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 Posted: Wed Jun 08, 2011 8:09 am
The Past Their Little ReaperThere was a fight going on. The fenced off lot was full of shouting and cheering as the two males in the middle battled. The strange thing about the scene, though, was the difference in size of the opponents. Fang grunted, wiping at the blood that was trickling from his mouth and looking at the kid that had just busted up his jaw with his elbow. He casually reached up, popping the jaw back in place. “Not bad. Did Sting teach you that one?” “My jaw doesn’t heal as fast as yours does, so I dodged it,” Roch said, smirking and wiping the sweat off his brow. He held up a fist, summoning his guitar. All of thirteen years old, he had been in more fights than any of them bothered to count. But it wasn’t really a fight. This was training. “Bones,” Austin said, appearing beside the old skeleton silently. Bones jerked, turning to look at the reaper for a moment before nodding and turning back to watch the fight. “How’s he doing?” “You shouldn’t be here,” Bones said as the thirteen year old boy swung his guitar, only to be dodged. “He gets antsy when he hears you’ve been around.” “He’s my kid.” “He’s ours,” Bones said, digging through his tattered coat and bringing out his flask. The sound of his bones clacking together mixed with the sloshing of liquid over bones dripping to the wooden bench that the skeleton was sitting on. “We’re raisin’ him.” He cheered as the guitar connected this time, sending the wolf back a few paces before Fang recovered his balance. “Why?” Bones looked up at the reaper, a bit surprised at the question. “Why not? Only reaper that’ll ever come from the slums, we damn well don’t want him to look like a pansy.” “Distraction, boy! Use a jackin’ distraction!” one of the old zombie ladies from the neighborhood bellowed, waving an arm in her opposite hand. “Thanks Mrs. Wheedle!” Roch bellowed, bringing up the guitar and making it shriek in agony. Fang grasped his ears, bending double with the pain, and Roch grabbed his arms, kicking up with a knee shot straight to the face. Austin let out a bellow of appreciation, but it was hidden by the cheers of most of the neighborhood. “Why a werewolf, though?” Austin yelled to get Bones to hear him. “Yesterday we brought in a vampire!” Bones yelled back. “Uptown b*****d we had to drag back here, but we figured today we’d go with someone from the neighborhood!” The crowd had gotten quiet again by this point, so Bones’s voice lowered as well. “Only thing he hasn’t learned to deal with are ghosts.” “Ghosts,” Austin repeated darkly. “Don’t tell me he’s still not over that!” “He sees a ghost in the lot he runs away as if the devil himself was on his tail,” Bones said with disgust. “Go for the balls! Go for the balls!!” Mrs. Wheedle screamed. “That old lady scares me,” Austin said idly. “Best coach the boy’s got for fighting dirty,” Bones admitted. “Your boy, he’s pretty tough, but he’s got the softest heart I ever seen. It bothers all of us.” “He hates me,” Austin said. “Can’t be that soft.” “That’s just proof he’s soft,” Bones said. “Because if he were like you at that age, he’d have already tried to kill you.” “Hey, I had a damn good reason for trying to kill my old man,” Austin argued. “So does he.” Roch grunted as a massive fist slammed into his gut, shoving all the air out of him. He barely managed to dodge as the fist went up and came down backwards, aiming for his head. He rolled on the ground, getting back to his feet and looking for his guitar. Somehow he had dropped it-- There, he thought, racing for the guitar and scooping it up. He had barely stood straight when a fist came out of nowhere, slamming into his jaw. It was like being hit by a boulder. He fell to the ground, turning to spit out blood and taking a second to wiggle one of his teeth with his tongue. It seemed to still be good, so he got to his feet, popping his neck. “You hit pretty good,” he told the were, trying to ignore how his jaw was throbbing with pain. “You need to remember that your scythe is a part of you, right?” Fang said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Let it disappear and bring it back in your hand, don’t go chasin’ after it. Your elbow’s good, but tighten your arm a bit more when you do it. And here--“ He reached down, grabbing Roch’s hand and arranging it so the palm was up and the fingers curled. “Right here’s a good way of hitting someone. This way you got a straight shot with your entire arm, see? Like a battering ram.” “Oh... huh, thanks, Fang,” Roch said, looking at his hand curiously. “What about his ma?” Bones asked Austin as they watched the training talk begin. “What, has he been asking about her?” Austin asked, digging through