Outwardly we are Wasting Away

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Infinite Night | Myra and Lucas

Draw it out of the velvet curtain, make it stand at attention, the thing a lead weight, an anvil, and something very infrequently held. It wavered, the tip, a stone skipping on the waters that drained from his hands. Exhaling a heavy breath in a exhaust blow that had him almost falling back as he licked his lips. The tongue whetting the flesh, rubbing the plate of the upper and lower lip together in a smoothing out motion. The nasals flaring, watching Myra swing around. See her hips dance one last type in all their fine form. Maybe, just maybe if she wasn’t lyin’. If she was really planning on leaving, couldn’t he just relay the info and let Dalton know he’d fuckin pulled on her? Fantasy, dirty filthy clean up fantasy, he knew it. It would hold up as miserably as an actual orgasm on the film without the exaggeration. That sloppy slut call, but instead of a scream of ectasy it was one of horror and death.

“Myra baby, I’m so sorry, but, but this is just how it’s gatta be.”

Simplify it, its just death yo, simple as sex, in and out till the dead is done. Don’t need to be smothering the whole thing up in sentiments. Flickering of lights, on and off, there and then not. Don’t think about the fact she has a family, that she use to be a good a girl, a good worker, drown that sweet spot. DAmmit Tony, pull that mother fuckin trigger, you don’t want to be the one laid out on that slab, her or you. Belly up and bloated and all according to Dalton. Worse than death, god knows what he would do, probably blow torch his nuts off first before making him eat his own fingers or some shit.

At least this would be quick- quick- pull that GODDAMN TRIGGER TONY. Your a dead man otherwise Tony. Championships dont be grading people on purple ribbons, only on gold medals, and He wasn’t even goin to that podium if he did’nt do it.the deed.

“Say hello to Miriam for me babe.”

Pulling the trigger was easy, unloading that clip, not sure how many hit. But that meant nothing anymore. He had to run like a fucker, with no wrong moves. Get in the car drive, drive, drive back to Dalton and hope to fuck he wasn’t a dead man when he got there. It was done, and look at what made made he was gonna be coming out of it, time to watch Tony, doin the deed so that he could live.

#OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG !#EVERYONE JUST FUCKING BREATHE!#infinite night #Lucas3 #Myra's end...

An explosion.

Then another and another and another.

Myra was back, her body hitting a wall. The contact forced her knees to buckle and she slid down.

A flash of white heat filled her vision. This wasn’t the calm folding Ezekiel spoke of. This was blinding and terrifying and painful. Her chest was on fire, it had to be. A bomb exploded inside her, surely small flames stayed a lit within and around her heart.

A wetness.

She couldn’t move her arms. They hurt too much.

Was that a door slamming?

Her breathing was hard. That wetness… Why was the air filled with water? Why did it taste like metal?

The white was fading.

So much pain.

The house was so empty.

So quiet.

Didn’t she have a guest? Was she not conversing with someone before the fire? Before the pain? But who had it been?

Why was it so hard to breathe?

Cough. You’ll feel better, a voice promised.

Slick, red. Blood. Blood on her hands. Hers?

Don’t look down.

Her boots were clean, her jeans stained. The puddle beside her… Had that always been there? A puddle of red in her living room? And the walls… she never painted them red.

What was happening?

So much pain.

Breathe, that voice cooed, breathe and it’ll be over.

More coughing. More water.

“Lucas.” He’d been her guest. Had he done this? Had he taken Ezekiel’s preachings to heart and finally snapped—turning her over to the Devil aflame already?

No. No.

Myra caught sight of Jebediah’s door in a mirror.

He needs to get out.

“Jebediah,” she said, her voice raspy from blood and coughing and fire, “don’t tell Ezekiel.” Her hand moved now, but why did it weigh so much? “Hide his things. Tell him.”

Blood. Metallic and wet.

“Can’t come back. Don’t tell Ezekiel.”

Tears.

Realization.

Fear. Panic.

“Martha.” It was nearly a wail now, and Lucas wasn’t coming closer. Would Martha care? That Myra was dead?

Where is Ezekiel?

Her heart beat fast. More adrenaline. A quicker pulse. More blood.

Her heavy hands moved to her abdomen, wrapping her arms around the child that would never live. Holding onto her redemption and damnation created and harbored in one fetus.

