Pay her a visit. Tell her to keep an ear open about The Kitchen. I need to know how much was lost and who they're looking to pin it on. If she even thinks the cops are looking our way I want a call. You got that?"

"Sure Billy." He nodded.

"Heco and Baggy, I want you to start spreading the word to the rest of the gang. If they're working a corner I want them carrying heat." He paused and rubbed the back of his thumb against his forehead in an attempt to ease the ache that was building. "We've got one guy dead and another missing. I don't give a fuck who's behind this. They're not taking anyone else out without a fight."

Bodie cleared his throat. "I'll round up some boys and do inventory. Check up on the reserve stashes to see how long we can keep selling before we need to start up another lab."

"You do that. And take Dog with you." He grabbed his beer to finish it off just as his phone started to vibrate in his pocket. Seeing the name that popped up on the screen he clenched his teeth.

"TG," He growled after answering, "You remember that conversation you and I had about what would happen if you fucked up guard duty?"

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line before a voice that was clearly not TG's spoke. Gravely was the best way he could describe it. Rough from smoke and hard liquor with a slight brogue buried underneath.

"There's a package for your father outside your door. Make sure he gets it."

The line went dead. He pulled the phone away from his ear and tossed it down on the coffee table before standing and reaching for the .38 special he kept hidden behind the television console.

Bodie immediately eased off the wall and reached for his own piece. "What's going on?"

"Don't know." Billy replied, thumbing back the hammer on the revolver. "Somebody's playing games."

He moved towards the door and took a quick look through the peephole, seeing nothing but the graffiti covered brick wall of the apartment across from his.

"Don't see nobody." He said as Bodie moved up beside him.

"You sure?"

He answered with a wry face before yanking the door open, aiming his gun left then to the right of the walkway. It was empty except for a figure laying supine on the concrete floor in front of them.

"Shit," Bodie exclaimed as he moved through the doorway. "It's TG."

Billy slid his gun into the back of his jeans before stepping out into the hall. If it wasn't for the Star of David tattooed on one wrist he wouldn't have been able to tell who he was. Lips split, both eyes swollen to slits, and the usual tan skin a patchwork of red and black bruises, the poor bastard might as well have been wearing a Halloween mask. Whoever worked him over made sure it was thorough job.

"He alive?" He asked as Bodie prodded him in the side with his foot. TG let out a pained groan, turning his head as it ended in a labored cough.

Bodie looked back at him. "Guess so. We should move him inside."

He rubbed at his forehead again. "Go wake your sister. She's into playing doctor."

Bodie moved back into the apartment, brushing past Heco and Dog as they moved through the doorway.

"The fuck happened to him?" Dog asked, the yellow overhead light of the walkway reflecting off his sunglasses.

"Grab his arms. Heco, get his legs." He ordered without answering the question. He watched as they bent down and lifted TG off the floor. He made a sound of protest and reached up blindly with one hand as if to fight them off. Struggling, they shuffled inside and put him on the couch where he settled down with a drawn out moan. Taking one more look outside Billy followed them and shut the door.

"Looks like he put up a fight." Heco remarked and pointed to the scrapped up knuckles of his left hand. "Good boy."

Billy grunted, paying more attention to the bulky ring on his thumb. "That ain't his."

He walked over and pulled it off, holding the silver band up and frowning at the elaborate Celtic cross formed out of the metal that looked so familiar.

Heco reached over to grab for it but Billy moved out of the way, slidding it into his jean pocket.

"What is it?"

"A message. For Bones."

Seeming to get the hint, Heco backed of and turned his attention to Bodie and Lady who had just stepped into the living room. She looked at them wearily with eyes puffy from sleep.

"It's a little early for a troop meeting." She managed to get out around a yawn.

"I need you to do a patch up." Billy pointed to the couch while moving into the kitchen to grab the first aid kit out of a cabinet. He sat it on the armrest just as she knelt beside TG, yanking at the collar of the too large shirt she was wearing.

"What happened to him?" She asked while running fingers lightly over a swollen cheek. "His face looks like mincemeat."

"Does is matter? Just fix 'im." He growled, digging in his pocket for his smokes. She looked up at his with narrowed brows.

"He needs a hospital, Billy. Not a seventeen year old with basic first aid training."

"Don't you intern at some clinic?"

She scuffed. "Yeah, and all I'm allowed to do is take temps and blood pressure." She pointed in TG's direction. "This is a little beyond my education. He needs x-rays and probably a MRI with all this head trauma. A bandage and a few pills isn't going to fix this."

"Fine." He gave up on the cigarettes and grabbed his keys instead, tossing them down on the table. "Someone go pull up the van and get him inside. Lady, put some shoes on and ask Joey for a shirt that will fit ya. You're coming with me."

She stood. "We going to the hospital?"

"No." He grimaced at the idea. "Now hurry up."

She mumbled a curse under he breath that wasn't in English but headed for Joe's room without any protest. He turned to see Bodie giving him a questioning look as Spink left to get the van.

"Thought you didn't want her involved in this."

He shrugged and picked up his phone to write a text. "Just taking her to the Butcher. Might be able to learn a thing or two."

"Billy-"

"Nothing's gonna happen to her." He pressed send on the phone and snapped it shut just as a horn sounded from outside. Heco and Dog reached for TG again, who seemed to finally be out because he didn't even flinch as they carried him towards the door. He just hung between them like a corpse.

Lady walked out of Joe's room wearing a green sweat shirt and glanced in their direction. "Let me get my shoes and we can go."

Bodie waited until she disappeared into his bedroom before sighing. "My mom's gonna freak when she sees that wrist."

"Yup." He agreed as she reappeared in the hallway.

"You ready?"

She shrugged. "Guess so."

He headed for the breakfast bar, opening up the duffle bag that Bodie had left there and pulled out a roll of money. Looking back at the room he scowled.

"You guys get to work. And keep your phones on. I want to be updated."

Lady said a quick goodbye and followed him outside and down the stairs. The van was sitting at the curb, engine idling, breaking the early morning silence. Dog and Heco had just finished getting TG in the back and were shutting the door.

"Wait." Lady said and jogged over, "I'll ride back there with him." She climbed up into the vehicle, easing around the bottles they'd shifted out of the way and shut the sliding door.

Heco lifted his head a little. "See you at the Roses later?"

He nodded and went to the drivers side as Spink slid out of the seat. He hadn't bothered to roll up the window earlier and it was colder inside then it should have been when he got inside the cab. The heat in the metal box on wheel was shot and he knew Lady hated the cold. Licking his bottom lip and sighing, he shrugged out of his jacket and handed it back to her.

She took the leather material with a raised brow. "Second time in less then twelve hours. You aren't turning into a gentleman on me, are you?"

"Shut up and hand me my smokes." He mumbled as he pulled off.

She did as he asked and he rolled up the window enough to keep the flame of his lighter from going out.

"You got a text." She held out his phone for him. He blew out a breath of smoke and took it from her. The Butcher had responded to his text, letting him know that the back door was open and he was ready for them. Billy closed the phone and set it between his thighs.

"If we aren't going to the ER, where are we going?" She asked after a few minutes of silence.

"To see a friend. He was a surgeon."

He heard her shift around in the back and a second later she was leaning between the two front seats. "Was?"

He shrugged. "Had a bit of a drug problem a few years ago and the medical board finally caught on and took away his license."

She raised a brow. "You were suppling him?"

"Something like that."

Obviously not impressed she settled back next to TG and crossed her arms. "Great, so he's getting patched up by a junkie."

"Actually he cleaned up." He said. "Got his act together and went into the family business."

"Yeah, what's that? Restaurant and bar hospitality?"

"Funeral homes, actually." He couldn't fight the small grin that pulled at his lips when he looked in the rearview mirror and saw the disbelief playing on her face. "He's a mortician."

Footnotes:
[1] C10H15N: Chemical compound for methamphetamine.
[2] Beat In: Having to fight a certain number of gang members for a given period of time and being able to take the beating and fight back. Used for initiations.
[3] OG: Original Gangster. Older members, often involved in the founding/formation of a gang.

Previous Chapters:
Chapter 1

Que Pasa Contigo?

Sat, 09 May 2009 18:46:58 GMT

I'm on triple pet sitting duty this week, seeing as how everyone else in my family is heading to Disney World and I'm stuck here in the good ol' ATL. Le sigh. I wouldn't be so pissy about it if most of the fam didn't live out in Bumble Fuck, which means I have to make a 40 minute drive twice a day (longer if there's rush hour traffic) to feed said animals and keep them company. It must be take advantage of Neo week or something.

In other news, I'm torn between getting another tattoo or getting another piercing. Or just bitting the bullet and getting both. I've been mulling over getting an industrial in my right ear for a few years now. And I also want to balance out my wrist tattoos. I'm leaning more towards a tattoo, mostly because I want to try a new artist. As much as I love my German with his mutton chops at Sacred Heart, it's time to branch out and see what other places have to offer.

Writers block is kicking my but right now. Hopefully I'll have something post worthy in the next week or so. But considering how many stories I've started and never finished, I could be eating my words. Whatever.

HAPPY SATURDAY EVERYBODY!.

Dude, really?!?

Sat, 14 Mar 2009 04:22:04 GMT

Sam and Dean. Dean and Sam. You two need to get your junk straight. There is so much hurt and betrayal, so many unresolved issues that need to be faced head on and duked out. And both of you are LYING LIARS WHO LIE! To each other and to yourselves, the latter being even worse.

Oh boys.

I miss the days when the fists would fly, but at the end of it all you'd share a beer or six and actually mean it when you apologized. What the fuck happened to that Kripke?

Speaking of you, WHY did you have to take out the one female character I actually cared about during this season? I understand the fear of ~~fanatics~~ fans rebelling against the idea of a xx chromosome being too close to The Pretty. But I would have preferred to see Ruby getting her comeuppance. What with her half truths and stalker tendencies. And leading that tall dude down a very dark path.

But Pamela... she was awesome. And she made an Outsiders reference. Which, of course, made me happy in my pants. Oh, the simple things in life. I shall miss you my tattooed, Cougar, psychic. Or whatever you were supposed to be. You where the shit even up to your end. And yes, Sam's/Jared's ass is nice. Lets hope your last words got through that thick skull of his.

Got my hospital bill today; I could buy a new car with the amount of money they're asking for. Considering the emotional mood I've been in, I'm kind of shocked I managed not to freak out when I opened the envelope. Guess it's my brain trying not to cope with something I can't deal with at the moment. Whatever. I'll probably break down tomorrow once those numbers set in, and the vodka is all gone.

In the mean time, I have about five episodes of Battlestar to watch. Oh, and finishing up my copy of House of Leaves, which is a much of a mind fuck as I thought it would be.

