Red Dragon Inn

Red Dragon Inn Home Red Dragon Inn - Dragon's Mark

Welcome, traveler!
( Member login. Not a member? Register here. )


Search    Memberlist    Usergroups    Forum Help   
Gallery    Shop    Jobs    Auctions    Pet Shop    Lottery   
Register    Log in 

Ghosts (18+ violence, language, adult themes)

 
Post new topic   Reply to topic   printer-friendly view    Red Dragon Inn - Dragon's Mark Forum Index -> The Crossroads -> Life On The Other Side
View previous topic :: View next topic  
Author Message
Simon Toews
Young Wyrm
Young Wyrm


Joined: 17 Mar 2017
Posts: 77
See this user's pet

5456.46 Silver Crowns

Items

PostPosted: Tue May 15, 2018 1:35 am    Post subject: Ghosts (18+ violence, language, adult themes) Reply with quote

(OOC: This story will contain material a lot of people may find disturbing. Fair warning.)

The young boy ran and ran and ran, rain pouring down on him in torrents. He was cold, wet and it had been days since he’d had a bite to eat. It was rare that he’d been caught stealing, but Old Man Hester had been on the ball. The last thing he’d expected was for the portly, old guy to bust out a shotgun.

Glass had shattered behind him as he let the door slowly close when he ran, the buckshot barely missing the boy. The kid ran, clinging to whatever edibles he could keep from dropping out the pockets of his hoodie. He ran until his legs felt like they might give up. And then he ran some more, a trail of junkfood behind him.

Hester hadn’t a prayer of keeping up with him, not with that big ol’ gut. The young boy dared a look back, just in case. His eyes should have been forward. He slammed into the unseen body of a man in black. The kid hit the pavement with a harsh grunt, the contraband falling from his pockets.

His eyes traveled up and up and up the tall figure, his face still shrouded in shadow. A hand reached out for him, sending up every red flag the young man had built in his young life. He was in survival mode. Quickly, he swatted the hand away and tried to scramble back, trapping himself in a corner.

“Easy, son. Easy.” The man said soothingly. “I’m not gonna hurt ya.”

Those big hands were held up placatingly, a cigarette burning between two fingers. It was then that he saw it. A clerical collar. His all-black outfit that of a priest. He had a kindly face, but the boy had seen enough of those in his time to know it didn’t mean he was safe.

“Are you alright, lad? Are you hurt?” the priest asked.

The frightened young man just stared through wild, blue eyes, waiting for this man to make a move. The old man peered from behind glasses, noting the food scattering the ground around the boy. He couldn’t have been more than 10 or 11, he thought.

“That what you’re runnin’ for? You steal that?” he asked, but there wasn’t a hint of judgement in the old man’s voice. The boy didn’t answer. He just watched.

“I tell you what. How about, you come inside. Get a warm meal in you, Get out of this rain.” he suggested.

The kid’s fists tightened into little fists. “*** you. I ain’t stupid! I know you’re just gonna turn me in.”

The old man’s brow furrowed. “You shouldn’t talk like that. That kinda bile shouldn’t be coming out a young man’s mouth.” His lips upturned in a little smile. “I tell you what. I’m going to head in. I have a pot of stew cooking inside. If you want to come join me? Please. You are more than welcome. If not...well, then you go right on your way. Sound good?”

The boy didn’t answer. The man just stubbed out his cigarette and put it in a receptacle. “If I don’t see you...good luck, my son.”

With that, the old man went inside. The boy sat out in the rain a long time, soaked to the bone. It was getting colder lately. The past few nights had been spent under cardboard boxes grabbing whatever scraps he could to make a blanket to sleep on. The father hadn’t been lying...he could smell the stew from out there. It might have been some bachelor chow junk, but to a starving boy, it smelled like heaven.

Slowly, he got up off the ground, took one look around for his pursuer, and headed inside. It was dead quiet, but for the sound of rain upon the roof and a crash of thunder. He looked around cautiously, the smell of food beckoning him into the kitchen. Every step seemed to take a lifetime as he slowly made his way in, just waiting for someone to grab him and haul him off to a home.