“I’m sorry.”

Who was she apologizing to? Myra wasn’t certain. So many sins, so many hurts. The life she’d ruined the most was never completely decided upon and the guilt she’d been harboring crashed down on her.

Judgement.

“No…” she cried. Afraid for the darkness, the pain, the judgment. Afraid for the actions of a cousin, afraid for the wrath and anger.

“Please…”

Coughing. Pain.

Choking.

A quiet blackness that finally eased a broken heart.

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Infinite Night | Myra and Tony

How many layers did Tony have on? How many levels of fabric were being corrupted by the cold yellow sticky sweat? Onion layers all sticking together and exuding that phenomenal smell, ripe and horrendous. Like the drive back from Stockton, bitter and resentful that he could just halt the car and do an epic U turn. Drive the front hood of his car through that glass filled lobby, take out all those grinning motherfuckin Dalton drones and call it quits.

Then again you can’t go about fighting gravity by falling. Killing oneself meant you were letting the man win, even if you got to take out some bodies along with. Goddman though, never thought this was something that he’d be wiling to do. Do the smart thing so he can keep his life, keep his business and save his skin- that being the most important. What would life be like with Tony Verlaine in it? A crumbling cookie with a whole bunch of pussy ants taking away pieces of Paramoria along with him. No, Tony didn’t get this far just to let some man ram a rod up his ass to have him shitting rainbows all in the name of Dalton. Then again, then again, there would be a whole lot worse to come if he didn’t fallow through with this. Tony Verlaine didn’t belong in no trashbag- then again Myra Saylor didn’t deserve to leave in no body bag either.

As he rapped his knuckles against the unfamiliar door, pointed in the direction by one of the church ladies-Pretty little dress holding some mountainous curves that really did need to be liberated and then lubricated- he pressed a hand to his breast pocket. The double duce pistol stolen from Lucien’s stash being pressed into the bulk of his chest. As the door opened and what appeared to be a woman that looked just as worse for wear to himself took up the door frames area. A mistaken portrait of a woman he once held as a museum piece for Paramoura. A damn fine woman, a bit of a drunk, and not with out her demons but she sure did swing right.

“Uhh Myra, s’alright if I common for sec? won’t be more than a couple secs I promise, I just got somethin’ I need to ask you, and I was in the area anyway you know?”

The shakes that rippled through his hands were hidden by having the one clutched so hard to his jacket he may as well have been fending of an impending heart attack. The other bracing against the doorframe, crushing the life out of it so that the rank fear couldn’t be seen like the fuckin reaper it was.

#infinite night #tony1 #oh. my. god.#Deep breaths Riss #deep breaths Andy #we got this #pull that trigger!

Tony Verlaine, former boss and current Porn King, stood at her front door. His face less than smooth with one hand against the frame--not allowing Myra to slam the door on his face if she so choose without smashing his fingers too--while the other rested on his chest.

She hadn't seen Tony in months, since September if Myra remembered correctly; Lord knew before she got herself sober in January life was just a blur of drink, sex and drugs. No matter, there was no business between these two anymore. "I'm not going back," Myra said sternly before opening the door and turning her back on the man, allowing him to enter and close the door behind him. The neighbors didn't need to see Tony at her doorstep and the sooner he got out of the public eye the better. "I'm leaving Prosaic, in fact," she told him bluntly her back still turned as she heard his footsteps approach. The footsteps stopped behind her with a heavy thud holding a certain finality.

Tony didn't speak though, she heard nothing but his breathing, and Myra slowly turned around. First peaking over her shoulder, her curtain of hair hiding Tony's upper body, before completely turning around to face the man.

His chest rose and fell dramatically as he stared at Myra, fear and anger filling his eyes, a gun in his hand... pointed at her.

Time froze and Myra's brain refused to process anything for at least three seconds. "Tony..." she said slowly, her hands going up in surrender, "I have money. Take whatever you want..." What could he possibly want? What more could this man take from her? "I'll be gone by tonight and I promise not to cause any trouble." Why was she saying that? Why make such futile promises in such a desperate and submissive tone: as if she was the one in the wrong. She'd paid her debt, paid him off.

But there Tony was, not saying word and pointing that pistol right at Myra's chest. "Tony, please..."

