The Wulver's Stane

[Lamb]

He was too old to be worrying about a god damn donut.

Detective Creighton Bruer stared unblinkingly at the covered tray of pastries to his left sitting on the diner counter, cheek in palm and eyes glazed over. It was too cliché, anyway—a cop sitting on his ass stuffing his face with donuts. And it really didn’t look good for a man his weight to be eating deep fried desserts. The poor fat bastard that women scolded their kids for staring at, telling them when they thought you were out of earshot, “That’s why we can’t eat at McDonald’s every night. You don’t want to end up like that, do you?” He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face and stirring his coffee for the hundredth time since his cup was filled.

“Can I get you another cup?” a worn-down feminine voice called in front of him. His eyes slowly moved up to a middle-aged woman behind the counter with gradually running mascara and pronounced wrinkles.

“Thanks. I’m alright for now.” He said.

“You need anything else then before I go on my break?”

Creighton’s eyes wandered to the donut platter.

“I wouldn’t bet on your luck, Mr. Bruer. Now I’m not in the business of telling a man he’s dying. Quite the opposite, usually. But if you don’t drastically, and I do mean drastically, cut down on your sugar and fat intake, you will not see fifty-one.”

“No. Thanks.” Creighton forced out. He should have told that doctor that if he was so adamant about sugar reduction he should stop giving kids lollipops for checkups. But it didn’t do any good to argue with a doctor. He’d just charge you more; find some hidden expense like “thermometer sanitization” to put on your bill—something that was really just medical lingo for “Patient was a smartass”. He watched as the waitress walked away and downed a bitter gulp of black, sugarless coffee.

It was really just the way of things. He didn’t have a wife anymore, no kids. He lived alone in a one-bedroom apartment in which he couldn’t own pets, and the most social interaction he saw was talking to suspicious street punks and drug dealers who were so unwilling to help their fellow man that he wanted to drag them down the street behind his car by their dirty, infected piercings. And now, to top it all off, the man couldn’t eat a god damn donut at the end of a fourteen hour shift. Creighton grumbled huskily to himself and reached a chubby hand, with considerable effort, into an all-too-tight back pocket. Out of the corner of his eye he caught someone leaning up to turn the volume up on the television.

“…ently have no suspects in the bizarre double murder case that took place just three days ago in a small Seattle apartment building, although the victim’s longtime roommate and fiancée Noah Gershwin has been missing since the incident took place on Friday. There is no word whether he is believed to be an accomplice or merely taken as a hostage by the killer, but traces of his blood were found at the crime scene. He was last seen heading home from work. If you or anyone you know has seen or heard from this man, please contact your local authorities an…”

A scream sounded from outside the diner loud enough to get the attention of the inhabitants inside. Many of them stood and moved toward the window, chattering quietly in alarm as they awaited another indication of distress, and Creighton hurriedly tossed a ten dollar bill on the counter as he haphazardly tried to maneuver himself off of the precarious swiveling stool. Another scream resounded from the street just beyond the diner and Creighton was quickly parting through the crowd, flashing the badge pinned to the inside of his coat as he went. He rammed the door open with a shoulder and charged at a brisk pace towards the disturbance, exhausted already before he was ten steps out into the street.

He looked around and determined the source of the commotion, two distinct screams leading him through an alleyway and into a handful of people fleeing on the streets. The area was secluded, hidden behind a building of momentarily indeterminate nature. Partially obscured in the shadows near the dumpsters out back, a figure howled. Creighton’s hand was going for his gun—and then his hand was gone. All of him was gone. His vision shifted, he was looking down on the streets now from a greatly elevated height, but his focus was solely in front of him. He felt weightless and heavier at the same time, and two powerful arms that looked nothing like what he knew to be his, or human, flew out in front of him and hit the asphalt. He expected to be down on the ground in the next instant, but instead he was launching off of the earth, springing off of these strange, hulking limbs and coming down so hard on the street in front of him that chips of it burst into his face.