Health, Hospital, an Money Woes

Mon, 23 Feb 2009 04:54:53 GMT

I just busted out of the ER this afternoon after spending four days being pumped full of donated platelets and IVIg steroids to get my 4,000 platelet count up to the standard 150,000-400,000 range. Apparently I have ITP, which pretty much means my immune system is in overdrive and attacking my platelets and the doctors can't figure out why. In the mean time, I'm apt to bruise easily, bleed under my skin (yeah petechiae,) or just die from internal bleeding if I so much I run into a doorway (which I'm prone to do from time to time 'cause I'm clumsy and drink vodka.)

The problem is I have about 20 more pills I need to take in the next two days that I can't afford because I missed so many days of work last week from the fucking cold that landed me in the hospital in the first place.

On top of that, the cable bill, internet bill, and my phone bill haven't been paid. Rent's gonna be due pretty darn soon, and I don't even want to know how much I racked up in meds, room service, and a semi-warm bed at the hospital. I need to be back behind my desk pulling some major overtime not only for the days that I need make up, but also for some extra cash so I can, you know, eat and shit.

And even more worrisome, the docs are still running tests on the 20 something vials of blood they took from me to try and narrow down what may have caused the ITP. That list includes: leukemia (neg), lupus (pending), HIV (neg), cirrhosis (pending), hepatitis C (pending) and some other crap I've never heard of. Plus, the chances of a relapse are pretty high once I'm off the steroids, which is just the cherry on my wank pie.

You know, I was going to say something happy and positive to end this post, but I'm tired and stressed and my arm hurts from the IV. So I'm going to bed with the hope that tomorrow is going to be full of rainbows, singing birds, and butterflies. Or finding a hundred bucks in a gutter would be swell. I wouldn't even spend it on my many vices.

Happiness Is a Warm Gun, 1/?

Wed, 04 Feb 2009 03:43:00 GMT

Title: Happiness Is a Warm Gun
Fandom: Death Sentence
Characters: The whole gang, plus a few OCs (including Lady from The Sweets)
Rated: R, for the usual suspects
Chapters: 1/?
Word Count: 4,253
Disclaimer: Don't own Death Sentence or any of the characters associated with the movie and the novel it was based on. Anyone else you see is mine.
Summary: There were just some things, some people that had a gravitational pull. Like black holes. When it came to Billy Darley, he was supermassive. And once you fell past his event horizon, there was no being saved.

A/N: It only took me about four months to get this first chapter finished. Writing pages and pages of text with different approaches, trying to figure out what was going wrong. I almost decided to can the whole thing, but many late nights and thought diarrhea made me realize that my fascination with Billy and Lady (OC from The Sweets one-shot) hadn't left me yet. So I tried again, and in about three days I had this beginning. I'm not sure that I'm completely happy with how it turned out, but it's a start and that's better then nothing.
At the moment I don't have a beta for any of my DS fics, so please let me know about any glaring mistakes. And feedback is always love.

Chapter 1
October 2001

She wasn’t the kind of girl that missed much. Couldn’t afford to living where she did and surrounded by the kind of people she knew.

Despite this, when it all went down, she didn’t see it coming.

One second she was standing at the bus stop watching as Perry lifted up his shirt to show off his new ink work, a portrait of his daughter, and his teeth were bright in the poor light from the street lamp. Then death came for him in the form of a late model Crown Victoria and a single barrel shot gun.

She didn't remember the first shot. But she did remember the screaming.

Perry’s smile faltered as he tried to take air into lungs that were suddenly riddled with holes. She reached out to steady him as he bowed over, but a blur of movement out the corner of her eye caught her attention. She turned her head just in time to see Chuey throw his entire body at her. The world titled dizzily as another shot rung out. Her feet left the ground and she tried to brace herself. But his weight came down on her and it was too heavy. Something in her left wrist pulled with a sharp twist and she cried out, grinding the side of her face into the cold cement as she tried to curl into herself.

He rolled off her and got to his feet, didn’t even spare her a second glance as he pulled his pistol from the back of his jeans and started returning fire. Perry was still standing somehow. And even over the guns and the screaming, the sound of the bubbling wheeze coming from his mouth was agonizingly loud. He looked down at her, moaned something that could have been anything, before crumpling face first to the ground.

She squeezed her eyes shut after that. Thought about how less then ten minutes ago she and Precious had been sharing a blunt and hauling ass across six blocks so they wouldn’t miss the bus. Now her friend was yelling herself hoarse and Perry was probably taking his last breath and Chuey’s gun was no match for the scattering buckshot of a shotgun and-

A screech of tires and one last pop from the pistol and it was all over. She cracked open her eyes but stayed down. Chuey was hunched over, hands on his knees and breathing hard as he watched the car speed down the street and around a corner.

"Fuck!"

The smell of burnt rubber and gun powder was heavy in the air. It coated the back of her throat as she attempted to get up. But she forgot about her wrist and went back down again with a yelp of pain.

"Shit, Lady." She felt his hands on her shoulders before he rolled her over to get a better look. "You alright, kid? You get hit?"

"No. Just my wrist." She said and let him pull her up into a sitting position. Precious scrambled over, eyes big and still wet from crying.

"You sure? You're covered in blood.”

She looked down at herself, realizing for the first time that her white coat was splattered in red. She hurried to remove it and Precious reached out to help when she fumbled the buttons with her one good hand. The autumn air bit at her skin as she pulled the ruined material off, but her work uniform was clean.

"I'm alright, P." She gulped, pushing her friend’s hands away. "It's not mine."

Something in her stomached lurched as the faint sound of sirens filled the air. Chuey muttered in Spanish as he dropped his empty gun and got on his knees to turn Perry over. There was blood everywhere, soaking through his tan leather jacket and pooling onto the sidewalk under him. She could see right away that he was gone but something compelled her to reach over and check for a pulse anyway.

Chuey cleared his throat, "Is he-"

"Yeah."

She crossed herself. Chuey did the same. Precious sniffed loudly before grabbing her discarded coat and throwing it over his body, hiding the gaping hole in his chest from view. The sirens in the distance were getting louder and Chuey looked around nervously.

"I gotta go. Can't be here when the cops show up." He picked up his gun, thumbing the slid stop so it snapped back into place before stuffing in into the back of his pants. "Gotta tell Darley what happened. Fucking Fairburn's looking for a war."

Precious got to her feet and held out a hand to help her up. Chuey gave them both an indecisive look, like he didn’t want to leave them alone.

"We'll be alright. Take his stash and get the hell out of here." She urged. He nodded, reached down into Perry's pockets to pull out a roll of money and a handful of tiny, plastic bags.

"You two know the drill. You don't know who was shooting. You don't know why. Don't tell 'em a thing that leads back to the RB.” He frowned, looking over his shoulder when someone poked their head out the doorway of the apartment building behind him.

"You got that?" He demanded when he turned back around.

“Of course.” Precious answered. “Now get out of here.”

One last uncertain glance and he turned on his heel and started to run, pushing past curious onlookers that were coming out now that the bullets had stopped flying.

Precious took in a deep breath. “Jesus! I mean, what the fuck?” She ran shaky fingers through her hair.

“I don’t know P.”

She could still taste gun smoke in the back of her throat and there was something wet running down her forehead. She reached up to wipe it away and her hand came back covered in blood that wasn’t hers. Her stomach gave a final, violent flip and she ended up puking into a nearby trash bin.

The next hour was a blur of flashing lights and twenty questions. They parked Precious in the back seat of a squad car with a blanket and a cup of coffee. She could see her from her own seat in an ambulance as the EMT wrapped her wrist and tried to get all the sidewalk grit out of the scrap on her cheek. The officer speaking to her friend had a tenseness to his stance and shoulders that screamed frustration. It was obvious whatever she was saying wasn't giving them much to go by.

“Here's some Ibuprofen for the swelling and an aspirin for the pain." The EMT said while handing her a bottled water and a cup with three pills. "It’s just a bad sprain, but you still may want to get a brace to wear for a few days.”

“Thanks.” She said as she tried to twist of the bottle cap. “Could you give me a hand here?”

“Oh yeah. Sorry.” He gave her a sheepish grin as he opened the bottle. “I’m sure they’ll want to take your statement now. You feel up for that?”

She shrugged as she swallowed the pills down with a huge swig of water. “I’m good.”

He hoped down to the pavement below and made his way over to an older guy in a long coat. She watched them wearily as they talked quietly for a few seconds before the coat made his way over to her with a grim face.

"I'm Sergeant Detective Bernard." He said as he pulled out a pad and pen. "You're friend over there tells me your name is Jeanne."

"Yeah." Shivering slightly, she crossed her arms over her chest to try to ward off the breeze that was blowing through the open doors. "Jeanne Auguste. But everybody calls me Ladybug."

"Look, Miss Auguste, your friend gave us the same bull shit everyone else in this neighborhood does. 'I saw nothing and I heard nothing.' Now I can't do my job and catch the kids who killed your friend if you don't tell me anything." He paused and leaned in a little closer, brows angled down towards his nose. "That is your friend the coroner is looking over, right? The one with his chest blown out?"

She frowned, not falling for his attempt to get a rise out of her. "He's just some corner pusher that would chill with me and Precious when we had to catch the late bus."

"So he was a dealer then?"

"I don't know. He was always hanging around the block, talking to people who pulled up. I just assumed that's what he was doing." She sighed. "Look, I don't know who was shooting at us or why. All I know is that Perry got hit and that other guy shoved me down. Saved my life too. 'Cause that second shot would have been me."

"Yeah, about that other guy. You got a name for him. A description maybe?"

"Something Spanish. Like Chico or Chavez. I've only met him once or twice. Perry usually worked alone. He took off once the car peeled out."

"And the car. Did you see anyone inside? Get a color or a license number?"

"A chocolate color, maybe. Older car." She shivered again. "Are we done now? I'm cold, I'm hurt, and covered in a dead man's blood. I'd really like to go home."

He pressed his lips together before slapping the leather notepad close. "Sure thing. But if you remember anything at all you give me a call. Doesn't matter what time."

She took the card he pulled out of a pocket and made a show of looking it over.

"You got a phone on you so I can call a cab?" She asked.

"Don't worry about that, kid. You just go sit with with Miss Anderson. I'll send an officer to escort you two home."

She eased out of the ambulance and made her way through the bustling badges and crime scene members as they collected evidence and talked to witnesses. Precious was standing outside the squad car when she walked up, a cigarette hanging from her lips and a steaming cup in her hand.

"You look like shit, you know that right?"

Her voice sounded a little rough and Lady wanted to tell her to put the cigarette out but she grabbed the cup from her instead. "Shut up."

"Just saying." She blew out a puff of smoke that quickly dissolved into the air around her head. "Guess who's driving us home."