his pockets and pulling out a tattered pack of cighoulettes. “She’s long gone.” “He never asks.” Bones was silent for a long moment. “But it’s been the talk of the neighborhood. That and those earrings of his. They’re crosses.” “Oh,” Austin said, not sounding very bothered. “I wondered when it’d happen.” “What happen? They don’t sell crosses in the stores around here! Hell, in all of Halloween--“ He stopped as Austin dug through the inner pockets of his leather trenchcoat, pulling out a long string of beads with a strange cross hanging from it. There was a small man pinned to the cross. “This is what I got when I was about his age. It’s a symbol of sorts for a religious group. They’re called Catholics,” Austin said, fingering the smooth, pretty beads before shoving it back into his pocket. “You could say I specialize in reaping them. My old man’s got a crescent moon with a star in it for an earring. Those are called Muslims. Looks like Rochester will specialize in Christians.” “But he’s just a kid from the ghetto--why would he have--“ Bones fell silent as Austin’s expression went grim, the corner of his mouth pulling back slightly. “Don’t ask questions about things you don’t need to know,” Austin said coldly, his voice seeming to echo in Bones’s skull, even though he said it quietly. It took Bones a few long moments to shake off the terror that voice incited, and Austin was gone before he managed to form another question. “Hate when he does that,” Bones muttered, starting to take another drink from his flask. “Does what?” Roch asked, almost giving Bones a heart attack even though he had no heart. “You done? It’s time for your guitar lessons,” Bones said, not answering the question. “Think I busted a knuckle on his face,” Roch complained, looking at his hand. “Then you’ll learn how to play one handed!” Bones said. “Jackdammit, that’s just not possible!” Roch complained, looking around for a moment and sniffing the air. It smelled like-- nah. He was imagining things. “At least give me the day off!” “How the hell am I going to teach you both bass and acoustic before you run off to school if I give you a day off? Suck it up, boy and get moving! The lunch crowd should be coming in, and I’m broke again!” “You’re just milking me for booze money!” “You gotta be good for something!” (Word count: 1,276)
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Posted: Wed Jun 08, 2011 8:17 am
Quote: Jacked-up Goodbye“You really think you can do this?” The question made Roch go still, his hand stopping in the middle of putting his shirt in his bag. He didn’t have much. All of it fit on his strange couch like bed, with room to spare. He turned, glancing at his old man for a moment before turning back to packing. “I can do it.” “You get tossed out--“ “I get it. I get tossed out I can’t come back here,” Roch said. “I don’t care. Who wants to come back to this hellhole?” “I never said that. What the jack is it with you and putting words in my mouth?” Austin demanded. “Well somebody has to,” Roch said, finishing his packing and zipping the bag angrily. He turned, glaring at his dad. “I’m not going to get kicked out. This was my decision, jackdammit, and I’m going to do it, no matter what you say. How come you’re here, anyway? Don’t you have a job to do?” “I passed on it when I got a jackin’ call from the school saying you were accepted!” Austin snapped. “I didn’t even know you’d been submitted. Do you know how stupid that made me look? Candlejack, Rochester!” “So that’s the problem, not that I’m going, but that you had no clue and wound up looking like an idiot,” Roch said with malicious satisfaction. “Good!” “When did you become such a jackass?” Austin demanded irritably. “You used to be such a cute kid--“ “Maybe it was when Ma walked out on us, or maybe--“ Roch said, baring his teeth, “it was when you came back almost three months afterwards.” “No one told me she’d skipped out!” Austin bellowed. “What, you expect your five year old kid to know how to call you? And what would I have said? ‘Pop, Ma ran out of booze so I need you to come home’?” “You could have told someone! They would have called!” “Yeah, well no one gave a jack.” “Did you talk to them?” “What the hell was I supposed to say? I was still waiting for her to come back when you walked through the door! And you were gone a week later! You know what? This is the last time I want to talk to you. I’m going to school. You won’t see me again,” he said, stopping in front of his taller, tougher looking father. “When’d you pierce your lip?” Austin asked, not budging. “When I was twelve,” Roch said with a vicious smirk. “Three jackin’ years ago. Want to know when I got the tatt?” “You’ve got a tattoo?” “Oh for Jack’s sake! No, but you know what? I’m going to go get one