[html] http://i57.photobucket.com/albums/g210/ ... ntable.png); background-position: bottom center; background-repeat: no-repeat;"> For Heath
The Aatte wolf twitched and growled in his sleep. Hands clutched the raggedy blanket he had found to help keep him warm. Inside his mind he was facing his father. But the man wasn't the sad-looking weak one that he had seen on the outskirts of the city as a child. No, now he looked demented, a wicked grin on his face. He looked strong, stronger than Haven. The boy felt weak, weak and susceptible. "You're just like me you know, it will take over you too someday" "No, I'll never be like you. I'll never do what you did." His father's grin became even more unsettling. "Then why are you hiding away, my boy?" Then a maddening laughter filled his head. Haven's lips curled in a snarl and his hands clapped over his ears. "No! I won't be like you! I WON'T!"
The hybrid sat up, his chest heaving and blood-shot jade eyes wide. Each night they got worse. These nightmares. He ran a cold hand down over his face and weakly got his feet. He held onto the bar for support as he made his way to the closest bottle that was laying hap hazardously on the top. Whiskey. Haven undid the top and took a long hard drink of the brown liquid. The warmth shot through his system and he felt a little better. Ever since he had found out he had been living in a constant state of inebriation. It was probably the only thing keeping him from ending himself. That or he was taking the cowards way out. Either way, to him, this was all that was left for him. For someone so tainted.
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Another day faded into black, and the morte dre Soul male found himself stalking the small streets of Halifax once again. He had wandered most of the main roads, noticing the difference in the more historical districts and the ones that must have been more modern for the human builders. To his disdain he took all the details in, making a map within his mind of every street, nameless or marked with a small narrow sign. But Heath found the small side roads, many unmarked, to much more intriguing. They held the things the humans wished to hide, and the places that brought them all their pleasure and guilt. It was there that he found the thick windowless door with a small sign hanging above it.
Burnt out neon signs stood in the cracked and broken windows, forming names that Heath could not read but figures that he certainly knew. The form of a bottle, the outline of a lounging woman. Both made his heart skip a beat, and he couldn't tell which made him more aroused. The thick wooden door creaked as he pulled the handle, leading with the dark right paw he wore. His nose found what he wanted, along with a few other interesting things, while gold eyes adjusted to the moonless dark.
The dive was small, nothing that many would call a fine night out but Heath found it homey and comfortable. He let the door close behind him, and he walked quickly to the bar. Heath almost didn’t notice the male as he reached over the wore wooden bar to search for his drink of choice. That had been the scent that lingered in the still air. Heath watched him, still not close enough to see him perfectly in the darkness but he was certain who stood before him. What the hell are you doing here? The words were completely curious, and even filled with humor. Watching Haven, the tawny lean youth noticed the bottle. What the?
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While the alcohol was good a dulling his senses and reactions, with his current nightmare they were heightened. They were still nothing compared to if he had been sober, but he wasn't as sluggish as he had been the past couple of days. Dull jade eyes stared as the door opened and he felt his hackles raise on his back. The scent didn't reach his nose right away and he gripped his whiskey bottle tighter, ready to use it against whoever was entering his den of wallowing if it came down to that. His eyes were used to the darkness though, so he was able to see perfectly fine who had entered. This was the first person that knew him that would see him here. It made him somewhat sick to his stomach, but it could have been worse.
Heath didn't seem to notice him for a good long while though, and the drunkard looked at him strangely. Finally it dawned on the lanky older male that he wasn't alone. Haven was not amused by the humor in the other's voice and he frowned. "I have just as much of a right to be here as anyone else." His voice was rough and ragged, something wholly different from the sprightly youth the hybrid had last seen. "What the hell are you doin' here?" He took another long draw from his whiskey bottle.
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Heath asked because this was a bar, not one of those nice places with red linen tablecloths. Not the type of place that was stalked with wine or even those sweet liquors and thin necked glasses. This place had no green felt covered tables, no dance floor. It was full of dark corners to get lost in, a few small booths that held deadly and dirty secrets. This wasn’t the place for a beast that believed in love, someone favored by his mother and wondering if kissing and hand holding were the only things to do with a woman.
That was why he asked.