No Harm, No Foul. Just Family | Myra and Ezekiel

” As I have said I have bought us a finite amount of time, a days break at most. I will need to clear some accounts tonight, a bursary of sorts so that we have enough funds for travel.”

Staring down at the roll of hands that brushed away at his chest, lifting dust and dandruff up into a powdered cloud. He couldn’t help but give a moment to allows his mouth to curve into something less of a frown. the idea of being readied to go on stage, preened and having his cheeks pinched to cause roses, seemed all the more absurd. Placing both hands out in front of him to halt the display of readiness Myra was preparing him for he gently brushed them away.

“Go to your home, For I shall meet you there later after I have given my final offerings, and secured enough in way of rebuild. For the lesser me requires some time to wrap up personal affairs, those darker ones that not even the confessional was privy too. I am a man of my word and I shall retrieve you as promised.”

Both hands taking in the meat of her biceps he issued a light kiss to her forehead as a parting relic of heavenly protection.

“Go.”

#heartbreak hotel #ezekiel11

The End [of Heartbreak Hotel, Forever].

No Harm, No Foul. Just Family | Myra and Ezekiel

“Or we will all be laid down to become the organic matter of fields and maggots. Though when faced with the possibility of loss it all seems that the futility of running off accomplishes nothing substantial. Where are we to run to? What satisfactory outcome comes from this that dosnt have me forever branded upon my chest the red hot marks of cowardliness?”

Letting the gun fall from the air, his eyes once shut and speaking partially muffled into the thin arm now free to breath in his surrounding and stifled air of the dining room. Lips separating slightly in a forlorn surrender to the the tables top. The heavy lids and sunken hallows purple from lack of sleep tracing lines through the wood grain. The gun though not thrown into the wind was tucked into the rope of his jeans backing. Positioned between belt loops, a removable jutting tail with the ability to lay down life with a round in the chamber. Both hands now laid upon the table the splay of fingers overtaking the area in front of him as he stroked it. Ran the hands up and down, allowing every dive and carved peak to play upon his sensory perceptions. The table he had sat at for a lifetime, a furniture fixture forever constant, generational heirlooms. The plotting that he had formed at this table, the dinners that he ate, the flood of memories all surrounding Prosaic. His home no longer.

“We were the giants of the earth unto this day; and in loss of that, the sons of God shall come unto the daughters of our gaping crater left. The children that will bear post our histories, and call back to the mighty men who were of old. the true residences of Prosaic, creatures of renown that will always hold this town in our heart.”

Ezekiel’s thumbnail caught in a particularly deep gouge in the tables plain and was pressed into it, the thick keritin attempting to widen the gap. Staring at the filing handiwork that he was creating he swallowed hard.

“And God saw that the wickedness of man was great in the earth, and that every imagination of the thoughts of his heart was only evil continually. For let this be my repentance oh Lord, i ask now, for we are men and women whom live among your earth, and we grieveth in our hearts. Grant us this surrender from your work here among the men of beast hide and iron horse, and grant us our freedom. For we are surrendering this earth to you so we may walk anew”

#heartbreak hotel #ezekiel11 #I may have set this up for a hug...

Exhaustion and desperation and defeat. That was the definition of Ezekiel Saylor at this moment. Forlorn and accepting the fate he'd had a hand in creating, though he never thought the beast would bite the hand that fed it. Where Ezekiel saw cowardliness, Myra saw strength. The strength to run, to start new, to walk away. That was the Saylors were doing. They were walking away and forgoing their losses because Prosaic was not their home.

Ezekiel mentioned the future generation of Saylors and Myra could not imagine who would inherit their name and who Ezekiel spoke of. Unless... unless he saw a glow in Myra that she herself was working to ignore, unless he knew--by some divine miracle--that a male child was growing in her womb, the Saylor name was going to die with he and Lucas. The people who inherited Prosaic were not their kin, not any longer.

The empire Ezekiel had created, the one to support whoever he thought he had to support, was lost now and he saw that--with a terrifying clarity. Maybe Ezekiel finally felt the fear of God in him... or was that too much for sweet Myra to hope for?

A soft prayer was given by Ezekiel and Myra found herself habitually answering him with a softer 'Amen.' The two sat a moment, quiet, as the walls around the house were finally quiet; knowing their memories were no longer a relevant argument in deciding the fate of the Saylor family.