"Who?"

Precious grinned. "Our very own Officer Natasha Wallis."

"Oh, this night just keeps getting better." She shook her head before climbing into the back of the car. Precious followed behind her a few seconds later, smelling like menthol and smoke as she tossed her the discarded blanket.

"So this is pretty big, huh?" She asked, looking over at her with serious eyes. "This thing with Fairburn?"

She took a sip from the coffee. "Yeah. They've been hurting ever since Bones pushed into their territory with ice. I guess they're looking to get their corners back."

She humphed and settled down into her seat. They fell into a comfortable silence, both gazing out the open door a the commotion surrounding them. Lady kept her ears trained on the voices coming out of the radio in the front seat, translating the codes in her head. It was mostly the usual stuff, domestic disputes, noise disturbances, and drunks. But one in particular made her pert up.

"This is Fox 113. I've got a 8 Ida of a possible suspect in the West Ninth Street shooting."

"Shit." She groaned, leaning her head back on to the uncomfortable seat.

"What's the matter?"

"I think they picked up Chuey." She pressed her fingers between her eyes, feeling the beginning of a headache forming. "He never made it to Darley's."

"So who's gonna tell him what happened? If they did pick him up, they're gonna send him straight to county. And with that gun and all that crank on him..."

"I know." She said. "I'm gonna have to tell somebody. Maybe my brother is at his place. You think I can convince Natasha to drop me off there?"

"Don't know, but you're about to find out. She's walking over right now."

She turned her head to see the older woman stop next to the car and lean down to look at them. "Hey Precious. Ladybug. Long time no see."

"Sup Officer Wallis? How's the whole badge and gun thing going?" Precious asked, the sarcasm dripping from her voice.

"It's going good. I'm about to take the Career Review Board exam to make detective." She narrowed her eyes a little. "How's school? Are you still going to be able to graduate with the rest of your class? Last time I saw your mother she said you might have to go to summer school."

Precious sniffed and jutted out her jaw. "That woman talks to much. And what I do in school is no business of yours."

"Sure." She chuckled at little. "How about you Lady? The EMT said you wouldn't need a x-ray, but I can take you to over to Boston Medical just to make sure."

"No I'm good." She gave her a week smile. "Actually, I was wondering if you could drop me off a Bodies."

Natasha sighed. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"You know I can't go home like this. My mom is probably up right now getting ready for her shift at the bakery. If she sees me like this she'll lock me in the apartment until I'm thirty. Would even go as far to home school me."

"Ladybug-"

"Please."

She looked her over for a few seconds and Lady could almost see her thoughts turning in her head. "You know something, don't you?"

"Everything I know I told that detective."

Natasha frowned. "Street justice doesn't work. All it does it get more people killed. Tell me who's gunning for the RB and let the cops take care of it."

Lady locked eyes with her. "I don't know who it is."

"Fine." Natasha stood up and slapped the roof before shutting the back door hard enough to make the car shake.

Precious snorted. "I think you made her angry."

She shrugged and leaned against the window. "She'll live."

It wasn't a long ride, but it was quiet and after giving her the address she drifted off and didn't wake up until Precious jabbed in her side with her elbow.

"Nice place your brother has. I see he's moving up in the world." Natasha said as they pulled up in front of the run down brick building. Lady sat up, tilting her head to ease the ache in her neck.

"You want to let me out, or do I live in here now?"

She saw Natasha roll her eyes in her reflection in the rearview mirror as she cut off the engine and climbed out the car.

"I'll call you tomorrow, P." She said as her door was opened.

"Sure. And take care of yourself. Your really do look like shit."

"Screw you." She replied, smirking a little as she slid out into the chilly night air. Natasha stood beside her and she raised a brow at her while reaching in her pants pocket to pull out her keys.

"Well, thanks for the ride. Guess I'll see you around."

"For your sake, I really hope not." She replied.

"Night, officer. Good luck on that test."

Not waiting around for a response, she cut across the sparse grass and made her way into the building. Taking the stairs two at a time she arrived at the second floor, which wasn't as well lit as the first but was blessedly empty as she made her way down the hall to her brothers apartment. There had been too many times in the past that she had to skirt around drunks and thugs with twitchy hands.

There was a piece of paper taped to the door and she shook her head when she read the word 'eviction' printed out in bold letters.

"Idiot." She muttered as she slid the proper key in the lock and tried to turn it. When it wouldn't budge she tried again. Letting out a frustrated growl, she banged her fist against the wood before rested her forehead against it.

"Fucking A." She huffed before pushing away and heading back down the hall. There was a pay phone across the street and she had just enough change for one call. As soon as she walked outside goosebumps popped up on her exposed skin. Stuffing her hands under her arm pits, she jogged across the pavement to the phone. She fished the change out of her pocket and shoved it into the slot, dialing her brother's cell phone number with with fingers that were quickly becoming numb before turning around to watch the street behind her.

"Come on, Bodie." She muttered. But after the fourth ring she pressed down on the hook switch and collected the coins from the return slot.

"Damn it!" She put the money back in, hesitating only a second before pressing a different number into the keypad. It rang twice this time before a husky, irritated voice answered.

"Who the fuck is this?"

"Billy!" She shifted to see the street again. "I need your help. I'm at Bodie's and he's been kicked out again. I tried to call him but he's not answering and things are all messed up and my damn key won't work-"

"Hey, slow the fuck down and take a breath, Lady." He ordered and she bit her bottom lip, suppressing the urge to snap back at him. Instead she did as he said and inhaled deeply. Once she collected herself she started over again.

"I need to talk to you." She told him, slower this time. "Some shit happened and Perry's dead. But I don't have a ride and I can't go home like I am."

"Go back inside and wait for me to honk. I should be there in about ten."

"Yeah. Okay. But hurry up. It's freezing out here."

He said something that sounded like a name she wouldn't appreciate being called before the line went dead. She pulled the phone from her ear, frowning down at it before hanging it up. Crossing the street again, she hovered in the doorway of the complex building, watching every car that went by and chewing on her bottom lip to the point it was raw. She wasn't an impatient person by nature, but being tired down to her bones was quickly changing that. The adrenaline rush from earlier had drained her of all reserves and the few minutes of sleep she'd gotten hadn't helped much. So she stood there, counting down the seconds in her head, secure in the fact that he would be there in less time then what he'd said. Because when it came to reading speed limit signs, Billy was just plain blind.

She'd just gotten into the 300s when she saw a white van stop abruptly at the curb. A loud blast from the horn got her moving and caused some nearby dogs the start barking. She made her way to the passenger door, pulled it open and hauled herself in, barely getting the door closed before they were speeding off.

"Thanks." She said and grabbed her seat belt. Billy grunted around his cigarette and stopped sharply at a red light. She could feel him looking at her and she started to speak but cut herself off when he reached over and grabbed her chin in one hand.

"The fuck happened to you?" He turned her face to the side to get a better look at the bandage.

"Got into it with a sidewalk." She said and pulled away, rubbing at her cheek self-consciously. "I lost, obviously."

He blew smoke out of the corner of his mouth as the light changed. "You're shaking like you need a fix. Grab that jacket in the back and put in on."

She rolled her eyes at him as she unbuckled herself and shuffled into the back, trying to keep her feet under her as he made a wide turn.

"What's with the rape van, Billy?" She asked once she'd grabbed the worn leather and pulled it on, shoving the sleeves up so her hands were free.

"Figured since I was picking up underage tail, I might as well go all out."

She huffed, sliding back into the seat and nuzzling into the collar of the jacket. "So if I look hard enough, I'll find the wine coolers and camera?"

"And the duck tape if I decide I don't want to play nice."

She laughed a little, the first time since her evening went to hell, and saw him smirk out the corner of her eye.

"Bodie has the Mustang. He had some business to take care of. Probably why he didn't answer his phone."

She nodded. "That business wouldn't have anything to do with Fairburn, would it?"

"Should it?"

"Seeing as how they're the ones that put Perry in a body bag, I think so."

He glanced at her, pulling his finished smoke from between his lips and tossing the butt out the open window. "Why don't you take it from the beginning, Ladybug. 'Cause you're busted up to hell and one of my boys is dead, and I have not fucking clue what's going on."

So she told him, starting from when she and Precious got off of work and ending with Wallis giving her the third degree before dropping her off. He didn't say anything as she talked, just kept his eyes on the road. But she did notice his clenched jaw, and the seemingly permanent frown of his deepening. When she was done he pulled out another cigarette.

"You sure it was Mack's ride?"

"Late 80s Ford. Custom slate gray paint job." She shrugged. "I'd know that car anywhere."

They drove into the parking lot of his apartment complex and he found a spot under a blown out street light.

"Looks like I do have some business with Fairburn." He said as he threw the van into park and turned off the engine.

She swallowed before getting out of the car, not waiting for him as he dug a bag out the back. She didn't like it when he got that look. The one that spoke of hunger and hunting. It always lead to things that would keep her up at night, stomach twisting in knots with worry for a bunch of boys that were pretty much family. She crossed the parking lot and waited at the bottom of the metal stairs that lead to his door.

"You're staying here tonight." He told her when he caught up. She followed him up and he unlocked the door, kicking it shut behind him before tossing the duffle onto the breakfast bar. The place smelled like stale smoke, weed, and teenaged boy. She saw Joe sitting in the living room, wearing nothing but a wife beater and boxers with a bottle of beer between his feet and a game controller in his hands.

"Hey, Lady." He greeted her, his eyes never leaving the television screen as his thumbs moved furiously.

"Sup?" She mumbled, easing down onto the couch next to him with a tired sigh. Billy disappeared down the hall into his bedroom, returning a few minutes later with a bundle of clothes and a towel draped over his shoulder.

"Here." He said as he tossed them down next to her. "Take a shower and get some sleep. You can have my bed."

She blinked at him as he grabbed the bag off the counter and fished his keys out his back pocket. "Where are you going?"

"Don't worry about it." He said.

"Billy-"

"I need my jacket back."

She sucked in a frustrated breath before pulling it off and tossing it at his feet. "Tell my brother to call me when you see him. And that he's a idiot for getting evicted again."

Gathering up the clothes and towel and ignoring the curse he threw at her back, she shut herself in the bathroom. She didn't bother to look in the mirror, just turned on the taps and stripped down. The water felt perfect enough that she was able to ignore the mold growing in the corners of the tub and the fact there was no shampoo. She made do with half a bar of Irish Springs though, and by the time all the suds where out of her hair she was practically asleep on her feet.

She dried off as best as she could with one hand before rewrapping her wrist and pulling on the clean clothes. The shirt came down almost to her knees and hung off one shoulder while the sweats had to be rolled over at the waist a few times. But they were warm and comfortable so she didn't fuss.

