The Bowery Presents
occasionally subtle
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
roma★
Cosimo Galluzzi
The Bright Sessions
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bliss lane
Phantogram Three
Claire Keane
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
The Stonewall Inn
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
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Product Placement
NASA
tumblr dot com
Fieri Frames
Origami Around
seen from United States
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seen from Malaysia
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seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
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@rowanduvalmg-blog
“Would you mind moving? You’re blocking the light.”
“I usually am, aren’t I?” Rowan replied, but he stepped to the side obligingly. “Sorry, was only trying to see what you were drawing. I haven’t seen you out in the woods sketching the trees in a while, you know.”
For the first time in a long time, he didn’t call for a ride. He just stumbled his way through town, leaning on buildings every now and again. Alcohol streamed through him, causing him to slur his words to anyone who passed by. And the weed had his muscles loose and relaxed. It was really the only way he could attempt to sleep anymore, the infusion of the two. However, as he stumbled on, he finally lost his balance and wound up sitting with his back to the wall, rubbing his face. When someone approached, he held his hands up. “I’m fine, ’M fine…. Fucks sake, I just… No idea where the fucking wall went.”
“Right. You sure seem fine,” Rowan muttered. He bent at the knee so he was eye level with the other man. “Normally I wouldn’t intervene here, but, well, I kinda hate seeing people wake up in pools of vomit in back alleys, so - uh, any chance you remember what general direction your house is from here? The wall’s right behind you, by the way.”
recreatethemagic:
Showdown [Joe moments]
spencercaine:
With a final glance around for his absent siblings, Spencer took a seat at the table across from him. It was empty except for them; apparently, everyone else was enjoying their beer to-go. “Yeah alright, sounds good. I’ll try not to set anything on fire,” he chuckled. He’d never actually cooked any fish, since no one in their right mind would let him go near a stove. It seemed like a good skill to have, to know the process from start to finish. “Nah, that’s okay. Probably one of us should stay sober, just to be safe.”
“What do you mean, ‘one of us stay sober’?” Rowan asked, putting the mug down and furrowing his brow in genuine confusion. “Not drunk, I’m not, I’ve just drank a little. Are - are you worried I’m going to drive? I know you’re not s’posed to drive after you drink. So now’s not a good time for another driving lesson, if that’s what you’re asking... I finished the beer,” he added sadly, turning the empty mug over. “I should get another one. I’m thirsty.”
josephgetyourfeetoffthetable:
Little Joe Cartwright: 4/?
spencercaine:
“That’s usually how beer goes.” He chuckled. The more you drank, the less you cared how it tasted. “Cooking, I think it was.” He nodded. He wouldn’t have been opposed to fishing either, but he already knew how to do that. As far as Rowan owing him, they could agree to disagree on that point. “No rush. Now’s probably not a good time,” he agreed. Spencer didn’t need alcohol to be a disaster in the kitchen, but he couldn’t imagine that it helped. Be a shame to start the guy’s cabin on fire after he’d gone to all the trouble to rebuild it.
“Was it? Cooking? Cooking, fishing... oh! I know!” He slammed his palm against the rickety picnic table hard enough to send droplets of beer flying over the rim of his mug. “We catch fish, and then - and then we cook the fish.” He nodded enthusiastically before taking another gulp of his beer and continuing. “See, that’s - that’s good for cooking, to know where your food comes from. And fish, see - you can catch them, and then cook them. You cook the fish you catch, you see? You should get a beer. They’re good.”
smoke & retribution | salinger + rowan
gail-interrupted:
salingerisaghost:
Still his question received no answer. The ambulance, however, wouldn’t be called. She at least affirmed this. “I’m not going anywhere.” He snapped, his arms jutting out from his sides. “I’ll clean this up.” He was resolute & taking a step towards Rowan, but Gail was smart enough to move between the two men. He paused, working over the idea of moving Gail out of the way but figured it a mistake on his part. Too fragile to be physical with, he only moved when she repeated her plead.
He disappeared as Rowan blearily began to try to get to his feet. He would’ve called it a useless task had he been willing to speak. Instead, he rounded the corner to the hall & flipped the switch in the bathroom. Some good a roll of gauze would do a punctured lung. Maybe sticking a Band-Aid on his throat would serve Rowan’s esophagus well. Perhaps a dab of disinfectant would prolong the cowboy’s life. These thoughts passed through his mind in less time than it takes to tell them. Regardless of his sentiment, or lack-there-of, Salinger grabbed the kit, catching a sideways glance of himself in the mirror over the sink. Dark shadows under his eyes were only left looking more hideous by the flecks of blood that had gotten so close to his irises. Rowan’s life was streaked across his mouth & the front of his linen shirt. He didn’t have to look at his hands to know that the evidence was there too. He sneered & hit the lights.
