So lay down, the threat is real,
When his sight goes red again. - Red; Chevelle.


The Send Off
Two Weeks Ago


Like a feral animal, Reynolds paced back and forth in the parking lot, work boots stomping about as he moved from one side of the white sedan to the other. Forearms rested on the surface of the hood for a moment as his head dropped down. The cigarette was burning nearly into the filter at this point. His upper lip burned with the drag he'd taken, and a grimace had his spitting it out before pacing to the rear of the vehicle. His palm slapped against it in waiting. Was the man running late? No, it had been five minutes before he was supposed to show up. Still, Reynolds' nerves were on fire.



With one minute to their decided time, Vincent's demeanor was completely calm. The slight downward angle of his eyes were as lax as they always were, peering through the windshield of the slate grey Audi RS 7 he was driving. The mild purr from the engine grew softer as he pulled into the lot agreed upon by the two men, loose fingers gripping the steering wheel in a clean sweep to pull up beside Reynolds. Those crystalline gems serving as his eyes flickered through the tinted windows to watch him for a moment, a slow relaxing sigh escaped his nose before he reached for the door handle of the car. He shouldered out at the same time the engine was killed, keys tugged out in fluid motion as he climbed out. Blue jeans covered his legs, a white undershirt peeked out from a red and black plaid over-shirt. His father's watch was around his wrist, banged up and scratched to the point of looking dull. It had stopped working a long time ago, but he still wore it. "Reynolds," he said calmly, closing the car door behind him before he struck up a lean against the side of his car. "You should calm yourself. I could almost feel your anxiousness through the car," his nose twitched, fingers dipping into his front pockets as he nonchalantly called the man out.



By the time he'd pulled up, Reynolds was working on another cigarette. Probably gone through half a pack with his chain-smoking that day... "Finally," he hissed as if Vince was late and moved to lean against the passenger side door of his car. There was a rough shake of his head when Vince started in on the telling him to relax. "Don't start on me with that shit," he spat. "I'm calm, I'm calm." He wasn't though. His fixation for the girl had grown monumentally in her absence. Enough so that frown lines were visible on his face, still with the faded snake tattoo framing it. Then of course, there was the scar over his right eye. It was gruesome, and hard to look at. Three guesses who put it there....

"Tell me your plan here," he demanded.



Vince was a smoker himself, but it was mostly out of habit from being surrounded by others who did it. Common ground, it was soothing. One hand slipped out from his front jeans pocket, just to dip into the breast pocket of his over-shirt, retrieving the Turkish cigarettes. "You're shooting for a heart attack, you know," he said calmly, tucking his cigarette between his lips, the stick bouncing while he spoke and lit the Bic in his palm at the same time. The light illuminated smooth, tan features that would've maybe been a baby face were it not for the even and carefully trimmed short facial hair that dusted his jaw and the bottom half of his cheeks. "What with all your smoking and all that." Flame to cherry, the cigarette came to life before he pocketed the pack and source of flame, lifting his chin with a sharp inhale of smoke. If he was bothered by looking at Reynolds' gruesome scar, he didn't let it be known.

The demand had him shifting his weight against the car, scissoring the filter between his fingers as he let his hand drop to his side. "I've told you my plan over and over again, Reynolds. I don't need to keep reminding you," he objected, but the anxiousness nearly radiating off the feral man was far from pleasant. He just wanted this meeting over and done with so he could be on his way. "I gain her trust, I bring her back, just leave the details to me, alright?" His head tilted, voluminous locks of inky hair fell to the side to curl around just under his right eye.



Most of what was said, Reynolds ignored. The talk of him having a heart attack and what-not. He wasn't convinced that he could die, not until she was where she needed to be. He'd probably crawl from his grave, nope! Not done yet! Those eyes squeezed shut for a moment and he waved his hand. "How are you planning to engage with it? That's very important..." he said softly. "It's a runner. Prescott...he taught it how to fly under the radar... But he was also a sucker. Couldn't resist helping someone out, coming to the rescue. No doubt that's rubbed off on the monster... but don't get me wrong."

Staring Vince dead in the eye, "...it is a monster. It doesn't kill out of need, or even for fun. It just kills."



There was no doubt the man in front of Vince was obsessed with the monster. It was written in the almost crazed look in his eyes, the agitation that was radiating enough that he could feel his own muscles tensing in his shoulders. He didn't like being around this man too long, it made his skin crawl like bugs beneath the flesh. "I know what a monster is, Reynolds. I read everything in that manila folder," he narrowed his eyes slightly, almost wishing he could breach agreements and use the voice on him. Just to get his ass to cool it. Shaking his head, he sighed out just to breathe in another lungful of putrid smoke. It took the edge off some. "Like you said, it's a runner. Approaching it without cause or reason is going to seem suspicious. I have to create a natural setting for our paths to cross. If I can get it to approach me first, that would be better. But I'll take the initiative should it be needed. I have some ideas," he informed the nervous wreck over there, but didn't elaborate just what they were as he stared at the man adjacent from him, his hand coming to his lips for another drag.



"Alright," he said, trying to trust the man. If only because he had no other choice. He couldn't get to June. She'd recognize him in a heartbeat. Vince was his only chance, his best chance. With that voice, he might be able to talk June down... Swallowing hard, he nodded. "Just check in when you make contact," he said. "I expect emailed reports at the very least..." muttered Reynolds as he spat out his cigarette and reached for his door. "Daily," he added before opening it and sliding in.



