[M] No matter what I say or do

Roz/Larka

POSTED: Sat Jan 12, 2019 3:42 am

WARNING: This thread contains material exceeding the general board rating of PG-13. It may contain very strong language, drug usage, graphic violence, or graphic sexual content. Reader discretion is advised.

(402)

ooc

The nightmares re-surged with a viciousness as they settled into Searsport. They claimed for themselves the portions of old carriages. They made a tentative claim, and when none came to oust or argue it, their influence was decided. The skulls of old Inferni were set up atop new poles, ready to strike fear into hearts again.

During all of this, John fought more and more against the pull of sleep. When he slept, he saw her face far too much.

It made him sick, and filled him with a terrible yearning. When the things had seemed bright, and happy. Before Andrew had left, before Ginger had revealed her real self.

So he dealt with the pain in the tried and true method of being absolutely shit-faced as much as he could manage. If he passed out then he tended not to dream too much. Sometimes though, she still snuck her way in there, and it was from one of these such dreams that he wrenched himself to wakefulness, sitting bolt upright in his bedroll to clasp his head in hands.

His harsh, ragged breathing was the only sound in the tent and yet he knew she was awake too. Her breathing was not even enough to be sleeping. He opened his mouth, but his tongue was dry and sticking. Fuck, he needed a drink.

The thought of her sad, aching frown stayed his hand. Fuck. So many bitter regrets welled up inside, churning together in some terrible smoothie of fucked-up mess. Abruptly his eyes burned, and only force of will kept the tears inside. He... he needed to leave. Right now.

Abruptly John dragged himself to his feet and ducked out of the tent, striding away into the surrounding early morning gloom.

***

It was later in the morning, as he sat by the fire that he caught her copper locks and called softly to her,

"Larka... c'mere." He gestured gently. John was never loud or short with her, displaying a tenderness that was so long removed from his persona that it was uncharacteristic now. There was a long length of rope curled between his outstretched legs. The cigarette jammed between his teeth was tobacco only, he'd stopped smoking pot around her as it made her uneasy and scared.

As she approached him, he stubbed it out against the ground and tucked it behind his ear,

"You wantin' to learn about snares, yeah?" Green peered up at her, tired and strained.

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