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Where Shadows Whisper in the Dark

 
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Morgan Wright
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PostPosted: Mon Jun 30, 2014 11:53 pm    Post subject: Where Shadows Whisper in the Dark Reply with quote

((Thanks to the wonderful writer behind Madison Rye for her part in this!))

Loam and driftwood lined the lower region of the dock line - where dilapidated wooden steps gave way to sand. Madison has chosen to stand out of the way. The breeze was straight blowing, and the fog was dense. The lamplight only gave as much away as it had to. Her silhouette was bundled up by one such lamp. The stairs were close. The day's heat breached and broke here. The dampness crawled up the back of the neck. The air pressed close, unwanted. From a distance those lamps could have been yellow will o' the wisps. Strange creatures that hovered in the air at night. They rarely illuminated the approaching figure, which was more a shadow than man at this point. He moved like some dockside specter, the ghost of men drowned in the filthy water and muck. Many had died here; the lifestyle did not suit the weak. Morgan arrived with the same canter as always, his greeting a grunt. If she had been listening she might have heard him grunting and growling long before he came into view, like a beast stalking through the fog.

"Morgan,” her voice muted down by the whispering water, and further out, where the waves savaged the cliffs. She watched him come into light, a hand resting actively on her hip. She smiled, though it was tight and the warmth was entirely absent from her face. Surprise had long since died, once she knew Morgan for what he was and who he fit into this weaving kingdom of puzzles she had set foot within. The door to the keep long shut at her heels. Now, she was here, and with one of the players. The most central to her thoughts. Heil's research had been something, but not something to run with. And Morgan wasn't someone she intended on running into. "Thanks for coming." Her eyes traveled his features. "Got to say: can't believe it's you." The wind made her unruly hair all the more so. Dragged it over her eyes, dragging tendrils across her shoulders. She didn't move to tame them. The hand remained on iron. The other shoved right down into the depths of the denim pocket. "I....” she trailed off, and her smile faded.

"Underwhelmed?" he asked, wry humor creeping into his rough voice. "Most are," for the big bad boogeyman so many thought him to be, he was surprisingly normal looking. Especially this evening. The latest bit of undercover work he'd been doing was in a nicer part of town, he dressed appropriately. Smart clothes, ironed and neat. Those lines went well with his sharp features. His voice was what ruined the ensemble, tense and borderline feral. You could feel it in the air with just a few words. Her teeth clenched, tasting the air, tasting the way the world felt at that pinnacle of time. The most brackish smell in the air mingled with that of maritime decay and the concrete-scent of the fog, loaned intensity and a further edge to where they stood and to who she was before.

"I, wouldn't say that, Morgan. I hadn't really thought that the Morgan Douglas spoke of would be here, in this town. I know the West's been shaken up, many a bird has flown its cage, but yet." She shook her head, but she didn't dare remove her eyes. They fixed on him. Noting every detail, in ways she had neglected to on that somewhat fateful prior meeting. From that pocket she pulled a rather crumpled packet of reds, and shuffled one out. She extended it towards him. Her hand bobbed. Encouraging. “So where is he?”

Morgan eyed the cigarette like a man with a bad addiction who'd been fighting it for days. Greed, need, a little bit of madness. But in the end he shook his head, he'd made promises, damn it. "Right now? Ain't sure. He was in town last night. We spoke, briefly," Morgan reached into the inside of his suit jacket. Tucked away in that pocket was a flask. He twisted the cap loose and let it hang by the little rubber strip that held it in place and took a swig. "Told me he'd be gone for a while. Ain't sure when he's returnin’.”

"Why?" his eyes searched for the answer on her face, in her own set of peepers like they were windows into her soul. Some cultures believed that to be true.

"If you saw him, then you surely know at least partly the reason I am here, with you." Shaking out a soldier for herself, Madison brought it to her bee-stung mouth, and slipped it in the corner. Moment later, a match was illuminating the little space between them - murky, troubled, wet, hungry. "He's not right", her voice inflicted with a discomfort.