When she finally crawled under Billy's flannel sheets the alarm on the night stand said it was almost four. She closed her eyes, glad the night, or morning, or whatever was finally over. Down the hall Joe started yelling at the TV and she groaned while pulling a pillow over her head. Even with the racket, it didn't take long for the familiar smell of burnt tobacco and cologne to lull her to sleep.

Next Chapter

OTF

Sat, 17 Jan 2009 15:33:54 GMT

Drawn by musashden , who is only the greatest friend in the world, about our slightly twisted ways of showing love.

I swear my next post will actually be something fic related.

(0_0)

Sat, 17 Jan 2009 04:12:10 GMT

Wow.

Kripke, I know you don't have the budget for such awesomeness, but Battlestar blew Supernatural clear out of the water as far as a return from hiatus goes.

Just saying.

So much for my out on the town plans. Damn you cable ::fist shake::

I should have called in sick today

Fri, 16 Jan 2009 13:45:53 GMT

Weather.com says it's 12°F but it feels more like 1°F.

Hotlanta? LIES!

Wyatt Fucking Earp!

Fri, 16 Jan 2009 04:23:58 GMT

- First and foremost, happy b-day to opheliapunk! I hope you are having a great one. If not, shame on you. And I swear one of these days I'll send you some words to beta.

- So the sequel to Boondock Saints, All Saints Day is in post production. Squee! This makes me happy in all sorts of ways. Even more so because David Della Rocco will be returning in what I'll assume is some sort of flashback scene. I'm still surprised it ever got the greenlight because I've heard director/writter Troy Duffy is bit of an ass.

- In other movie/remake/sequel news, apparently another Tron film is in the works, due 2011. I have this thing against remaking or continuing classics. Most of the time it's unnecessary and it never does the original justice. But Gerrett Hedlund is said to be cast as the lead, and Karl Urban is also rumored to be attached, so I'm slightly interested.

- SUPERNATURAL is back in force. Though I'm kinda tired of all the angst!dean. Srsly, those two need to kidnap a head doctor or start taking lithium or something. At least he's not suicidal!dean any longer. Though confession!dean isn't any better. Because it's obvious talking about it isn't helping him any. And it's just putting more guilt on Sam, who's been less Chatty Cathy with the feelings stuff since El Deano told the truth.

Though tonights plot was nice. Glad to get away from all the apocalyptic talk (what with the angels and the demons and the God's got work for you) and back into the good old 'let's shoot some shit' days. Even if it was less Ghost Busters and more like The People Under the Stairs, amirite?

- BATTLESTAR is back tomorrow. I know I'm going to miss it, cause it's Friday and, well, that's my drinking day. Hopefully it will be On Demand along side the Face of The Enemy webisodes. Poor Gaeta. Just can't get a frakking break.

I'm forever blowing bubbles

Wed, 31 Dec 2008 18:47:31 GMT

My son, this year is almost over.

Main resolution for next year: Get back into drawing. Because I have about a million pieces I've started but never finished. Though I think I'll get out of portraits and go in a different direction. Maybe pin-ups. Probably with George Petty as a heavy influence.

Other things I need to do:

1. Stop smoking. It's getting bad. And really old.
2. Get back into school. It's boring and tedious, but someone in my family needs to get a degree. And I'm the only one that's at least tried.
3. Watch/see more movies. On my list right now is 7 Pounds, Milk, Curious Case Of Benjamin Button, Changeling, & Grand Torino
4. Save up some money and start day tripping. I need to see more of my homeland.
5. Actually live in my house. I've been here for almost a year and half of my stuff is still in boxes.
6. Write MOAR!!! So many stories started and never finished. Gah!
7. Stay the hell away from /4/chan. It only leads to trouble.

Other things of interest:

-I watched Green Street Hooligans yesterday. And it only made me happy and junk. Oh Charlie, that Yank accent you have in Sons Of Anarchy does not do you justice. Though you still walk funny. Like, always.
-I just realized Gordon's son in The Dark Knight was the kid from The Mist. And Thomas Jane is still awesome. In my pants.
-Supernatural, Battlestar Galactica in January. Enough said.
-I'm falling in love with Leverage on TNT. If Parker was real, IDK, we'd only be BFF.
-My house is not a bar. I have to stop treating it as such. And so should everyone else.
-As soon as it gets warm, I'm cutting my damn hair. It's been about five years since it's been this long and all it does is piss me off.
-Grocery shopping at 3 in the morning always manages to entertain.

Happy New Year everyone! Hope it's a good one.

X-mas & New Years Icons

Fri, 12 Dec 2008 16:55:21 GMT

A few holiday icons I made for a work contest. Which I won, and got free Roly Poly ~~for all my troubles~~.

Rules:
1. No hotlinking
2. Please credit neogenesis85
3. Edit and play with them all you want
4. ???
5. PROFIT!!!

Preview

LIFE/FILMING UPDATE

Sat, 06 Dec 2008 04:10:02 GMT

3rd Shift Photos!!!!
This is what my weekends consist of:

Matt as Rag Man. Who you gonna call?

Me during summer fight training.

Java and one of the Alphabet Boys, DJ

Main Cast: Rag Man, Philip, Kim, and Johnny.

Carrollton Train Depot, which is one of our sets.

Oh yeah, we had a biker gang.

Being up for 30+ hours filming, FTW!!!

*All photos courtesy of Imoto, Slush, and Captain Crazy Productions.

The Blood Is Love | Supernatural Fic

Tue, 25 Nov 2008 04:25:25 GMT

Title: The Blood Is Love
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Dean, mentions of Sam and YED
Spoilers: 4.10
Rating: R for a few dirty words
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em.
Summary: He understands the art of keeping a secret, because sometimes the whole truth can break a man.

A/N: A little drabble I wrote when the idea hit. It's a try on my part to capture Dean's voice.

Dean will never admit it, but he's actually glad old Yellow Eyes did what he did.

It's selfish, his reasons for thinking that way. But those four months that passed topside were nothing but a blink of an eye for him in a place where pain was a verb, not a noun.

During the daylight, when he's got dirt under his nails and fresh cuts to tend to, he doesn't have time to dwell on the thought. It's only when the shadows creep into the corners and his only conscious companion is an almost empty bottle that he really thinks.

The list of casualties under Azazel's belt is probably too extensive for him to comprehend. It's only the ones that are personal that really matter anyway. And in truth, that list is too damn long on its own. It's those names that sound off in his head every night, repeating enough times to make him want to claw off his skin for a distraction. Always starting and ending the same. With Mommy and Sammy.

He knows it's wrong. But he can't help how he feels. Demon blood killed his brother once. But it also saved his ass more times then he's willing to count.

When he dreams about Hell and his breaking point, he can't help but be grateful. Whatever is pumping through Sam's veins is enough for the others to want to keep him away. That Crossroad bastard said one thing, but Dean knows the truth. He knows that they still fear him.

If it wasn't for Azazel and his plans, he's sure Sam would have been able to make and die by his attempted deal.

And his worst nightmare, the one that wakes him up in cold sweats and silent screams, is seeing Sam on the racks while his hands tear him down to the bone.

This is the one thing he will always keep to himself. Because to confess some happiness about the single event that made the whole mess that is now their legacy... well, that might just end them both.

Thank you Mr. Winter for all the APUSH

Tue, 18 Nov 2008 22:04:35 GMT

Did people not take/pay attention in US History? Is our education system that screwed up that we don't even know the basic facts behind our nation's set up?

If I read one more quote or hear one more person claim that America was built on Christian values then I'm going to buy a huge dildo and commence with the beatings.

Here's the deal:
When those folks across the pond took that long and dangerous journey to the New World it was for basically three things: Money (trade, natural resources, etc.) Debtors Prisons, and ESCAPE FROM RELIGIOUS PROSECUTION (like the Quakers, the Puritans, the Shakers, and the Jews.)

And those big wigs that were our founders... well contrary to popular belief ~~McCain, I'm looking at you!~~ they were not all Christian. They were a mix of CHRISTIAN, ATHEISTS, AGNOSTIC, DEISTS, & bloody FREEMASONS. And I'm pretty sure they remembered how messed up things were in the Old World because kings ruled through DIVINE RIGHT which resulted in centuries of bloodshed between the CROWN, the CHURCH, and the PEOPLE. Our Founding Fathers had already given them a big 'Screw You Guys!' when they declared independence, so why would they go and create another system that allowed religion and government to mix?

Hence why the Constitution and Bill of Rights are SECULAR.

This issue has been increasingly frustrating for me. I just wanted to get it off my chest and tell people to READ A BOOK every now and then. Cause 'The More You Know' is a good way to live, even if those commercials were cheesy as hell.

Yes, the majority of the nation is Christian or some denomination of it. But, the fact still remains that we are a country that excepts REEDOM OF (ALL) RELIGION. And that means you can't go limiting a persons natural rights because the BIBLE says it's wrong.

Oh Lenny's, how I've missed you.

Sun, 16 Nov 2008 07:43:32 GMT

I've always been a fan, but Electric Six now lives in my pants. True Story.

And Mr. Valentine, I will get your autograph. I missed you by the skin of my teeth tonight. But almost getting run over by your 2nd guitar player and watching your keyboardist wipe out in a puddle of cheep beer and liquor made up for it.

Thanks for bringing the good times and the laughs. I'll see you in April.

Plus, I might actually be able to get some sleep now. Thank you Zombie Jebus. I shall never doubt you again.

OBAMA FTW!!!one!

Thu, 06 Nov 2008 00:54:00 GMT

So those six hours spent in line for early voting... totally worth it this election! To sum it all up, some guy from Georgetown had the perrrrrrrfect sign:

'Why wait? Evict Bush Now.'

WORD.

I didn't get to celebrate the Dems victory last night because I was glued to the TV (btw, John Stewart & Stephen Colbert together again. Be still my heart.) But I'm on my way out to my local watering hole for a PBR tallboy and too many Marlboros.

I don't envy the work Obama has to do in order to clean up the mess that is our country at the moment. So my drink goes to him.

On a less serious note ~~but still just as serious b/c it's fucking Charlie Hunnam~~ it's Wednesday!!! You know what that means? Sons of Anarchy (yes, I'm hooked and proud of it.) Can't wait to see my Gemma stick it to the man. But to tide me over until 10, I yanked this from peopleareshapes.

I'm done with this ramble. Here's to a better four years.

Ammon

Mon, 03 Nov 2008 22:36:53 GMT

Title: Ammon
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: John, OC
Spoilers: Season 3 & AU future events.
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Belongs to Kripke. The lucky cuss.
Summary: Angels have always had an interest in the Winchesters.