“Here.” It was a terrible toneless incantation. He held the first aid kit out unceremoniously to his left, a subtle rouse. He was dropping the kit even before Gail might’ve had a grip on it, all he needed was for her to turn to reach for it so that he could act on the severe thought he’d had on his way back. She’d been trying & trying to push Rowan up the wall, but Salinger carried him the rest of the way, grabbing the man by his shirt & dragging him up the wall the rest of the way. His fingers hatefully coiled into the fabric of Rowan’s shirt he leaned close, working to keep the other man upright. “Standup you stupid son of a bitch.” His instructions were given icily, but more quietly he’d added: “I’ll kill you right here.” The voice that had spoken those words had no more human quality than a dog’s bark. It would’ve certainly made things easier.
Between the bathroom & the living room, Salinger had cracked the tin first aid box open & grabbed the only bottle inside. He’d slowed his walk, sure that Gail would still be trying to force Rowan upright without much assistance. Amoply Inhalant. Not bothering to look for an expiration date, he’d scanned the back for usage. Regardless, the foreboding brown bottle appeared to be the only possible lethal measure in the box. Conversely, ammonia prevented another bout of unconsciousness. What it could do in a high capacity hadn’t been listed in neat print on the back of the bottle unlike the rightful purpose.
Fishing his hand into the inside of his jacket, the lid toppled to the ground as he procured the tiny package, having decided not to wait for Gail to decide whether or not she would hand him what he needed. Eyes back to rowan, Salinger held it in front of the other man’s eyes. “You’re going to take as deep a breath as you can.” He was aware that the he was the last person Rowan would ever trust. “If you don’t, you’re going to black out again.” It was all he could offer in way of explanation before he was snapping his fingers together to break the seal under Rowan’s nose. Whether or not he inhaled was of his own volition, much like Salinger’s current choice of deciding if he should leave it at one or force Rowan another four to ensure that if Rowan did close his eyes, it’d be for the last time.
She flinched.
A thrill of panic produced an involuntary action in the form of her shoulders tensing, half a step taken backward; Salinger raised his voice, and Gail began to lift her hands as if expecting the worst. The events of the day had been too much. Arriving at the graveyard to find Henry was one thing, but coming home immediately to find her home and its inhabitants smeared with blood was another. This wasn’t how things were supposed to be, yet grisly scenes had become all too commonplace since she had coupled herself with Gabriel Salinger. Gail faltered, momentarily considering that her decision may not have been the wisest.
The thought was easy enough to push away, especially with Rowan bleeding on her walls and carpet, but the impression stuck. Gail screwed her eyes shut, sucked in a breath and waved Salinger off. ❝Just go – - go get the first aid kit or something.❞
When he disappeared, she pressed the heels of her hands to her eye sockets and desperately willed herself to be strong for just a few more minutes. Just long enough to get Rowan to the couch and figure out a course of action. It was becoming incredibly apparent that there was a good chance of Rowan dying in her home, and then… Christ, what then? Would he return? Would he be gone for good? Gail has never considered the possibility that Salinger would actually kill the poor man, but he wasn’t looking great and Gail was certainly no doctor. Actually, there was only one man she knew that might possess any sort of practical medical skill; he wasn’t an option. Gail wouldn’t seek out someone she had run from just before returning to her home. No situation was that dire, and so she was left with the reality of moving Rowan to a more comfortable position.
Despite no clear answer being given, Rowan apparently possessed the ability to stand – - or to do half the work while Gail made an honest attempt at propping him up. The noise he made was heart-wrenching, but he couldn’t be left on the ground forever. Gail didn’t think twice before she was helping him to his feet. ❝We just need to get you somewhere you can lie down, alright?❞ But it was suddenly seeming as if keeping him on the floor was a better idea. His gasping and fading consciousness weren’t exactly positive indicators of Gail making the correct decision, but there was no time to explore other alternatives with Salinger reappearing in the living room.
Foolishly, she trusted Salinger to show some small amount of empathy. She reached out when he lifted the first aid kid, though not fast enough to catch the tin before it hit the ground. The latch popped open, scattering the contents of the kit across the floor, leaving Gail scrambling with Rowan. In a moment of stupidity, she assumed Salinger was meaning to help her with the herculean task of moving Rowan from point A to point B; Gail loosed her grip on Rowan and took to picking bandages, gauze and antiseptic off the floor while Salinger threatened Rowan. The tone itself was enough to give the poor girl pause, but the instructions sent her into a panic.