right now. Right across my forehead,” he said, shoving a finger at his forehead. “Now get out of the way, I’m going to miss my train.” “You’d look like an idiot.” “I was being sarcastic, so who’s the real idiot?” Roch drawled, shoving at his father. Austin stepped out of the way. “I didn’t say I didn’t think you could do it,” Austin said a bit more calmly. “You’d be a damn good reaper.” “How would you know? You don’t know anything about me.” He didn’t look back as he headed out the door, letting the tattered screen door slam close behind him. Austin stood there, shoving his hands into his pockets and thinking back to the day at the well. Roch would be a very, very good reaper. It was the rest of the school that he worried about. (Word count: 596)
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Posted: Wed Jun 08, 2011 8:19 am
Quote: I Got the BluesThe slamming of the screen seemed to echo through the room. Rochester stared at it, sitting in the corner of the hall, his legs pulled up to his chest, his chin resting on it. Ma hadn't said when she would come back, but she always came back. Always. So he sat there, watching the screen expectantly as the daylight coming through it started to fade. He was hungry. She would be hungry, too, when she got back, so he got to his feet and headed to the kitchen, opening the cabinets to see if they had anything he could make. He found a half empty box of cereal, which he put on the table in the middle of the room and got the milk out for. Two bowls, filled to as high as he could, topped with milk-- He finished his, staring at the bowl he had gotten for his mother for a long moment before getting out of his seat and taking hers. The scrape of the wooden legs against the floor seemed to echo as loudly as the screen door had. He ignored it as he started to eat. The same thing happened the next day, on the third day he had ran out of food he knew how to make. His stomach was trying to eat his spleen, so he decided it was about time to find his ma. He looked around, seeing the backpack she had given him--the one with the heart on it--and grabbed it, putting only the necessities inside, a coloring book, a yoyo, some candy that was so old that even he hadn't dared to eat it just yet. And he headed out the door, closing the screen door behind him gently, not wanting to hear that sound again. He started out, his little tennis shoes with the scull pin on the velcro eating up the concrete. He glanced around, watching all the monsters and ghosts that were sitting on the front steps of their apartments. They watched him curiously, a werewolf even calling him over and offering him the open bag of candy he held. Roch took the bag. "Hey, kid, you're that reaper's kid, right? The blonde skinny guy's?" "Dad?" Roch asked, cocking his head as he started eating the candy. "Have you seen him?" "Nah, was just wondering--hey--you--that--" He looked a bit stunned as the empty bag was handed back. "Thanks, mister!" Roch called as he started off again. "It was supposed to be a joke--how'd a little kid eat all that black licorice?" the were asked blankly. His buddies started cracking up. Roch stopped as he got to the store part of the street, his silver eyes widening as he saw all the bustle and all the people heading this way and that. It was like a party! There was even music, he noticed, drawn to the strange sound. He liked it! He liked it so much that he forgot about trying to find his ma. A skeleton sat on a crappy looking stool on the corner of the street, leaning back against the brick wall of the nearest building. He held an instrument in his arms, a--a-- "What's that?" Roch asked, heading for the skeleton wearing the tattered dress suit. "What's what?" the skeleton asked, turning cavernous holes that should have been eyes on the boy. "The guitar?" "That thing," Roch said, motioning to the guitar. "Yeah, it's a guitar," the skeleton said. "It's how I get my booze." "You can get booze with that?" "I do it every night!" "Can you teach me?" Roch asked. ........... Roch jerked awake, wondering why he had dreamed about that day so long ago. He looked around, seeing other monsters and ghosts blatantly minding their own business as the train kept clattering down the tracks. He reached up, running a hand over his face and taking a deep breath before digging out his eyephone. It was probably that strange guy's fault, the one that'd talked about blues and jazz, he decided as he went back to Formspring to see if anything new had happened. This ride was taking too jack long. (Word count: 702)
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Posted: Sun Jun 12, 2011 8:17 pm
Open House: Roch goes to Open House at Amityville, meets some people, dresses in drag, and joneses for a guitar.