A/N: This is my first posted Supernatural fic. The idea popped into my head this afternoon at the store and I just had to write it. My beta is out of town, so any mistakes that you see are solely mine.

He comes staggering through the white, a hunched silhouette that fights its way through raging winds. She sees him from her spot in front of the window. Putting down her needles and yarn, she has just enough time to fill up the kettle and set it on the stove to boil before there's pounding on the door.

He says his name is John Winchester. And it suits him.

Something about the lines on his face, the grey in his almost beard, and the fierceness in his hazel eyes fits well with gun powder, long barrels, and desert dust. She ushers him inside, fighting to close the door against the torrent of snow and wind behind him. He tries to help, but she points him towards the hearth where he can warm up by the fire.

They don't talk much. She fixes the both of them coffee after he strips down and is wrapped in her favorite quilt. He stares at the flames, thoughts in another place while she draws him a bath.

It isn't until the color returns to his skin and she's showing him to the only spare room of her one story home that he asks her name.

"Ceres." She answers. He frowns a little, but is obviously too exhausted to think too hard about why the name should bother him. He crawls into the bed with a satisfied groan and she quietly says goodnight.

::

He's stubborn. She could tell that right off the bat.

It's going to be awhile before he's ready to move on.

::

In the morning she offers him thick slices of homemade bread with wild honey drizzled on top. He goes through almost a whole loaf and several cups of coffee before she starts with the questions.

He doesn't remember much. Just the cold, then the numb. Says he saw her lights off in the distance and homed right in. All he has are the clothes on his back and a mind that's as whitewashed as the blizzard outside.

"It'll come back in do time." She reaches across the table and pats his hand. "It always does."

He doesn't seem convinced. But she knows that in this place, nothing stays lost forever.

::

The storm keeps going.

He watches it from the bay windows, the same ones she watched his approach from, with crossed arms and a frown.

"When's it going to pass on, Ceres? It's been days and it hasn't let up."

She looks up from the almost finished wool hat in her hands. "I guess whenever you're ready to pass on, John."

His shoulders tense for a moment before he turns to the fireplace and throws on another log.

She goes back to her knitting, humming under her breath and watching him out the corner of her eyes.

::

During the evenings they sit at the kitchen table with a deck of cards and a bottle of wine that's as red as blood. She coaxes him along as his history returns. It's a sad tale, the things he remembers, and more times then not they retire with wet cheeks and runny noses that have nothing to do with the stinging cold.

"I have sons." He says on the fourth night. "I don't know their names or their faces. But I know I did something so that they could go on. Something that broke all of us."

She pulls a ten of hearts from her hand, hits his nine before throwing down her last card. "Rummy."

The misty look in his eyes clears and he curses slightly under his breath. "I'll stay up all night if it means I beat you."

She smiles. "Then you'd better get on you knees and start your prayers, Winchester. And another pot of Joe."

He winks, takes another sip of wine and grabs up the cards to be shuffled. She swallows the lump in her throat.

His time is almost up and she's ashamed to admit that she's going to be sad to see him go.

::

One night she hears him cry out. She's out of her bed and across the hall before she's even fully awake, her hand on his brow to calm him through desperate pants that match her heartbeat.

"What is this place?" He asks once the sweat starts to dry.

"It's a place of rest."

His eyes are heavy with fatigue and she watches the lids flutter as he fights it.

"Just let it go, John. That's all you have to do."

He nods, turns into her caress and heaves out a sigh.

"Been so long since I could."

He's asleep again as soon as the words are said, so he doesn't notice her tears.

::

In the morning all is quiet. The wind is no longer whistling through the weak spots in the walls and she lays in bed listening to the stillness, not willing to get up and do what needs to be done.

But eventually she does, washes up and dresses. Stokes up the coals in the oven and puts in more wood while the water boils. John appears in the doorway, as relaxed as she's ever seen him, his shoulders no longer weighed down by burdens he now realizes he had.

"I think it's about time I go on my way."

She nods, gives him a weak smile. "I think you're right."

They eat in silence and it reminds her of the first night. Only this time she gives him his last cup of wine. It stains his lips when he's done and she chuckles a little while handing him the hat, gloves, and scarf she made for him.

"The path is already there for you. Stick to it and you'll find your place."

He reaches for the handle of the door, but pauses to look back at her.

"I remember reading the Koran. You were in it."

She smiles, ignores the urge to flex her back muscles and give him further proof. But he must see something in the shadow cast behind her because he stares long and hard at it before turning his gaze back to her.

"You'll take care of my boys, won't you? Whenever they get here?"

"Hopefully later then sooner."

He nods, adjusts his hat one last time and pulls open the door. The light blinds them both, but he only hesitates a little before stepping out and following the already shoveled road, boots crunching on patches of ice. She watches until he disappears over the horizon, alone again but content, before closing the door and moving to the chair to finish up her knitting.

It wouldn't be long until the next lost soul comes her way.

::

The war that John started but was never able to finish rages on. She watches from her windows as the cold blows in more and more often. Helps those that can be, and waits for the end.

When it comes, she's prepared. Counts her bags of flour and mason jars full of honey, stacks more wood by the door, and spreads fresh sheets on the twin beds in the spare room.

Renewal, the air sings around her. But she already knows. Has seen it more times then she could count and knows how to be prepared.

The next few months are going to busy ones.

::

They come staggering through the white, hunched silhouettes that fight their way through ragging winds. She sees them from her spot in front of the window. Putting down her needles and yarn, she has just enough time to fill up the kettle and set it on the stove to boil before there's pounding on the door.

They say their names are Dean and Samuel Winchester.

And it suits them just fine.

And another one

Tue, 28 Oct 2008 16:58:54 GMT

"A guy feeling strongly about another woman's uterus is like me feeling strongly about his prostate." - Spoken wisely by bellasmommy at thequestionclub in response to this idiotic post.

Just Like Butter

Sun, 26 Oct 2008 03:35:30 GMT

There are times when I go back and read over my later work. Mostly when the libations are plentiful and I'm feeling a little nostalgic.
After wards, all I can think is that I should let go of the typing thing and focus on the ~~fifty million~~ other projects that ~~ruin~~ run my life.

You know that being spread too thin feeling? Yeah, it's no fucking fun. And I've got a major case of it right now.

i.e. the stories I'm currently working on:
The Calendar Hung Itself [Supernatural xover]
Cold Comfort [Supernatural]
Scattered All The Way [Original]
The Majestic [Original]
Life Lines [Original]
The Giver & The Receiver [Supernatural]
This Town [Newsies]
Happiness Is a Warm Gun [Death Sentence]
Mark of the Wolf Moon [Original]

It's just to damn much! And that's only scratching the surface as far as writing goes. Don't get me started on the band issues, or my crazy filming schedule (7 pm to 7 am. O RLY? YES RLY. TL;DC).

Le sigh. I need a break.

From myself.

Teasers

Wed, 15 Oct 2008 05:00:49 GMT

My vacation time was much needed and buckets of fun, but now I'm back in the full swing of things. To sum it up, work sucks, the weather sucks, politics suck, and Bank of America sucks ($150+ in overdraft fees for one overdraft, srsly?)

BUT I have been typing my little fingers off. Nothing is really finished yet. I just figured I throw out a little taste of what's being done.

Original Stories

Title: Scattered All The Way
Rating: Hard R once said and done
Summary: “Detox,” her manager said. “Stop drinking. Stay away from the parties for a while. Clean up your act and you’ll be back on top in no time.” One week later she was on top alright. On top of every contract killers' hit list.
Snippet: She was wearing that shirt again.

No. It wasn’t as much a shirt as it was a poor excuse for one. Exposing arms, shoulders, stomach and ample bust, the scrap of cloth had a lot of attentive eyes trained on it. Attentive eyes were the last thing they needed. Not that the words “WE GROW ‘EM BIG IN TEXAS,” screen-printed in dark, bold letters were helping much.

Or the fact that the damn shirt that was not had earned him a busted lip. Jude's eyes, despite all his annoyance, strayed to her breasts, keeping vigil as she settled in her seat and ran a hand through her tangled hair.

He could feel her looking at him and knew she noticed where his attention was focused. She took a deep breath, causing the words stenciled across her chest to bend even more around the sides before licking her bottom lip and wrapping one hand around her water...

Fanfiction

Title: Cold Comfort
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: NC-17
A/N: Felt like writing some smut, so I did. Still in the editing stage, but it will be posted soon.
Snippet: This morning he wakes up to warm hands on his bare back and he knows it's Holly because her scent hangs around him like a cloud. It's as sharp and citrusy as the huge magnolia in the front yard and he finds he doesn't mind at all that the couch is damp from sweating on it all night. Her movements are slow as she travels over old scars and familiarizes herself with new ones and he feels the tension that's been ridding his shoulders for days uncoil and finally loosen it's jaws.

"Time?" His voice cracks and the corners of her mouth lift up to reveal dimples.

"Around eight." He sits up and she hands him a glass of water with the ice already melted down. Just the way he likes it. His swallows it all in about three gulps, trying to ignore the way her blue eyes watch him in that hungry way he's familiar with because he often watched her that way too.

She takes the glass from him when he's done, teardrop tips of her fingers brushing against his bruised knuckles as she stands from her crouch. He hears it when her right knee pops, the lingering effect of an old injury that he doesn't like to think about because she almost died that night. He winces with her as she stumbles a little and reaches out to steady her but she shakes her head and shifts her weight to her left side.

"I'm alright. The humidity gets to it a bit." Her Jersey accent is starting to meld with that lazy drawl of the the South and he can't help but like it. It cuts away at her rough edges and adds a little softness.

"Breakfast will be on in thirty." She tells him and he nods, watching as she limps out of the living room into the kitchen...

Title: The Giver & The Reciever
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG-13
A/N: This is a pre-series wee!chester fic I've been working on for awhile now. Still not were I want it to be but it won't let it's hold go so I keep working on it.
Snippet: Don't say it.

Those words had been bordering on a prayer for the past hour or so, because Sam had that look on his face. That look that said he was building up the courage to ask him to confirm a truth he wasn't ready to deal with yet.

Don't, Sammy. Please! Just don't say it.

The room was dark, despite the the artificial yellow light pouring from the overhead and side lamps. He kept the curtains pulled shut, the door locked and chained. Any hint of the outside world was gone. As far as he was concerned they weren't even a part of it. Because, when stuck in a nondescript motel with his little brother who was too curious for his own good, both of them knowing the things they did, nothing out there seemed right. Normal wasn't real. Normal didn't even exist.

Sam shifted on the bed next to him and Dean glanced his way. His eyes were on the alarm clock, more brown in the poor lighting then the normal mesh of color they usually were. His tongue snaked out to poke at the corner of his mouth as he read the harsh red numbers. It was an action that he hoped he'd grow out of soon. Sam made it too easy to read his emotions. Little nuances such as those speaking volumes for whatever was running through that eight year old head of his.

