[M] But Ken was always gettin' way too drunk

Larka

POSTED: Tue Jan 01, 2019 2:44 pm

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.

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The place he knew of wasn't much further now, he told Boone and Nazario. A few more cold-as-shit days and freezing nights and there'd be somewhere warm to sleep and a protected place out of the elements. John might have thought the snow beautiful if he didn't have to steer the mule through it and the boggy, partially frozen ground. At the worst moments, they'd crunch through the crust of ice and sink into sucking mud.

He didn't let the girl walk however, not even when the cart was stuck in the deep mud. She stayed up in the driver's seat, wrapped up in the winter's clothing he had given her on that night when he'd stolen her away. He'd warned them, all of them, that if they laid a finger on them that he'd break them off and jam them so far up their asses they'd be tasting their own claws.

Ronnie might be the only one to understand, he didn't much care for the pitying glances his triplet would occasionally send his way. He wasn't about to explain that shit-fest to the rest of them. No fucking way.

Camp was chosen for the night, a small clearing amidst towering sentinel pines. Their boughs were bowed with the settling snow, occasionally clumps would fall with a muffled thump.

He was there, besides the cart, holding out a hand for her to take, "Here, lemme help ya." He murmured. The others sorted things out between themselves, who would set up which tent where, but John barely paid attention to them. Her palm was small, her fingers slim and delicate. Like spun glass, or fine china. He could feel the fragility and it burned an awareness in the back of his mind. It would be so easy to break her, to crush her into a million shards.

Last edited by Johnathan Winthrop on Sun Mar 10, 2019 1:43 am, edited 1 time in total.
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POSTED: Wed Jan 02, 2019 5:03 pm

(+000)

Larka's first post of 2019!

The frozen world passed beneath the mule’s hooves, leaving a trail in the otherwise undisturbed snow. Larka gingerly stretched her legs as she adjusted herself atop the cart. John had insisted on the arrangement, despite her protests that she could walk. Even when man and beast had to stop to combat the elements. Amber studied her saviour, checking for signs of fatigue or shifts in his mood. She knew that the man worried after her well-being too, but for different reasons than others of his sex did.

John saw in her something she had thought lost. A rush of raw emotions flowed from his acts of kindness; a wound exposed to the elements. Questions she had buried deep within her mind resurfaced. Who am I? What am I going to do now? Larka had met John’s people, The Cartel, and heard their tale. They treated her with a compassion she didn’t understand. Again she wondered what use she could be to the clan, yet they had told her to wait. Explained that they would teach her skills and that she was welcome to stay for as long as she wanted.

Many times she pondered if she were not trapped within some marvellous dream. The girl snuffed at the cloak John had given her that fateful day. His scent still clung to the fabric, grounded her troubled thoughts. Claws dug into the wooden cart as it jolted through hard-packed dirt on its way to their campsite. The girl met John’s eye, seeking confirmation, as he led the mule to the cover of thick trees.

The others had not given her reason to mistrust them, but she kept close to the copper coyote. As the clan settled around them, John was there to hold her hand. “Thanks.” Larka stood slowly, ignoring the urge to massage her tired thighs. She clasped his hand in both of hers as she hopped down, leaving little room between them. “Are you okay, John? It was a long journey.” Realising she was still holding onto him, she let go and cast her eyes down. “Is there anything I can do?”

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POSTED: Sat Jan 05, 2019 12:43 am

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He could see her devotion of him, how it blossomed in her eyes each time she looked at him, when their gazes caught. It made something painful squeeze in his throat; And... well... damn if he didn't like it somewhat. It had only been a few days, but she fussed and fawned over him like... like he was someone worth fussing over. Anyone else and the irritation would have caused him to snap after the first few instances.

She was bundled up in the clothing he had handed to her, John had found other spares to wrap about himself, it was a darker shade of leather, one that combined nicely with his hair. Not that he gave a shit about things like that.

Her hands were warm as they clasped his. He fought not to notice how similar they were to his daughter's. It hurt less when he tried not to think of it. He smiled, and bobbed his head,

"M'fine. I walked all the way from Virginia. Months and months. A few days won't do me any harm." It had taken a while for the blisters to subside but he'd survived mostly intact. Saddle-sores were a damn sight worse than blistered paws.

She dropped his hand and he let it fall back to his side, trying not to be disappointed she'd pulled away so quickly. Really though, if he'd been in her shoes, he'd never want to touch another man again. The slimy, sickly feeling he woke with when he dreamed about Ginger was enough to turn his stomach at the best of times.

"Well uhh, first we gotta sweep away the snow." He reached by her, to the crude broom tied to the side of the cart. It was a bundle of twigs tied to a long branch but it worked well enough for its purpose.

