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his anger is palpable and like a carnation caught in a hail storm mae withers beneath it’s intensity , fighting against her own better judgment , regret , though she can’t say his fury is unfounded. she feels like she’s slowly drowning , swimming in waters far too deep to return from. she’s tired — and she’d lost sight of land two days ago. still she clings to the hope that her mistake would somehow right itself — if not for herself then for the wellbeing of the others. “ severen ? could you give him an honest chance , please ? ”
Stepping away, forcing himself apart from the others-- from his family-- is the kindest thing he has done in recent memory; though it only serves to add an accelerant to the furious blaze that burns in his chest.
Driven away, scorned for his proper assessment of the situation, it is a more common sight to catch Severen seething on the fringes of their group, than to see him taking part in anything that isn't the 'status quo'.
He had been keeping up appearances well enough. Still laughing, cracking jokes, performing his usual duties. But did he take Homer aside a little more than usual? Did he share long, sharp looks with Diamond? Had he and Jesse begun to quibble more frequently?
Did Mae feel how cold he had become to even her presence?
These behaviors did not improve the more others proved in action that underneath their coddling they agreed with him. That his disdain was not isolated; yet somehow Severen has made himself an outcast.
A disgruntled member of the group he had helped found.
Him, the one who so doggedly protected their wellbeing.
Jesse’s true right hand.
When had he ever had cause to steer them wrong?
He who had never cried wolf nor turned tail in the face of a challenge.
They know this, he can see it in their eyes.
In the way they won't meet his.
Homer was quick to take his side, but his reasoning isn’t sound. Jealousy won’t go far to convincing the others, it’s just as childish as Mae’s affection for her kicked puppy. Diamondback has the clearest head about their situation, quick with retribution for the boy’s shortcomings. But in private she says she can see how miserable Mae is and won’t put her foot down about getting rid of their leech; giving in to each “chance” he’s granted with little in the way of back talk, just more unheeded warnings.
Severen isn't blind, he can see Mae’s woefulness just as clear as any other, but his personal suspicion is that it stems not from the prospect of losing Caleb, but because of him.
She knows she’s fucked up. They all do.
But no one wants to own up to saying so. Except him. And he has. Only no one wants to listen.
Who he needs to convince is Jess, but the old bastard has gotten short tempered with on the subject. Shooting it down every time he tries to rouse it from the grave their once sage leader keeps burying it further down in.
“You’re one to talk, running off with that girl of yours every chance you get!” He volleys one night as they argue. It’s a low blow, and Severen knows he doesn’t mean it.
Jesse loves Lira like a daughter, wouldn’t say a mean thing in front of her for the world but he’s grasping at straws, trying to ward Severen off. The man he trusts most.
He immediately deflates as the sentence hangs in the air; they both know it holds no water. Of all of them, Severen is the most devoted to their pack of miscreants. Would never let a single one of them suffer because of his own wants, has never been apart from them in their time of need. That’s why he’s here now.
They need him.
As much as no one wants to admit it.
The boy is not one of them.
Never will be.
To think otherwise is as delusional as a man seeking water in the desert. But there is less and less reason to be found here at home.
Most of all, no pulling the wool from Mae's eyes. Deluded child.
She had seemed so promising, even when he had his doubts about her, she had proven him wrong. Killing without complaint, relishing the gifts granted under the killer's moon; despite the controversial way she was given them.
Unlike her, Caleb struggles to even keep up with them, lagging behind as he stumbles weakly in the dirt, incapable of keeping his feet, plagued by sickness brought on by obstinance.
It is more than Severen can stand, watching a weakling being dragged along like a stick in their spokes, slowing them, ruining their perfect harmony. It is as irritating as a scratch one cannot relieve themselves of, but he can, he knows he can, if only it wouldn't bring the rest down upon him for doing so.
And why it should is even worse.
Would they act the same if it wasn’t Homer's little pet they were appeasing? He had come to think of the shrimp as a brother, yet his mind keeps straying to the blunder of his creation; perhaps mistakes could only beget mistakes.