"Glenn's never been right," he countered, taking another swig from the flask. He offered it over. It smelled of strong bourbon. "Man's a cataclysm waitin' t'happen. You should know that better'n most, Miss Rye. I know he's mixed in with some weird stuff, but way I hear it, he done threatened to kill you if you came after him. An' Glenn ain't the kind t'make idle threats. So, I ask again. Why?"

The knowledge that he had lingered in town, that he was around, or had been, wedged something cruel beneath her ribs. It was like willingly drinking poison. Even chasing this shadow was perhaps a true sign of how deep her loyalties lay. She looked the flask over, like she was about to deny it, aware that it would leave the iron at her hip open, but.... She took a sip. It was heady, and it went with the smoke. It made her like Morgan, instantaneously. It said more. "Debt. He helped me over a year back. We helped one another. We were on trail. I guess I'm such an idiot motherf*cker. Loyalty, number one." She took another swig from the flask, it glinted in her hand, and she held it over, wiping her mouth dry with the sleeve of her jacket. "I just.... " She swallowed, and drew hard on the smoke. It glowered fiercely. "You know, I...” She seemed to stall. "I goddamn care about the b*stard, Morgan. That's the all of it. And I'm an idiot." She nearly laughed, but that sad thing happened - when her face lost its color, and her eyes went all far away.

Morgan took the flask back and had another swig, then put the cap back on and tucked it into his pocket. "Look," he shoved a hand into his pants pocket. "He's comin' back t'Rhy'din at some time in the near future. Said he had some more business t'take care of," he pulled out a small gear, a cog to some greater machine. "He asked me t'hold on t'this. Know where it's from?” Madison stepped in, examining it. Her eyes glittered. They lifted to his. She took the moment, to read them

"This is all the ol' clock tower needs t'start runnin' again. Don' know why he needs it, but he does. He'll be there when he's back. Might wanna keep an eye out."

Her gaze intensified, and she heaved with a breath stolen from the unforgiving weight of the night, and the information that burdened. "I don't follow. He never spoke of this development to me. At all. Morgan, before he left, and in the months leading up, we didn't... we weren't involved. We were like two ships passing in the night, and we shared the same bed. But even then... He wasn't a secretive man. I can't name him so. This...." She could taste the bourbon, and the regret at the back of her throat. There was hurt in her eyes. "Whatever this is, whatever that is... it's got to be related to why he headed out. May I?" A pale hand reached out while she took a grim drag from the smoke. It coiled above their heads. Ouboros, snakes of smoke, eating a thousand tails. He handed the cog over. Interestingly enough, etched there amidst the bronzed metal was an ouroboros, making a circle along the edge of the gear.

"He's with the Hexxen Order, Madison. That's what this is all about, that's what them snakes are meant t'symbolize. The coyotes are just the dogs."

Madison’s brows slowly arched. "I'm sorry. What!" Turning the machinery over in her hands. The metal was eerily cool. It didn't warm - not even after being pressed against Morgan's body heat, or that of his hand. Her eyes finally drew to his again. "Hexxen? That's malarkey. Old, old West bullsh*t. You're kidding me." She held the cog out, not wishing to be blindfolded by old time superstition. The stuff thrown from the mouths of vaudevillian reverends, and snake oil merchants. "I'm sorry, but I can't listen to this.” She watched his face, to see something she may have missed

"You know 'bout the Hexx, I hear. Shot up an awful lot of them back in Lofton," he smirked, remembering the smoke, the gunfire, and the blood. Those were the days, the voice in his mind said, when you were truly powerful. "But they ain't nothin' but fodder, Rye. The Hexxen are somethin' more," he took the cog back and shrugged at her disbelief. "You can deny it all you want, but there ain't a thing 'bout this that ain't true. There's more t'them old west stories than you think. Power in those lands, in that earth. That place is just waitin' t'swallow up a man's soul," his face was cool, stoic. He was a master of the poker face, never giving an inch.