With the gun tucked into Ezekiel's jeans, Myra stood. Thoughts and fears and hopes all coming to the conclusion that she could not sit by any longer while her cousin worked through these decisions with such desperation that death was close to hand. "There is nothing cowardice about leaving Prosaic. There is nothing here for us, and you spoke of building things for her," the ambiguous female still a mystery to Myra, "and how can you build and help anyone if you are behind bars or in a grave? Leaving Prosaic is wise." She walked over to him, allowing inches between them as she put her hands to his chest, brushing away phantom specks of dust in hopes of reviving Ezekiel to the dignified Saylor he was.

"The sooner we leave, the sooner we can keep everyone safe."

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#Some heartbreak hotel for Andy

Artist: The Smiths Song: Asleep

Infinite Night | Myra and Lucas

lucas-saylor

The Saylors were, if you thought about it, peculiarly fond of language and speeches before action of any kind, and if these were designed to be like a punch to the gut, a short strike up under his ribs that left aching muscles and a possible impression of a fist behind, they were just a bit off the mark. A flick to the ear, more like, and that solely by virtue of Myra’s usual demeanor towards him. Less patience this time. Blame it on the stress of the last while, maybe.

There was a reply on Lucas’ tongue, quick, malicious, already built on a foundation of cold bitterness with a hint of arch supremacy. Something about how he was better in terms of protecting than she gave him credit for - better than if the situation had been reversed, at least. Because after all, he reasoned, if nothing else, he’d been able to protect himself from a bastard kid, and that put him head and shoulders above his cousin. So she probably wasn’t one to talk, not really.

But he bit back the line with well-practiced ease accompanied by a silent reminder that not only was Myra his ally in the family (at least sometimes), they were stuck together for a while longer. It would behoove him to broker peace for the next few hours, if only by holding his goddamned tongue. Fortunately, she seemed of like mind and invited him in (sort of), if only so that they could both look as though they were set to task.

“Sounds like a plan.” He couldn’t say he really appreciated being sent off upstairs like a child who hadn’t napped in the car on the way to a family dinner, but if the other option was trading casual barbs through a smile sharpened to daggerpoint, he’d rather make himself scarce. “Thanks.” Not that he wouldn’t come out on top of an exchange like that; he had the practice and the lack of conscience and more ability to hit home than people gave him credit for.

Lucas could put on a smile that was close enough to real to be passing, though, and pad up the stairs on feet that kept to a necessary quiet through childhood practice. Out of sight, out of mind, and if he poked through rooms in a combination of nosiness and boredom… well. There was always worse.

#Go Tony Go!#God. This is happening so fast #Deep breaths Riss #Deep breaths #Lucas2 #also #curiosity killed the cat

Lucas took her orders like an obedient child, a dash of irritation certainly, but he followed suit. An awkward silence fell between the two cousins for a brief moment before Lucas gave an obligatory remark of gratitude and turned on his heel to head up the stairs. She watched him as far as her vision allowed, slightly amazed at how silent he could be while his sturdy frame climbed--like a cat or some other animal that harbored much more wit than Lucas.

The moment Lucas was out of sight, Myra allowed herself to breathe, to bite her lip, to cry just a few tears, to in all reality breakdown as silently as she could; right on the sofa. She had to keep quiet, her hands desperately clamped over mouth to prevent the sound of sobs and harsh breathing, because if Lucas came back down those stairs--out of worry, obligation or simple wonderment--Myra may have actually confessed this to him. In such a desperate frame of mind, what other option did Myra have but to finally blurt out a fear turned reality that she'd been harboring for nearly three weeks now? The first person to even show the slightest hint of interest in Myra's plight would more than likely be the one to whom Myra told this dirty secret to.

Instinctually, one hand gently fell to her flat abdomen and caressed it. Inside of her, just the size of a pea, a child was growing and developing and would one day be hers. A second chance, laced with reminders past sins, but a second chance no less... The tears stopped and Myra looked to her hand and stomach and child, a miracle working inside of her body that had the chance to bring forth war or a truce, depending on the delicacy with which this situation was handled.

Perhaps exhaustion, or maybe even the smallest and naivest bit of joy, finally forced Myra to remain calm. Ezekiel had plans, he wanted the family to start anew. If she told Ezekiel of the child before they left, while they were still rotting in Prosaic, the child would simply be part of the fresh start.