At that instant he was snapping forward. His teeth—teeth, he was biting—grazed the edge of something that felt like flesh and the thing he had grabbed at reeled on him with a sallow, deadly visage. Its eyes were gaping holes of darkness, its skin scarred and teeth all exposed. Gray mist roiled like fire around select body parts and then shifted to different ones, wherever it touched giving the appendage a fluctuating translucency. Naked, haggard, covered in its own drool and face matted with its stringy, thinning hair, it opened its mouth and shrieked again. The sound threatened to burst his eardrums, but the only reaction he found himself experiencing was rage, and he opened his mouth to scream himself. What came was not a man’s cry. A bellowing roar tore from his chest and he was lunging again. Arms slashed. His teeth snapped again. The thing sprang at him with crazed, flailing limbs and a fist rammed his now massive jaw upwards, but he barely felt the pain, even as he caught himself against a solid metal dumpster and bounced back at his opponent. This time he didn’t miss. His jaws snapped closed and its head ruptured. It pulled free from his jaws, headless, spasming, running a few feet and skidding against a brick wall. It fell, mist pouring from its remains.

Creighton similarly collapsed, and when he hit the ground it was a human hand that caught him. His breathing was heavy, frantic, eyes wide. Questions didn’t even come at that point—he could only replay that bizarre moment where he had…changed…over and over again in his head. He pulled himself to his feet with a grunt and found that, when there, he felt incredibly strange. Breathing seemed easier. As he looked down, he realized, utterly stupefied, that his clothes were now hanging off of him. The cuffs of his sleeves seemed too long all of a sudden, and his shirt and jacket sagged down. He tried to dazedly take inventory of himself and quickly pulled off his shirt. He felt his stomach with his hands, jaw slack. It wasn’t his stomach. It wasn’t the stomach of a man who ate hot pockets every morning for breakfast and thought of exercise as walking down the flight of stairs from his second floor apartment instead of taking the elevator. He looked over towards the dumpster where he had hit to see it mangled, as though a car had hit it head on doing forty. Next to the dumpster was a fractured full body mirror.

Creighton didn’t find the reflection of himself. Suddenly he was looking at the body of a pro-wrestler with his facial features. He was covered in a muscular structure of gladiator proportions, pants sliding off from having lost the girth that kept them there. He stood there, grabbing at his face, trying to disperse this vision trick before him, but even in the stunned aftermath of whatever had just happened he could not deny the reality of it. He turned to look at the thing that had provoked him only to find it in decaying pieces. It was quickly dissolving away, evaporating from the street where it lay in the form of the mist that had partially shrouded it.

Creighton slowly looked back down at his hands.

[The Gypsy Queen]

Deoiridh had always been a fan of the sun. There was nothing quite like relaxing on cool grass with the sun warming her.

She licked her lips, suddenly aware of the pangs of hunger for the first time since… since it happened. She watched with sad dark eyes as passers-by in the park she was currently resting in jogged or played fetch with their dogs.

She’d had lots of time to think after it had happened. She had just grabbed a bag of clothes, vomited twice more, retrieved her guitar from the attic, and left. Even as she walked away from her family home in Charleston, Arkansas, she’d heard the sirens as they pulled up.

She’d walked all night and most of the following day to Fort Smith, and her newly toned body didn’t even ache. But she’d had lots of times to think. And she’d thought about a lot of things to think about.

She’d come to the conclusion, based on the blurry memories of the actual event, that something had happened to her. She’d changed. She knew she must have, because little Duane wouldn’t even come near her for fear afterwards. She was sure she’d changed, physically, but it had happened so fast she hadn’t had time to register it and it hadn’t happened since. She also knew something strange had happened because of how she was afterwards.

It was like she was in prime physical condition. Toned, strong muscles, a flat belly, lean legs. She’d been in shape before the accident, but never like this. And even stranger, the scars from the accident were all gone. No spidery burn scars on her face and arms and legs, and her right hand was immaculate. It didn’t even hurt to move it.

Deoiridh held up her right hand to investigate it. Perfect, long, elegant fingers curled and uncurled at her bidding, moving with the smooth grace she’d so longed for.

It had been nearly a year since she was able to, and this hardly seemed the time, but she felt so many emotions… grief, anger, fear, confusion… she just had to.

After the accident, she hadn’t even been able to open her guitar case, much less play it. But now the case popped open easy as pie, and the smooth acoustic felt like air in her hands and smelled of home. She thrummed her fingers across the strings, making the instrument hum contentedly, and she nearly wept for the ironic joy.