It isn’t the first time Severen has selfishly wondered if it just shouldn’t have stayed the two of them. Maybe families were too hard to keep together.
That's when he feels her approach, the timid waif, though that is not her honest nature; he has seen the ruthless murderess in action.
Severen prefers that side of her, the unbridled thrill of the hunt keen in her smile; it was what won her over to his side initially; seeing that all that eyelash fluttering was just an act. To see her regress to childish simpering is sickening, he makes no attempt to hide his disgust of her relapse to a pathetic, mewling creature.
His expression is stern, eyes hard and calculating in a way she has rarely seen, if ever. This is not the predator he has seen seducing men from the shadows into her jaws, this is the all too trusting teenager that Homer lured to his side with innocence and charm.
Both performing in roles they had come to accept, and not who they truly were when freed from the shackles of expectation.
Why would anyone choose to be less?
As she trembles, as she begs, the Savage One can only imagine saying exactly how he feels. Of bringing to his mouth only the most scathing words in response; or even simply one in particular, 'no'.
Despite himself, he thinks of Lira, of her warm fingers on his neck and shoulders, of how she would see how misguided Mae was in this, read that lost look in her eyes, and instead of wanting to pry them out of her skull would seek to guide the drowning girl back to shore.
Could he venture to do the same?
Severen snorts, all derision and ire. He looks away, out toward the highway, nails scratching along his stubble as he tries to still the acidic taste of rage in his throat.
He doesn't want to give the shit-stain anything but a bullet through his skull, then tie him to a post for the sun to sort out.
She has come here though. To him. That shows guts.
He had always praised bravery before, and would hate to be hypocritical now.
"Mae", he says after a long, thoughtful silence, one where he has carefully chosen his next words, something most thought beyond him, "I only got one chance left'n me. An' it ain't for him".
Two pairs of blue eyes meet, one a dark blaze, the other a baleful ocean, "It's for you".
And as if ending a scene on stage, he turns on heel and leaves her there, the jingle of his spurs fading in the dark behind a cloud of dust.
They had said a week. The week was nearly up. He need only wait for them to rally to his side when the bill came due. They would see reason. They had to.
There were those like them, and those that were not.
And the latter had no place here.
Pulling out his cigarettes he finds only two left in the pack, one for himself, maybe one for Jess, a peace offering; a bribe.
He pulls out one, lights it and after putting the pack back, digs out a quarter and heads to the singular payphone cast in the bright illumination of a streetlight above.
Calls used to cost a dime, but if there was one thing Severen knew for certain, with the passing of time, came the increased expense.
Too bad that meant more than just money.
Taking a puff, he slides open the door, leans against the plexiglass, and pulls the receiver off the hook.
He dials a number he has had memorized for what feels like an eternity.
He has to hear her voice, needs something to ease the build up of tension in his guts. Something terrible is going to come of all of this. He knows it. Even if they don't.
She'll understand.
Listening to the chirrup on the other line as they are connected, he fidgets with his nails, picking at the grimy beds, and chewing off a jagged corner.
All at once he feels centered as she greets him, knowing without him saying a word who it is.
"Hey Spark", glancing outside he watches Mae walk back toward the van they have all spilled from to collect her bedraggled tagalong. Surely trying to build up her courage to be stern to the weakling about needing to find his place in the group, to learn to kill--or be killed. Severen has a feeling she will fail, yet again. But he can't help faintly hoping she succeeds, it would be a waste to see someone who had naturally been such a true member of the group be parted from them because of some unworthy cur.
"What, ah nuthin' baby, just missed ya", it's not entirely a lie, although he is certain she can see the neon sign between the lines.
Their conversation is short, sweet, exactly what he needed. When he hangs up he is in the mood to kick up his heels and bloody the dancefloor. They'll make it through, they always have before.
What's a couple more nights with this cretin when he can watch him crisp in the dawning light later?
Severen stubs out what remains of his cigarette and heads for the road, ready to thumb himself to a good time.
Maybe when he gets back he'll come to find the boy had some sense knocked into him after all, wouldn't that be a welcome turn?
And why not, stranger things had happened.