Vince knew it, too. He'd give a vague layout to his superiors, but he preferred the details to be left in his hands. He watched Reynolds, almost expecting more intrusive questions to be asked of what was in his head but the man held back. His chin lifted slightly before lowered in a half-assed nod of his own, "good," he muttered, that the man was leaving it be. "I know how this works," he sighed, taking another drag of his cigarette. He hadn't finished it, only half. But he was done. He dropped it between his feet and leaned on the car to stomp it out with a workboot. "Email daily, you'll get a call twice a week," he said blandly, setting his terms. "Just don't get needy," he teased the man. "Let me have some space, yeah?" He snickered, turning to open the door of the Audi and started to slip into the car. Muttering to himself, "and try some fucking decaf next time."


(A thank you to Reynolds' player for the scene! And including me in their story <3 I'm excited to see how things turn out! Even more so to be a part of it.)

Oh, totally. She was just camping... That's it! June stopped just outside the camper and stared back at him for a moment, blinking like she was looking at him for the first time. For only a moment, she looked caught off guard. Then her eyes narrowed and she went cold again. "Sit," she said, tilting her head toward the chair. She moved to grab a bucket from the compartment, and flipped it over in front of the chair, squatting down to sit on it.




The look she gave him didn't register, and he held up his hands. "Listen, I don't want to further interrupt your evening, I'll just.." Then she told him to sit. He looked skeptical for a moment, like he wasn't sure if he wanted to do that. After all, she had a shotgun sitting in that camper. Wait. She had a shotgun in the camper. Sighing as she turned over the bucket, his legs carried him closer as he raked his fingers through his hair, pushing the long locks out of his face. "Something tells me arguing with you is a lost cause," he attempted a smile, but it was tentative. He moved to the chair, scooting between her and the chair to fold himself into it. He wasn't abundantly tall, in fact he barely reached six foot, with his dirty and torn jeans, a plain tee shirt that was smudged from the run through the woods, and combat boots that were tied over the bottoms of his jeans.




A half smile crept up her face, though it wasn't all that genuine and was dripping with insincerity. When he sat down, she popped open the kit and moved to clean, and cover the cuts he'd aquired. "It's a guaranteed waste of time," she said softly. If he didn't stop her, she'd be dabbing at his cuts with an alcohol wipe, and then covering them with a bandaid. "You hungry?"

It was something Max had taught her. Life wasn't about what you had, it was about what you gave. He'd always stopped to help someone in need, and she kept that alive. Even if she was less pleasant about it.




"I'll keep that in mind," he muttered, resting his elbows on his knees. He wasn't particularly keen on being taken care of, but he allowed it. The narrow slope of his nose crinkled a touch when the alcohol was dabbed on the cut on his cheekbone beneath the eye. "Mn," he grunted, the sting and fumes of alcohol having him closing that one eye until she was done with covering it. There was a cut on his lip and the stubble beard mainly covered the forming reddened bruise on his jaw. Her question had him raising a brow, considering it before shrugging his shoulders. "I could eat, but I don't want to impose. You've already done a lot," he concluded, his fingers testing the bandaid across his cheek. "I'm Vince, by the way," he introduced himself as his hand lowered from his cheek.




"It?s probably best that you do,? she said, pulling back and closing the kit. ?You?re not imposing,? said June with a light shrug. ?You?re an?.unexpected guest.? There was a faint smile, a cheerful one that seemed out of place on her face in that moment. She stood up and moved from her spot toward the camper once more. Turning to look back at him and give a meaningful glance. ?June,? she answered, a bitter taste left on her tongue from the name. It didn?t suit her?and she?d always feel as if she didn?t deserve it.

Moving back into the camper with the kit, she reemerged with a plate, knife, and fork. Then sat back down and got to work. Scooping half of what she had onto the second plate. From the vegetables, to the steak she?d cut through. Once finished, she handed him the plate with a knife and fork. ?Here. You look like crap.? Always one to flatter, it seemed.




From being told he wasn't imposing had him raising a brow, his chin lifting some until he smiled softly and lowered it again. "Unexpected guest," he echoed, an easy laugh spilling from his lips. "That's one way to put it," he peered through that floppy hair of his before he shook his head. He watched her walk away, his fingers lacing where he was leaned forward. His brows twitched with a brief burrow, not to her name, but the bitterness it was spoken with. "You look more like a December to me," he teased lightly, the corner of his mouth twitching to the joke. What? She was the one that came off as cold!

While she had disappeared into the camper again, his eyes drifted to the outside of it. Anything he could see that was any hint - any personalization to the woman who owned it. Almost too-bright eyes snapped back to the door when she emerged, his weight shifting in the chair as he kept his thoughts to himself while she sanctioned off a portion of her own meal for him. He looked at her a long moment as she held out the plate, hesitant to take it until she gave that sentiment. "Really? I heard bruises matched my eyes," he sighed, reaching out to take it finally and set it on his lap. "I guess I'll have to find a new color to make them pop," he shrugged, looking down to the steak before glancing back at her. "Thank you."




On the side of the camper, near the back tire there was a bit of graffiti, though it looked dated, faded, and old. The text across it read in black paint:


Shagwagon
Claire&June 4evaaa


"December, huh? I like that." A soft, uneasy smile. As she sat down and got settled in, she grabbed her own plate and settled in. "I have a feeling you look better without the bruises, but that's just my opinion." Setting the fork and knife on the plate, she reached out her hand for him to hold. "Come on, let's say grace," June muttered. Though she'd wait for him to reach for her hand, and then she'd cackle and swat it away. "Too easy.."




The name 'Claire' was locked into his memory, something he'd surely look into. For now, the corner of his mouth curled to her liking of the name. "Who wouldn't?" He considered it, reaching up to poke at the bandaid covering his cheek. "What? Doesn't make me look rugged?" He frowned, which almost turned into a pout. "See, you should've set me up with Elmo or Grover, that would've done it," one shoulder lifted then. "But I'm not going to be picky here." He'd picked up his fork and knife, poising both like he was going to cut into the steak until he hand movement caught his attention, then her words. He stared at her for a moment, the thought is she serious? almost obvious on his face before he lowered the utensils. His hands reached, just to get swatted away. His lips pressed together as he laughed, and though she'd swatted them away. "Who says I'm joking?" He raised a brow, almost challenging as his hands were held out, coaxing to her.