She thought of her father, that blessed man, bleeding on the ground before her. She thought of the mangled corpse of the man that did it. The rage was fresh and she had focused on that, but not the grief. Now it was washing over her like a tidal wave, and she couldn’t breathe. Her father and cousin were dead. Dead and gone. She wouldn’t even be able to attend their funerals. Now, sitting alone on the grass in Creekmore Park in Fort Smith, Arkansas, Deoiridh wrapped her hands around a guitar for the first time in nearly a year and mourned the only way she knew how.

The guitar thrummed readily under her fingers, humming and purring like an old lover, a steady strumming beat. She sang softly, not meaning to entertain, only to grieve.

I'll sing it one last time for you
Then we really have to go
You've been the only thing that's right
In all I've done…

Louder louder
And we'll run for our lives
I can hardly speak I understand
Why you can't raise your voice to say…

To think I might not see those eyes
Makes it so hard not to cry
And as we say our long goodbye
I nearly do…

The music stirred her, something new and restless in her heart. Even as she grieved she knew already she could not stay. Something was dragging her slowly onward, already trying to pull her to her feet.

She opened her eyes and steeled herself. Setting her jaw and looking about as though to dare someone to do something, she resolved to have faith. This was happening to her and she had to believe there was a reason why. It was what her father would tell her.

[Pope Jako III]

Buck awoke from his resting place, which was currently a bench in a park in Fort Smith, he didn’t know what it was called nor did he care, he thought it was a park but it was more of a playground. Anyway buck awoke to the sound of music, something he hadn’t heard in a long time, life on the road didn’t allow such luxuries. He liked music, he liked music a lot actually, but as he listened he couldn’t help but feel sad this had to be one of the saddest songs he ever heard, “well there goes my good morning.”

Louder louder
And we'll run for our lives
I can hardly speak I understand
Why you can't raise your voice to say…

Buck stopped what he was thinking this girl has lost someone, someone very close. Buck knew that kind of pain he knew what it felt like to lose someone close his own father and grandfather before him both died long before their time in the outback.

To think I might not see those eyes
Makes it so hard not to cry
And as we say our long goodbye
I nearly do…

The song came to its conclusion and he knew his new course of action. Whatever this girl was up to he was coming along for the ride. “Well I’m not one to just barge into people’s lives but I think this might warrant a look see. With his course decided Buck packed up his things and made his way over to the girl standing defiantly against the sun set.

[Ushima]

Waking up to a slamming door was not how I picturerd waking up in the morning. "Damn." I cursed as I got up. Sleep was good, but didn't make me feel any better.

"Michael?" I looked to the doorway and found my aunt starring at me. She was happy to see me, though surprise was also written on her face.

"Rough night at work Auntie Maria?" I asked as I stretched and heared my joints popped.

"Yeah it was rough." I gave her a quick hug and kissed her on the cheek. "If I had known my godson would be here I would have entered more quietly. Want breakfast?"

"I would love breakfast." If my aunt didn't notice the subtle changes in my appearance she didn't mention it. I sat at the kitchen table waiting when I heard a door open somewhere in the house. "Yo Joseph!" I called.

"Hey Mike nice to see you man." My cousin and I bump fists. "What brings you back to our asshole of a town?" I can sense the dislike for the town in his voice.

"Forget get about me for a second. What the fuck happened to you?" Ignoring my aunt yelling about my use of foul language, which I love using, I grab his face and turn his head, looking at the bruises.

"I don't want to talk about it." He looked away from me and down at the table.

"Hey." He looks up at me and I flash him a grin. I forgot all about my problems for the moment, Joseph was family and that comes first. "I'll take care of it, don't worry." We didn't speak a word of it again as my aunt set plates of eggs and bacon down.

When we were done I took the shower first and when I was done entered the guest bedroom to find fresh clothes. A new pair of jeans, black socks, black long sleeve shirt, red t-shirt. I took two of my cousins steel chains and put them on my right side, one hung lower than the other. Aftering putting on a belt I grabbed my hoodie and shoes. "Lets go!" I yelled to my cousin and soon we were headed to the mall, him to get some stuff, me to go after whoever hurt him.

[The Gypsy Queen]

She didn’t know who he was and nor did she ask. It sounded ridiculous but he smelled right, like she could trust him. Like maybe somehow he understood.

So she started walking. He followed. They walked for hours, following winding Old Greenwood Road until Phoenix Avenue, and then following that.