The tongue thing meant he was worried. Dean didn't have it in his heart to tell him not to, to cut it out and watch his damn cartoons. It was the second time that clock had turned over to 10 pm and in another hour he'd have to make The Call. He had a twist in his stomach that was growing worse with every second that ticked by as he waited and hoped and, more then anything, worried. So to tell Sam, who understood more then a kid his age should, not to was aimless...

Title: This Town
Fandom: Newsies
Rating: R for language
A/N: It's been over a year since I updated this story and I really need to get off my lazy bum and finish this chapter.
Snippet: “Ah,” she laughed, “Vous êtes si beau quand vous êtes fâché.”

He shook his head with a frown and took another drink, “Damn goil.” That just sent her into another fit of laughter, which caused Jean Pierre to turn around.

“Soigneux, Rogue,” he said, “Gens pourraient penser que vous aimez Spot.”

“I don't know if you two 'ave noticed, but we speak English in this country.” He said, wondering at the look of outrage on her face.

Jean Pierre shrugged and continued on, a silent indication that he do whatever he damn well pleased and no amount of protest was going to stop him. Spot glared at his back while Rogue starting humming an unfamiliar tune. She sounded terrible. The girl couldn't hold a note to save he life, though it never stopped her from showcasing herself to anyone's unwilling ears.

“Shud up, would ya,” He scowled while looking up at the clouds gathering above them. They hung low in dirty clumps that contrasted drastically with the dark sky. He couldn't really tell if they promised rain, something they were in desperate need of. He only knew of a few people that could accurately predict the weather. Most of them old. His Grams was one. She'd fuss over her knobby knees and twisted fingers for hours, glancing out the kitchen window while she tried to knead dough with her regular vigor.

“Big storm coming,” she'd tell him, “You finish this bread now. Old laddie's gotta rest sometime.”

And sure enough, the sky would flip, the air would be charged, and the storm that worried her bones so would make it's entrance.

He missed those times. Missed her. But that was a lifetime ago. That withered old woman was nothing but earth and bones now. That freckled faced child, almost elbow deep in sticky flower and eggs, had grown up and earned himself an empire. Now he had to fight to keep it. Even if it was just for a little while.

He took another drink to chase away the memories, letting out a deep sigh as the liquid burned it's way down before recapping the flask. Rogue had ignored his almost polite request and was still sharing her off-key song, hands stuffed in her pockets. So he shoved her and watched with satisfaction as both her voice and her feet stumbled.

“Bastard.”

He snorted out a laugh, only because there was no insult there. She righted herself, ignoring him completely as she walked a little faster to match Jean Pierre's steps. They started talking in hushed tones that he could barely make out. Not that it mattered, because it was in that damned French they insisted on speaking in whenever they wanted to leave him out of their conversation. He almost rolled his eyes as he took another mouthful of liquor and reached in his pocket for a smoke he'd rolled before leaving...

Other pieces are in progress and two complete chapters of The Majestic will be added in the next day or so. I'm currently looking into getting a beta because heaven knows I never can catch all my mistakes. That's about it for now. Love, peace, and hair grease. I'm going to bed.

EDIT: Because my computer hates me and my cat keeps sitting on my keyboard.

I've got sand between my toes.

Sun, 28 Sep 2008 17:07:40 GMT

Squeeeeeeeeeeee!

Another Year Gone

Mon, 22 Sep 2008 22:29:19 GMT

I just spent the past week celebrating my birthday. And I do mean the entire effing week. I'm tired and hung over, and I should have gone to work today, but my body hurts and my carpal tunnel is acting up more then usual. And of course I left my wrist brace on my desk and said job. Meh.

Anyway, here are a few highlights I need to write down to remember:

- Strip clubs are fun. But I still don't see why guys get their jollies off over it.
- When your best friend tells you she's going to fill your bedroom with balloons, listen to her and stop her before the madness starts. I don't care how much liquor is in your system.
- Stay away from fire. Your are border line pyro!
- Authentic Mexican food is oh so good. But all those margaritas are really oh so bad the day after.
- Fall in Georgia = Perfection
- Nothing caps off an evening like a good game of cards out on the porch.
- Staying in town for your birthday for the first time in almost ten years isn't as bad as you thought it would be.

On another note, we started production meetings for the second half of filming 3d Shift. Which means my weekends are going to be ocupado to the extreme. I hope to keep writing despite the crazy schedule we have planned, but I can't make any promises. There are a few pieces on my hard drive that need to be finished and I plan on posting them soon. Look for those in the near future.

FYI- This time next week I'll be on the beach with a good book and a cold beer, and all the time in the world. I can't wait!

The Sweets

Mon, 15 Sep 2008 22:10:18 GMT

Title: The Sweets
Fandom: Death Sentence
Characters: Billy/OC, Joe, Bodie
Rated: R
Chapters: 1/1
Word Count: 2,173
Disclaimer: Don't own Death Sentence or any of the characters associated with the movie and the novel it was based on. Anyone else you see is mine.
Summary: Being a part of the gang meant first names become obsolete. So it was always a surprise when Billy uncharacteristically used hers, and used it right.

A/N: I got the idea of a 5 Times challenge from reading way too much Supernatural fanfiction. The OC belongs to a much greater brain storm titled Happiness Is a Warm Gun that has yet to make itself onto teh internets.
I still don't have a beta, and this prompt was written in a few hours, so don't bust my chops too much over mistakes, please.

Dedications: To me, 'cause it's my birthday and I have every right to spoil myself.

The Sweets

1.
It was summer and the heat was pressing in from all sides because the sun dominated a cloudless sky above and the hot pavement below pushed it right back up. Despite this, Lady had parked herself on the curb outside her apartment, fuming because she was only thirteen and her brother was a jerk.

The twenty bucks she'd managed to scrap up over the weekend babysitting the Clem siblings had somehow made it's way to Bodie's pockets. But she couldn't do anything because he was older and mom was at work and all the screaming in the world wouldn't change the fact that her money had been turned into a six pack of Coors, one dime bag, and some skank named Naomi that asked her if she could find something to do outside for a few hours.

So she sat there, watching the kids playing in the parking lot and wishing she had a least some change to buy a popsicle from the candy man. That's when the car pulled up, a fresh coat of shiny black paint shining in the afternoon sun. She frowned as she stood, dusting off dirt from the back of her shorts as it stopped short before her. The passenger window rolled down and Billy looked over at her before looking at the building behind her.

"Where's you brother?"

She sneered. "Inside with some girl."

He nodded, hands gripping the steering wheel a little tighter before he turned his attention back to her, giving her that predatory look that always made her feel scared and fluttery at the same time.

"They kick you out?"

She nodded and he sighed as he reached over the seat and opened the door.

"Get in the fucking car, Ladybug. Before you get heatstroke."

She didn't bother to think about it, just did as he demanded. As she pulled her seat belt on she saw Precious coming down the stoop. Judging by the look on her face as they pulled off, Lady knew that there would be new gossip at school come Monday.

She asked him once where they were going but he just shrugged and turned the music up louder as he sped down the street. She didn't bother to bitch as him. Only because he'd fixed the air conditioning finally and she didn't want to start a fight that ended with her being dumped on some street to walk back home in the heat. So she sat there, watching him out the corner of her eye while she wondered why he was being nice at the moment when most of the time he made her life a living hell.

They ended up at the movies, where he let her pick the showing and even bought drinks and popcorn that was too salty. They sat in the back and she had to keep jabbing him with her elbow whenever he tried to slip his arm across the back of her chair. He just laughed, something that was so rare that she let him get away with his antics a few times. Though it was hard to convince herself that she didn't really want him to do it.

They drove back to her apartment in silence and when they pulled up to her door he stopped her from getting out with a hand on her shoulder. She turned to look at him, confused by the intensity in his blue eyes and hoping that he wouldn't do anything that made her already pounding heart stop altogether.

Pushing some of her braids behind her ear, he licked his lips before leaning in. "That movie sucked, Jeanne. Next time I'm gonna pick."

All she could manage was a nod before giving him a hasty goodbye and going inside. As she made her way to the bedroom she shared with her mom she had to wonder if she was more confused by his use of her birth name or the fact that he was thinking about their 'next time.'

2.
The numbers just weren't adding up and she had to fight the tears that were threatening to be released as she tossed the papers to the other side of the table.

She just didn't have the funds. Boston University was giving her a fair amount of grants and the such, but even with it all she'd spend most of her life paying back student loans. Chewing on her bottom lip, she picked the roach end of a blunt out the ashtray and went to the stove to light it.

Hearing footsteps behind her she turned to see Joe standing before the fridge, a sloppy grin on his face.

"Thanks for having us over, Lady." He pulled to door open and held up a Becks, "And for providing the libations."

She shook her head, smiling at his drunken swagger as he made his way over to her tiny table and plopped himself down in the other chair. She took a hit and passed the weed to him before sitting down herself.

"Don't expect it to happen anymore. Between school and rent I won't even have money to eat."

"Tuition that bad?"

She shrugged, glancing over the kitchen bar to see her brother and several other members of the gang involved in a heavy game of cards in the living room. It had been a regular occurrence since Bodie had been kicked out of his apartment the month before. She spent most of the time feeding and cleaning up after them, but it made the place feel more like a home. And it was nice to look forward to something other then television, take out, and tons of medical books to study.

"I can't afford this Joe." She sighed, "I can either front the money for next semester and be on the streets. Or I can find another job and hold off going back to school."

"Don't worry about it, Lady." He said as he stood and took a huge gulp of his beer. Burping, he winked at her. "It'll work itself out."

She huffed as he walked away, heading for the bathroom down the hall humming a Wu Tang song with her green burning itself out in his hand. She admired his optimism but she knew the reality of things. She would become another dropout stuck in their shitty part of town with nothing but a bunch of hoods to keep her company. It depressed her enough to make her go to bed early.

When she woke up and stumbled into the kitchen the next morning she was surprised by the envelope sitting in front of her coffee machine. Recognizing Billy's scrawl as she picked up the bulging white paper, she ripped it open to see what was inside.

The seven grand that she needed to cover up what her student loans didn't was a huge surprise. Seeing her name written out by his hand was enough to make her cry for the first time since her mother died.

3.
He picked the lock to her front door when she was in the shower, so it was one hell of a shock to find him standing in her kitchen when she went to get a glass of water. His cheek was swollen and there was a fresh cut on his chin, bleeding freely down his neck and soaking his shirt.