Peddler Boil: Lizzy runs to save Roch, who's working Vein Street after Open House, they run into some trouble and go out for sushi. (FIN)
First Time: Roch and Claire meet in real life. (FIN)
Y'know What?: Roch and Danny talk. (FIN)
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Posted: Tue Jun 14, 2011 5:43 pm
Quote:  The truth was, Jackdammit was pissed off to begin with. His boil had run off to go somewhere far away, and not once had the punk boil even THOUGHT to ask him to come along. Well, that was going to change. Just as soon as his boil had a closet he was jackin' well going to go through it and rip up that scraggly, funny smelling bed with his claws and piss on the pillow! The starving stray sat down next to the minipet treat he had managed to steal from one of those scrags cultist that kept catching apartment buildings in the neighborhood on fire. It smelled faintly of cheese and blood, but it was still quite an achievement! Those cultists were meaner than crap, and it had been an epic battle, fraught with hardships--wait... "Yeah, you're enrolled. You can move into the dorms as soon as you get your stuff--" That was the werewolf that hung out with his boil! That meant his boil had a place with a closet! Jackdammit got up, creeping closer to the closet door, hoping to hear where exactly his boil had gone. But before the werewolf said any more, a flash caught the corner of the starving stray’s eye and he turned back to his treat-- Or where his treat should have been. The starving stray watched for a second in pure shock as the lepus loped away, carrying his treat--his spoils of war! He let out an earth shattering snarl, his fur standing on end as his back arched. Then he raced after the lepus as fast as he could, teeth bore. You did NOT steal from a ghetto alley cat! That just didn’t happen! Like a bundle of furry hatred Jackdammit leapt onto the swashbuckling lepus, claws bared, fangs flashing as he ripped at the other minipet. The lepus tasted funny, slightly intoxicating and extremely dirty, but it was nothing compared to some of the things Jackdammit had eaten before. The lepus squeaked, so caught off guard by the viciousness of the other minipet that he accidentally lost his hold on the treat. Jackdammit didn’t notice, he was far too busy trying to pull the lepus’s face off with his claws. They rolled, caterwauling screams echoing through the darkness of the minipet world. Unnoticed by either of them, a cute little candycorn treat slipped over to the forgotten treat, looked both ways and made sure the fight was still raging, then grabbed the coveted prize, racing away. ******* The big box was delivered a few days after he got to school. He'd been sleeping on the floor for the past two nights, using his bag as a pillow and nothing as a sheet. It was uncomfortable, to say the least. But here his bed was, packed up in old newspapers and smelling faintly... weird. He didn't care, he decided as he summoned his guitar and used the blade to cut the box open. His pillow part was wrapped up in more newspaper and placed on the top. He pulled it out, tossing it to the side and reached in-- "NYAAAAH," the starving stray screamed, jumping out from the bed and tackling Roch, his claws digging deeply into the reaper boil's face. He was SO pissed. "Son of a jack--candlejack--JACKDAMMIT GET OFF OF ME!!" he bellowed, shoving the cat off of him and spitting out a bit of blood. "You caught my lip, you little b*****d," he growled at the cat. He had no clue why the jackin' thing looked so smug suddenly, primly licking his paw and cleaning his face. He had no clue that he had just named the cat. "Why in the hell were you in there, anyway?" he demanded, going to the box and peering in. "You didn't bring the scrags with you, did you?" he demanded. Ha, Jackdammit thought, like he would bring those crazy bastards with him. Roch was his boil, not theirs! He turned, strolling around their new room, checking out his new possessions arrogantly. It didn't smell like his boil yet, but it would smell like him soon enough! He hiked a leg, spraying in the corner. "Jackdammit! What the hell do you think you're doin' pissing in my room?!" Roch demanded, diving for the cat only to get avoided. He found himself face first in the scent, and cursed loudly. "That smells like piss! What am I saying, of course it smells like piss," Roch growled. "Go HOME," he ordered the starving stray, only to get a blank stare before JD jumped onto the still wrapped pillow part of the bed and made himself comfortable. Roch glowered at the cat, then ran a hand over his face. "Guess I can't escape everything about the old street, can I?" he asked, going to unpack his bed and set it up. "Off the pillow," he told the cat, shoving it off with his foot. He unwrapped it and put it on the metal frame, dropping down on top of it, one leg hanging over the side. He put his hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling as he felt himself fighting sleep. "I kinda miss it," he said quietly as the starving stray jumped