As a Cadillac rolls toward him, Severen steps out with a smile to flag down the stranger, doom and gloom forgot.
"Howdy", he says through the open window, any trace of dourness completely erased now, "gimme a lift to town?"
De Selby (Part 2) --Hozier
What you're given
What you live in
Darling, it finds a way to live in you And your heart, love
Has such darkness
I feel it in the corners of the room
I wanna run against the world that's turning
I'd move so fast that I'd outpace the dawn
I wanna be gone
I wanna run so far I'd beat the morning
Before the dawn has come, I'd block the Sun
If you want it done
A squirming package is pressed between @ulfhrafnx ‘s hands. The tag is written in a scrawled attempt to mimic the curly lettering of Severen’s script, although it mostly serves to make the wording nearly illegible.
Still, one is just able to read ‘Mama’ through it, and without the identifier it is fairly clear by scent alone what resides within.
“This one’s extra special” her husband assures her with a wink. He pointedly releases the gift solely to Lira’s care.
There is a pause while a subtle cue is waited for, an inquiry as to what may reside within, and only then does the wrapping paper burst open from the inside; bits of shredded paper and glitter exploding outward.
“ME!” Shouts the small creature, all teeth and exuberance as winged arms wrap about her mother. Giggles and cheers fill the air as the repeated gag plays out.
It has been a theme all year for the little bat, and she has yet to have her fill of it. Though she is entirely pleased with herself and happy to cuddle up to her mère, soon, the sight of presents with her name scrawled upon them is distracting enough to encourage her to crawl from the warmth of her mother’s arms and examine what lies in wait.
Severen takes the opportunity to sidle alongside Lira and plant a kiss on her cheek.
“Merry Christmas Spark”, he says with a lingering smirk, love and something a tad more lustful in his eye toward her. His fingers rest atop hers as they both turn to watch their rabid monster pull apart ribbons and bows, ‘ooh’ing and ‘aaah’ing at all appropriate moments.
Not long after, father and daughter tumble about playing with her new toys, mildly scolded to help clean up so they can eat their meal.
There will be romps beneath pines, flung snow, sledding, and sliding on ice, all sorts of winter merriment afoot, all in the spirit of cheer and loving family; celebrating the light and warmth in the dark days of winter.
As arms no warmer than the fallen drifts about them wrap around the immortal wolf, they watch a darkened silhouette flap across the white sliver of silvery moon above.
A lot had been said in yesteryears about the ‘Spirit of Christmas’, and though Severen had felt certain he might not feel it again after losing those dearest to him, he knows in this moment, he was wrong; his heart beating at a near living tempo.
a white raven lands on a low hanging branch nearby , its dark , unyielding gaze ominous as it fixes its attention on the savage one , as if it knows some life shattering secret it will not share.
Just the sound of wings is enough to still him, certain wildlife having come to mean things far different than they once had for the rambler. He pauses lighting his cigarette, eyes following the twisted trunk of the tree to settle on onyx pearls set in feathers fresh as newly fallen snow. Severen lets the flame go out, lowering his hands as he continues to stare. Its very presence is an ill omen, even with message undelivered. Although there was nothing that dictated that its presence was negative, he had been given enough warnings by Lira and kin to be wary of such sights—if his own upbringing amongst native tribes hadn’t taught him a certain respect. Even still, in younger years he may have tried to test his draw against such a willing fowl, but now seemed a poor time to attempt.
The vehicle behind him had long since cooled its engine— as had the life that has expired within—he could not help wishing that the motor still thrummed needing only him at the wheel to put this prescient moment behind him.
But he’d learned one thing, you could only run so far before it all found you in the end anyway. Raising the lighter back up to the tip of his cigarette he finally brought it to burn, sucking in deep to fill his lungs with grey smoke. Contemplatively he leaned back, digging the toes of one boot into the loose gravel beneath; granting the bird his full attention.
A slow, controlled exhale, and he was ready to hear it. “Go’n then”, he took another drag and flicked the small accumulation of ash into the wind, “I’m listenin’”.
And for better or worse, he would hear it.
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