Her teeth were gritting, back and forth, without her realizing it. The gunslinger just stared at him. Breathing it in. Breathing it all in. "His hands,” she said, after a beat. "

"Snakeskin. That's what them Hexxen are, rattlesnakes. Vipers, venomous. They got power not like what you seen back in Lofton, Cadentia or f*ck, Decrepit. ***'s real there an' now Glenn's got a taste of it. That kinda thing is like a drug, Rye. Ain't many who can resist the temptation an' Glenn always was a greedy sonofabitch."

Madison spun away, took a few paces. Hands covering her face.

"I'll help you find him, Rye," he started, tucking the cog back into his pocket. "Under one condition."

She came to a stop, hands gone to her hair, raking through. "Jesus." She looked out to the sea. Soaked in the knowledge, then turned to him. "What's that?"

"There's a man in town. His name's Leo Bartosz, he's from Beaumont. An' I need him dead."
She worked her bottom lip. "Dead? Why?"

He's a bad man, killed more than most an' he works with the Hexxen. That's reason enough."

Steps inclined back towards the man. She stood half in the shadow he through, which was blacker than most, and the off-kilter yellow of the lamp. A woman in two. "He's Westling?" Seemed a few birds had flown their cage. Something passed across her face. She tilted her face to his. "This all true, Morgan?"

"Yeah," Morgan grunted and turned to peer through the fog. The intensity in his gaze suggested he could do just that, see through it. Like he was gazing into another world. "All true. I ain't prone t'lyin, Rye. Once upon a time I was a lawman, if that helps you."

That thing that crossed her face clenched in her belly. Madison's fingers curled, then released, and she held her hand out to him. Her eyes watched his, and wherever they went, through the fog, lifetimes, and unknown distances. "You have a deal."

He looked down at her hand and hesitated. "You should know, you're makin' a deal with the devil here, Rye. I see my contracts through."

That earned Wright a grin. "I've danced with a few in my time. What's one more?" Dark brow did lift at that, her hand waiting.

He clasped her hand and all at once, it was entirely too hot. Like a brand straight from the fire, coal burning hot. The back of her hand was left with a mark. A small, dark circle cut six ways with small lines. "Good."

There was a close of eyes at the heated pressure on her hand, and when he'd let go, it was with the sense some lines had been written. A talisman had been hung. A trespass had been made. Her hand reeled back towards herself. But the ground was stood, and her eyes did dare to make his. To hold them. "What in the...” but she didn't say that word, and instead looked to the brand. "You sure have a way with the ladies, Morgan."

"Think so?" he offered her a crooked smirk. "First m'hearin' of that. Ain't exactly the sweep you off your feet kinda guy."

Humor hooked, hung out to dry. She dug that hand into pocket, and gave him her eyes. "Leo. My partner, an outside Watchman, he's told me. Of Leo, of the rings. We're going to have to plan this. Meticulously. "If there's one bird from out there, then there'll be more coming. Always is. Where there's Hexx." Old boots creaked as she stepped past him. A brush of arm to arm. "You can sweep me off my feet later." Wry, and a sidelong smile "Hmm."

"They hunt in packs,” he said.

"So shall we."

“Keep your eyes high, Madison. These snakes don' hide in the grass."

She grinned. Surely some fog parted for it. "Meet me here, tomorrow?" Steps took her into a half-moon.

"Sure thing," he watched her closely. Then, grunting to himself, Morgan turned and headed back into the fog.

Hooded eyes watched the man dissolve into the gloaming. Her chin tilted up. Eyes followed. "Watch your step, Morgan", her voice flat in that dense, crawling air. "An' I'll keep mine up alright." Oh Madi-girl.... Madison turned, and headed for home.
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PostPosted: Wed Jul 02, 2014 8:35 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Teas & Tomes. Tuesday, 19:22 PM.

Thanks to Morgan Wright for the fantastic collaborative effort


The tea shop was a strange place to find a man such as he. A man who spoke little and gave even less with his actions. A man who, during hours of conversation, might only grunt and say a single word. His gruff nature led others to believe he was a brutish man, uneducated and dim witted. But the many hours he spent out and about in this city were cut up by visits to the shop, where he enjoyed hot drinks and many, many tomes. How else was he to learn so much about the insane situation fate had thrust him into. He was on a couch near a fire that crackled merrily, even in the summer. He drank coffee and red a large, old book that spoke of myths and the power behind belief. He wore his faded jeans and wrinkled shirt, his eyes half lidded as though he were on the very verge of falling asleep. But an observant onlooker would note the way they darted from one side of the page to the next. He was very much awake.