But it never came.

When he arrived in that dining area, the priest was pulling out a second bowl for the boy. He froze in the doorway, quiet as can be. The old man didn’t even glance back. “Sink is over there. You don’t have to, but I recommend you wash up a bit. Do you like soda? You’re welcome to whatever’s in the fridge.”

Once again, no response from the boy. He just cautiously made his way to the fridge. He’d almost forgotten the taste of anything that wasn’t dirty water or the backwash left in a bottle. Those sharp, blue eyes taking the bounty before him in like it was the holy grail. His hands shook as he took an orange soda and cracked the top.

The boy chugged it vigorously, greedily. Nothing before and nothing after would ever taste so sweet.

“Easy now. You don’t want to go upsettin’ your stomach, lad.” The priest smiled,, setting a small portion for him on a chair. The kid didn’t move immediately of course, but eventually the call of cooked food was too tempting. He started over finally.

“Oop.” the father said, halting the boy. He nodded to the sink. Reluctantly the kid went and washed his hands and face. The water was warm, clean. It took every ounce of restraint for him not to put his head under the faucet and just drink.

The priest smiled, watching him as he finished. The little urchin stepped over and immediately dug in like a hungry dog. This kid hadn’t had a good meal in a LONG time, he thought. “Take it easy, son. Nobody’s gonna take it from you.”

The boy looked feral when his eyes shot up to him, but he softened and slowed down.

“My name is Father Benjamin Mulcahy.” He introduced himself. “This is my home. You are welcome to stay here as long as you need. What’s mine is yours.”

Those eyes showed he didn’t believe it. The kid was a tough nut to crack, Mulcahy thought.

“I know. It seems to good to be true, right?” He said with a self deprecating tone. “It ain’t a 5 star hotel or anything, but...it’s warm. It’s dry. It’s got food. You stick around, help out a bit...and I think you’ll see it’s not too bad.”

God, but he was a quiet one. The boy still not speaking. He just shoved in another fork-full of stew.

“You got a name, my son?”

Again, silence. Mulcahy nodded slowly. “I understand. When you’re ready, you can tell me.”

The priest tucked a napkin onto his lap and started eating. For a long time it was silent between them. Just the sounds of forks clanking on bowls and the occasional chewing noise. This Mulcahy didn’t seem to have any ulterior motives. If he did, he wasn’t showing it. He just minded his business and enjoyed his meal.

“Simon.”

Mulcahy perked, looking up from the bowl. “What’s that?”

“My name is Simon.”


=====================

November 14th, 2017

It’s funny how quickly things can change. How what you think you know can be flipped on its head. Coming home had been blissful...until it wasn’t. The moment he’d seen her in the arms another man, carried into his car and driving off...something broke. It didn’t take a genius to figure what most likely happened next. He knew who she was. How she was.

Even if he was wrong that night, he knew it wouldn’t be long until he was right. So, Simon did what he often did. He left.

In the past, he’d have gone to war. Used his fists to “solve” the problem. But he just didn’t have that in him. Simon Toews was tired of fighting. He left behind a picture and a note with a brief message. “I hope he’s enough.”

Simon found himself with his few earthly possessions, sat behind the wheel of that beat up Charger, unsure of where to go. All he knew was that returning to that penthouse was absolutely out of the question. Simon was lost, and the phone currently occupying the bottom of bay ensured he would not be found.

Winter would be there soon, and it would be a bitterly cold one. A daunting concept when one was without a home. It wasn’t like he didn’t have friends...he probably could have given Orchid a call...but he knew what would likely happen if he did. And that wasn’t what he needed right now.

Almost instinctively, he reached to his pocket for a pack of cigarettes and found it empty. That was odd. He was never without a pack on him. To be honest, the last time he could remember lighting one up was back...back in Noble.