She was going. She didn’t know where or why really, but she could feel it in her bones, some kind of forceful restlessness that dragged her onward even though she was beginning to bleed through her eco-friendly flip flops. She’d had to tie her green fabric belt tighter on her peasant skirt, she dropped enough weight last night to make it very loose otherwise.

But she felt light as a feather. Determination was hard in her veins, and she knew what she was going to do. She was going to the airport. She was going to get on a flight. And she was going to wherever it was her bones were pulling her to. The problem was she had no idea where that would be.
She imagined herself just closing her eyes and randomly pointing at a destination and hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

The night fell as they walked and the chill began to creep over Phoenix Avenue as the airport finally came into view. Her left leg had that numb feeling of being a little overworked – she must have been favoring it out of habit.

She was visibly shivering by the time they reached the airport, feet wet and bleeding and notably jacketless. As they reached the entrance, she turned on her silent companion.

“ I have enough money for two tickets. You can come with me, if you want.” She said, voice soft and quiet, then turned and made her way into the airport.

It turned out the next flight with available seats was to New York City, and it left in fifteen minutes. She waited before booking the seats, to see if the blonde wanted to come along. It would be nice to not be alone.

[Pope Jako III]

Huh never actually traveled inside the coach of an airplane before. This could be interesting. Buck smiled and put his hand behind his head “I’m honored that you would want me along but, I have to tell you I’ve never traveled coach before.” At hear blank look he hastily clarified: “or first class or anywhere besides the cargo hold.” “And while New York is not on my list of places to go, I could perhaps put my journey on hold for a little while.” “Well then,” he said getting up, “first things first,” he said pulling out a med kit, “let’s do something about those feet.” He motioned to her bleeding feet.

[The Gypsy Queen]

The flight to New York was not a long one, and the peanuts and soda were the first thing Deoiridh had eaten in over twenty-four hours. Fresh gauze adorned her feet, and she'd washed the blood from her shoes in the ladies' restroom. She only had so much now, and these were her only shoes. She'd also taken time to wash her face and freshen up a bit - a little all-natural deodorant, a change of clothes into jeans and a Bob Marley tee-shirt, and a quick teeth-brushing. She felt much better, but still exhausted.

She napped for the first few hours on the plane, dozing in and out of consciousness, incessantly awakened by half-formed nightmares about what had happened, her father's gaping mouth, the horrid smell in the house, what she'd become, and about the fact that she had no idea what she would do when they landed in New York.

The man to her left (she'd given him the window seat as it was his first time flying coach, apparently) was a source of some comfort, but when she finally gave up on sleep, she paused to consider him.

He looked cheerful and easy-going. Handsome, if blondes were your thing. He'd sounded kind of like the Crocodile Hunter, so she wondered if maybe he was from Australia.

It took her a few minutes to work up the courage to speak, which was odd, because she'd just spent all but fifty dollars of her money for two plane tickets to New York, with no idea what to do when she got there, with this man and she got nervous about talking to him.

She wished she hadn't had to check her guitar. It would have been some comfort.

" Um. What's your name?" she asked finally.

[Pope Jako III]

“Um. What’s your name?” Buck looked over he couldn’t believe he forgot to introduce himself. “HAHAHAHAHA! I’m sorry HAHAHAHA! Names Buck.” He managed to gasp between fits of laughter. I’m sorry I don’t usually barge into people’s lives by meeting them in a random park I’m Buck Irwin, what’s yours?”

[The Gypsy Queen]

The sudden laughter stunned Deoiridh, and she sat for a good minute doing a great impersonation of a particularly startled goldfish.

A little part of her had forgotten there was laughter still in the world.

" Deoiridh Hall." She answered.

This was about as much conversation as she had courage to start, but the plane was landing anyway, so the pilot advising the passengers of the descent saved her the awkward silence.

Her feet had swollen some in the hours she'd been sitting, so she trudged painfully into the John F. Kennedy International Airport, shuffling as quickly as possible to collect her guitar - she was anxious without it.

As she saw it drop from the chute she could only hope to receive some kind of sign as to what she was supposed to do now.

[Pope Jako III]

"Well i don't know about you but I'm a bit on the hungry side." Buck said motioning to what appeared to be a small restaurant next to the gate he held up his wallet and smiled "my buy this time?"