"You look so rugged," she assured him with a nod. What? Look at him! She was actually trying not to at the moment... Then he gave her that challenging look that made her eyebrows raise and her mouth fall open. Her pierced tongue snaked out to lash at her bottom lip before she picked up her knife and began cutting....the steak. Just to be clear. "See," June flicked her eyes up at him as she got to work. "I can't be trusted--which means I can't trust you." Crinkling her nose before shoving a big bite into her mouth and chewing to make a point.




"I am rugged, you just caught me on a damsel day," his nose crinkled, almost seeming defensive for a moment before she shunned his attempt to mess with her. Though, thanks for the clarification. His brows rose as she tossed that line at him, his head tilting as his fingers ceased their wiggling. "And here I was, going to thank the Steak and Shotgun gods in your honor." Pretending to be offended, he picked up his utensils and cut into his own steak but it was difficult to keep up with the corner of his mouth twitching in a threat to smile. "Why shouldn't you be trusted? Besides the fact that you pack a double barrel in a camper. Not exactly a gun for hunting," he snickered, popping the piece of steak in his mouth. "Unless you like the taste of buckshot in your venison. You seem trustworthy enough to me," he shrugged, trailing off to chew instead of talk for the moment.

"Nobody said anything about you staying over," she tilted her bottle to him and snickered lightly. June popped the bottle, took a swig and went back to eating her steak. "Don't mention it," her own habit whenever someone thanked her, it seemed. "...it's totally because I have a shotgun in the camper, isn't it?" she accused.

"Mm.. You better get your ass moving, then. Go find you a lonely rich woman," she nodded.




His brows rose as he pointed his own bottle back at her. "You were the one who started on the breakfast talk," he reminded her, smirking lightly before he tipped the bottle back to his mouth. His fork stabbed at a pre-cut portion of steak, bringing it to his mouth. He chewed a moment, swallowing the piece slowly before he was fighting a grin. ".....A little bit." He looked at her incredulously. "Have you seen you holding that thing?" He shook his head with a laugh.

With his plate empty, he settled in the chair with a hand on his full stomach, the beer used to clear his throat. "Old," he corrected her. "Old rich woman. Maybe a widow. Give it maybe a year or two investment, and inherit her wealth," the corner of his mouth clicked with the wink sent at her. See? Had it figured out. It was fiiiiiiine. In the meantime, he just had to make sure Sugar Pimp didn't find him!




"Yeah, I guess I was," she crinkled her nose before popping the last bite of steak in her mouth. "I knew it," she said after swallowing, working on the last few vegetables. "I haven't, actually.. But I've got it on good authority that I'm a scary bitch," June nodded her head once.

Washing down the last of the food, she set the plate away and tugged out her pack of cigarettes, lighting one up. "Mm," sighing out some smoke. "Yeah, definitely old.. Maybe leave some stuff in front of the stairs, y'know... Speed the process along." Sugar pimp was gonna find him though. Sugar Pimp always found him...




"At least you know about it," he chuckled, shaking his head. Seeing her retrieve her cigarettes had him sighing softly, as if she'd reminded him of a habit. His hand dipped into his own pocket, retrieving a pack of turkish blends before he flipped the lid with his thumb. Peering into it, he smiled a bit. "So I do have luck," he muttered in observation before fishing out a stick with his lips; unbroken at that. Returning the pack as he held the stick in his lips, he lit it with a lighter retrieved next. An inhale, then an exhale through his nostrils. "What kind of a fool do you take me for? ... Mhn, don't answer that," he crinkled his nose. "I don't want to be married to Grandma Grilled Cheese for more than necessary, so plotting is a priority," he nodded. No! Sugar Pimp, leave'm alone!




June bit into her lip, and was silent for a moment. Aside from a muttering of, "If you need help taking the old bag out..." Which, she'd never actually killed anyone....on purpose, anyways. She looked over at him, considering him a moment before sighing softly and moving to get everything packed into the camper. Which... Was faster than one might think. The dishes were set on the cooler, and she put everything away carefully. "Lemme give you a ride back to your place," smoking on the cigarette.





His brow rose, at first to her silence then the barely audible mutter he could hardly make out. Something about taking old bags out, maybe the trash? Who knows. Still, he didn't break the silence and used the opportunity to drink more of his beer. She took care of the clean up, but it was her offering a ride home that he shook his head. "No, no," he raised his hand, palm toward her. "I've already taken up enough of your time, among other things," he snickered, his legs straightening as he stood to his full height and craned his neck from side to side until the vertebrae popped. "I appreciate the food, and you saving my ass from... possibly being dinner," he squinted briefly, unsure. "But you don't need to go out of your way to bring me home," his own cigarette came to his mouth, lips enveloping the filter as he took a heavy drag. "I've taken enough of your time as it is."





Reclaiming the cigarette from her lips, she leaned by the open hatch since his chair hadn't been put away yet. She looked up at the sky and let her smoke rise up before shaking her head. "Don't be stubborn," she spat, "Besides," a shrug of one shoulder. "That one guy didn't seem so bright...Might come back." A final drag taken before she flicked the cigarette away. "Gonna move to save myself the trouble, may as well make sure my damsel gets home safe on the way."





