I'm still see-sawing about how I feel about Vegas. On one hand, Charles drove beautifully in that first stint. On the other hand, Ferrari pitwall once again fucked him over and didn't react properly. They need a better race strategist. Could have been an actual P4/P5, turned P3, which just sucks. But P9 to P4 when everyone thought his race was done before it started because of the choice in rear wing is okay.
On that note, have a snippet for chapter 3!! It was so hard to find something that wouldn't need all the exposition of the rest of the chapter and wouldn't be super spoilery 😄
Max was sprawled back on the chair, his shorts riding up his thighs and exposing some of the thick muscle while his hands held onto the back of the headrest, the position showing off his bulging biceps.
Charles’ mouth went dry, his mind diving headfirst into the gutter as he imagined himself sitting on Max’s lap and warming his cock while he streamed.
Holy shit, get it together, Charles, he thought wildly, fidgeting in his chair.
His breath caught in his throat when Max’s tongue poked out and he smiled widely, laughing at something from the chat. Charles’ brain officially short‑circuited at the sight of Max’s grin, his eyes catching on the little freckle at the corner of his lips. He whimpered softly and clutched his phone tightly, willing his semi to calm the fuck down.
He lost track of time, his brain too busy cataloguing every little shift in Max’s expression and body language, his heart squeezing in his chest at his carefree expression and laughter. He smiled when the cats wandered into the room and Max started playing with them, chuckling softly when one of them took a swipe at him and grinning when he showed off Sassy to the camera.
And here among the stone and grass stood living statues. Mourners in form only, clad in black and clotted together with the interred and decaying, observing the rites and rituals of death, but where one would expect to see them bawling raging against the cruel and avaricious shears of Death, writhing in some obscene gesture begging like heat crazed alley cats and offering their souls and bodies for some cosmic justice or reprieve from such pain of the spirit there was nothing; blank faces stony as the corpse they lowered into the frozen earth. They rejected him not with anger but with simple dereliction of duty in that they were the only ones that could be expected to care and they did not. Where they should have lamented the passing of one of gods children they defied custom, defiled his memory by only bearing witness.
She peeked through a crack in the old wooden slats - cracked and warped by time and slowly become derelict - the dark of the forest surrounded her so the dim flickering lamplight cast only a sliver of orange into her eyes. There they floated in the black night, two perfect ivory orbs, unblinking, fixing their gaze upon that celebration of flesh the two young lovers thought they had hidden so well from the world.
He would have walked straight atop it if it weren’t for the mangy dog he had leashed on that long length of cord. It went straight for it like a magnet and started nosing and rustling through the loose stones kicking dust and rock in the air as it dug. He walked up confused and wary but lost all of that upon finding what the dog was so eager to unearth. Her face stared out at the stars like a heartbroken suitor, wishing that the cosmos would deliver some better fate or that she could escape from her heartbreak. Neither were coming to her now as she lay, pallid and frozen in her shallow grave.
When people think of blood they think of that pure and vibrant red that screams of life and vigor, not the blood that is left behind or stained into dirt, seeping through clothes and dried to a crust. That blood is a whole other creature. It is a brown and pathetic thing, mumbling of death and rot and those wonderful dreams of youth forgotten and thrown to the wayside by those who have seen the dark half of the soul of the world. That is the blood that waters the fields of this nation.
He talked of the day his garrison was captured by government soldiers. It wasn’t with the somber and reflective tone so many who have lived through tragedy often take, it was almost as if he were telling a tall tale, something nobody could believe, but he had been there and he had seen all the cruelty and nihilistic depths of the human condition. They kept the men locked in the arms lockers for days on end, taking each out for questioning in periodic shifts. They would sit them under a small faucet and drip the water onto their heads as they asked the questions. Once the skin was puckered and soft from the stream they would cut slowly into that thin skullcap and peel it away from the head. At first it just felt like pressure, but once the skin dried the pain was unbearable. Everyone in his platoon talked, they sang, and when they were freed it was as if a legion of bald-headed clowns poured from the garrison, screaming mad and cackling at the ridiculous appearances of their brothers.
She could imagine some abbot stalking the halls at night, his bare calloused feet slowly wearing grooves into the stone floors over the countless years, and then after him another and another penitent soul would stand guard over this ancient monument to their lord. They wandered through the building yet as did she, but the only difference being that now she felt not like some pure devotee who has given themselves to endless vigil until death, she felt like like Janus, two-faced and deceitful. She knew, even as her body wore down the stone as many had before, that it would be better when the evidence of her touch was smoothed from these walls.
They waited under the branches of a burnt out willow and watched the gravel road that ran behind them nothing marring it save the hoof prints of their horses, but even so they knew it was a busy enough road and someone was sure to come along in near enough time. They ate the sandwiches they’d made and leaned against that dead husk as the sun made its slow pace across the sky. John kept his eyes on the horizon, squinting against the western sun, until a speck appeared in the distance. He leapt to his feet and kicked his dozing compatriot awake. “Here she comes, hell if you can’t tell who she is even from here.” They stood and watched in anticipation as they imagined the woman bearing down upon them and wondered at what she would make of them in their tatters.