"You wanna do that for me while I get the poles down." He was very aware of Ronnie's gaze upon him, piercing like daggers into the back of his neck, and without taking his gaze away from Larka, he flipped a rude gesture behind his back at his triplet whilst handing her the make-shift broom and pointing at the general area he wanted to set up.

She was always eager to jump to whatever tasks he tentatively assigned her. The knowledge of what had fostered such a thing sat in his guts like a rock, cold and heavy. Once more he wondered at the ironic cruelty of the gods and how they loved to torment him so.

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POSTED: Sat Jan 05, 2019 1:51 pm

(+000)

--

John always appeared to be in pain. It wasn’t the physical kind, but the type that festered within one’s private world. He hid it well enough, yet Larka could read others’ moods. It was perhaps her only useful gift, if she were permitted such as self-indulgent thought. The girl brushed her hands down the sides of her legs as she waited for the copper coyote to speak. When he smiled, so did she. She basked like a sun-starved weed in the light of his praise.

“Virginia?” Larka’s mind drew a blank. She didn’t know how far or close that land was from here, but judging from John’s words it seemed a far way. “What was it like there?” Childish curiosity slipped into her tone as her tail swayed behind her. Sometimes her clients simply wanted to talk, and they would tell her stories of the places and people they had seen. Those times were good; she could drift away from the present and into the realms of the storytellers.

She nodded as John gave her a faltering order; he still seemed reluctant to ask anything of Larka. Her eyes watched as the male drew close and loosened the broom from the cart’s side. The girl nodded as the coyote explained what his duties would be in the meantime. The broom’s uneven and knobbly surface pressed into Larka’s palms as she flicked her gaze upward at John. He did something behind his back, to the sounds of hoots and shouting from the others.

The girl wanted to know something, but every time she tried to speak her tongue dried up. Larka turned her attention on the virgin snow at her feet, sweeping lightly at first and then more vigorously. Despite being soft to the touch and eye, the powder was thickly-packed in some places and difficult to separate. When a pocket of green was revealed she stopped, and turned to John. “Why does he look at you like that?”

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POSTED: Tue Jan 29, 2019 4:05 pm

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It hurt, it always hurt. This was why he never bothered trying to get close to anybody. She tilted so brightly from simple pleasantries and that got him thinking again and the anger in the pit of his gut would churn and churn. Some nights John still fought with himself not to go back and burn the place to the ground. It was only a few days ride away. Easily accomplished. He resisted.

That would take him away though. He didn't want to leave.

He tensed, her question bringing swathes of memories back. He could feel, beneath his leathers, the rippling, bristling fur. Oh, that stung.

He pulled down a few of the poles, letting them swirl around and filtering out the parts he didn't want to speak before he could answer.

"Its warm. Most of the time. Doesn't barely snow." Except for the year he and his brothers had been born, his Ma had said. That she'd barely seen a sight like it in her life before. They hadn't cared, though hidden stones snuck into snowballs had still hurt like a bitch.

"Lotsa bugs. Cicadas that scream in the summertime." He hadn't really heard them in this north land, but then he'd barely paid attention with the things that had happened.

Her look slipped passed him, to Ronnie. John's half-smile dropped,

"'Cause he's an ass." He turned to sneer, more laughter followed. John pushed a hand through messy black hair and sighed,

"He thinks he's funny." John mumbled, petulantly, rubbing at his face tiredly. He needed a drink.

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Luperci Maestro Cervecero You have to love yourself a fire

POSTED: Sun Feb 10, 2019 12:09 pm

Word Count → 000 :: I'm sorry for the short post ;-;

The swishing of the broom filled up the silence as Larka brushed back and forth. Powder rose upwards as John loosened the posts. The sound they produced as they descended reminded her of a flock of birds taking to the air. Their little group was similar in a way - never roosting for long, taking to the wing once more. Amber eyes rested on the male as his brows furrowed. Home was somewhere warm, without snow. White-dipped fingertips gripped onto the broom as the girl tried to imagine a world without cold.

Larka had known nothing else but the harshness of the North. The coydog’s memories were fleeting things, yet she could not forget when her paws first kissed the frozen earth. Her own muzzle wrinkled at the mention of insects, however. The girl had lived in filthy conditions and seen others scratch their skin raw with flea infestations. She considered herself fortunate to have been lifted out of squalor. “Bugs? They sound unpleasant. A long season of warmth sounds nice.” Many prey animals would grow and thrive in such a climate, she thought.