Funny how that podunk little town and that tiny farm could have had such a profound effect on him. He thought about what Kate and Millie were up to now. He hoped they had found more peace back home than he had.

Simon cursed under his breath. It just made him picture what was likely going on at that very second. He didn’t know the man currently spending an evening with the woman he’d sacrificed so much for. Frankly, he didn’t want to know.

Stop it. Focus on the next step, he reprimanded himself. Find somewhere to stay. The more he thought about it, the clearer the option became. The one person he never would have thought he’d have to depend on.

With a weary sigh, he turned onto the highway and gunned it to the only place he knew nobody would think to look.
_________________

"And it's sick that all these battles
Are what keeps me satisfied"
Back to top
View user's profile Send private message
Corrine Paige
Wyrmling
Wyrmling


Joined: 17 Jul 2017
Posts: 10
See this user's pet
Can Be Found: West End
738.52 Silver Crowns

Items

PostPosted: Wed May 16, 2018 2:17 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Corrine Paige entered her living room, clad in yoga pants and a red tanktop. Paige liked her place neat and ordered. She wasn’t obsessive about it, she just liked everything in its place. Her feet were propped up on the ottoman, relaxed as one of the dozen or so crime procedurals she so enjoyed played out on the screen. They never got it right. There was always some sort of “triangulating” or hacking going on...and why in the hell would they allow an analyst to join the assault team? Who said that was a good idea? Still, it was entertaining enough.

The doorbell almost startled her. She didn’t get many visitors, so she wasn’t at all expecting it, especially at this hour. With a grumble, she pushed herself up with her one arm, the bell ringing again.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’m comin’.” She muttered, limping on over.

The last face she expected to see was on the other side of that door. Her lips parted, staring up at the man before her. Yes. Definitely the last person she would have guessed. Simon stood there, looking a bit like a lost puppy. His face was stoic as always, but there was a pain in his eyes she hadn’t seen in a long, long time.

“Hey, Corrine.” He said softly.

She eyed him a long moment. “Toews. What, uh... “ She considered him a moment, her brow furrowing. “What the hell you doin’ here?”

“Um…” he wouldn’t meet her eyes. In fact, he looked pretty much everywhere she wasn’t. “I need a place to stay.”

That was discomforting. The only time Toews ever contacted her was when he was in trouble. And even then he NEVER came to her house. Corrine was almost afraid to ask the obvious.

“Well,” she said, “Correct me if I’m wrong, but don’t you have a big-ass penthouse you’re shacking up with the blonde chick in?”

Simon was silent. It was as if the words were there, but he couldn’t make them leave his lips. It wasn’t difficult to suss out what happened. She could see it in his eyes. Against her better judgement, she stepped aside, making room for him.

Simon forced an appreciative smile and stepped on through, a dufflebag slung over his shoulder. Paige followed him with her eyes, shutting the door behind him. He seemed lost, unsure of where to go and what to do. She was pretty sure he hadn’t expected to get in through the door.

“So.” She said, deciding to cut that tension. “You in some kinda trouble again? There a blonde out there handcuffed to a train I need to go rescue?”

“Oh, she might be handcuffed to something, but it probably ain’t a train…” he tried to joke, but it just came out hollow.

Suspicions confirmed. She nodded. “So, what, you run outta **** buddies to crash with?”

He set his bag down and leaned against the wall, letting out a sigh, the weight of the past few hours finally hitting him. “I’m sorry to come here like this. I don’t mean to inconvenience you or nothin’. I just needed to go somewhere...safe.”

“Safe from what?” She asked, trying not to pay too much attention to the boots that were on her clean carpet.

“From me.” Simon responded. “Normally, you’re right. I’d just go out, crawl into a bottle or on top of a stranger...maybe find a face to mess up with my fists...but…” Blue eyes slid shut and he shook his head slowly, wearily. “I just can’t do it anymore.”

He was hurting bad. The blonde must have done quite a number on him. Now didn’t seem like the time to push.

“You can stay here tonight.” She said. “I’ve got a spare bedroom down the hall.”