Not like he was concerned, if Haven wanted to loose himself to the sin then Heath would let him. Encourage and join him. Ignoring his loose words Heath climbed over the bar and pulled a bottle from the shelf. Shaking his head he looked at the label. Not satisfied he took another and another until the words read the name that began with two slanted lines. The V was all he knew, and he smiled when he found it.
Climbing down he looked back to Haven. He spoke. True, true. The words came while he opened the bottle and removed the cap, letting it fall to the floor. There would be no need for it. I’m just looking for this. taking it to his mouth Heath let the prized bottle fall heavily on the bar after a long slow draw. You a fag now? Heath looked at him sideways, one finger pointing loosely to the gold earring that was held in the white ear of the hybrid. Maybe that was why he was down? If Heath didn’t like woman anymore he would look just as horrible.
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[html] http://i57.photobucket.com/albums/g210/ ... ntable.png); background-position: bottom center; background-repeat: no-repeat;"> Silly Heath! Left is right and right is wrong XD
Haven watched disinterestedly as the other looked for a bottle of his liking. Whatever. As long as the hybrid didn't plan on taking too many. As far as he was concerned as long as he stayed here the booze belonged to him. It was his only escape from the shit his life had become and he wouldn't be unburdened of what he deemed to be too much. He took another swig as Heath did the same with his bottle. The boy recognized the label as the stuff he had drank with his sister Brooklyn not too long ago. But at his last words Haven's lips raised showing his ivory teeth. "What the hell is it with you people and earrings?! It's got nothing to do with no one or who I like!" While he had never heard the term "fag" before, considering their last conversation he had made an educated guess.
His gazed averted off to the side while his anger burned as hot in his veins as the whiskey did down his throat. "If you gotta know, my dad's a rapist and murderer and I look jus' like 'im." He hoped the truth would stop the male from asking stupid questions. He didn't want to talk about his sexual preferences or anything of the sort. What the hell did any of the matter now? Siobhan would never want to be with someone like him. He wouldn't put her in that kind of danger either. It was better if he was just alone so he never had the chance to follow in his father's footsteps.
Another drink, a long one. The bottle was almost empty already.
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What real man believed that looked good? Tattoos were bad ass, piercing weren’t. To be pricked just once gave no lasting pain, no earned pleasure. And then in the end of the little ouch, a piece of jewelry was placed inside. Jewelry was for woman, they looked good with it, and men did not. And the outburst that Haven gave made him laugh. It almost looked like he wanted to fight, but Heath knew better. There was no way the smaller, far more intoxicated orange boy wanted to fight him. Though Heath was always ready to do so, if felt wrong some how to keep the boy enraged.
OK, ok. Heath spoke as he rose his hand in mock surrender. He wouldn’t mention it again, besides it didn’t seem like that was the problem anyways. Heath listened with interest as the vodka settled and warmed his insides, it was the early moments when that was all he felt, it yet having the chance to make it to his head. Seriously? Heath questioned him, though he knew that other boy told only truth. Once the rage ended, Heath could tell that there was another thing on his mind. Maybe someone else.
He gave a laugh, amused that their lives and origins were so similar. Looks like we have something in common after all. The bottle’s opening met his mouth and he savored the pain of the swig and the burn of the cold air against his throat when he finally inhaled. Staying silent, Heath thought. Deeper then most of his others, this one reached back to where he had begun and why he and his siblings had ever come to this dammed place. I just don’t get what the fuck is wrong with every one of’m. Giving the curse word extra punch as he said it.
You’d think they would wonder what would happen when we came around. Like we would sit around and just forget. Though it was what they might be doing, it was only for the moment. Heath was going to find him, and if he could, and if his mind was being filtered though a shroud of vodka he would kill him. Revenge was always sweet. But right now the vodka was sweeter, and the old bar stood oh so comfortable.
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If possible saying it out loud had put him in an even fouler mood. It usually would have taken a lot more poking and prodding before he would have admitted it. Even then he probably would have just snapped at whoever was asking before actually saying it. Heaving a sigh he finished off the rest of the bottle, looking with lightless eyes on the now empty container. How had things come to this. First his mothers had broken up and now this. His life had gone from fine to rock bottom in record time. What had he done to deserve this? Or was it simply the fate of someone of his birth?