John’s insult to Ronnie caused her ears to tip forward. The others must have been listening in as sounds of mirth trickled about the camp. Larka’s shoulders dipped as she carried on working, but her gaze swept the group for any signs of aggression. Heated words exchanged between drunken men usually turned explosive, but sober men were more difficult to judge. A mumbled explanation from the copper coyote caused the girl to bob her head in understanding, though truly she did not know how to respond.

For a heartbeat the girl forced herself to keep quiet as the chatter resumed. Once she was certain she would not be overheard, she dared to voice what she was thinking. “But, why does he think it is funny? I fail to understand the joke.”

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POSTED: Mon Mar 18, 2019 9:29 pm

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He wanted her to drop it, he prayed she'd drop it. But she didn't, not in her strange somehow innocence, she was very naive about the world. Again, it was a horrible twist of the gods, they were laughing at him, mocking his frail attempts at redemption, secure in their condemnation of him. All those broken promises.

'Yes Ma, I'll be good, you'll be proud of me. I promise.'

He rubbed as his chest, hating the way it ached deep inside.

"Ah they don't bother you too much, not if you sit in the smoke. They don't like the smoke." His tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth. Their sport having filled them with amusement, Ronnie and the others moved away to see to their own tents and John breathed a sigh of relief.

The lines at his eye's edges crinkled, in something that looked like pain but stretched that much more tighter. His face, a gaunt shadow of its former self. Once those lines had been caused by laughter, laughter and fun and the echoing of his brother's childhood shouts. Now, there was only pain, pain and suffering.

"He thinks it's funny, that there's finally a female I ain't want to lay with." Johnathan's ears folded backwards, and he looked away,

"I told you before, I ain't a good man." He muttered lowly, with a self directed disgust.

Ronnie never saw Walmart, he'd been away, gambling. There was no way he could know. The knife continued to turn in his chest, love was a curse, he remained convinced. Everything he loved was torn from him. He couldn't afford to love anyone else, there wasn't enough left of him to survive the consequences.

He'd saved her from that place but there were so many others that he'd just ignored, or that he'd let take his payment and... and...

Even in his heroics, he was a selfish bastard.

Green tormented him at night, when he couldn't sleep and just stared at the tent walls.

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Luperci Maestro Cervecero You have to love yourself a fire

POSTED: Wed Apr 17, 2019 12:37 pm

Word Count → +200 :: I'm sorry ;3;

“The insects and I have something in common.” She leaned heavily on the broom for a moment before sweeping. Larka had always reacted poorly to smoke. Its cloying scent took an age to leave her system, and it stained everything it touched a burnt-out yellow. It did not seem strange to compare herself to a bug. Luperci were by far stranger creatures. Her eyes lifted to catch John rubbing at his chest. “I can fetch you some water?”

Had the man always looked this tired? Granted, they had not known each other for long. The night that John had rescued her from that place; it had been too dark to really scrutinise him. He explained the reason for their laughter, cringing and turning away from her.

Of course, it was about 'that'.

It was all men wanted women for. Her own features twisted into something between anger and disgust, before settling into their usual numb inclination. It was not always the way, Larka corrected herself. Not all of her clients had taken her when they could have. A small stab of hurt twisted in the coydog’s heart at the idea of John being like them.

“And I will say it again, John. You are a good man to me.” Larka was surprised at her own daring to utter such words and was quick to correct her mistake. “Not that the word of a… a… whore and a slave counts for much.”

Having spoken those words, her throat tightened. Sounds of distress wanted to be released from her narrow jaws. Larka rose in a flurry of dust as the broom fell to the ground. “I’m sorry!” The fair woman whimpered and turned, heading blindly for wherever John wasn’t. Wherever The Cartel would not follow.

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POSTED: Fri Apr 19, 2019 3:22 pm

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He tried to smile at her little jest, it didn't quite form correctly. The more he thought upon it, the worse and worse he felt.

What a shit-show.

Bitterness welled upwards, almost choking him,

"Naw, m'good." Every time she rushed to fawn about him, it was another punch in the stomach, another kick in his ribs. She shouldn't worship him, he was not a man to put on a pedestal. He belonged in the gutters, with the other shit and filth.

He didn't want to see her face, he couldn't stand another looking at him in disgust but he forced himself to look anyways. Letting her revulsion wash over him as a tide across the beach. Maybe he would be washed away and drown within it.

Then.. then everything went even more wrong. His mouth hung, working uselessly as she pulled about her the shattered shards of her former life. 'Speak, you fucking idiot.'

John screamed inside, but outwardly remained silent as she strode away quickly, trying to muffle the sounds of her sobs. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.

He wanted to move, to chase after her, to call out; But he remained there, staring after her in vain.

He was such a piece of shit.

Johnathan Winthrop
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Jace
Luperci Maestro Cervecero You have to love yourself a fire

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