“You’re going to take as deep a breath as you can.”
In an instant, Gail was sent reeling, dropping whatever was in her hands in order to search for a little container that should’ve been thrown out years ago. Everything seemed to be in order, except something was missing – - something that seemed inconsequential and harmless enough, unless in Salinger’s hands.
“If you don’t, you’re going to black out again.”
Dark hues traveled the length of Salinger, resting on whatever object was in his hand. The confirmation that he held amoply inhalant to Rowan’s nose was bad enough, but the immediate feeling of helplessness was worse. The tears began again, this time on the account of Gail’s revelation that no amount of being strong could fix the mess Salinger and Rowan had made. ❝Salinger, stop it!❞ Her voice was tight, made more pathetic by the fact that she was on her knees trying to clean up another mess he had created. ❝Haven’t you done enough to him? You’ve almost killed him, Salinger!❞ She reached out to him, fingertips brisking the hem of his pants as if grabbing his attention could stop him from doing whatever the hell he wanted. ❝Just take him to the couch or one of the bedrooms or something. Please. Please. Don’t make this harder for me than it already is.❞
As much as his body seemed to be furiously cursing at him for trying to keep his feet rather than go back to lying prone on the floor - a position that was painful anyhow but, now that he was standing and trying to move, seemed positively heavenly in comparison - he stuck with it, letting Gail’s grip on his torso guide him upright. Surely she could tell that he was exhausted; the saltiness of sweat had joined with the metallic blood dripping into his eyes, which he could hardly keep open, and she was clearly doing the majority of the work in keeping him upright.
Somewhere in a fuzzy part of his mind, he decided this was one area where he actually had a leg up on Salinger for Gail’s affections: he was easier to carry. What an advantage.
Speak of the devil, right after Rowan noticed that he was no longer with them in the foyer and started to think Gail had sent him away, the other man was back, and suddenly he was being held upright against the wall not by Gail’s uncertain hands but by Salinger’s rough ones. Almost unconsciously he started to try pulling away, an action that seemed even more reasonable after the threat Salinger hissed into his ear, closely enough to him that even in his state he could understand it with perfect clarity.
And after hearing the words, “I’ll kill you right here,” inhaling whatever it was that was being pressed to his face by the voice’s owner sounded like a guarantee that the threat would come to fruition. He began to struggle anew, trying in vain to jerk his head out from Salinger’s grip. He heard Gail shouting something in the distance, and wasn’t entirely sure which of the two men she was yelling at. Still, he was too exhausted at this point to fight the body’s instincts, and eventually he simply had to take a breath. He gasped and his eyes started to water as his lungs started pumping powerfully after he inhaled whatever it was Salinger had given him, and he strained to double over as he started to cough, but to his surprise it seemed Salinger had actually not been aiming to kill him; in any case, he didn’t feel quite as much like he was about to faint.
misslittlejoe:
#InternationalCatDay
Spencer was scanning the crowd for one of his siblings. He didn’t really approve of the Festival of Lights since it seemed less like a tribute to the dead than an excuse for partying, but he always seemed to end up going anyway. In any case, he kept his feelings about it to himself, since he wasn’t going to do anything about it. Still, thoughts of the dead crowded him more than usual while he stood there. It had been a little over two years since his cousin, Jake, died in the Errondale barn fire. It was only slightly easier to stand there among the happy crowd without hating them this year.
He let out a slow breath, realizing he’d been staring for several long moments at a face he recognized. He hadn’t seen much of Rowan since their driving lessons, and the guy was looking a little worse for wear. He smiled, which was kind of rare for Spencer, but it was good to see a friendly face, even if that face was three sheets to the wind. “I didn’t ask,” he said diplomatically. It was certainly none of his business if he was. “You look like you’re enjoying yourself.” He didn’t, exactly. He couldn’t quite put his finger on why, but even Spencer wasn’t rude enough to say you look like hell. He was honest, not an asshole.
“Spencer!” Rowan said by way of greeting, lifting the hand that wasn’t wrapped around the handle of a frothing mug. “Yeah, yeah, I’m - ” He frowned. It would be far from the truth to say he was enjoying the festival - enduring it, more like - but he wasn’t in the mood to go into a diatribe against the event right now, so instead he finished the sentence with, “Well, the beer’s good. First one wasn’t, actually, but I think they’re getting better at brewing them. This one’s nice.” He took another swig before continuing, “Hey, I never - I was gonna teach you how to fish, wasn’t I? Because you showed me how to, uh, drive? We need to do that. I owe you. But we can’t right now,” he added sadly after glancing up toward the sky. “It’s dark.”
