Stavanger, Norway
April 16th, 1987

Tap, tap, tap.

There was knocking on the front door. He knew who it was, but made no move to get up to answer it. The only sound that came from him was the sound of alcohol sloshing from the half-empty bottle in his hand being tilted to his lips. Hazy green hues that seemed dull in the dark room, windows covered with sheets and blankets shading him from the afternoon sun. He liked the dark, it wrapped around him like a familiar, comfortable cloak. There was a peculiar weight to the darkness that many feared, it made them feel suffocated. But not Sawyer. He reveled in the suffocating claustrophobic feel of shadows.

Tap, tap, creaaaaaak.

"Sawyer?"

The girl's voice rang through the darkness and brought an almost silent sigh from the drunk, depressive man. He still said nothing, but after a moment of the sounds of shuffling items, there was a flash from a cheap Bic that sprung life to his features. Shaded in areas, illuminated in bright red and orange and yellow from the flickering flame. It was only a second before his apathetic expression disappeared, consumed by the shadows once more.

"Jesus, Sawyer. Why are you just sitting here in the dar-... Ow." There was a hiss from the woman, the sound of a hand rubbing against denim after a bump against wood and the rattling of whatever was on the furniture she ran into. "Son of a bitch." A growl, a sigh. She was moving, this time more carefully.

Sawyer remained silent.

The only hint of him being there was the cherry hazily illuminating his dark expression with every intake of smoke from the cigarette.

"So that's it? You're just going to sit there and not say a god damn word. I'm getting so sick of this, Sawyer." Irritation in her voice rang clear, now in front of him but a few feet away. She was making her way into the room.

He finally spoke.

"So leave." Bland, almost monotone were it not for the lilt of his Norwegian accent springing through the words.

"And leave you to drink yourself to death? Yeah, that sounds like a smart decision." Sarcasm. She was further away, making her way to the windows.

He said nothing, just snickered under his breath. A sound that was muffled by the crackling, static sound of the cigarette burning as it was hit from. Sloshing, the bottle again. Perhaps spiteful considering what was just said.

"Fuck you, Sawyer." She hated when he got like this, he knew it. Frankly, he didn't care. He just blamed her for her own misery. She didn't have to come back, didn't have to stick around. The fact she did was her own decision. She was a big girl, able to make them herself.

"Blow me," he muttered, harsh in the dank darkness of the room.

"From the smell of it, you need a shower. So, no." She retorted, anger rising in the girl.

"Probably. It's been a couple days." He admitted, his voice remaining that near-monotone.

She sighed, then suddenly the room was illuminated with light. Blinding afternoon light that forced him to let go of the filter, raise his hand to protect his vision that had grown accustomed to the darkness. He growled, anger flashing through the expression that had held nothing but apathy and blankness since she arrived.

"Don't give me that. We're human beings, Sawyer. We need light." She shook her head, dropping the thick, black blanket to the ground with the ruffle of fabric hitting the floor.

"Like hell." Squinting through his fingers, it was close enough to a glare he could manage at the moment, the cigarette dangling between his lips. Bouncing with the words spoken.

She stopped at one, thankfully. Not wanting to trigger his anger too much, but she was tired of stubbing her toes on everything sitting in the living room. A glance around the room, she witnessed the destruction. "Jesus...." She whispered, staring at the overturned furniture, the holes in the walls. She saw the mass of bottles that littered the floor around his feet. The only bit of furniture that seemed to be intact and upright was the sole chair he was sitting in. The ashtray was nearly overflowing with cashed cigarettes. "... Did it happen again?" She slowly pulled her hues toward him, hesitant in her gaze.

"Fuck do you care, Maggie?" His tone was harsh, irritable from the assault she bestowed on him from the afternoon sun. She took his darkness away.

"You know I care, Sawyer..." She was speaking slowly, like talking down a rabid animal. Even her hands rose in surrender.

"Then that's your own fucking fault," nearly a snarl, slurred by the liquor that was nearly boiling in his belly. His cold glare settled onto her, nostrils flaring. He clearly wasn't pleased with her visit.