The bells on the door cheered. Madison was there, hat in one hand, and a glowing sensation the other. She spotted the man quickly, and moseyed over. "Morgan", she dropped down on the next, small seat beside, and stuck her boots out. The hat was placed to the chair arm, and she gave a quick rake through the restless night of her hair. Eyes settled on the cover of what he read, and flicked up to his angular face. "Wouldn't have taken you for a man to read up on mythology. But then, I wouldn't have taken you as a man been chained to a cell, either." She smiled.

"There's more truths in myths than people like t'believe, Rye," he closed the book with a snap and set it aside, turning to level his half-lidded, but somehow still quite stern gaze on her. He clicked his tongue. "Much you can learn from a book like this, if you got a mind for it," he reached for his coffee and had a taste, swallowing a mouthful.

Morgan was watched for a lengthy time. "Do you get a kick out of all this stuff? Do you prescribe to this idea, that these men are more than.... what we both know them to be." She caught the eye of the woman behind the counter, lifting a finger to indicate one coffee, and returned her pale gaze to him. Wondered if it was jail, or the life of law, that loaned him his disposition. Nevertheless, he put her at ease, in the way the Sheriff of Lofton had, and Billerton, her Father. It was a presence, and a command. Something few men she knew still had. Like it had been weeded out of every subsequent generation. Though, to Morgan, she would not speak it.

"Sam Reed." She sat forward. "Know him?

"Name's one I've heard on a wind once or twice in the past," his eyes searched the ceiling and rafters for more information. But like all great mysteries, it was harder than that. "'Fraid I don' know much 'bout 'im other'n he had a bit t'do with some business you had in town a ways back. Why? Lookin' for him?"

"He's Leo's, and Leo is his. They were working some hitches together. My partner, and his colleague, have been flushing out the dirt. We haven't turned up much, but Leo is what led me to you - by connection. And eventually Sam, who I know...” flick back to a long, lonely dirt road, a road to hell. But she doesn’t impose the man with memories of her death sentence. “...from the old days." She grit her teeth, did he see that? She looked up as the mug was held out by the server, and slid some notes in return. The woman scurried away. Madison sat forward and held the mug close. Even though it was warm outside, and the air was hung heavy, she looked to enjoy the fragrant steam rising across her face.

"Sam's one degree away from you. It’s a name I suggest you file somewhere." She said it low, and not as a threat. Just that it was a name that echoed, and its resonance would be felt later.

Morgan had a file for Sam Reed. He wasn't wholly honest about everything. He also noticed how she grit her teeth. Once upon his time noticing things like that had been his job. "In league with Leo, huh?" Morgan grunted. "Then I'll kill 'im."

He won a smirk. Just like he had the night before, when he invited her to take a twirl with the Devil.

"What's your angle, Rye? Why bring 'im up?"

"He wants you dead too." It was an embellishment, but like Morgan, she needed her leverage too. Simple. Flat. She raised the mug, rubbed her lips together, then took a sip. See how it flew. Go little birdy, go.

"***," he laughed. "Him, Leo, the whole f***in' Hexxen. "Tell 'im t'grab a ticket."

Her nose thinned with an inhale. Her eyes grew serious.

Ain't a man who can be put down so easy, Rye."

"I wouldn't think so, Morgan... I'm not intimating so. But I think, if he needed to, he'd switch the game." “He wants what you possess." Her hand grew hotter, even at her mere words. "Death could be on the plate."

She paused, to strike it home. “Down the line."

"We all gotta die sometime."

She paused at that, and tilted her head. Blue eyes roamed his face.

"Hey," change of subject. Just like that. "Question for ya."
Madison nodded for him to go on.

"Glenn Douglas. What's he to you?" He knew what she was to him, but not the other way around.