Myra took a deep breath and looked around her house, the house Ezekiel had bought for her to cloak other crimes, and felt no remorse at the idea of leaving it behind; of leaving this place behind. Her eyes trailed to the staircase and Myra felt a twinge of guilt at the way she'd treated Lucas. Despite his flaws and ever present snark, he was a Saylor and a decent cousin. With still shaky legs Myra stood from the couch and wiped her tears away, doing her best to compose herself before heading up those stairs to apologize.

Just as her hand touched the banister a soft knock came from the front door. Confusion was Myra's first reaction, before curiosity gave way and she greeted her final guest.

Myra and Loretta.

#Trying to get a picture of these two is insanely difficult #the fuck guys?

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Tami Taylor + Hair Porn (asked by asharas)

No Harm, No Foul. Just Family | Myra and Ezekiel

” I once remunerated to you about my passions to upholding that for which I have so built. That my constituents of memory surround me and allow me my affections for blood and harm. That I would never give up that for which has become an extension of myself, my grief and my countenance. I have bought us time, just enough to save breath and recover. Take the route of shaved bullet and mow down the armies that amass.Ranking centurions that have now eaten every inch of our labs, that scourge the country side looking for more. The supplies gone, the connections beginning to travel along the red string on a bulletin board that has my photograph. All of ours.”

Pulling the gun closer to himself Ezekiel lifted it up, roped his hand around the hilt, the index to the trigger. Let the balance play on his wrist as it docked from side to side. A ship among the green froth and floating pollen in perfect torential ripple.The barrel of the gun propped against the line of his nose bridge and forehead, he leaned into it. Let the slide of the line play against his skin. Sinking into the black and the metal as he filed it in a upwards motion, The 45 now propped into the air, the forehead laid across the sleeves of raw cotton shirt. The single finger twitching pulling back the trigger as far as it could go before hitting that dangerous resistance. Hit the pin, and had the gunpowder explode.

“Had it not been for adjacent events that I have kept in quiet corridors, I would have considered the wail and the fleeing of Prosaic the cowards travel. For I know if I think hard enough, use all the wiles that I know I have the capability to call on I may be victorious, so that no enemies shall inherit this. The unbelieving the vile and the murderers for whom I share my sins with- for we shall all be consigned to the burning sulphur. This would have been my secondary death after Anna, if not…if not for those that may just forgive me.”

#idek #love you though #Ezekiel11 #Heartbreak Hotel

A reminder of Ezekiel's previous confession was unneeded. Myra's mind, though she worked to move past and see past, often found his love of blood a thought she could not shake. She accepted him as he was, because he was the one who had saved her, but she knew a better Ezekiel was hidden within. The mention of pictures though, that struck a chord with Myra and she could not help but scrunch her face in confusion. The police were involved? Ezekiel's empire was actually being compromised...

When Ezekiel picked up the gun, tossing the heavy metal from side to side as it neared his face, Myra felt that comfort slowly leave her as ice cold water began filling her veins. She didn't know if the gun was loaded, but she knew Ezekiel--despite his calculated mind--could find a strange rationality in suicide. A peace, a clarity and perhaps even a strange salvation. And as these thoughts whirled in Myra's mind, Ezekiel's speech didn't help to relax her nerves. His empire's impending doom... his only physical manifestation that he had done something with his life after his wife.

"Ezekiel..." Softly spoken, as if a sacred plea for him to put down his gun--his empire--and embrace the life that sat before him; take the option he had so blindly surpassed.

The mountain of words continued, meaning hidden inside his poetic prose. A small amount of fight, a large desire for revenge and conquest. Ezekiel did not want to yield, he did not want to have to admit perceived weakness. But that fight would become a sacrifice and Myra had seen him a willing participant for that before.

"We're all here, Ezekiel, and we'll be here," she said slowly, eyeing the weapon before bringing her eyes to his, "but we need you too."

No Harm, No Foul. Just Family | Myra and Ezekiel

The loom, the corrupt little singing bell that chimed throughout the room like a tinnitus unavoidable had Ezekiel bowing. Looking to the hand that was there for support and reserve, massage gently as only Anna would have done years ago in times of palpitated distress.