It probably had been a mistake to come to the Festival of Lights. Even on his better days he never liked the crowds and noise and brightness of events like this, let alone after he’d been holing himself up in solitude for days with his own thoughts. By this point he had just about finished recovering physically from his encounter with Salinger, but mentally...
Well, he’d barely spoken a word since he’d gotten there and he jumped every time someone bumped into him, expecting an attack. In other words, he was improving.
But he knew he couldn’t hide out forever, and at least he’d found a stand that sold Oktoberfest-style mugs of beer, which helped, especially the more of them he drank. As he finished downing his third mug and moved onto his fourth, he noticed someone looking his way. “’m not drunk,” he announced in response to a question that hadn’t been asked.
smoke & retribution | salinger + rowan
salingerisaghost:
“What have you done?”
It felt very much like a dream, drifting through a fog as Gail slipped through his hands like smoke. In reality, she’d torn away from his grip. He’d wanted to hold her. To ground her. But he’d forgotten the landscape he’d painted for her. So she wrenched away & Salinger stood, his eyes very serious as he looked where she’d once been even as she ran to Rowan’s aid.
“What have you done?”
He heard it behind him & knew she was next to him. What did she expect of him? Had she really not thought that one day, one day very soon, he’d exact some sort of revenge on the worthless heap she now cradled. He blinked & imagined her ear very close to Rowan’s lips. How could she possibly still sympathize? He blinked again, imagining her fingers splayed across Rowan’s wrist, searching desperately for a pulse. How could she possibly still care? He could feel something more than pique for her, he could feel something black that bordered on hate. – The look on her face before she’d torn away from him still haunted him. She’d been tragic a fleeting second before she’d looked at him like he was the worst thing she’d ever had the displeasure of coming across. The way he felt every moment except for when he was in her presence. Did she think she’d domesticated the hate out of him? Did she think that he was left in cold storage before she came back here? That he now came wrapped in a cellophane bag, like a motel drinking glass? No, that look, he supposed, said not anymore.
“What did you do?”
Salinger’s back was still to the two of them. He was wrenched somewhere between his displeasure & the agonizing worry over Gail’s traumatized appearance. The repetition of her questions accused & accused him of being the only monster in the room. & she’d said it with such absolute, convinced certainty that for a moment Salinger was tempted to believe her. Salinger’s dark glare was cast at the door but he turned on them instead, right as Rowan pleaded for Gail to stop. Yes, please stop. Please stop pretending that Rowan meant a thing to anyone.
Just as he’d imagined it, Gail kneeled beside him. Rowan, however, was fighting her off as best he could, given his current state. “He’ll live.” Salinger’s words hung heavily in the air. Nothing remotely mild shown on his face. He looked at both of them darkly from under his brow. “I can call an ambulance for him or you can tell me what happened to you.” Salinger’s ultimatum came with the dawning realization that he would pay for this. Police would be involved if the paramedics were. If he’d just stop breathing though… well no one was going to miss a ghost, but they’d ask questions about a still breathing body beat to hell. This was not Salinger’s concern, however. He’d dialed in on Gail, looking at her now like one might look at a corpse in a casket. Far away.
Much like Alice tumbling down the rabbit hole, Gail felt as though she entered some alternate reality as soon as she emerged from the woods and cut a path to her home. Henry Carlyle had knocked her off her axis in what had only been the beginning of a series of tragedies. This wasn’t how her afterlife was supposed to be – - what started as a second chance now evolved into something a little less kind and a lot more disappointing. Instead of kneeling by Rowan’s bloodied frame, Gail should’ve been begging Salinger to do something about a man who was a very real threat to her well-being. Instead, she was cleaning up a mess that she had no hand in creating. Bloodied and panicked, she removed her hand from Rowan as soon as a command was issued. If he had the strength to speak, surely he would be fine.
“I can call an ambulance for him or you can tell me what happened to you.”
If it was an ultimatum, she wouldn’t hear it, but Gail did suddenly become painfully aware of her appearance in that moment. Her hand flew to her face, an effort to wipe away remnants of blood and tears while she spoke, ❝No, Salinger, you can’t call an ambulance. What would we tell ‘em? ‘Oh sorry, you can’t find him in your fancy computer there. He’s dead!’ That’d be just great, wouldn’t it?❞ It was the same reason she couldn’t take Salinger to a hospital when she found his collarbone broken nearly a year before, which served as a reminder of why she had likely found the two men in this predicament at all.