"A debt I have to repay", kind of bland about it. She wasn't about to radiate a series of compliments about the man. Though her eyes did crinkle a touch. "We were involved. But we haven't been, in the sense we were, for months. Fair to say, we were trail buddies. Then he cut out, and I .... I don't know what I could be to him now. Only that, at day's end, he's a debt."

"I thought I explained that all last night." Brow arched. She took another sip. "Does it matter?"

Morgan agreed. "You said that last night. But that's just you rationalizin'. It's ***."

Laughter. A shake of the head. "Not entirely." She took her eyes from him.

"An' it matters a helluva lot, Rye. Need t'know where your head is," he sipped at his coffee. "I know what happened with you two. I know a lot. An' I know, Glenn ain't the kinda man people become indebted to. Don' matter the cause. Folk don' go outta their way t'help him no matter what he's done for 'em," because Glenn Douglas was a storm, destruction incarnate. No one wanted to chase that. "M'sure you feel like you're doin' this just 'cause you owe him, but deep down inside, Rye, you know."

"It's not that way. Softly, she added. "I do care."

He nodded, that seemed to satisfy him. "I saw him again."

That got a prickling of the interests! "And how did that go? Hand you another cog?" Wry.

"Nope. Still just the one. He didn' say much. Truth be told, I think he's usin' me t'keep tabs on you."

There came an eye roll at all he might infer. "That makes utter sense” ironically.“ No, he wouldn't. If he wants me dead, he'll make it so. He wouldn't be a-linger, to ensure I'm not tracking.” "He's using you, that would be certain. And writing my name on a bullet.""Unless... he's afraid. When he left, I tell you, he was."

She went on.

"His face...." She placed the mug down. It thunked mutedly across the table. "But it wouldn't be about me. If he's as dead-set as you, and he, go on with. My death wouldn't last two minutes in his thoughts."

"I've accepted that, Morgan."

"Glenn's gone his whole life bein' afraid," Morgan replied with a grunt. He finished his coffee and stood. "You lost faith in him, Rye. But maybe he ain't lost just yet."

Her features begged enquiry of Wright. She stood too.

"Ain't got anythin' else for you."

"I'm not about to engage you in what or what I did not do. But I did not resent him. ..." He spoke, and she heaved with a breath. "Leo. What do you want to do - chase him out, or go in?"

Taking up her hat, she pulled it on - low. It shadowed eyes.

"Burn his whole world down."

She looked to her hand.

"Be careful you won't burn a few others along with it." A pointed remark, she thanked him under a breath and moved for the exit.

Silence lurched. It hung, swayed like a dead man at the noose.

He eventually grunted a farewell to Madison.

"Eyes high."

As the door closed on her shadow, she nodded. "Eyes high."


He clicked his tongue at the shadow. And then he stepped out the door. It chimed merrily, a contrast to his sombre demeanour.
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PostPosted: Thu Jul 03, 2014 1:29 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

The tea shop was a cozy place. Quiet, warm and inviting. Cushions and chairs littered the place, small tables for books and drinks nearby. A man sat on a couch near the merrily burning hearth that seemed to give off no heat. He was of average height and weight, though his features obscured by the low hanging brim of his hat. He flicked lazily through the pages of a book while a gloved hand nursed a cup of coffee. Beside him was a table and next to that, an empty chair. On that table waited a cup of coffee, still steaming.

The shop was empty. Even the woman who worked the register had stepped out. It was if time had decided to stand still. The world outside kept bustling on but here in the tea shop everything had frozen.
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PostPosted: Thu Jul 03, 2014 9:49 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Eyes high.

Every dust-scattered step towards the Tea House was punctuated by the reminder. As the sun traded places with the moon, and the rooftops of West End were blanketed in night , she moved through well-travelled alley, side street and archway, until the store was in sight. Even at a distance, at the heady scents greeted her nose. Coffee, nutmeg, cinnamon, chocolate, and the tell-tale perfume of fresh lacquered pastries. She could see them in her mind's eye - moist and shining, just beneath the counter glass. But that very thought was fleeting.

Eyes high.