Letting her hold her place over him, the silken moisturizer that smelled of day lilies or violets the cloud of perfume that keep him secured in the moment as he lifted slightly. The plate of the rolling joints and veins sliding out from underneath her, fingers curling inward slightly. Taking the corner of the Holy scripture’s binding he slip the book over to the left, it’s pages unfurling to travel the black metal underneath. The instrument of plate and charge and demoralization, of fire, a prescription to passage to a world beyond. It’s openness now evident to the world, the room for which so much abuse and violence had partake. The upbringing, the conduct of the family for generations all being piped through the chamber of this particular weapon. Rising up to meet the eyes of Myra, scan her features, look to her in a solid connection of frank storm. The grind of his teeth seen as if transparent as his mandible. A thousand red filaments connected together by proteins and membranes twitching below the epidermal. A housing of insects swarming as if to take over a feast of corpse and tear it into its base makeup. The corneas rotating wildly with a blackened brew of anger and appeasement to inner vortex of final vengeance and a twinge of fear. The greens of the iris glazing over in bloodlust. An animal trapped and ready to strike out at anything that approach his marked territory. “it’s all going to come down. Then it shall be, because he hath sinned, and is guilty, that he shall restore that which he took violently away, or the thing which he hath deceitfully gotten. For it is all I have left, this sovereignty I have formed by mine own hand. For I feel this is the only way left to protect it.”

#Heartbreak Hotel #Ezekiel11

Ezekiel took his hand from hers, leaving hers to fall to the table. The softest thud echoed throughout the room and Myra clenched her jaw, worried that the loss of contact would result in a loss of reality. She brought the lonely hand to her lap. She brought her hands together there, intertwining them in a thoughtless prayer. The Bible that Ezekiel had been staring at was now pushed aside, only to reveal a gun. The thick piece of metal, death objectified in a handheld form, stared at Myra coldly.

No fear ran through her, not even surprise. A strange sense of calm had taken over instead; a realization of responsibility. Silence filled the small kitchen for seconds, maybe minutes. This wasn't about time though, this was about the moment the two cousins sat in: excluded and alone. She kept her eyes on the gun until she felt Ezekiel's slide onto her.

She brought her eyes to meet his, keeping the same steady gaze while Ezekiel's facial expression quickly twisted into a terrifying grimace. Her heart skipped a beat for a moment, but that calm came back to her--a celestial hand gently comforting her.

The opening of Ezekiel's speech was painful to hear, the anger and loss so evident in his voice and language that Myra's heart broke. He was being forced into a corner by shadows that he himself produced.

When Ezekiel's confession of defeat rang clear, Myra simply shook her head. The softest disagreement for one of the largest arguments Myra would face. She smiled softly, reassuring Ezekiel that a form of light always existed, before clearing her face of emotion and turning back to the gun. She bit her lip a moment, contemplating just what that man made bringer of Hell meant. She unfolded her hands in her lap and lightly cracked the knuckles of one hand, attempting to release the stress that lived in her joints, and finally pushed the gun away. "It's not the only way, Ezekiel."

Title: She Loves Me Like Jesus Artist: Eric Church

#no mp3 on tumblr #so youtube it is!#for Zeke #obvs

Infinite Night | Myra and Lucas

lucas-saylor

Ezekiel’s paranoia hadn’t seemed to affect the rest of the family, at least in that they hadn’t taken on much in the way of new security measures. No let’s-wear-kevlar-everywhere-we-go, no let’s-lock-ourselves-away-until-the-danger’s-passed (as the Diablos were wont to do, as they’d learned months ago), no extra precautions that could have been read as The Saylor Are Worried For Their Collective Lives. In a way, that kind of show - the one they were avoiding - was as much losing as it was winning. It showed that people had the ability to get under their skins, make them concerned and rob them of sleep. It revealed a weakness- possibly a well-founded one, but a weakness nonetheless.

There’d at least been some entertainment value in the last round of pin a bodyguard on a Saylor, as Lucas had discovered in finding out just how long it took to really piss off Crusher. Unfortunately, the man seemed to have made himself scarce, and making runway dog jokes (complete with offers for ‘if found, please contact’ posters hung around Prosaic) was most likely going to get him punched in the face. Again. And that had really been enough of an experience the first time, leaving the man with no desire to repeat it.