He looked about ready to be just that until she beat him down with logic. His nose crinkled before he let out a sigh, nodding his head finally. "Yeah, he didn't seem opposed to come back for seconds," he muttered, tucking the filter between his lips for safe keeping before folding up the chair he'd been sitting on and brought it over to the camper. "It's no carriage, but I suppose it'll do," he teased her for the damsel comment. "Let's get out of here before we turn into pumpkins, then," he snickered, taking the initiative to tuck away the chair into the compartment since the hatch was still open.





Brushing silver-blue locks from her eyes, she laughed lightly at the carriage comment. "Shh! What's wrong with you?" she asked, patting the side of the camper. "This old girl's gotten me through some really rough times," giving the side a little rub before closing the hatch after he put the chair inside. "Alright, let's roll then." Moving to hold the door open for him.

Inside, the camper was... Well, spacious. There was a living room, a kitchen, and a bedroom off in the back as well as a bathroom. There wasn't much of a personal touch to it, though. Aside from a couple paintings hung on the wall. Her work, though Claire had hung them. On the couch, there was a guitar case. C. Bryant engraved into it.





His brows rose to her defensiveness about the camper, his free hand raising in surrender as he grinned. "I give, I give. I'm sure she's at least reliable, like that old stable horse that's lost some patches of hair but can still pull the trailer," he chuckled, shaking his head. He followed when she held the door open, giving her a brief really? look. "Just want to look at my ass," he teased her before climbing up the steps, plucking the filter from his lips along the way, his eyes sweeping around.

It was certainly more spacious than he'd expected. "Bigger than it looks on the outside," he noted, raising a brow as he stepped out of the way of the stairs so she could join him inside. His eyes took in what was available. The paintings, the guitar. "You play?" He asked, leaning to take a closer look at one of the paintings.

"Tch, that's one way to put-ngh," he grunted, catching himself against the wall with a slap of palm to it, regardless of the heads up, when the camper started off. "Thanks for the heads up!" He called over his shoulder to her, laughing under his breath. Like getting over sea legs, it wasn't long before he found balance and could walk freely to the bedroom even over lurches and bumps from the uneven ground the wheels rolled over.

Inside the bedroom and out of sight of June, his expression changed. The friendly warmness disappeared and was exchanged for a calm coolness like a summer breeze. Blue eyes tainted with various shades of green scanned the bedroom in plain contemplation, noting anything of hers to be deemed 'personal'. Pictures were the best he found with his eyes, not wanting to risk snooping in more depth. His voyage to the bathroom was slow, taking in every picture that could be seen, recognizing the man with the little girl. Prescott.

Moving on the bathroom, he closed the door behind him and faced the muddied and bruised face staring back at him. Once flawless cappuccino skin was tainted was nicks and cuts, discolored bruises and angry, irritated redness on his cheek and jaw from the fists thrown at him earlier. Those would heal, at least. Dragging his eyes away, he was able to take a closer look at one other picture. The Polaroid, as withered and worn as it was, could easily be made out by the girl in the other pictures with June. C. Bryant. You must be her. From the pictures alone, it wasn't hard to tell the relationship of the two.

After making his observations, he didn't take long in the bathroom. He'd washed the grime and caked mud from his face and beard, further cleaning up cuts that were already clotted and starting the beginning process of healing. He'd dipped his fingers in the water and raked them through his hair to smooth them down, as good as he was going to get before he could get home to shower. Moments later, he emerged and slipped through the bedroom to return to the main portion of the camper, his eyes and expression as warm and welcoming as they had been before.




By the time he came back out, she'd found a path to drive on that was smoother, and was heading into town.

Now, she was sitting there eyeing him from a mirror, and raising an eyebrow. "Gonna need some direction," one hand on the wheel, the other holding a cigarette out the window. "Sad to say it, but..." A light sigh as she brought the cigarette to her lips and took a puff. A shake of her head and the smoke was leaving her lungs. "My crystal ball broke two days ago."





Silently thankful for the smoother path she'd found, the walk back was a lot easier. "Damn," he sighed, heading to the front as he took up space in the passenger seat, folding himself into the cushions. "I was going to ask you to read my future, then you could inform me when Sugar Pimp was comin' for my ass." He crinkled his nose, leaning back to dip into his pocket for another cigarette. Damn her and her smoking. Damn it all to Hell. Tucking his lips around the filter, he lit it. "Head toward the main entrance of the city, keep taking the main road. The place is just after the bridge, before the Marketplace," he told her before his cheeks hollowed to the inhale of nicotine he sucked down.




A laugh left her as she continued on, "Dude," she began, flicking the ash from her cigarette out the window. "Is knowing really going to make it any easier? When Sugar Pimp wants to get you...Sugar Pimp gets you." Then she smirked lightly. "Hopefully he goes easy on that pretty face." Bottom lip popped out, but it went away the moment she nursed on that cigarette.




He sighed, feigning forlorn. "A man can dream, can't he? There's gotta be some way to get out of it," he turned those multi-colored eyes on her, a faux look of horror on his face. "No.. not my pretty face, anything but that!" He gasped, snickering with a roll of his eyes before he sucked down more smoke. Quiet a moment, those angled eyes narrowed slightly as he was fighting a smirk. "So you think I'm pretty, huh?"

C'mon, did she really think she was going to get out of that one?





She could hope!

"There is. You get out there, shake that ass, and make him some money!" she shouted with a light laugh which only seemed to grow when he pleaded for his pretty face in that over the top way. Then he brought up those words and used them against her. "...do you really need me to say it?" Come on! Look at him! Did he really need her stroking his...ego?





"They're just so.... grabby though!" He retorted, when she told him to shake his ass. "Just because there's a 'No Touching' rule, doesn't fucking mean that they're going to listen to it!" He huffed, turning his head away defiantly. His lips twitched when she asked him that, and he had to stifle a smile with another inhale of his cigarette. "What? That's the clause of strays. They want to be pet, be told they're a good boy and called pretty. You shouldn't have fed me." He turned his head to send her a playful glare, like it was all her fault. After a moment, the smile wasn't able to be restrained any further and he let out a laugh. Yeah, he was just fucking with her.