Every night, her eyes returned to the bell tower. When it did ring out, an unsettling emotion would curl in her stomach. She would breathe it out, exercise distraction, but on the hour, no matter where she was, through window or at a distance, blue eyes made for the structure. It's moon-face presiding over all, like some great sad clown washed of its smile. It's faded numbers pock-marking the grim yellow of its complexion. So, it was with already an uneasiness she stepped in through the door. No hat tonight, no jacket - that heavy air wouldn't allow it. Dressed in beaten jeans and a peasant-style shirt, all the summer and sweetness of her faded out. What was left, was the hollow, bad feeling in her stomach. Seeing the couch, and the waiting coffee, instantaneously bred further horror in her, mingled with a relief that hit her with such sheer force, that she felt faint as she crossed the room to stand before him. As her shadow fell across him, it whispered its secret. There was no hiding behind it. Madison Rye's face was a sketch-work of conflicted feeling.

"Glenn", she crouched to her knees, hands on his. The world resonated with those whispers. The darkness throbbed with them. She reached a hand, flick of a finger to rise his brim away. Her face re-sketched. Now, there was only horror. And the darkness roared like that savage ocean, lashing unforgiving into cliffs.


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PostPosted: Thu Jul 03, 2014 10:16 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Here sat a man whose face had been twisted by darkness. In the scant few days that had passed since their parting, so much had changed. His eyes seemed darker and more distant, as if he viewed the world through a void. A veil, if you will, that unleashed upon his fragile mind the horrors of life. They had made him see things he thought of only in his worst nightmares. He seemed paler than the man she knew, that man who spent so many hours on horseback riding out under the sun. It was as if he were a ghost.

His dark eyes flicked to meet with her blues. His smile was a truly horrid thing. Twisted and wretched, a mixture of pain and some perverse amusement. He spoke and his voice was cool, like he was speaking to a stranger.

"Madi."

"Thought I told you not t'come lookin' for me."
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PostPosted: Fri Jul 04, 2014 3:02 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

"Why are you here. Morgan was meant to be here."

It was then, that it dawned. Crept and crawled, like the strange great flowers of fog that dared to kiss the back of the neck.

"Sh*t."


Her body shifted back, her hands rising from his knees as if they were searing. She shuffled back in her boots, eyes darting all over the room, a lump spurned in her throat. She fought to swallow it. A crystal tear slid down the slope of a cheek. Left a clarity in the dust it parted.

Flash.

Let me in. It’s not so bad. There’s a part of you that wants to. A part of you that you thought was dead.

"I care about you, you son of a b*tch." Jaw flexing as she brought her eyes around to the man in the hat and the gloves with the mouth that she didn't know anymore.

Flash.

We’re one and the same.


She had neglected to carry iron that night. Despite the clench in her belly and the bad moon feelings that thrummed around her. Fists closed and opened. The thrum was something to get lost in, or harness. She was sick with the grief, the horror, the relief, the absorbing nature of the man who had swept her aside, but who, by the road, she was sworn to. In a way that went beyond affection, or the small moments where the quiet of the heart crept on in - you were careful in your tendernesses, and you did not curse any name, and you were as pure and humble as the dirt beneath your nails. Blood, dust, chaos, iron. Whiskey, and regret.

It demanded more.

With a downturned, fixed eye, she glared at him.


"Remember what you said, Douglas. A long, long time ago. I know you do.

You can run, and you can hide, and you can threat.

But you I, we're one and the same.

An outlaw doesn't do what is expected of him, I know. So don't go breathing as something you're not. "

Her hand shook in the air held out towards him. Fingers, pale cool and splayed, like the woman was to cast some change or ask for his hat. As if it was not that frozen room and she needed only to turn into the sun and evade its hot-metal bursts of heat.

Perpetual Misery pealed in her tower. A mourning cry that bayed through the streets; filthy, distressing, lost as a haggard hound.
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PostPosted: Sat Jul 05, 2014 3:40 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

"Look like you seen a ghost, Rye."