❝What’re we gonna do with him!?❞ Frustrated tears continued to fall, though Gail stood and searched the room. ❝God– -❞ Breathless, she clawed her hands through her hair like the movement on her scalp might encourage her mind to formulate some kind of plan. ❝What do we do? What do I do?❞ If her voice cracking wasn’t enough of a sign, the hyperventilating should’ve done more than enough to give away the fact that she was losing her grip on the situation. This was never what she had wanted – - things were supposed to be easier than this.
It was by complete accident that she had noticed the look Salinger was given her, one that was familiar in the worst possible way. Cold, distant, detached – - if she’d been afraid before, she was certainly terrified after meeting those whiskey-colored hues. Rather than stop herself, she sputtered the first words that came to mind: ❝Don’t leave.❞ A fraction of a second passed in which it appeared that she might take her words back, but Gail stuck to her guns and reiterate the command, ❝Don’t you dare leave me. You made this mess, and you’re gonna have to help me clean it up.❞ Which is exactly what she intended to do.
Smarter than to let Salinger anywhere near Rowan, Gail took a knee and tried her best to look him over. ❝Rowan, can you stand?❞ Stupid question. She couldn’t get that lucky. ❝I’m gonna need your help, okay?❞ Not that he seemed to be doing much good on the floor, but Gail tried her best to pull him up as she issued yet another command to Salinger. ❝Go get the first-aid kit in the bathroom. Please – - please.❞
He still wasn’t nearly lucid enough to follow what all was going on between Gail and Salinger, but at the attention momentarily seemed to be off of him, which he appreciated, both because this meant he was being neither shaken nor strangled, and because he frankly was starting to get awfully sick of being yelled at, especially when his head was aching as badly as it was and he really could barely understand what was being shouted anyway.
Gail hadn’t, though, risen from where she knelt next to him, and that distance he could make out her face pretty clearly even in spite of the fog when she turned back from Salinger to face him. He was right - there was blood on her, and dirt, but the blood didn’t look fresh, at least not enough that it could have gotten on her only after entering the house. Something had happened, though, what, he couldn’t hazard a guess. It had made her cry, whatever it was, if the tear streaks across her cheeks were anything to go by. Then again, her eyes still seemed to be watering...
For half an instant, Rowan had the fleeting thought that perhaps maybe one positive had come of this bloody mess of an afternoon, that maybe she was upset at seeing him in this state, but reason sluggishly overruled that notion. Salinger hadn’t been blowing steam; Gail didn’t give a sliver of a damn about him. If she was still upset enough to be tearful, then it was out of anger, or due to whatever had happened before Gail had come upon the scene, or due to the mess. Or perhaps she’d noticed bruises coming on from what few blows Rowan had managed to land on Salinger in their row. Frankly, he was pretty certain that if he was lying dead on her threshold and Salinger had a splinter in his finger, she’d still make the latter her first priority.
“Rowan can you stand?” She didn’t seem to actually be expecting any answer to the question, as she was reaching down to help him up anyway. It was just as well; he didn’t have the energy to answer, and if he had, he was certain that he would do so by spitting sarcasm. Can I stand? Well, my head’s caving in, I’ve been stabbed, and I believe at least two of my ribs have gone all the way through my lungs, but sure, I’d love to stand. In fact, I think I’d fancy a jog around the block, wouldn’t you?
Gail was asking something else now, but at this point Rowan had stopped bothering trying to pay attention to what was going on, and was letting his eyes shut. He’d already said, after all, that he’d wanted to rest, and didn’t seem fair of Gail not to let him, which she did again as she suddenly had her hands on his side and shoulder, trying to help him to his feet. He let out some sound halfway between a scream and a gasp and the movement, nearly blacking out again, before he bit down on his tongue in an attempt to quiet himself as he did what little he could to find a foothold so that Gail didn’t have to simply drag him.
smoke & retribution | salinger + rowan
salingerisaghost:
A pounding at Gail’s front door registered somewhere behind the rage & bloodlust crowding his head. His name followed & he was forced to acknowledge the fact that Rowan & himself were no longer the only two on the axis. The world, in fact, still spun triumphantly on - even as Salinger tried to soak up the seconds selfishly with his forearm crushing Rowan’s windpipe. He’d have his pound of flesh & to deter him would be a useless task.
Save anyone but Gail Rogers.
Goddammit, he thought, the word punctuated like a hiss in his head, but as his eyes caught sight of her the vitriol drained from him as if a plug had been pulled at his feet.