...And what ego? He lost that years ago, along with his dignity.

Stupid Is As Stupid Does...
Sunday; June 25th, 2017



Regardless of the events that had unfolded the day before, Vincent had slept soundly that night. Though he'd assume the ass kicking he'd received from the three men he'd hired could've played into that result.

He'd also finally emailed Reynolds back that morning during his first cup of coffee, before the man ended up dying from a broken blood vessel in his temple. Seriously, he desperately something to calm his own nerves.

He'd kept himself busy that day, refusing to make a second appearance to the monster too soon. Instead, he'd filled his time with drawings of his own. A habit he'd picked up when he was young. A time waster. A soothing charm of his very own. The gritting yet smooth sounds of charcoal on paper. The satisfying spread of watercolor on paper, spreading like spider webs over the paper.

Just as the sun was setting over the horizon, Vincent had ventured out of his apartment in simple dark jeans and a v-neck black long-sleeved thermal. The slate grey Audi RS7 with tinted black windows was parked behind the brick building, out of sight of the street and onlookers. The car keys jingled in his palm as his booted feet carried him toward the car, those bright multi-toned blue-green eyes scanning around to ensure him going unnoticed.

It wasn't until he reached the driver's door and pressed the button to unlock the doors that he heard the shift of movement behind him. His eyes flicked away from the keychain to peer at the reflection of a moving shadow in the window. He pretended not to have noticed, his hand reaching for the handle set into the door and was about to give it a tug when he felt a heavy hand smack down onto his shoulder. The fingers dug into the compact muscle of his shoulder as he released a sigh, his jaw muscle ticking beneath the lining of stubble he'd just trimmed that morning. "I'd move that," he said, his tone bland and calm.

"Yeah? Would you?" Came the snarling gruff voice of the one behind him, leaning forward enough to nearly be in his ear. He recognized the voice, the aggression radiating off him and sending sparks of electricity up his spine.

Wild Eyes.

"Would you also--ngh," the primal man grunted, just as Vincent's left hand snapped up like a viper's strike, grasping around Wild Eye's wrist. With little warning and no hesitation, he spun while ducking beneath the arm to twist it around and spiral around the bigger man. He dropped the keys as his right palm snapped out to shove Wild against the driver's door, angling his wrist awkwardly until the muscle and bone strained from the bend. "God damn it, you son of a bitch! I'm going to kill you!" He growled, his cheek pressed to the cold metal of the vehicle. "The deal was to chase you through the fucking woods, not get a shotgun aimed at us!" He barked, gritting his teeth when he shifted to try to get out of it, just for Vince's grip to tighten and give a warning press of hand. One jerk, that's all it'd take to break that arm.

"No, you're not," Vince informed Wild Eyes about the killing business. "I'm not a fortune teller. The shotgun surprised us both. You did what needed to be done, and I paid you in advance. You still have your life, you should take that as a good day," he told him, his tone calm, if not bored. "What was your plan here tonight? Jump me? Prove a point and try to get your manhood back since you ran from a tiny woman with a shotty?" He snickered, his jaw tensing when Wild Eyes snarled to the comment made and tried to struggle again. "Don't," it wasn't a suggestion. There was significant shift in his voice, almost eerily calm. Soothing, the audible first sip of hot chocolate on a cold winter's morning. Wild Eyes stilled immediately, almost dazed.

"I'm going to out you," Not-So-Wild Eyes announced, his words slurred like he was drugged. He laughed and it sounded lazy, if not drunk. "I'm going to tell that bitch everything, see how you can act your fucking way out of that."

Vince sighed. This was what he'd been worried about. There were risks with involving others in his work, especially when they were this stupid. Those bright eyes closed behind tanned lid and dark lash, his head shifting slightly back and forth as he shook his head. His hand gripped Wild Eyes' shoulder as he leaned forward, making sure his honey-silk voice carried to the man. "No, you won't," he nearly sang to the man. "You don't want to do that at all, do you?" He whispered, feeling the muscles of the man he was holding starting to go lax.

"I... I don't... ngh," he shook his head, trying to resist it.

There were always risks with Charming someone, and he couldn't risk Wild Eyes remembering this conversation later and changing his mind. His nose flared some with the effort of a deep breath. ".... You're going to go to the train station..." He whispered to the man. "You're going to sit there and wait until no one is looking... when no one is there to stop you.." That honey-silk voice amplified with his efforts, Wild Eyes' head turning to look at him with a drugged and dazed expression. Vince stared right into his eyes. "..And you're going to jump."

"Jump?" Wild Eyes echoed, seeking confirmation.

"Yes." Vince smiled, pearly white against naturally tanned skin. "Jump. When the train's coming, when no one's there, you jump."

Wild Eyes' aggression was gone, a look of serene peace replaced the wild look in his eyes as his soft smile spread to Vince. "I'm gonna jump," he chuckled softly. "When no one can see me, when no one can stop me," he told Vince, nodding his head like an obedient puppy.

"That's right," Vince whispered, soothing, coaxing. His grip relaxed on the man, then released him as he took a step back and bent to pick up his car keys.

Wild Eyes' movements were sluggish as he pulled away from where he'd been pressed to the vehicle, a serene smile plastered on his face as he blinked. "I'm gonna jump," he whispered, no longer paying attention to Vince as he talked to him, turning away from the man and his car before almost zombie-like steps carried him down a different alley way. The direction of the train station.

"Should've cut his losses," Vince muttered to himself, moving for the car door as he distantly heard the shuffling footsteps of Wild Eyes disappearing down the alley.