onto the bed and curled up against his side. "Jackdammit, you better not have fleas," Roch muttered to the cat. Why was he accepting this? He needed to get rid of the freakin' monster before it killed him in his sleep. But... the cat reminded him of home. He paused, gingerly reaching out to touch the cat's ear. "You're bleeding. Hate to see the other guy," he said, getting a dirty look and a hint of fang at the touch. "Tender, huh? Now I really can't have friends over," he drawled. Not that he had planned to bring anyone over to begin with. "Ouch--ouchouchouch--CLAWS!" he yelped as the cat started digging his claws into the boil's leg. "You mean little b*****d!" Ahhh, it was home, Jackdammit thought happily. And so far there were no other pets-- He jerked, his eyes opening as he smelled something. There was an intruder somewhere on his boil. He snarled, heading for the pocket as a little head poked out. "Son of a--JACKDAMMIT STOP TRYING TO KILL RIFF!" The bellow was heard throughout the entire floor. Roch was going to be such a hit with his neighbors. Not. ((Word count: 1,073))
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Posted: Mon Jun 20, 2011 2:05 pm
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Posted: Sun Jul 03, 2011 12:38 pm
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Posted: Sun Jul 03, 2011 5:50 pm
Quote: Roch stepped into his room, tossing the ratty looking backpack he had bought from the junk store into the corner and kicking off his shoes. One ringed hand ran over his face, the bracelets that he wore clacking together far more loudly than he was used to. Or maybe it was because his head was pounding so hard that they just sounded that way. He almost didn’t see the box on the desk as he headed for his bed. For a moment he stared at it blankly, his nose twitching as he took in the sweet smell coming from inside. Jerking he turned and looked at the calendar that was nailed to the wall. “Jack... it’s the third,” he said to himself. He looked at the box again, then, completely out of character, walked past it, heading for the restroom instead. A shower, he thought as he stripped off his clothes. He even took off the bracelets he wore all the time, setting them and his rings on the counter before he got into the shower stall and started to clean himself. He didn’t way attention to what he was doing, hands moving out of habit, shampooing, conditioning, scrub scrub scrub-- “Jackdammit!” he bellowed, slamming the side of his fist on the wall of the shower stall. His body shook for a long moment, just standing there in the water as it sliced over his body, turning cold. With a quick, jerky movement he turned the water off and stepped out, grabbing a towel from the rack to dry off quickly. He wrapped the towel around his hips and brushed his teeth, staring blankly into his reflection. He didn’t look the same with his hair hanging around his face. And he still hadn’t gotten around to getting it cut and dying it again. In fact, he looked a lot like-- Roch turned away from the mirror, disgusted with his own face. Roughly he shoved his hair back out of his face and headed back into his room. The box was still there. Things were different now, right? He should probably invite a couple of pals over, open the box, and celebrate it, right? It was just another excuse for a party. It was something that he was supposed to be proud of, right? Then why did he feel so sick over it? Why was he remembering all those times where he would wait and wait for his old man to show-- He muttered a curse and headed for the box, pulling it open. The jackin’ thing was shaped like a guitar. He stared at it, a slightly bittersweet smile pulling at his lips. “They only drew three strings,” he said. “What kind of guitar only has three strings?” He looked at the box top, pulling the ragged, yellowed envelope off of it and pulling out the letter. For a second he stared at it, shocked for some reason that it wasn’t that old familiar scrawl. A hint of anger flashed in his eyes, then cleared, replaced by an amused smile as he put the box top down and headed to get his phone. “Hey, Fang?” he said as the phone was answered. “I got the cake.” “Yeah? How’s it look?” Fang asked. The raspy, rough voice laced with enthusiasm sent a wave of nostalgia over Roch. “They only put three strings,” Roch said, a little grin playing on his lips. “Even my bass has four,” he added, teasingly. “We tried to get Bones to give a better explanation, but you know how he is,” Fang said. “Besides, it’s a cake. Ain’t like you’ll be playing it.” “Sure I won’t, it’s only got three strings!” Roch said. “How’s everyone back home?” “Well... you know... we can’t complain--“ “Sure you can. You complain all the time. Tell me the truth, Fang, you’re not makin’ it now that I ain’t there! The light’s gone out, there’s no joy in the neighborhood! Face it, life just ain’t good without me!” “Bones does drink more,” Fang said. “And that dueling guitar thing you used to do? Ain’t so... dueling when there’s only one. And old