Warring emotions crossed his face with kaleidoscopic swiftness. Her fingers were caked in dirt. It was the first thing he noticed beyond the terrible look on her face. Arbitrary but confusing. Still leaning against his opponent, her state baffled him. Broken & desperate & yet the sole instigator was already in his clutches. How the hell? His eyes flashed accusingly to Rowan. If not him then who? There was no why or how; only who? His eyes ran back to Gail. Caked in blood. Tributaries of tears cutting down her face. He felt his heart crawl up into his throat. A sudden urge to run to her filled him. But Gail’s name on Rowan’s lips bolted him to the floor. “Godammit!” He shoved Rowan’s larynx. His stammering was maddening alone, but given the situation, Salinger’s left hand had moved to close against his throat. Rowan, however, appeared to be fading fast. Sharp as a knife, his attention cut away from Rowan. His control wavered & he let him go. The choice to move towards Gail was the only one to make.
For the first time in a long time, panic shimmered on Salinger’s features. He moved slowly, but his eyes were wide, taking in every inch of Gail’s visage. “What happened? Who did this to you?” The questions rushed together despite his efforts to bring some level of steadfastness to his voice.
When he was within arms reach, he reached for either of Gail’s arms. “Are you okay?” His voice was barely above a whisper, the man behind him a distant memory as he made to draw Gail into his arms. Targets shifted behind his eyes, but he couldn’t designate an ounce of attention to any person beyond Gail. Right in front of him: a catastrophic concoction of mud & blood he so desperately hoped wasn’t hers. Streaked & splattered in crimson himself, the night appeared to bode well for none of the three.
It wasn’t a surprise that they ignored her demand to leave – - Rowan wasn’t exactly in any shape to move, and Salinger wasn’t known for following directions - – but it did stop Gail from making the demand a third time. They wouldn’t leave, and her concern had shifted to understanding the situation she had walked into. Rowan was pinned against a wall, Salinger looked positively terrifying, both were covered in blood and worse for wear. The damage to her home was enough to clue her in on what had happened, but it didn’t tell her why Rowan was there or what led him to believing he was welcome in her home. Then again, that wasn’t enough of a reason to completely disregard for his terrible state.
I’m sorry, I’ll clean it up – -
❝Shut up!❞ It was the combination of her own stress and the sight before her that caused Gail to snap, but she exhibited no signs of apologizing any time soon. The thought that Rowan was trying to come off as a sympathetic figure did occur to her, but he appeared to be fading fast and Gail soon had to abandon the idea that he was in a position to fake anything. Still yet, Salinger’s forearm crushed his windpipe until the reality of the situation dawned on him. If her gaze had been angry when fixated on Rowan, it was positively livid when snapping to Salinger. She expected more from him, but she didn’t have to tell him that – - he knew and certainly would’ve seen as much in the frustrated tears running down her face.
❝What have you done?❞
For the first time in a long time, Gail seemed to see Salinger for the monster that he was. Rather than shrinking, she rose to the occasion with a bravery that hadn’t existed when coming across Henry Carlyle in the cemetery. Glimpses of panic and concern in Salinger’s features did do well to temper Gail’s rage, but her fury hardly disappeared by the time that his hands were on her arms. It was the welcome relief she had wanted upon entering her home, the comfort she sought when calling his name – - it was something she needed until she had a chance to take a good, hard look around her home. There was no reprieve to be found in his arms, though she began to crumble as she spent more time looking at him. It seemed for a moment as if she might reveal the truth, to whisper the name of the one man she never believed would show up in Bentley. She leaned into Salinger’s touch, lines of anguish forming on her face…
And then Rowan began to fall.
Gail was brought instantly back to the reality of the situation, causing her to jerk her arms from Salinger’s grasp as if he had been the one to hurt her in the first place. From Salinger to Rowan and back again, her gaze traveled and transformed her expression from one of concern to one of horror. ❝What have you done?❞ It was the second time she asked, but her words were muffled by her movement. The first thing she did when she dropped to her knees was to check Rowan’s pulse, just to confirm that Salinger hadn’t finally killed the man. ❝Rowan…? Rowan?!❞ As much as she wanted to toss both of them out, Gail was left only with the choice of looking to helplessly to Salinger, ❝What did you do? What do I do?! What am I supposed to do with him? You’ve – - what did he do to you?❞ Though her questions were directed toward Salinger, another hard look at him prompted Gail to give Rowan a shake and ask the same of him, “What did you do to Salinger?” How had she disappeared for a little under two hours only to come back to find her home turned into a warzone?
Despite Rowan having insisted that he needed to rest a bit before attempting to do anything else, the shouting echoing around the foyer made it clear that no one had any intention of letting him do so in peace, which honestly left him more than a little miffed. Everything being said seemed to simply be bouncing and echoing about in a hazy fog anyway, so whatever they were yelling at him, it really didn’t stand a chance of accomplishing anything.