"Sawyer..." she whispered, shaking her head as she began to back away from him. She tried, remained unsuccessful as she felt the cold wall touch her bare shoulder blades like electricity, tensing the muscles that were jumping and jittery.

He said nothing, only that wide smile that seemed far too sweet in contrast to the previous expression. He rose from the chair, hands on the armrests that aided in his ascent to his feet. "You wanted my company didn't you? That's why you're here." His voice was silky, if not slurred. The smile didn't match the angry coldness in his evergreen eyes.

"Yes... but. I wanted you to have a good day, Sawyer. I wanted to cheer you up." Her lower lip quivered, fingers splaying as she shrunk against the wall.

"Oh, but baby.... you will." He cooed, head tilted as he gave her that terrible smile that she knew was a lie.

She screamed, he attacked.

May 18th, 1987




"Sawyer!" The willowy, mousy brunette dame leaped onto the bed and bounced around him, trying to raise the slumbering man from the depths of unconsciousness. "Dude, wake up." A low, grumbling sound came from the mass beneath the comforter, curling further into a ball and tugging the blanket higher over his head. "Go away, Maggie." Nearly growling, or as close to a growl as a mere human could afford. A pout laid on her features as she eased one leg over the coiled man beneath the blanket, one foot planted on each side of him before she abruptly plopped down onto the small of his back to straddle him. "You don't mean that, do you?" She nearly cooed to him, fingers sinking into the dark comforter as she gave it a bit of a tug. "You knowwww you want to get up," her Norwegian accent was soft, holding a lilt of sultriness to it as she leaned forward to nearly sprawl across his back.

"No, I don't," he huffed, though it didn't sound all that convincing when she used the voice on him, his own voice muffled by the blanket covering his head. "Yes you do, come on." There was a soft smile that was edging closer to a grin as her backside wiggled over him, like a cat ready to pounce a mouse as she gave another tug to the blanket. "I'll make coffee and breakfast if you do~" Whispered to him, raising the bribery bar as she inched her way up his back getting closer to that grumbling head beneath the blanket. "Come out and plaaaay, Sawyer~" Making it up to his shoulders, she tugged more fervently on the blanket and this time he lessened his grip on it so she could reveal that sleep-mussed head of his. Obsidian hair was shot in every which way, what was normally straight was now crimped from the blanket and pillow and sticking out in all directions. One glittering emerald surfaced beneath a long-lashed eyelid as he peered at her.

"Depends on what kind of playing you're talking about," he grumped at her, not moving an inch just yet. With his head revealed to the outside world, she tugged the blanket even lower to expose his bare and inked shoulders, her lips smearing over the expanse of flesh that she could reach. "Oh, I think you know what I'm talking about," she nearly purred to him before flashing a pearly, cheeky grin. Low chuckling erupted from the man, the grumpiness ebbing away from him thanks to her promises of a good start to any morning. "Game on," he rasped, snagging her wrist as she curled her fingers over his shoulder and gave her a jolting tug while he rolled to his side, flipping her down to the mattress beside him. Her giggling tore free from her full lips before she let out a squeak when the comforter consumed them both. It was mornings like this that tricked her into thinking he wasn't as terrible as he was.

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Standing in the kitchen now after their little rendezvous, Maggie dressed in one of his shirts with hardly anything beneath. Her tangled brown mane fell to her collar bones, her lanky frame was nearly flawless now that the bruises were gone and she had no ink to show on her milky flesh. He was walking around in boxers alone, finally roused from bed after their frolick in the sheets and after she'd already made the pot of coffee. Leaning against the sink, emerald orbs heavy as he breathed in the fresh aroma of the coffee she'd made. His nostrils twitched as he sniffed it in, taking a sip as those hues were hidden behind his lids momentarily. When they opened, they settled on the woman humming to herself as she darted around the kitchen; from cupboard, to fridge, to stove, to cupboard, to pantry. All over the place, but she seemed pleased while getting their breakfast together.