“Thank you.” he managed, hefting that bag up and starting down the hall.

“Toews?” She called after him, the man freezing where he stood. “You gonna bring trouble my way?”

He glanced back over his shoulder, his eyes meeting her’s. “No. I promise.”

Paige gave him a stern look that told him “You damn well better not.” Finally, she gave him a curt nod.

As he started away again, she called him once more. “Toews.”

Once again, he met her eyes. “Take your damn shoes off in my house, what do you live in a barn?”
=========================
That first night at Mulcahy’s parish was the best sleep Simon had in weeks. He hadn’t told the man what brought him there. He hadn’t told him of the images that stuck in his head. The screaming of his foster mother. The low, stomach turning grunts and gurgles of his Tim...the drunken, violent man who had been his foster father. The sound as the bat connected with flesh and bone and blood.

He was almost certain he’d killed him. Though, through the grapevine, he’d found out the son of a bitch lived. If he had the chance, Simon would have finished the job. Too many nights, he’d heard their fighting. Seen her with black eyes, bruises, a broken finger. Too many nights, he’d gone to bed to the music of her sobs. Even at 11, it ate him up. He might have been a child, but for years he cursed himself for not doing anything.

That night, Simon did something.

The church was quiet in the morning. The sounds of the world outside filtering in to the perfect acoustics of the chapel. Light shone in through the colorful, stained glass windows. It occurred to him that he’d never actually set foot in a church as he moved through the oaken pews, his fingers trailing upon the wood. He stepped on up the altar and gazed up a the man upon the cross. The Ingrams hadn’t exactly been practicing Catholics, though they identified that way. Even holidays, they’d neglected their faith. A big no-no, or so he’d been told.

“Did you sleep well?” Mulcahy’s voice echoed into the large room, startling the boy.

Simon whipped around, gripping the altar tight. That flight response kicking in almost immediately as he looked for exits. It took a moment for him to calm himself. He just nodded.

Mulcahy nodded with that friendly smile upon his face. “I managed to find you some clothes in the donations that should fit you. After breakfast, maybe you can go through them? See if there’s anything you like.”

Breakfast. Oh GOD, did he miss breakfast.

All throughout the day, he waited for the other shoe to drop. Mulcahy gave him little chores to do. Halfway through the day, they had cheeseburgers. The priest even complimented him on a job well done. It should have uplifted the boy, but it just made him more suspicious. As the sun set, it became apparent that this man wasn’t going to throw him out onto the streets.

Mulcahy talked to him, tried to pry more than a word or two from his young friend. It was mostly in vain, of course, but he shared about his life growing up in poverty and getting into trouble as a youth before taking his vows and choosing another path. He talked about his parishioners and how they impacted his life. Simon just listened.

Every now and again, the priest snuck in a cigarette. It seemed odd, the boy thought. A judgement the father seemed to notice. Mulcahy held up the burning butt with a frown.

“We’ve all got our vices.” He explained. “I’m a priest. Not a saint.”

_________________
Back to top
View user's profile Send private message
Simon Toews
Young Wyrm
Young Wyrm


Joined: 17 Mar 2017
Posts: 77
See this user's pet

5456.46 Silver Crowns

Items

PostPosted: Thu May 17, 2018 1:24 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Simon woke the next morning, memory of the previous night blissfully forgotten for just a moment. He turned and reached for the spot Tahlia would have occupied only to discover an empty space. The confusion and panic lasted for only a second, but it set his heart racing as he sat up quickly.

The pristine room around him seemed unfamiliar in the morning light. It was quiet. Only the sound of a clock gently ticking away occupied his ears. Simon let out a sigh. She was gone. Moved onto the next guy. He’d seen her. Push it down, he told himself. There would be time for this later.

When he finally made his way downstairs, Paige was already there. Paperwork was spread all over her kitchen table in neat piles as she thumbed through her tablet. She merely glanced up to him, offering a nod in greeting.