At least Gail seemed to have noticed that, and she was suddenly kneeling down next to him, and he tried to keep his eyes open. There was definitely blood on her, he noticed, and, what was that, dirt? How had that happened? He hadn’t much opportunity to ponder it, though, as she was still making his ears ring painfully with her shouting, but now it was clear enough that could actually understand that she was demanding an explanation.
“What did you do to Salinger?” A fair question. What had he done to Salinger? He could have sworn Salinger was the one who attacked him, not the other way around. He did recall hitting Salinger with the butt of a rifle - was that what Gail was so angry about? No, no, Gail already knew about that, that was some other fight. He squeezed his eyes shut again, trying to recall.
Although he didn’t have much chance to before Gail gave him a shake by his shoulders. It probably wasn’t intended as a further assault, but the sudden shaking when he could barely keep his head up made it feel like she’d sent a boulder rolling about in his head, knocking violently against the sides of his skull. God, she wasn’t trying to kill him too, was she? “Stop,” he managed to gasp, bringing his right arm up to feebly attempt to hold her back. “Stop, I - wha - stop…”
smoke & retribution | salinger + rowan
salingerisaghost:
Salinger’s stance was not a defensive one. His feet weren’t where they needed to be in time to move. There was no dodging as Rowan drove his hand forward. It was a good thing, too, because there was no circumstance in which Salinger wasn’t going to kill him. Rowan was right. Retaliation even - if not delivered with enough malice - wouldn’t keep him alive. Nor all the serenity, tenacity or good luck in the world.
The knife however, never made contact. It’d breached a thread, maybe two before it was clattering down to a noisy landing at Rowan’s feet. Looking on with wide, haunted eyes a moment passed before he moved. As he did, his eyes flashed up to Rowan’s face. Coward. The same supernatural power that had saved his life minutes before, was back to ruin him.
Lurching forward, Salinger stomped his foot down on the blade & kicked it behind him. The knife spun across the living room floor, flashing dangerously as it skidded far from either of their reach. The man’s motion, however, was continued in the opposite direction. Throwing himself against Rowan, Salinger made to heave him towards the opposing wall. The house shuddered. A frame lost its grip & shattered on the floor beside Rowan’s head. “You should’ve done it.” Salinger growled, forcing his forearm to Rowan’s throat, his opposite knuckle knotted around whatever fabric of his shirt he could find purchase in. There’d been enough leeway. It was now or never. If choking the goddamn life out of him was going to end with another narrow escape, Salinger was hell-bent on beating the shit out of him until Rowan wouldn’t so much be able to think, let alone evaporate.
She had fallen no less than thrice by the time she made it back to her home – - the effort of craning her neck to look behind her before she rounded every corner had altered her center of gravity and sent her skidding to the ground. To know that she wasn’t being followed by Henry Carlyle was worth it, though she could’ve sworn she saw him lurking in the shadows with every sideways glance. Paranoia could’ve been an explanation, but she wasn’t in a position to be logical while her body screamed under the weight of her escape and the implications of the appearance of the good doctor. Gail couldn’t think beyond putting one foot in front of the other, which was precisely how she managed to stumble up her porch steps in record time.
Moments spent catching her breath gave her the time she needed to realize she had left her purse at the cemetery. She wasted no time in delving into a nearby plant, fingers groping around in potting soil before she remembered the spare key had been given to an all-too-ungrateful Salinger. Dammit! At least Salinger’s car remained in the drive, which meant he was brooding somewhere inside her home. Why he hadn’t left was a mystery unto itself, but Gail didn’t waste time in pondering what he was doing before she began to slam her fist against the door. Sheer desperation motivated her to try the knob, though she was sure she had locked it before leaving – - except it gave and the door cracked open. Her confusion bled into her voice when she stepped inside.
❝Salinger…?❞
If she had surveyed her surroundings, she wouldn’t have called his name.
They were all worse for wear in some respect – - Rowan and Salinger moreso than Gail, though she sported dried blood beneath her nose and on her cheeks, though fresh little patches of crimson had begun springing from scrapes on her hands and knees. The dirt and grass stains were another story, but Gail imagined they were just as shocked to see her as she was to see them in such a state. Besides, they were the ones who had evidently been fighting in her home; the damage was evident and brought a new kind of panic that mingled with previous distress.