At least Heath was dropping the earring thing. Haven was not violent by nature, but the combination of his anger at his heritage and the alcohol might have actually allowed him to get into a fight if provoked further. There was no saying if he would win or lose, just that he wasn't as dismissive of the notion as he normally would be. The boy snorted a bit at the response to his admission. "Yeah seriously. Who lies about that shit?" Who would honestly want people to think that about them? No one in their right mind, that was for sure. He might not have exactly been in his right mind, but he wasn't that far gone.
At the laugh he gave the black gloved guy another annoyed look which quickly was replaced by something else. A sort of cautious curiosity. "You too? Really?" Well, he definitely wasn't expecting that. Though it certainly could explain some of Heath's more abrasive qualities. He watched as the male took another long drink from the vodka bottle and he felt his heart begin to burn with anger as the other spoke. Something lit in his jade eyes at that moment, a light that had never been present in them before. "Yeah! Like we wouldn't know, tha' we wouldn't find out or anythin'! My whole damn pack knows, I know they do!" In a sudden fit of rage Haven shoved his empty bottle to slide down the bar and to shatter against the brick wall.
"I don't understand why he's not already dead. Why no ones killed him yet." He wanted to. The boy had never expected to have the urge to kill anyone, but he wanted to kill Conri Church. Maybe that would somehow sanitize him. Make up for his bad blood. He wanted another drink, and Heath was already behind the bar. "Gotta another whiskey bottle back there?"
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The question was one that didn’t need an answer, and Heath looked at the other with a sideways glance. But he accepted the Crimson Dreams youth’s rage and anger. Maybe it was history that they shared that made Heath accept his attitude, or it might have been the friendship that he saw in Haven that made him only listen and nod. What ever it was, he grew calm with the bottle in hand. Having consumed more then half the numbing on his brain was in full effect, and he let the rest slide slowly down his throat. Savoring the flavor and burn.
Haven’s fury grew, lighting the air and setting the room on fire. He could feel it, sensitive to such changes and feeding off of them greedily Heath couldn’t help but look for the fight that was brewing. But it was only the two in the empty bar, and he had settled on not hitting the angry younger male. They were friends, of which Heath had very few and was not whiling to give up for petty and pride. Instead he only listened, killing the bottle faster and faster. Soon Haven wouldn’t be the only one curled inside the comfort of the glass containers. Until they were shattered against the wall, though Heath hardly flinched.
He kept silent, picking the nearest bottle of amber liquid. The square bottle had a old and wore label, and he wish silently that he could read the name. It was a passing wish. Holding the whiskey out to the male, gold eyes looked at him with a hidden anger. Hiding the rage he felt, and keeping it in as well as he could, his tongue was finally released. No one has killed him yet because they don’t know. They don’t know what he is. If they haven’t seen it, they all need to know. Repeating himself would bring the idea home, but it might have been the vodka talking a bit too.
Why do you think I’m here? I’m out looking for him, the one eyed asshole is out there, prolly living some great fucking life. The idea made his blood boil, the prick living with some family and pretending like nothing had ever even happened. You should kill him, but you wont. Heath looked from the other males drunk blanketed eyes to the bar, hanging his head with the image of his estranged father being happy. It wasn’t right .
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Once Heath handed him another bottle of the liquid he quickly opened it and took a long drink, banging it loudly against the bar as it dropped from his mouth. Heath was wrong though. They did know. The whole pack knew. That's why he had always been told to keep away from the man. That he was dangerous. He was sick. Sick didn't even begin to describe what was wrong with that bastard. Hell, even that coyote had known what he had done. The only person to ever speak the truth to him. The whole truth. Haven didn't know whether to be thankful or not for that gift. He had always thought that knowing something was better than not, but now he wasn't so sure of that notion. Did the whole damn world know about Conri Church while his illegitimate children had been left in the dark?
"They do know. All of Crimson Dreams know. They told me that something was wrong with him but they never said what. I didn't even find out from them. I found out from some strange masked coyote here in the city." Another long draw of whiskey. "They never fuckin' told me." Had it been out of love? Or was it fear? Fear that if he knew he would turn into his father? Did they think that if he was ignorant to the man's crimes that he would somehow be spared to evil that ran through his veins. Haven didn't know. Maybe he never would.