He smirked a bit to her mention of his stray behavior, shaking his head. "Not exactly," he objected, shrugging his shoulders. "Saw your camper parked, figured I'd pop in and make sure you knew you hadn't scared me off," he grinned, crossing his ankles in his lean on the doorway. "M'not that easy to get rid of," he informed her. He glanced to the pot, raising a brow at the smell and the chocolate cake. "Fancy. Got a hot date?" He teased her, trying not to chuckle and was.. semi.. successful.



"Tch," a noise when he spoke of not scaring him off. "Shame," she muttered almost bitterly before grabbing a second plate. "Oh yeah, hot date," she nodded with those eyes turning back to him. "Shelly and Sheldon. They're twins. Twincest and all that..." pointing to the boiling pot. "I got plenty..." June sighed and waved her hand, "Come in, I guess..."



"You know you'd miss me if I stopped coming around. Who else is going to tolerate being House Bitch?" He snickered, glancing to the pot when she announced her hot date. "They don't look like they got much to 'em, sure you won't just.. break them?" He shook his head. Okay, that one was bad but he rolled with it. Her bland invite had him shrugging away from the doorway and climbing the steps. "Well, if you insist," he said sarcastically to her lack of enthusiasm. "Marketplace get too crowded for you?" He asked, glancing out the doorway to the sandy beach before he took a seat on the couch.



Two plates were fished out of the cabinet along with a couple forks and a steel lobster cracker. She began setting the table, eyes shifting over to him every once in a while as he got settled. "Oh I plan on breaking them," she said, glaring at the pot before portioning out the asparagus. "I don't stay in the same place for too long," she told him. "Besides, I do like the quiet," she admitted.

The timer went off and she grabbed some tongs, fishing out the first lobster and slopping it limply down on a plate. The second followed and she turned her eyes toward him. "What about you?" she asked. "You following me?" a little suspicion in her tone as she strained the butter from the garlic into a bowl and set it in the center of the modest table. "Come on," she muttered and sat down.



"Shelly and Sheldon are in trouble now," he muttered, snickering. He raised a brow at her when she told him she bounced around a lot. "..You're not a serial killer, are you?.... Hiding from some warrant, or the FBI or something, right?" He eyed her skeptically, but the light smile on his face said that he was messing with her - though was still cautious. "The quiet is nice," he crinkled his nose. "I... did not think things through when I got an apartment across from a tavern.." He shook his head, sighing.

Her asking if he was pretty much a stalker had him laughing a bit. "I'm as sneaky as a dog with a busted leg," he shook his head. "If I was following you.. you'd know about it. Also, I try to stalk people who don't own shotguns," his nose crinkled lightly and briefly before she told him to come sit. Hands to his knees, he pushed himself up and moved to the table, taking up the other seat. "Though, I just might if you keep feeding me like this," he commented, his eyes thinning a bit to the smell of the garlic butter and lobster. "Putting my bacon to shame," he muttered, like she was one-upping him.



"Oh yes they are," she said, staring the lobsters down. Though when she asked about her being a killer in hiding, she flinched lightly. The reality of what she was sinking back to her and putting her in an insta-weird mood. "Something like that," she muttered sadly and stood to grab some napkins, and something out of a drawer.

"Y'know...that's probably smart," she said after a moment of silence. "I wouldn't stalk me, either," she forced a laugh. The napkin was laid out across her lap and June shrugged. "I bet you've eaten out a lot," sounded wronger than she meant it. "I've never been to a restaurant. Hell, I've been cooking since I was a kid. Though I'm not above eating cereal." From her other hand, she held a little joint and a lighter, sparking it up. Something about the waves brought out the stoner in her. Maybe it was from her beach days with Claire. "Want a hit?" Though it very well could've been the fact that everything tasted better when you were high?



He pretended he hadn't caught the flinch, but he had. The furrow of brow that he couldn't hold back was masked by her words instead of the flinch, and he shrugged. "...Hard to really say that's something new around here." Rhy'Din: collections of all sorts. Runners, killers, monsters and norms.

"Why stalk you when it's much more fun for you to know I'm here?" He smiled lightly to her, going ahead and tucking a napkin into the front of his shirt like they were at a lobster shack. His fingers paused from folding the corner into the v-neck of his shirt when she laid out that not-wrong wrong comment and then mentioned restaurants, clearing up what she meant. "From time to time," he smiled regardless, shaking his head as he lowered his hands. "Mostly when I'm too lazy to cook or I can afford it. Cereal's good though, there's a giant selection," he agreed. His eyes flicked to the joint, raising a brow as he hadn't really expected it. When she offered, he eyed it for a moment like he was going to say no. Red flag! Not a good idea! Stop it. Don't even think about i-- "Sure." Goddammit.

June fixed the cigarette to her lips and smoked for a good few seconds, drag after drag. The cherry on the thing was huge from the hot-boxing by the time she was done. Damn chimney. "...people that get close to me usually end up hurt.. or worse." Finally, she turned those minty eyes over to him. "Kinda part of the reason I move around so much. I don't...let people hang around me. I shouldn't have let you."



While hers was hot-boxed, his was just smoldering at this point as he kept his eyes trained on her. He heard her out, but by the end of it, he was shaking his head. "December, I could get hit by a bus walking Grandma across the street tomorrow. You going to just... keep pushing everyone out and live your life alone? Doesn't seem much like livin' to me," he admitted, taking a final drag from his cigarette as he squirmed his way to be propping on his elbows. Chin to chest, he watched the cigarette get snuffed out when he poked it into the sand. "You might be trying to protect me from... whatever. But, you're forgetting the fact that you saved my ass from being hurt... or worse," he snickered, turning his head to look at her. "Why don't you let me worry about my safety, huh? 'Cause the problem about strays is.. they keep comin' back," he warned her, smirking a bit with a brow raised. Sure, now he grows a pair of balls.