The smile was a sharp thing. Shark-like. Cold and deadly. He was a different breed of monster than what she'd known. Tainted by snakes and hoodoo and all the darkness that was born in the far lands. In the West, where time and reality didn't mean as much as it did elsewhere in the world. Glenn was of a kind that hailed from there and sooner or later his blood was going boil and his bones would ache and his soul would be drawn to that dark, dark place.

It was a pit to the center of the earth. A place where all light was sucked away and only a shadow remained. He was a shade of Glenn Douglas the Outlaw, of the brigand, reluctant hero and occasional bounty hunter. This man belonged to the Hexxen. He said so in the way he looked up at her, like she were a bug under a microscope. Curiosity born of intrigue and not attraction, not like the chemistry that had been between them in the past. Someone had extinguished the flame of humanity in his heart.

"We were, Madison Rye. An' it's 'cause of that we're talkin' right now. I should be buryin' your corpse on the side of the road. But we got history an' that means somethin'. Not much, but somethin'."

"Talk."

"What d'you want?"
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I go on journeys out of my body and look at my red hands and my mean face and I wonder about that man who's gone so wrong.
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Madison Rye
Ancient Wyrm
Ancient Wyrm


Joined: 17 May 2009
Posts: 880
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13361.16 Silver Crowns

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PostPosted: Mon Jul 07, 2014 8:23 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

"I want to know the why and the how -

I want to know why you left so abruptly to share meals with this trash.

And I want to know how you expect to find yourself a making to get free again.

You can't stay with those sorts forever. It it's not all sh*t in the wind like my Father warned of when I was a child, if it is all Wright says is true, and it's a truth I'm holding with salt, then you're playing with fire.


I suppose, for you, that's the point, isn't it?"


Her hand remained outstretched, splayed, firm. She watched him under his hat. Then, that hand snatched the brim from his face, and exposed the change in him.. All the winter light of the store evolving to display the monster she had once, and still did, love. The hat hung in a limp grasp at her side. Pity bloomed on her face. "Glenn....." She looked aside.

"My ex-husband played dead for four years because of their like, so they wouldn't come and find me and eat me alive. Even he, even he knew what the potential was of a game. What makes you think they'll spare your life when they've had enough? And what makes you think, that if you don't find a post to hang me from, that they won't? Do I weigh so little, so quickly, in your heart?"
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Glenn Douglas
Adult Wyrm
Adult Wyrm


Joined: 12 Apr 2010
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PostPosted: Tue Jul 15, 2014 12:19 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

"I love you, Madison Rye," Glenn rose from his seat, running his fingers through his hair which seemed greasy and unwashed. It was true, he had become a wraith, hollow and empty since their last words. "An' it's 'cause I do that you ain't dead right now," his hand slowly came to rest on the old, worn wood that curved down into a weapon he'd used to take many lives in the past.

"These snakes think they can put me down when they've had their fill, but you know better'n most that there ain't sh*t in this world can stop me from gettin' what I want."

He worked his lower lip with his teeth and seemed to grimace at the same time, like these words took a toll on his soul. He was pale and sickly in appearance, that snakeskin crept up from his hands. It was visible in the split between his shirt sleeve and the gloves he wore, winding its way over his wrists and up his arms. Consuming.

"That's why m'tellin' you t'keep your nose clear of this, right here an' now, Rye. Don' make me come back here lookin' for you. I'll finish what I started in that bar, them years ago. I'll put you in the ground. I love you, but I will kill you."

"Some things are more important than you an' me. An' this is one of them things. Let go."

A darkness seemed to flow into the room. It was creeping all around them, snuffing out all light, suffocating. Warmth flooded away and a chill replaced it. The shop felt like a mausoleum, a tomb. The dead were there in force, he could see them meandering about, lost and twisted and vengeful spirits of hate and malice and suffering. Glenn snatched the hat from Madison Rye and put it back on his head and turned toward the door. As he moved away so too did that foreboding sense of dread, that evil.

He was scarred in a way that could never be healed, his very being a perverse imitation of the man that had been. When he looked over his shoulder at him that truth was reflected in his gaze. Cold and listless, glassy like a corpse.
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I go on journeys out of my body and look at my red hands and my mean face and I wonder about that man who's gone so wrong.
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