Ms. Wheedle? She kicked the vamp in the balls when he came by to see what was goin’ on.” “The vamp came by?” Roch asked with surprise. “He swore he’d never come back the last time!” “What can I say, turns out his daily unlife is jackin’ boring. He’s an accountant,” Fang said. “Your old man--“ “I don’t want to hear about it,” Roch said. “He’s the one that reminded us what day it was. You know us monsters, we suck at dates, and this whole second birthday thing? Never really got that... But the cake was our idea! We even went into one of those fancy bake shops to order it. Well... Ms Wheedle did.” “That makes me feel better. I’m tryin’ to decide if I should call people over or just eat the entire thing myself.” “So you got some?” Fang asked. “Friends. You ain’t been there long, and we worried--“ Roch’s face went emotionless for a moment then he forced a grin. “You know me, Fang. I’m everybody’s friend.” “Yeah, like I’d believe a line like that,” Fang said. “But we’re waitin’ for you to come home for the summer. You better not disappoint us.” “I’ll think about it. Thanks for the cake, Fang. And tell Ms Wheedle thanks for my bed. It looks really good.” He hung up the phone, slipping it into his pants pocket and heading for the box with the cake in it, to stare at it for a long moment. After a second he stuck a finger into it, pulling it out and sticking it in his mouth. His seventh second birthday, and they hadn’t even gotten him chocolate cake. “You’da thought they’d know by now,” he said as he pulled a chunk of it off and started eating. Idly he flipped through his phone messages, stopping on one. Happy second birthday. I got you something, it should be there by now. Dad. He stared at it for a moment, then calmly pushed delete. Who gave a jack what his dad had gotten him? It was usually something lame, anyway, he thought as he headed for his bed. He stopped, though, seeing a rock sitting on his bed. It seemed to throb with color, and felt almost hot to the touch. “He got me... a rock,” Roch said, picking it up. “Just what I needed. A paper weight.” He tossed it onto his desk and went back to his cake. He wasn’t going to share it, after all. And left, abandoned on his desk, was this:
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Posted: Wed Jul 06, 2011 4:59 pm
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Posted: Mon Jul 11, 2011 7:04 pm
Quote: A long day, Roch thought as he entered his room. That whole audition thing had taken forever, and Danny wanted to go over who they should let in and who they shouldn’t. Well, if you asked him, he would let them all in simply because it meant more snacks would be brought to the meetings. But-- He stopped as the snarling noises caught his ears and he looked up, watching blankly as Jackdammit tried to attack a strange orange creature that was sitting on top of the desk. The cat seemed to be having a bit of trouble, and kept getting dodged as he attacked. “Hey!” Roch bellowed. “What in the jack are you two doing?” Both minipets glanced at him, then just as quickly turned back to one another, trying to resume their fight. Roch cursed, grabbing Jackdammit and holding him in his arms as the cat tried to get to the other minipet. “Where the jack did you come from, anyway? Are you someone else’s pet?” he asked the creature sitting on his desk. Of course, he got no reply, so he dragged a snarling, scratching bundle of angry Jackdammit to the closet and tossed him through, slamming it shut before the starving stray could come back in. Turning, Roch stepped up to the desk, where the strange creature was calmly grooming himself, his black wings gently opening and closing, as if he was contemplating taking off. “What are you?” Roch asked, sitting down in the chair and looking the new minipet in the eyes. “Jackdammit sure doesn’t seem to like you,” he went on, frowning slightly. “But if he doesn’t like you, that’s probably a good thing, right?” He stood, scooping the little guy into his arms and heading out the door to ask all the other reapers if they had lost a... whatever this was. After going through the entire floor with nothing to show for it, he gave up. If they wanted to keep their pets, they should damn well know where they were, right? Besides, he was too tired to deal with this. He figured the owner would show up sooner or later on their own to claim the... thing. With a tired sigh he dropped down on his bed, letting one leg dangle over the side as he summoned his guitar and started playing lightly to himself. The wishing cousin jumped onto the bed, crawling to the small area next to Roch’s side and laying down as if it were his right. Roch glanced down briefly, a slight frown on his face as he let the guitar disappear and dug his phone out. Another message from his dad appeared, reminding him of the rock that his dad had sent. He looked up at his desk then snorted as he realized the rock wasn’t there anymore. “Oh well,” he muttered, reluctantly opening the text. He should just delete it and not bother reading, he thought irritably.