But aside from stealing a target for snark and some truly irritating behavior, it also meant that a hole had been left. And that Lucas, as the Saylor with the least to do at the moment aside from not giving his brother’s fist reasons to make better friends with his face, got to play cork-stopper. Which put him outside his cousin’s house, finger pressing against the doorbell and knowing the resulting chime inside the walls.

Myra, usually so put-together and polished, answered the door looking like a wreck. Eyes that showed little evidence of sleep, exhaustion and stress written into the lines of her face, an expression of such… displeasure? anger? discontent? of something less than pleased that added years to her overall appearance. It was half surprise and half concern that stopped the words in his throat, as though someone had plugged a cork in the back of his mouth to keep speech from making its way across his tongue.

The snapped word, its own sentence, had him blinking, looking a bit hurt, drawing back a step. He hadn’t expected a blunt verbal attack, not from Myra, of all people. Well, not so much an attack with a weapon as being whacked in the face with a shield (which fit better, with language utilized for both offense and defense), but either way it was unexpected and stung. So maybe more like being hit in the face with a fish. Cold, raw, and horrifyingly unexpected.

Yes, fish worked better.

“Ezekiel sent me over…?” Lucas trailed off, his voice lilting up and turning the statement into a question. “With the threats and stuff, I’m supposed to be ‘round to keep an eye on you. Take a bullet to prove how good a guard dog I am,” he added, attempting some small modicum of humor to test the waters and see if the twenty-five foot shark jumped out and bit him, “and all that stuff.” His hands slid into his pockets, shoulders hunching slightly as though he was expecting one of them to ward off an oncoming blow. A habitually defensive posture that would likely do little in the event of an attack, but he wasn’t sure he’d realized what he was doing.

There was something a little bit wary in his tone when he tacked a, “Bit hard from out here, though. Mind if I come in?” on the end. It wasn’t the most polite (edged in on inviting himself into the house and downright rude, in fact), but manners had only occasionally factored into family interaction recently.

Lucas's words barely registered with Myra; the puppy dog face he wore usually a factor of charm just seemed to irritate her. The blood pounding in her ears made any other sound difficult to decipher and Lucas's mumblings were akin to a high pitched ringtone at this point--Myra was certain she could make it out if only she concentrated enough.

"Lucas, you can barely protect yourself from an STD, why would he send you over here to protect another human from some phantom threat?" The words fell before she could stop herself, a spiteful question that Myra didn't let Lucas answer, "Nevermind."

She turned her head slightly to look inside when Lucas attempted to invite himself in, any sign of Jebediah hidden away in his still humble room. The door to his room was tightly closed, Myra knew, as well as the door already disguised as a closet next to the kitchen. Lucas would have no reason to even think about finding the little room tucked away in Myra's house.

The quick glance was half to analyze her mess and half to see if anything that could be remotely incriminating rest on her couch or coffee table. Not finding anything she turned back to Lucas, unaware if he had said anything else. She pulled the door open completely, "We don't need to piss Ezekiel off right now and I wouldn't be surprised if he also decided to stop by and make sure you and I were playing our parts." Her welcome was far from pleasant and she'd apologize to him when the truth of her ordeal came out, but until then... Lucas had a childhood with Gideon--Myra's words weren't going to kill him.

"Tell ya what," she continued, "you can make yourself busy somewhere upstairs and I'll stay here. Around 8 I'll make dinner."

#Mean Myra #Lucas2

Fucking. Ledgerwood.

I was her own. I am.

I wouldn’t be me. If you had changed your mind or never thought about it in the first place, I would be some other girl.

#awe Blair's a mini Myra then!

Of course.

Your mother did a perfect job of raising you. You are everything any mother could hope for.

Fucking. Ledgerwood.

You didn’t. You didn’t hurt me, you just dumped me off. I mean it was for the best, right? That you gave up your own kid?

#You think Blair's awful?#From the bits I've seen #she's just this tragic little thing #and sue me for all the beautifuls #other synonyms sound weird

I told myself it was...

But I don't know. I mean, you did grow up beautifully. You are this strong, smart, and beautiful young woman now. I know I don't have a right, but I am proud of you. And my Aunt Leah did that. She raised you like her own and I'll be eternally grateful to her for that--as well as Ezekiel for keeping his ever watchful eye on you.

But... there are many nights I wish I'd had the courage to be a mother.

Fucking. Ledgerwood.

Then why the hell did you?