"One eye?" he questioned. "Mine has one arm. Haven't seen anyone with only one eye though. Wish I knew where you could find him." At least the men that sired them wouldn't be hard to miss if they were spotted. Somehow it seemed they were very good at hiding though. Apparently Conri lived around the city somewhere, but where he couldn't say. There were so many places to look. Even if he did find him he wouldn't know what to do. There was more truth to Heath's words than he wanted to admit. "I might..." After all, the man only had one arm and Haven had two. That had to count for something, didn't it?
"It's all such bullshit. All of it."
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Heath slowed his intake as he watched Haven guzzle the whiskey. There was an odd feeling rising in him. Something that the vodka wanted to expose, something that being intoxicated brought out of him. It was compassion, a sorrow that he felt for Haven. Heath had known for so long, it was like he had always been aware of his father’s crimes. He had so much more time to deal with the fact that his sire was a rapist and murderer. It was still such a fresh wound for the other male, and with the bottle of Russian delight in his stomach Heath was becoming a shoulder to cry on.
Still holding tightly to his more rigid ways the lean tawny male responded with a snarl. What is family for, if they don’t tell you the important stuff? What’s the point of having them around? You should get the fuck out of there, they sound like a bunch of pussies… His voice trailed into the bottle that hit his lips on the last word. They were cowards, keeping the secret to save themselves the chore, pain and awkwardness of explaining the truth to the ones it mattered most to.
He laughed at the image of his one eyed father, and Haven’s one-armed dad standing side by side. Of course its bullshit. He spoke with a chuckle in his voice, finding it funny that Haven would even have to say the words aloud. Neither of us and can find them, and even if we did… then what? Were they murderers? Heath was more capable then Haven ever would be, but still he took another sip at the idea of killing another. Honey hued eyes looked away, settling on the bottles that lined the wall. Was it in his blood?
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There was anger. Anger that they hadn't been truthful with him. Maybe it wouldn't have been such a harsh blow if it had come from them. But was that selfish? He didn't want his mother to live through what had happened to her again. She didn't deserve that. He didn't know what to think. Maybe they had just been trying to protect him. But he wasn't very protected now. Now he was just alone and lost and disgusted with himself and where he came from. He couldn't hate them though. They had given him everything he had had up to this point. Just because that had all been taken away now didn't mean it was their fault. They had done their best for him. It just hadn't been enough. Instead of answering he just took another drink.
The boy didn't understand why Heath was laughing. There wasn't anything funny about this. Maybe it was just the way the hybrid's mind worked. It sounded like he had known his past for a long while. It was all new to Haven. To him nothing was funny. He wondered if he even had the ability to laugh anymore. Heath's next question was valid. It may have been meant rhetorically, but Haven answered anyway. "I don't know. We both want to kill them but...would that make us just like them?" Would they turn into the very thing that they hated? Become a self-fulfilling prophecy? That was the last thing he wanted. But what else could he do? The man deserved to die, there was no question. Did he need to get blood on his hands and lower himself to that level to make things right?
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Though Heath was able to find the humor in the situation, however twisted and distorted, it was obvious that Haven did not. The tawny male stopped his laughing, however soft and cynical it may be. Seeing and feeling the rage that wracked through the other male’s body Heath couldn’t help but catch the contagious emotion. Fingered curled along the bottle tightly, letting the alcohol that filtered through his system take his emotions up and down like a rollercoaster. Thinking again about what he would be, the role he could so easily slip into. The more he thought about it the sweeter the revenge would be. It would be easy, his drunken mind was convinced, that he could take the life effortlessly. But what it would make him was the question, not how he would do it or even if he would do it.
Them. The answer was simple, ever so easy to say and give the other male. If Haven was hoping to have an excuse, some reason or justification for killing the males that had sired them and then took so much from them, he wouldn’t get it. Not from Heath. The real question is if you can live with what you’ve done, and become. His vodka saturated mind was so oddly clear, like the things that he filled his mind with moved aside, purges and replaced with the clear liquid and because of it translucent form he could see right through it.
Though his head felt light, his eyelids heavy and his entire mouth was numb from the harsh liquid. But his mind was clear.