With the coffee finally making it's way to his head, the caffeine taking hold in his system enough that his eyelids didn't feel to be made from lead as he peered more clearly at her. "So what's got you coming over this morning to spoil me?" He snickered, lifting that mug up to his mouth for another slurping sip of the bitter, hot liquid heaven. Reaching into the fridge and bending over, a view that he not-so-subtly tilted his head to catch the full extent of it as she answered him. "I, um..." she pulled herself free from the chill of the fridge, holding a carton of eggs as she turned around and chewed on her lip. "I was kind of hoping we could go look at the Sverd i fjell today." Grey-blue hues peered at him, widening slightly as she had her own strange form of pleading with him. "It's been 4 years since they were built, and I still haven't seen them yet."

He seemed to consider it, eyeing that puppy dog look she was giving him. For a moment, he considered saying no just to make it worse. But she'd bribed him with good tidings this morning. Letting out a sigh as he took another pull from his mug, rolling the coffee on his tongue as he gave a light nod in agreement instead of saying anything. A wide smile spread on her face as her chipper demeanor returned, going back to her cooking.

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Breakfast passed, as well as a shower and getting dressed. It was a warm day, the need to bundle in layers was moot. The sun reflected of his sunglasses as he leaned forward in the beater he drove, fingers brushing over buttons to fiddle with the radio. A cigarette dangled between his lips, bouncing with each word muttered. "So what has you wanting to look at the swords this morning, anyways?" He wasn't much of an extrovert, never mind when he was sober. But after more puppy dog eyes and bribery from the dame in the passenger seat, he'd left the liquor at home.

"Why wouldn't I want to see them?" Her head rolled to look at him behind large, circular tinted glasses. Her frame was crooked in the seat, bare feet poking out from the lowered window and crossed at the ankles. "They're massive 10 meter swords stuck in the ground. They're immovable." She knew better than to look at him like an idiot for asking the question, but she really wanted to in that moment. "I don't know. They just sound incredible. And I never got around to seeing them." Her lips pursed as her head turned her gaze toward the open window, spindly fingers rising to rake through the brunette locks and away from her face.

"More importantly, why ask me to take you. You know I don't give a shit about things like that." He scoffed, muttering something inaudible under his breath as he gave up on searching for music and pressed a cassette into the stereo. "One of your friends could just as easily take you. With less bitching," he rasped a laugh, his hand falling from the radio as it started playing some Bon Jovi.

She shifted in her seat, shoulders moving from side to side as if she was trying to burrow her shoulder blades into the plush fabric. "I... wanted to go with you." She muttered, glancing to him briefly. "Besides, Amy isn't talking to me anymore," murmured even softer. "She doesn't like you. And I got tired of her bitchin' about us, so I kicked her to the curb." The admittance was soft, barely heard over the music playing and the wind rolling through the windows.

"Fuck her," he spouted, his own head rolling as he gave her a fleeting look. "She doesn't like that we're together, she can find someone else's time to waste." His eyes turned to the road, weaving through the country and winding roads. "Yeah, I guess." She sighed, shaking her head. "She doesn't understand it, I don't think she ever will." She crept up the seat a bit before settling, adjusting her legs in the window accordingly. "No skin off my neck," she grumbled, but it didn't sound all that convincing. Her tension showed that the loss of the friend was digging deeper than she was letting on.

"Hey," he called out, softer than his usual tone. "Look at me."

"What?" She muttered, still staring out the window, avoiding eye contact.

"Maggie." His tone was stubborn, refusing to let it go. Finally, she sighed and turned her head to look at him. "What?..." His smile was soft, softer than any monster of a wicked man should ever be able to manage. "You've still got me, baby." His hand reached out, eyes darting between the road and the woman. When she was within reach, his thumb brushed over her soft lips, his own crooked smile as slippery as a piranha. "Any one who talks shit, can get fucked with a cactus." Well, that's one way to put it.

Slowly, her smile started to erupt across her features. Mostly by his softness to her, the rare moments that drew her in like the snake he was. The pad of his thumb brushing across her lips had them instinctively parting, catching his thumb in her mouth and giving it a playful bite before suckling on it to amend her playfulness. She nodded, the mood seeming to have dissipated immediately by his soothing words and touch.

"Good girl," he cooed to her, grinning a devilish smile at the sight of her clamping on to his thumb. He made no move to steal it away while that grin was turned to the windshield, resuming his driving as normal.