❝What are you…? Why?❞ It was the million dollar question – why did they even bother? Why would they use her house as some kind of boxing ring? Why was there a knife? Why had a picture shattered? Why was Rowan at her home and why had Salinger just not let him go? Why had they picked that day to destroy her safe little space – - the day she needed it most. ❝Is it too much to ask you two to keep your hands to yourself for one day?!❞ Her voice tensed and cracked, tears beginning to flow freely out of sheer frustration with the situation. ❝Out. Get out of my house. Get the hell out of my house! You’re not gonna kill each other in my house!❞
Somehow, the first thought that Rowan had when Gail started yelling at the pair of them wasn’t any of the obvious ones - that she was angry because she thought the mess between these two was over, that she was angry about finding Rowan in her house after it was made so perfectly clear that she didn’t like him remotely anymore, that she was angry about stumbling upon an attempted murder in progress. Maybe it was the fact that he was clinging to consciousness by such a minuscule thread and this was affecting his thinking, or maybe it was the ringing and throbbing in his skull redirecting his thought process in inane ways, but none of that occurred to him at all.
Instead, his most distinct thought was, She is really mad about the stains.
Which was understandable. He knew that both the door and the wall beside it, not to mention the floor, were bloodstained by this point, and that they would be a pain to try and wash up. Hell, they might not even be able to be washed at all, and she’d have to repaint them. That wasn’t fair to her at all, was it? She hadn’t asked for the mess to be made.
“G-gail,” he managed to stammer out breathlessly after her dismayed shouts, all of which had registered only as a hazy blur anyhow. “I’m - I’m sorry, I’ll - I’ll clean it up...” He narrowed his eyes and tried to focus on her. Was there blood on Gail too? How had that happened? She’d just gotten here. “Gail - wh-why do you - ?”
At that point, he’d just about used up all the energy he had left. Unable to finish the question, he leaned to rest his head against the wall, finally getting some respite now that Salinger’s arm had slackened from around his throat. The pain in his body felt mostly foggy and distant by now, and it was better when he got to stay still. Give me a moment, he thought, forgetting to say the words aloud. Give me a moment to rest up, and then I’ll see if I can clean that blood up.
smoke & retribution | salinger + rowan
Salinger watched with disappointment as Rowan removed his pin. He’d hoped it would stay the man, keep him hitched to that point in the middle of the hall until Salinger could catch his breath. Alas, it served only to arm the other man, leaving a gash in the floor where it had been stuck. Rowan’s arm, however, quivered & he felt decidedly less worried about the blade.
The house groaned; settling somewhere in its foundation though it could have been easily misconstrued as a response to the ongoing conflict unfolding in a house that belonged to neither of them. Salinger ignored it, choosing instead to wave Rowan towards him with a weak tweak of his hand. “What’re you going to do with that?” He asked – his first sentence since disappearing that didn’t need a breath mid way through. His expression was merciless. He took a step towards Rowan & the knife pointed at his chest, testing the temperature of Rowan’s resilience. He had, after all, been seconds away from being murdered by the man looming opposite. & still, Salinger doubted his tenacity. He couldn’t imagine anything wielded by Rowan to cut through him. The blood he wore was not even his own. He felt distinctly un-human.
His visage caught in the steel of the blade. A frightening thing.
“If you try to run, I will kill you.” His voice was cold. Factual. Give him Rowan’s back for a second & he’d have him, he might as well know it.
If Rowan had had the breath to do so, he would have laughed at that threat. “Like you’re - not trying - to kill me - anyway,” he panted. Here was a prime example of Morton’s Fork at its finest: he sticks around, and Salinger kills him as he’d been planning to in the first place; he tries to run, and Salinger kills him as punishment. Not so much being between a rock and a hard place as being between a rock and a rock.
He raised the knife, tightening his grip on it until his knuckles were colorless as he held it toward Salinger, who seemed to almost be beckoning him to make a move with it. For a moment, they were at something of a standstill, both waiting. It would make perfect sense to strike, he knew. After all, Salinger had made such a valiant effort to kill him, so why on earth shouldn’t he pay him in kind? Just do it, that part of his mind told him, that part that took control during those many occasions when his temper got the better of him. You’ve got the knife, you’ve got the upper hand. He would’ve done exactly the same to you. He will do exactly the same to you. Kill him.
Kill him.
Kill him!
With a sharp breath, Rowan shoved his right hand forward, fully expecting, even anticipating, the squelch and tear as the blade broke through shirt and skin. It didn’t come. Instead, there was simply a dull clatter as the knife clattered onto the floor beside Rowan’s leg. He breathed hard as he stared at the hand that the knife had phased through, uncertain whether to be furious, terrified, or immensely relieved.