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Heath said it like it was so easy and so simple. There was no internal conflict about this subject in the other male. Haven supposed he had had years to brew over this and make a decision. He had not. His rage pulled him one way while his normal self pulled him the other. Conri Church deserved to die, that was not the question. The question was if Haven had it in him to be the one to do it. To be the one to bloody his hands. The boy really didn't know if he could. When he got incredibly angry he knew he could. There was no question then. But when he wasn't consumed by his rage he didn't know if he could bring himself to do something so awful. He didn't want to turn into that man. That would just be doing what he was running from.
"I don't know if I could. Fuck, look at me. I can barely live with myself now." His voice was bitter. He was almost the opposite of everything he had once been. He hated it, yet at the same time he had no idea how to escape it. If it was even possible. How did you get over something like this? Maybe some were strong enough to, but Haven was broken. So broken he doubted most of the time he would ever be able to reassemble himself. So he just took another drink and tried to escape the crushing gravity of his situation.
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Heath let the bottle fall to its side, and roll down the length of the bar. He watched it, waiting for it to drop and crash against the hard concrete floor. Waiting for the sweet cringing sound of shattering glass, the thought of bloody foot paws and passing idea of sweeping the mess. But nothing happened, no thunder of broken pieces and no satisfying destruction. It settled just on the edge, laying in content as if not even afraid of falling. The male swung his heavy head back towards the other male as he spoke.
The entire situation weighed on the youths shoulders, making him angry, frustrated and tired. He was tired of all this, hated the anger that was brewed inside his chest and wanted to both inflict and feel physical pain. The thought of his mother’s rape and death was hurtful, beyond anything that Heath could control or understand, but when felt the pressure of his fist against the side of another’s face he knew exactly how to control it.
Haven was right, he was pathetic in his attempt to deal with the knowledge. He was wallowing, like a beast reduced to absolute nothing. Heath didn’t judge him, knowing how hard it was. But he couldn’t help but agree with Haven's own statement. You are looking pretty shitty. He spoke with a shrug of his shoulders. It will get easier, you’ll get tougher. You wont kill him, but you’ll find closure. Heath knew how it all happened, he knew what Haven would do and he wasn’t afraid to tell him if there was any questions. Haven just wasn’t a killer.
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Jade eyes watched listlessly as Heath's bottle rolled and then teetered on the edge of the bar. That's how Haven felt. Like he was teetering on the edge, waiting for someone or something to push him one way or another. In his mind he was as helpless as that bottle. He didn't believe that he could make his way out of this on his own. For the boy that once thought he was capable of anything, it was quite a disturbing feeling. His hand clenched his own bottle tighter, as if it gave him some false sense of control.
Haven gave a silent laugh at Heath's response. While it had been a while since he looked in a mirror, he knew he had to look like shit. He had done nothing to take care of himself. Even his already lean form was getting leaner from his lack of food. Even if he was a pathetic wreck, at least he knew he was a pathetic wreck. There were no delusions of grandeur in his head. The kid found it hard to believe things would get better. This wasn't like a cut, it wouldn't just go away with time. But since Heath knew what he was talking about, there was added weight to those words. "I hope you're right."
The burnt orange youth moved his head to the side, cracking his neck. "Hey, you wanna find something to eat? I suppose I should get something before I starve." He would be useless trying to hunt by himself right now, but maybe with Heath they could take something down. Even a little something.
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He didn't look back at the male, not as he hoped and wish. To the loner there was no need to wish for things that were already set into motion. It was pointless, Heath already knew what was to happen with the orange male. He could tell a killer from the innocent, and Haven was too green and too honest. He just wanted to hold a girls hand, maybe steal a kiss. He was raised by a mother the led a pack of peace and love. A killer isn't born, but raised and changed. Haven wasn't capable, but Heath would let him have his wish if it gave him hope for the future. Before he could agree, the lean male walked around the bar and headed for the door. There was nothing he wanted more then to get out, and a meal was the perfect excuse.
Turning to face Haven he spoke with a heavy voice, Yeah, lets get the hell out of here... The male had enough of the dim lighting and the closed stale air. He needed to taste the night, let the dark cool wind touch his face and have his mind grow clear with its touch. He wanted to never think of what their conversation surrounded ever again. He wanted to forget though the entire bottle of vodka had only made it so much more vivid.
And he was hungry
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