I had one when I was your age.
They’re a bit moody, but hell,
so are you.
Dad
PS: Are you dating a glutton
demon?
“Wh--what?” Roch yelped, his eyes widening at that last question. “Dating a--you mean--what the hell are you thinking, old man?” he demanded of the phone. “I ain’t dating Claire! You’d have to be insane to date Claire! Delete, delete, delete!” he said, jabbing at the button to get rid of the text. But before he could stop himself he was texting the old man back. ARE U INSANE?And he pressed the send button before he realized what he had done. All the weeks of playing on groanspring were a dangerous thing, he realized as the phone said he had gotten a reply. Word is you took one to prom.Roch glared at the phone, as if he could burn through the screen with his rage and hit his dad with it full force. She BLACKMAILED ME.He had texted back. What the jack was he thinking? And what was really sad was that this was the second longest conversation he’d ever had with the old man.
Don’t let it happen again.
Demons are tricky. Try to
avoid them.“Well duh,” Roch muttered, giving the phone a surly look. “You’d think I hadn’t realized that when I was five.” Then he frowned, thinking about it more. “Wait...”
Claire & Danny are too stupid
to be tricky.
Send. He had actually pushed Send. He snorted, wondering what in the hell was wrong with him to be having this conversation with his dad.
Danny? Damn, boy, stick to
one gender at a time.
Roch choked. He couldn’t help the laugh that ripped through him. His dad thought Danny was--he thought that Roch was--Oh that was funny! Then again--
I AINT GAY!This time he took great satisfaction in pressing the send button. At least he did until his dad texted him back. Good to hear. You learnin
any new songs?Roch took a moment to think about the music class he was taking and snorted. Not a damn thing. Shouldn’t
you be working?And he actually found himself waiting for a reply. This was the weirdest thing that had ever happened to him. He was sitting here, with a high class pet lounging next to him, talking with his old man. He should just turn off his phone and try selling the pet for cash. He could probably get a decent amount of seeds off of it, right? Think of all the burgers-- The phone buzzed, telling him he had a new text. He opened it a bit too quickly. Yeah.And that was all it said. “Yeah,” he drawled. “That’s all you got to say? d**k. See if I respond to that,” he muttered, closing the window and bringing up Groanspring, instead. Then he stopped, remembering something he wanted to ask. He brought up the texting again and typed something slowly. Hey... is your scythe an instrument?The minutes seemed to take forever before the response came. Yeah, it is.“Jackdammit!” Roch bellowed. “I knew it! Nothing I do is better than him!” He tossed the phone on the desk and dropped down on his bed, his hands behind his head. A pout crossed his face as he tried not to wonder... Shoving to his feet he headed for the desk and grabbed the phone. What is it?This time the buzz took even longer to come. A sax.“A sax? He plays a sax?” Roch exclaimed, getting a strange look from the pet. “That’s like--jackin’ sex in a horn!” he bitched. “Where the hell does he get off playin’ a sax?? Dirty old man!” What really pissed him off was that he still hadn’t gotten a horn player for the club. There was so much you could do with a horn in the band! It was tempting to ask for advice. It irritated him that he was even tempted to. He was going to do this on his own, dammit. He was going to make the club on his own, and become a damn good reaper on his own, and he was going to do it without even THINKING of asking his old man for help. He’d grown up without his dad’s help, he was going to make it through the rest of his life that way, as well! His phone buzzed. He was tempted not to look, but it would just keep blinking at him until he did. Or at least that’s what he told himself. He checked the text. We got a small problem.“We? We? What the hell, old man?” Roch demanded. Before he could text again, the phone buzzed. Vegas is in town. I’ll explain
later.“Who?” He even texted the question to his old man, but there was no reply. “Yeah? Well jack you, too, old man!” he snapped. “Just drop this whole foreboding statement on me and not explain--what the jack do you think this is, some cheesy movie?? d**k!” Word Count: 1,340
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Posted: Mon Jul 18, 2011 6:24 pm
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Posted: Wed Jul 20, 2011 12:57 pm