She didn't ask what happened. There was a routine to it all by now. They skirted past the important things like feelings and the truth and did what needed to be done at the time. So she pulled out her first aid supplies as he pulled up a chair. They both took a shot of rum, so he'd be a little more numb and so she wouldn't loose her cool while suturing up the one face that still made her stomach turn when it was abused.

It wasn't the first time and she knew it wouldn't be that last the she played nurse to his wounds. But somewhere between the final stitch and his ruined shirt being tossed into the trash a switch was flipped. She found herself pressed onto her unstable breakfast table and his mouth was hot and demanding as her robe disappeared and there was no resolve to stop anything.

Her name slipped off his tongue just as easily as he slipped into her. Somehow, despite the friction and the weight, the push pull that was almost painful, her muddled mind knew that if he hadn't owned her before he certainly did now. Because all it took was one whispered Jeanne and her heart was blooming and breaking at the same time.

4.
The Butcher didn't know if he could remove the bullets without Billy bleeding out and all she could do was stand there and hand him the tools he needed to save the life of a man that had taken everything she'd been able to give and still demanded more.

She knew it would end this way. Tried to prepare herself for it and was even able to keep a straight face while blood dripped onto the floor and his lips turned blue. But then he looked at her, his eyes actually showing something aside from anger, or lust, or madness. She'd been prepping another syringe when he tilted his head and smiled. And there it was. Sadness. Guilt. Remorse. And something else...

"I'm sorry Jeanne."

She frowned, about to ask him what for. Because her list of things he never apologized for was turning into an anthology and if he was going to make amends now he might as well specify.

Then his eyes went blank and The Butcher was shouting about paddles to get his heart started again.

She didn't remember much after that. All she knew was that if his eyes could convey the simple words she'd been waiting to hear for so long, then he damn well could stay alive long enough to say them.

5.
It took her a few hours to realize what he'd done. She'd been too busy trying to get dinner on the stove and washing clothes for the rest of the week to pay attention. But as she poured out the dishwasher he snuck up behind her and pressed his lips to her temple.

"Come to bed."

"Let me finish this up first."

He exhaled into her hair before snaking his left arm around her stomach and that's when she looked down and saw the bandage wrapped around his finger.

"Damn it Billy. What did you do now?"

She was turning even before he answered, years of training kicking in as she pulled the tape off to check the damage. That's when she saw it, in simple bold letters inked around his ring finger, which was still swollen from the needle. She pulled back, brow raised as she looked at him.

"You could have at least asked me first."

He rolled his shoulders, freeing his hand from her own before grabbing her around the waist and hoisting her up onto the counter. His fingers trailed across the small of her back, feather light against the tattoo that had been there for some many years it was in need of a touch up.

"You got your brand. Now I've got mine."

"Asshole." She muttered as she wrapped her legs around his middle. "And you still haven't asked me."

He sighed, kissing the pulse at her neck before breathing against her ear.

"Marry me?"

"Hmm." She closed her eyes, arms finding themselves around his back. "Let me sleep on it."

His answering chuckle made her shiver as he dragged her away from the counter, cutting off the light as he padded to the bedroom. She didn't need to sleep on anything. Just wanted him to work for it. By the end of the week both of their bandages were gone and the names etched into their skin was starting to scab over and peel.

The Majestic - 2/?

Wed, 10 Sep 2008 04:42:50 GMT

Title: The Majestic
Rated: R
Chapters: 2/?
Word Count: 4,081
Snippet: Damian insisted that doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result was a true sign of insanity. He also thought peanut butter and ham on rye bread with a beer was a balanced meal. I stopped listening to his stoner induced psychobabble many moons ago. It was easier just to nod along like I cared until something else distracted him.

The Majestic
Chapter 2
I think I'm in love with the Center For Disease Control.

They have a nifty little website with all sorts of information on every sickness and ailment one can imagine. On the Disease and Conditions portion of the website, under the letter P, wedged between Pneumococcal Polysaccharide Vaccine (PPV) and Primary Amebic Meningoencephalitis (PAM) / Naegleria Infection, is that annoying little fucker called Pregnancy.

Finally! Someone admits to what I’d been preaching since I first saw the movie Alien. Pregnancy is not some beautiful, natural act that a woman should be thrilled to have the opportunity to experience. It’s a sexually transmitted infestation that has to trick the body into believing it’s supposed to be there, least it gets hip to the game and rejects it out right. Really, pregnant women are nothing but hosts. Hosts to a virus that will still feed off your life's blood thirty something years after you’ve expelled it. And if they really want to torture you, they start hosting little viruses of their own so they can dump them off on you while they run off for a romantic weekend in the Caymans.

Let’s face it... Eve fucked up. Now my uterus has to suffer for it.

Indy said I was being a little over dramatic about it all. I told him I’d stick my over dramatic foot up his butt then make him clean the shoe afterwards if he didn’t get out of my room. He sulked away while muttering something about hormones as I continued to stare at my motionless ceiling fan, wondering if I could manage to eat something other then potato products today. Almost a month after my discovery Brendon still didn’t know, my brothers were still clueless (not surprisingly), and I couldn’t hold any food down. Unless it was made from potatoes and likely deep fried. Indy could just suck a toe if he thought I should be a little more chipper.

Sighing, I rolled off my bed and shuffled across the room, sticking out my tongue at my reflection in my dresser mirror. I had put on a few pounds due to my revised diet and wasn’t the slightest bit happy about it. I had love handles. Honest to God, roll over the waist of your jeans, love handles. For this to happen to a person that knows the names of every gym within a three mile radius was sickening. I went for a jog yesterday and ended up blowing chunks into someone’s hydrangeas when I caught the smell of meat grilling. Not only can I not keep any food down, I also can’t stand the smell of it. Except for the potatoes, of course.

It had become apparent to me that some sadistic deity was punishing me for a past life of gluttony and sin. I get it. I’m sorry. But please, I’d love to be able to drool over a blue bacon bugger from the EARL again without getting all icky in my tummy. I don’t care how unhealthy it is. It’s still better then sex. Which I hate now, seeing as how it got me into this position in the first place.

Though, it was really awesome sex.

Still doesn’t beat the burger, though. And it’s certainly not worth the waste of stomach acids and throat erosion.

I made my way into the kitchen, pulling a box of tater tarts out of the freezer and setting the oven to the right temperature. Indy was puttering around in his room down that hall, still talking to himself as he banged away at something. I could hear the twins outside on the back porch through an open window. Missy was playing Nine Inch Nails loudly upstairs. Somewhere down the street a lawn was being mowed. It way a typical Sunday afternoon, and I wanted nothing more then to crawl back in my bed and sleep the day away.

I'd spent most of the night tossing, finally getting up around two and messing around on my laptop before falling asleep sometime close to dawn. I had called Brendon the evening before and told him I needed to talk to him in person. He had sounded a little too eager about coming over. Poor fool probably thought I wanted to duke it out with him verbally and make up the way any fighting couple does. He was about to have a very bad day. Scratch that, how about life?

Pulling a cookie sheet out the drying rack, I dumped my soon to be brunch onto it and stuck it in the oven before grabbing a glass and pouring myself some water. I wasn’t sure how Brendon was going to take the news. I wasn’t entirely sure how I was taking it, to be honest. I guess I still hopped I’d wake up one morning and realize it was all just a really weird, vivid dream.

I did know in past fights there was yelling, denial, name calling, sometimes a few things being thrown at each other. Brendon would storm downstairs to bitch to my brothers and smoke their pot. Indy would hide in his room and blast the most annoying music he could find. I’d take my frustrations out by cleaning or playing Space Invaders on my computer. Then he’d come back upstairs, high as a kite, but willing to talk. Makeup sex would commence. We’d be the sweet, loving couple for a few days before one of us did something to set the other off and it would start all over again. Thus was the story of my completely normal and healthy relationship.

Damian insisted that doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result was a true sign of insanity. He also thought peanut butter and ham on rye bread with a beer was a balanced meal. I stopped listening to his stoner induced psychobabble many moons ago. It was easier just to nod along like I cared until something else distracted him.

Indy breezed by the kitchen, pausing for a second to look at me, before he yanked open the basement door and pounded down the stairs. I just raised an eyebrow as I wandered into the bathroom to take my vitamins and wash up. He was in his artistic zone. I saw it in his eyes this morning when he came bursting into my room asking for a shoe box and some duct tape. There was no telling what kind of mad creation was going on in that room of his, and I was a little eager to see what he would emerge with from the twins' part of the house. Last week he had created a maze in the living room with strips of clear plastic that he'd spattered with glow in the dark paint. He then covered all the windows and placed black lights around the room. In the center of the maze there had been one of those windup, cymbal banging monkeys tied to a string. I still didn't know what that one was all about, but it had been interesting to experience, none the less.

When I went back into the kitchen he was already back in his room. I shrugged, even though no one was there to see before peeking into the oven at my food and then going to change out of my night clothes. Brendon was due to arrive in about half an hour, and as the time ticked by the more nervous I got. He wasn't ready to be a father. He was too spoiled and selfish to even be in a real relationship, and I knew that from first hand experience. I didn't expect him to want to hang around and take responsibility, but I would have liked him to prove me wrong. Overestimation and stupidity go hand in hand at times. I had no plans of falling play to either one.

Unfortunately, that little optimistic part of me still believed that he would do the right thing. It was highly disappointed when I was face to face to him, sitting on my bed and he was staring at me with a surprisingly blank face. I had just delivered some speech about a baby and it 'being his,' going off of instinct rather then anything premeditated. This was certainly not the reaction I had expected, and my improvised meal flip-flopped in my stomach as I quietly asked him to say something.

He sneered at me before pulling himself out of my computer chair and started pacing the cramped floor of my room.

“You know, I always thought you were different.”

I frowned, pushing my hair out of my face. What the hell was that supposed to mean?

He paused long enough in his pacing to shoot me a look I'd seen on his face plenty of times before; somewhere between contempt and disgust. I always liked the way he looked when he was angry. It was how I first noticed him. He was chewing out a valet driver because his car had come back with a dent in it. I knew he was an asshole from the moment I laid eyes on him. But he was so incredibly attractive. I ended up bumping into him on my way into the night club when he was waiting for the manager. His friends had ditched him, opting to call a cab while he waiting to settle the dispute over his Benz. He was a man with too much trouble and too much ego and I was the one girl that didn't fall to her knees because of his bank account and cute face. I've spent most of my life broke and content. I didn't need anything he could offer me.

We exchanged numbers but I didn't think much would come of it. Lots of persuasion and a year later, I found myself in this awkward situation.

“I should have listened to my mother when I got involved with you.” He shook his head, causing his shaggy hair fall into his eyes.

“What the hell does that old bag have to do with me?” I asked.