When he threw his own logic at her, she shook her head. "I would rather live alone then keep letting people around and watching them get hurt," she whispered, finally sitting up. When he threatened--no, flat out said he was going to keep coming back, she stared at him. "I'm not what you think I am," she told him. "I'm not any kind of hero, I'm a villain," June took a final drag of her cigarette and worked herself to her feet. "Something...happens to me," she whispered. "I..." Black out and murder people? Am a monster? "You should be scared of me," a step back taken. "I scare myself."



His eyes followed her when she sat up, and he didn't back down from the stare when he told her what he had. He watched her as she got to her feet, called herself a villain. It was when she said she scared herself that his palms met the sand and he pushed to his feet. "December," he sighed, facing her and peering down at her short form. "Hero's are overrated. Have you... ever read stories on villains? Many were bred out of being wronged.. or something stolen from them..." He shook his head. He sighed, lowering his head he raked his fingers through his dark locks. "You're not the only one who's hurt people," he muttered. "You're not the only one who's lost people," he lifted his eyes to look at her. "But I'm not scared of you, June. Maybe you think I should be, but I'm not." He took a step forward, closer to her unless she moved away from him. "They say history repeats itself, and I don't know what your history is... But, I also think what they say is a load of shit. Because if it's not, then I'm just as fucked as you are," he muttered the last part, shaking his head. "So you can try to make my mind up for me, or you can let me make my own decisions on what's best for me." He raised a brow, his head tilted as he stared at her.



December? June? What month was she?! "That's not even my name," she shook her head. "I don't even have a name, that's just something somebody started calling me," she said, tears lacing those minty eyes. He took a step forward, and she matched it with a retreating step away. Her hands were raised and shaking like he had a gun on her. Talk about tables turned, right? It was those words that had her eyes shifting from left to right, hands still up images flashing in her brain like a bad movie.



Claire sitting on a blanket next to her, thumb stroking her cheek. "My sweet Junebug," she whispered to her. Those lips found June's in a needy way, fingers trailing down to her chest, stopping at the chain. "You don't need anything preventing you from being you," she whispered, and with a rough yank, she tugged off the necklace and tossed it over her shoulder. "I love you."



June could remember praying that it was enough. That beauty might tame or even kill the beast. It wasn't the case, though. Everything went dark, but damn it if Claire's scream wasn't burned into her brain. Her hands met the sides of her head as she nearly buckled and let out a whimper.

His own tension eased when her emotions did, taking a steady breath of his own. Sucking down more smoke, he turned his head to cough when he broke her whole world with his better cigarettes. Recovering quickly, he chuckled. "Of course they are, they're Turkish," he told her, as if that explained everything. Or maybe he was just biased... "You shared your lobster, I could stand to share my cigarettes," he offered, letting his arms rest over his bent knees, but didn't move to push her away or retreat from her.



June couldn't not share, man... She could be grumpy about it, she could know that it would get her into trouble, but she couldn't keep from doing it. After a moment, she sat up from him and wiped at her eyes. "That was attractive," she scoffed, trying to move past it, but still had that post-cry glow--which was nothing to put on Instagram. She took another drag from the cigarette, and shifted her eyes away. "Do you...wanna stay over?" she asked. "I promise I won't try to take you to floor."

Why did she do that? Mostly because she didn't want to be alone in that moment.



His arms shifted when she sat up, giving her room to do so comfortably. He smirked. "I don't know, you've got that cute Rudolph thing going, but that just ties into that December-Christmas thing," his nose crinkled like he was making a point. Whether it was her name or not, it'd stuck. His brows lifted when she asked that question, and he was surprised. Her promise had him smiling as he let out a light laugh. "Not even the cabinets.. or table.. or couch?" He teased lightly, bending his leg to gently bump into her back before he nodded. "Don't got much else to get back to besides an empty apartment, so sure. I'll stay." He took another drag of his cigarette, flicking away the ash.



The girl stared at him for a moment, her red nose almost twitching when he'd brought it up. Mint green eyes seemed even lighter compared to the redness that surrounded them. Almost Christmas-ey. "I'm literally the jolly-est, if you couldn't tell," in a raspy, almost emotionless tone. He agreed to stay, and a part of her regretted asking. She sniffed once, and nodded, "Cool," she muttered awkwardly, and worked herself to her feet. The heel of her hand worked into her eye sockets, and her head shook roughly. "Bah!" Damn him for making her feel things.



He was clearly trying to fight the laughter when that red nose twitched. The contrast of her eyes and the redness did make it look further Christmas-ey. "Oh I could tell, it's almost creepy how cheerful you are. Tone it down a bit, sheesh," he shook his head, sarcasm strong. He shifted more when she rose to her feet, just to rise himself when she wasn't between his legs anymore. The outburst and shaking of her head made him raise a brow before he finished his cigarette and dropped it, stepping on it to smother the ember into the sand. "Humbug," he pressed his lips together roughly to keep himself from laughing at his own joke, questionable if she'd even catch it. "You know what you need?...." He smirked coyly, his eyes thinning. "....Cake. And maybe more weed."



"I can't turn it off," she muttered, crinkling her nose some. Then there was that awful joke! It was true. She was a total Scrooge! She looked over at him for a moment, rolling her eyes. Though her lips twitched in an almost-smirk. June fought that shit with everything she had, dammit! Turning away from him, she brought the cigarette to her lips and sucked it down in a hissing breath, eyes squeezing shut a moment. "Cake...and weed..." she sniffled again. Damned snot-nose! "...I want that..." she nodded and began off for the camper.