Roch is gonna explode! Roch didn’t feel so good. His stomach seemed to be churning--hell, his entire body seemed to be churning, and when he tried to throw up the only thing that happened was he sat there on his knees, dry-heaving into the toilet. Sweat covered his brow. How the hell had he gotten to be like this? All he’d done was go to the festival and grab a few things from the cafeteria afterwards-- The room was swirling in front of his eyes. He hugged the toilet, wishing it would stop. There’d been... tacos... and a hamburger... and-- “Jackdammit, do you not remember what happened the last time?” The voice seemed to be from a distance, clouded over by the blood pounding in his ears. He barely registered the fact that someone was pulling him to his feet and literally carrying him out of his bathroom and into his bedroom. He protested, or thought he was protesting, trying to shove the rough, calloused hands away. “You little moron.” At least that’s what he thought the cloudy voice said. He tried to look up, only seeing a blur of brown and red, twisting and turning and pulsating in a way that made him feel even sicker. A cold something touched his forehead, and he let his eyes closed. It was a familiar, comforting feeling, even though the world felt like it would explode at any moment. He was barely registering what was happening, but something subconscious knew that it had happened several times before. “Your neighbors are gonna be pissed,” the rough, familiar voice said. “But I got no choice. This is why I should have made you stay home. I’ve had to do this way too many times since you came here!” Roch wanted to complain, to yell back, even though he didn’t know what he was arguing about in the first place. But he felt too sick even to speak, much less yell. At least, he did until the music started playing. It was soft, relaxing music that seemed to tug at something within him. Slowly the sickened feeling that was trying to tear him apart calmed. His eyes flickered and he tried to open them. He wanted to know why he knew this sound so well, when he couldn’t recall ever hearing it in his life. But his eyes refused to open, as if something held him under a spell. He could feel his body calming, feel the return to normalcy with every note. It felt good. The music felt as if it were talking to him, meant for him, as if whoever was playing it had only him on their mind. This was... this was the closest he had ever felt to being loved. He wanted to see who would play for him like this. Who could play for him like this. But still, his eyes stayed closed. It would be any moment before he fell asleep, Roch thought as his breathing grew shallow-- The music stopped and someone slapped him hard across the face. “Wake up you jacking moron!” the rough voice snarled, breaking the spell that had Roch so enthralled. Slowly silver eyes opened, looking into eyes just like his own and a--very... very pissed off looking father. “D--Dad?” Roch asked, jerking into a sitting position. “Every jackin’ time, ever since you were a kid you’d always fall asleep whenever I played!” Austin complained. “So how the hell was I going to explain the problem? Well this time you ain’t got your babysitters to keep you in check. You gotta grow up, boil,” he said coldly, shoving one long, tough looking finger forward to poke Roch on the forehead hard. “You are NOT a gluttony demon!” “Wh--what?” Roch asked, reaching up and rubbing his forehead. That had hurt! “You can’t eat that much, boil! Sure you think you can, but you’ve almost killed yourself more times than I can count! Why do you think I kept you on such a small allowance? Hell, I’m just lucky Bones was so happy to take half your pay when you worked the streets! That way I only had to do this damn job once a year or so--but now! How many times have you glutted yourself? And I ain’t a FEAR healer, all I can do is strip the FEAR from you! So if every single reaper in this building wakes up feeling like s**t, you’re the one to blame!” “The--the entire building?” Roch asked. “No, not the entire building, I have more control than that,” Austin said with disgust. “But your next door neighbors might. Think about that the next time you choose to eat like a pig!” “s**t, old man, don’t you know my next door neighbor’s already depressed enough as it is??” Roch yelped. “What about my minipets--“ “I shoved them through the closet, they’re fine,” Austin said. “Jackdammit, most people have to give their kids the ‘keep it in your pants’ lecture before going to school, what do I have to give? ‘Keep it outta your mouth!’” He glowered at Roch. “And stay away from that gambling den.” “What about Vegas?” Roch asked. “Who is Vegas?” “A pain in the a** that you need to avoid,” Austin said. “Trust me, boil, we’re all a lot better off if you do. And another thing!” he said, poking Roch in the forehead again. “Keep it in your pants!” “Wh--what??” Roch asked blankly. “Jackdammit, old man, what are you insinuating--“ But Austin was gone already. --------- Word count: 925
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Posted: Mon Jul 25, 2011 12:58 pm
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Posted: Fri Aug 19, 2011 5:41 pm
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Posted: Wed Aug 31, 2011 6:17 am
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