“Coffee’s fresh if you want some.” She offered, returning her attention to her work.

“Thanks.” He said, pouring himself a cup. For a moment, he almost took it black, but he remembered Kate and Millie. A smile spread across his face as he took the cream and sugar and poured.

Paige quirked a brow at him. “Thought you took it black?”

“I did.” He nodded, stirring. “Apparently, it tastes a lot better this way.”

“No ***.” She responded, her lips upturning in a lopsided smirk.

Simon took a seat across from her., glancing out the window as he sipped.

“So? What’s the plan?” She asked, flipping through her screen.

“Honestly?” He said. “I don’t have a ****in’ clue.”

Paige clearly didn’t like that idea. Her eyes upturned from her tablet. “That’s not great.”

“I just need to figure things out.”

Corrine’s expression turned cautious. She knew what that meant. “Oh no. No, no no.”

Simon grinned, one brow rising. “What?”

“Look. I’m all for hospitality and helpin’ a brother when he’s down...but I ain’t runnin’ a half-way house for heartbroken ex-cons.”

“I won’t stay long. I just need to find work and get some money and I’ll be out of your hair. I swear.”

Paige rested her hand on the table. “You think I’m stupid? I know you. Trouble follows you like flies on ****. I worked my ass to the bone to get what I got. My debt to you, far as I’m concerned, has been repaid tenfold. I ain’t puttin’ my life or my career on the line for you again.”

“I’m not asking you to. I’m just asking you, as a friend. Just let me crash here for a while. I won’t cause you any trouble. I promise.”

“Oh, we’re friends now?” she said with a bitter little laugh. Paige shook her head. “You call when you need somethin’. I ain’t your friend, I’m your safety net, Toews. I don’t think you know what a friend IS anymore. I’m just the one thing with tits and two legs you ain’t tried to bed.”

She wasn’t entirely wrong. He knew it, too. Simon blinked, lowering his eyes. “I’m trying to be better. I want to be better.”

Whatever had happened since that night he wiped out Vicelli’s organization, Simon Toews wasn’t the same angry lost soul she’d gotten released from prison all those years ago. This was a different man. He was distraught...but not broken.

“You know…” she began. “I waited a long, long time for you to...I don’t know...try again. Kept my eye on you best I could. Saw you drinkin’ yourself stupid. Saw you disappearing and coming back around all beat up. You had a lotta potential, Toews.”

Corrine sighed, shifting her eyes out the window. It seemed like minutes as she stared out into the world outside. “I think there’s a decent guy in there. Maybe you’re finally lettin’ him out.”

Simon studied her, a bit of hope rising within him. “I’m tryin’.”

The one-armed P.I. mulled it over, chewing lightly on the inside of her cheek. Finally, she turned to him. “You can stay. But there are rules in my house.”

Simon smiled. A few hours ago, it felt like he never would again. This took him slightly by surprise. “Absolutely.”

“One...you do not smoke in my house.” She said, pointing at him. “Two...you come in blind stinkin’ drunk? You’re out.”

So far so good, Simon thought.

“Three.” She leveled her gaze on him, those eyes intense and serious. “You don’t bring women here. You want to go get laid, you get a hotel room. I ain’t facilitatin’ that ****. You got it?”

Sex was the LAST thing on his mind. Even thinking of it brought up unpleasant images that turned his stomach. “That won’t be a problem.”

“Four. You clean up after yourself, keep your room neat and you keep it clean.” she said, tapping her finger to the table. Simon nodded along, agreeing to every bit of it.

“Last...I find out you been fightin’? I see you come in here bleedin’ with a black eye, a hitch in your step...so much as a scraped knuckle...and I’m going to be very. VERY...upset. That **** is over. You get me?”

Simon nodded. “I do. I swear. I will not let you down. I will do whatever it takes.”

Paige let out a breath. She knew this was probably destined to fail. She wasn’t even sure why she was once again sticking her neck out for him. She knew his history. She knew about the things he’d done. But Toews had a way about him. He drew people to him. Made them want to help him, be around him, even if it might not be the smartest choice.