Brendon came from a well off family. They never liked me. In their eyes I was gum stuck to the bottom of their shoe, looking for some rich bastard to take care of me. Mrs. Taylor, his mother, was a middle aged woman who'd seen her doctor for Botox injections more times then I'd seen mine for odd aches and regular checkups. And I had a pretty damn good heath care plan that I took complete advantage of. She had her first look of me and decided I wasn't worth Brendon's time. My skin was too dark, my hair too unruly, and my eyes could never decide what color they wanted to be. When she learned of my family history, what little there was to speak of, she snubbed her nose up even higher and tried her damnedest to convince her son I was out to trap him.

Every woman in the world knows that the quickest was to get a man to buckle down was to play the whole 'I'm preggers' card. It took me all of five seconds to remember that was one of Mrs. Taylor's favorite arguments as to why Brendon should cut ties with me.

I sat there silently for a moment, trying to put into choice words just how unfortunate his stupidity was as he continued to wear a path into my hardwood floors. Finally, after licking my lips, I narrowed my eyes at him.
“Fredrick Brendon Taylor, I’m going to give you the benefit of doubt and assume the asinine words that just came out of your mouth were due to shock.”

“Like hell they were.” He stopped moving and crossed his arms. “How can I even be sure it’s my baby? You live in a house full of men with more that come and go. There’s no telling who you’ve been spreading your legs for when I’m not around. Not to mention that nut Indy who’s always fucking hanging off of your leg like a horny dog!”

Well that got me to my feet. Before I knew it I had shoved him across my room onto the wall. Something crashed to the floor in the hallway when he hit but I ignored it. I was too focused on not wrapping my hands around the idiot’s neck and squeezing the life out of him.

I was pissed. Sure I knew he was an asshole, but he just went too far. I like sex. Millions of people do. It sure as hell didn’t make me a slut. And though we fought constantly, and I couldn’t stand to look at him a good portion of the year, I was always faithful. I’d bet my left hand he couldn’t say the same. Plus he dragged Indy’s name into it. Sweet, confusing Indy, who hated Brendon’s guts as much as he hated Pringles (which was an awful lot, by the way) but tolerated him only because I was into him.

He was staring at me with wild eyes. That superior, scornful look he’d been wearing was now replaced with one that was a mixture of shock and fear. It felt good to see that and a small, internal part of me did a little happy dance.

“You’re fucking postal.” He shouted at me as he pulled himself up straight. Though we fought often, it had never come to physical assault. So I lost my cool a little. I didn’t feel sorry for it. If he was so offended he could sue me. I was a fraction of a second from saying that out loud before I caught myself. He probably would sue me, the bastard.

Instead, I rolled my eyes. “You’re right. I’m a hormonally crazed bitch who hasn’t eaten a real meal in over two weeks because you think condoms 'ruin the experience’!” I heard the back door open and realized we were gaining an audience. I probably should have shut up at that point and closed my door, but I was too heated to care.

“What's this I hear about condoms?” Troy was standing in the hallway wearing nothing but a pair of shorts and flip flips over socks. I winced. The last thing I needed was for either one of my brothers to get involved. Not now at least. I had started to tell him to beat it when Brendon opened his big mouth.

“Oh, you haven't heard? Yo's gone and gotten herself knocked up.”

Troy blinked first at him, then at me. “Say what now?”

“The whore of Edgewood slipped up.” He said smugly as he crossed his arms over his chest.

Bad move, Einstein. I don't think he realized which brother he was speaking to. Troy's gaze moved back to him and I saw his jaw clench. Troy was the irrationally one. Troy was the overprotective one. Troy's anger operated on a hair trigger. Troy was the one that caught a case when he knocked some idiots teeth out because they called my ass fat.

Damian would try to reach middle ground. Troy would rather beat you brainless. Funny what foster homes can do to a kid.

Brendon finally realizing his mistake, got a panic look to his eyes as he glanced around the room for a means of escape. “Hey man, I-”

“Shut the fuck up.” He started for him but I stepped in between the two of them, holding up my hands and placing them on his bare shoulders.

“Let it go, Troy.” I said lowly, giving him my most convincing 'I will make your life hell if you don't leave this room now' glare. “I can handle this.”

I heard Brendon shuffle so that he was behind me rather then to the side. Some man he was turning out to be. Willingly using me as a buffer between himself and my pushing 200 pounds brother who spends more time with his weights then he does with his girl friend. I wanted to turn around and slap him.

Never taking his eyes off of Brendon, Troy gently moved my hands and proceeded to pick me up by my upper arms and place me out of the way. Seeing his one salvation from a beat down was now removed from the equation, Brendon made for the door. Troy, with lazy effort, reached out with one hand and grabbed him by the back of his shirt, pulling him back into the room and slamming him into the wall I had just pushed him into.

“Damn it.” The words slipped through my clenched teeth as Troy shoved the side of Brendon's face into the wall with one hand and used his forearm to still his upper body.

“I've dealt with this shit for too long.” He said quietly. “My sister doesn't deserve a prick like you.”

“Get the hell off me, you ape!” Brendon's words were muffled as he tried to struggle out of Troy's hold. There were footsteps in the hall and suddenly Indy was standing in my doorway with a concerned written across his face.

“What's going on?”

“I'm about to introduce this fucker's head to his asshole, that's what.” Troy replied as he jerked Brendon from the wall, slipped his arms under his arm pits and grabbed his neck in an affective head lock in the same time it took me to blink.

“Let him go Troy!” I was pleading now, glancing at Indy urgently for assistance. He moved into the room to stand beside me, placing a comforting hand between my shoulder blades.

“Hey, Troy.” He called out.

“You're not gonna stop me.”

Indy sighed. “You remember jail?”

Troy gave him a confused look. “What?”

“You know, that place you end up at when people press chargers because you assaulted them.”

“Yeah.” A pause as Brendon continued his struggle. “They've got good waffles.”

Ignoring his reply, Indy went on. “Then you remember bail money, court dates, and community service. You remember attorney bills and parole officers. Oh, and missing out on that fucking awesome week in Miami because you weren't allowed to leave the state?”

Something was starting to get through Troy's thick skull. He sighed. “Fine. No broken bones and bloody noses. I got it.” He still didn't relinquish his hold on Brendon, who was flailing his hands around uselessly and making odd, little noises. Forcing him to turn around so that he faced us, Troy grabbed a fist full of his hair and yanked his head up.

“You see my sister standing there?” When Brendon didn't reply he pulled a little harder. “Do you?”

“Yeah. I see her.”

“Good. I want you to take a long hard look, because this is going to be the very last time. Whatever you and Yolanda had, as messed up as it was, is over. You're not worthy of her. You're not worthy of this family. And you're most certainly not worthy of that baby.

“I don't want to see you around. If I so much as smell that pussy ass cologne of yours in this house again I'm gonna rearrange your face, damn the consequences. Don't call. Don't write. Don't even fucking drive down this street. You understand all of that?”

Brendon nodded.

“Alright, now get your American Apparel wearing ass out of here. I'm sick of looking at you.”

He finally released his hold and Brendon hung around long enough to straighten out his shirt with as much pride as he could muster before heading out. He didn't look back once.

I rounded on Troy just as Brendon slammed the front door shut with his exit and Damian finally made his entrance. “I'm sick and tired of this overbearing, protective, 'I'm older then you so my say is the law' crap. I don't need you to be my god damn father, Troy. I need you to be my brother, who knows when to butt the fuck out!”

He just ignored me. Jackass.

“What's up?” Damian asked. He eyes were terribly bloodshot and I didn't have to guess to know what he'd been up to outside.

“Oh, I just roughed Brendon up a little bit.” Troy shrugged. I let out a frustrated breath and went to sit on my bed. There was no getting through to him, the bullheaded fool.

“Why'd you do that?”

“Cause he called Yo a whore.”

Damian frowned, scratching at his chin. “And why would he do that?”

I could see where their exchange was heading so I laid back on the bed and grabbed a pillow to suffocate myself with.

“Because Yo's pregnant and he doesn't think the kid is his.”

I halted my premature death just in time to peak out from behind the pillow and see Damian's reaction. His eyebrows shot up and his eyes got a little large.

“Oh.” He ran his tongue over his top teeth, a little habit that gave any observer an indication of what twin was which. “Shit man.”

Troy chuckled. “Shit indeed. I believe you owe me fifty bucks, so fork it over.”

Damian started to pull out his wallet when I sat up and gave the three men in my room questionable looks.
“What the hell are you doing?” I asked. They two of them shared identical, guilty expressions with each other while trying to scramble for an answer.

“It was Troy's idea.”

“Don't lie, you dick. You're the one who wanted to bring money into it.”

Indy spoke up for the first time since Brendon left. “They made a bet on why you decided to get clean. Troy figured you were knocked up. Damian thought you had found Jesus or something ridiculous.”

I pursed my lips and shook my head in disbelief. Just when I thought I had figured out the works and trappings of the opposite sex's mind, they went and did something that made me start the labyrinth all over again.

“You couldn't have just asked me why?”

A few seconds passed as the twins gathered the courage to answer.

“Well, you've been kinda bitchy lately.” Damian started.

“Yeah, bitting off everyone's head all the time over little things.” Troy added.

“We were starting to confuse you with Missy.”

“So we figured you'd come around eventually. We just wanted to have a little fun over the reason why...”
“Since you've been no fun for about almost a month now.”

I took a deep breath, making a point not to look at any of them as I tried to repress the urge to scream like a banshee. Me, bitchy? Of course I was! I was having the worst time of my life. No decent food, nor beer or nicotine. I couldn't even go to my favorite haunts because of the miasma of cigarette smoke that populated them, the Majestic being the one exception. Work was kicking my ass. My body was falling to ruin while I watched helplessly. I had consumed enough chips and fries to start a twenty first century potato famine. And to top everything off my boy friend -correction, ex boy friend courtesy of Troy who thinks he can bully everyone around like he did in secondary school- was a complete jerk with no sense of duty or responsibility.

My conclusion: Men suck! And I yelled just that as I threw the pillow at Damian's head. They tried to stop me as I pulled on my shoes, grabbed my purse and car keys and headed for the door, but I tuned them out. I had to get out of that room, out of that house that was oozing of testosterone and stupidity. I drove around for almost half an hour before I was calm enough to deal with another human being, but I was still too angry to deal with anyone that had dangly bits between their legs.

Heading to the only male free zone I could think of, I ended up in East Atlanta's My Sisters Room. The place was virtually deserted, it being a Sunday afternoon and all. I walked up to the bar and ordered a virgin Shirley Temple and spent several hours in deep conversation with the bartender and several patrons as we philosophized over why the world would be better off without men.

And, not for the first time in my life, I realized things would be a lot easier if I was a lesbian.
© Copyright 2007 Neo Genesis