"I'll just deal with it then, I guess," he sighed, when she told him she couldn't turn it off. She was, she was a Scrooge! The joke might've been awful, but it was funny in an honest way, dammit. Mhn, snot nose... His own crinkled. "Maybe a tissue," he muttered, but he followed after her with a nod. "Let's get you that, then," he concluded, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Evil shows another side
And like before, makes no sense
Never coming, always leaving
Like before
Hooked on substance,
Digging deeper
Can't reveal
Why we leave
Well enough alone
Never thought about the shame
So fed up,
What's with the scenes?
Observe and leave instead
This pity wagon
Penetrates my skin
So sensitive, it makes me sick - Well Enough Alone; Chevelle



Choke
Friday; June 30, 2017



To call the night before ?strange? would be a gross understatement. June had shown a part of herself that was still making his head spin. He could?ve brushed it off as her being an astounding actress. He could?ve claimed it was a ploy to gain his sympathy. At least, that was what he could almost hear Reynolds telling him in his head like an obnoxious buzzing.

But he couldn?t bring himself to. Acting was fake. A false pretense of fabricated emotion, expression. A performance. There was absolutely no mistake that the emotions he felt from her secondhand had been 100% real. There was no doubt in his mind. He was still trying to shake off the hairs standing at attention at the back of his neck, the shivers that were raking his spine like icy fingers.

For the first time since he?d taken this job, he was starting to doubt him. Doubt Reynolds. He was well aware of the unsettling obsession the man had with this? monster? Could he wholeheartedly call her that anymore? Monsters were evil. They had no remorse. They killed without reason. It had nothing to do with what she actually was? what she could potentially do with the powers and abilities given to her. It was what she?d done. But?. monsters didn?t reflect. They didn?t think back and feel guilt or regret. So? could he really categorize her with the same beings, the same people who had turned him into the man he was today? The man who hunted down monsters, human and non-human alike?

The painted picture Reynolds had brushed into his mind with agonizing words, verbal images and the copy of her file, stashed in his apartment. It wasn?t adding up to the picture June was painting herself. So eloquently, so strongly in his mind.

After returning home sometime late morning, after staying the night in June?s camper. She?d asked him to stay, like a child afraid of the dark and not wanting to be left alone. He couldn?t bring himself to say no to her last night. He couldn?t look her in the eyes and tell her to face her demons on her own. He?d still established boundaries considering previous? mishaps? by sleeping on the couch. I?m here if you need me, he?d told her. Come morning, after breakfast, he?d left and made his way home.

Now, he was pacing in front of his bed with June?s file spread out across the mattress. Picked apart. Analyzed. He?d nearly chewed his thumb nail to the point of bleeding as his steps dusted over the carpet, making a streak of footprints in front of his bed as his multi-toned eyes skimmed, read, and reread the piece of paper held in his fingers. None of it was making sense.

Wincing when his teeth grazed too deep, causing blood beneath his thumb nail to pool to the surface and leave the tainting of copper on the tip of his tongue. ?Shit,? he muttered, pulling the thumb from his mouth as he peered down at it. Bending the digit, he curled his other fingers around it as he flicked his eyes back to the piece of paper. He sighed, shaking his head as he swung his arm to toss the paper back onto the bed. Which was almost useless considering it was a flimsy sheet. It swayed through the air in a ruffle of sound, drifting down like a feather dropped unlike his intent to want to throw it away. Be rid of it. ?It?s not the right fucking picture,? he hissed, lifting his hands to rake his fingers through the muss of his hair, before swiping his hands down over his face in a fit of frustration.

He looked over his shoulder to the laptop that was sitting open on the desk. The webpage for his email was just sitting there, the vertical line blinking at him to start typing out a message to Reynolds at any point. He stared at the screen, trying to wrack his brain for something - anything - to update his boss with. But what could he say?



She had a lover once. She killed her. She told me while she was bawling her fucking eyes out like a baby.

For a monster, she sure can feel guilt pretty strongly. Are you sure you know her as well as you think you do, Snake?

Listen, you piece of shit. Leave the fucking girl alone, she?s been through eno--



No. It was useless. In a way, he didn?t really want to talk to Reynolds at all right now. His mind was a jumbled mess, like June?s breakdown had flipped his world and everything he thought to be true over. His doubts were zeroed on Reynolds, wondering if his motives were in the right place to go after this girl. If he was sickly obsessed because she was the one that got away, a job unfinished he couldn?t let go. Or something darker?.

But now, there was also doubts in himself.

Were the rest of them true monsters?.... Or monsters made by someone else, unleashed on the world to fend for themselves? Could they have been helped? Could I have stopped it? Did I even want to? Would it matter, or change anything?

Frowning, he tore his eyes away from the screen he?d been staring so heavily at. Turning his head, his attention locked instead on a blank canvas - a large sheet of bone white paper that was taped to the wall. Fresh. Clean. Blank. His lack of inspiration since taking the job had left him unable to use his coping mechanism, the one thing that soothed his racing mind from the secondhand feelings he could hardly discern from his own half the time. Drawn to it like a moth to flame, his stare intense on the blank page as his head slow tilted. Staring at it, but not for what it was. But what it could be.


?If the picture doesn?t add up, create your own,? he whispered, to the empty room. His hand reached to the small side table where various art utensils were organized, and he picked up a pencil.

For the first time since last night, he was able to shut off his consciously racing mind. He didn?t think, but let his hand move across the sheet of paper. Slowly at first, until he lost himself in pencil sketches, watercolor smudges, marker stains. In the end, the chaotic interpretation of what he?d felt about June, torn in two with contrasting views and expectations, shattered by what was supposed to be, and what reality was?



https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/2e/5c/6d/2e5c6d9cbe9facf497e9b4e9f1607f31.jpg
(Artist unknown, found on google.)