“Alright, Simon.” She said quietly. “You can stay.”
_________________

"And it's sick that all these battles
Are what keeps me satisfied"
Back to top
View user's profile Send private message
Simon Toews
Young Wyrm
Young Wyrm


Joined: 17 Mar 2017
Posts: 77
See this user's pet

5456.46 Silver Crowns

Items

PostPosted: Fri May 18, 2018 12:00 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

It was weeks before Simon got truly comfortable living with Mulcahy. Almost two months before he really let his guard down. Mulcahy was a decent man and he treated him well. Simon helped maintain the church, working hard for the man, even beginning to enjoy the structure living there provided him.

Mulcahy took time out of his day to educate the boy. Some days, they would go to the local park and play a little basketball. It did wonders to comfort Simon. Eventually, he began laughing again. They had long talks about life and the world. Looking toward the future.

Simon had found a home. Simon felt safe once again.


May 2018
Simon rose up from the sink, water splashed upon his face running down his skin. A deep breath left the man slow and long. The past six months had been a game changer. It was difficult to fight every urge he’d always indulged, but he did it.

Living with Corrine Paige had turned out to actually be a decent situation. She was a good roommate, and when she wasn’t being a smart-ass or a hard-ass, she was actually pretty fun.

A knock at the door stole his attention away. “Yo! You ready?” her voice called out.

Simon stood up and took one last look. He was dressed in a black suit. Just the mere hint of his tattoos creeping out from the rim of his collar. He adjusted his suit jacket with a little shrug of his shoulders.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.”

A few minutes later, they were in the car, Simon behind the wheel. Paige had her tablet balanced on her lap. “Alright. Client’s name is Tessa Bradley. You heard of her? Young singer, climbing the charts.”

“I don’t think I’m exactly her demo.” He said with a snicker.

“Not unless you’re secretly a 14 year old girl.” Paige smirked.

“She’s 17. Bit of a wild child. Last four bodyguards bailed, citing reckless behavior and extravagant demands.” Paige read from the digital file. “Frankly, she sounds like kind of a bitch.”

Simon smirked, turning the wheel. Paige had pulled a LOT of strings, called in a lot of favors to land him a job as private security. His jobs were often one-nighters, or at most a week. The Bradley Job would be at least a month. If he was successful, longer.

“Uh oh.” Paige said. “Sounds like we got a stage mom.”

“Overbearing never-was trying to live through her vastly more talented kid?” It was more of a statement than a question.

“Bingo. Mary Bradley. 48. Former nail technician turned manager.” Paige continued. “Dollars to donuts, she’d got an iron grip on that kid’s finances...when she isn’t blowin’ it on stupid ****.”

“Sounds like a dream.” He muttered.

Paige smirked over to him. “You sure you’re ready for this?”

Simon snorted. “I’ve faced down mobsters with guns. I think I can handle a 17 year old girl. Besides. I’m good with kids.”

Paige rose her eyebrows and slowly laughter built from her until she was full on belly laughting. “Oh...sweetie. You poor, optimistic man.”

He made a face and glanced over. “What?”

She suppressed her laughter and focused ahead. “Nothin’. We’ll talk when you get home.”
_________________

"And it's sick that all these battles
Are what keeps me satisfied"
Back to top
View user's profile Send private message
Display posts from previous:   
Post new topic   Reply to topic   printer-friendly view    Red Dragon Inn - Dragon's Mark Forum Index -> The Crossroads -> Life On The Other Side All times are GMT - 4 Hours
Page 1 of 1

 
Jump to:  
You cannot post new topics in this forum
You cannot reply to topics in this forum
You cannot edit your posts in this forum
You cannot delete your posts in this forum
You cannot vote in polls in this forum


Powered by phpBB © 2001, 2005 phpBB Group

Dragon's Mark Producer - Rob Portinga
Original site design © 2005 by Nomad  •  Forum design © 2005 Isaura Simon