#dylandrabble

[normallyxstrange]

30 Days of Writing –  April 2019 –  One Word Prompts

Day 10: “Pencil”

© 2019 F.R. Southerland

feat. Carla & Dylan

     Tap. Tap. Tap.

    Carla looked up from her comic book, eyes narrowing. The pencil struck the corner of the table again. She breathed in deeply and tried to ignore it.

    Tap.

    Tap.

    She exhaled sharply, gripped the corner of her page. She stared at the colored ink until the images and text blurred together.

    Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.

    “Oh, for fuck's sake!” She flung the comic onto the table, leaned across it, and snatched the pencil from Dylan's grip. She snapped it in half and flung the pieces at him. “Can you just... stop? For five fucking minutes?”

    He blinked slowly and turned his face up toward her. Instead of being surprised by her outburst, he looked amused. “Well, you 'aven't given me much of a choice now, 'ave ya?” He paused, then grinned. “That was your pencil, love.”

    Carla rolled her eyes and grabbed her comic. “I hate you so much,” she told him, “you know that? I really hate you.”

    “Oh, I know. You tell me at least five times a day.”

    “And I mean it more and more each day.” 

[trustmeimawitch]

🗣+ Casey and Dylan

Send two muses, see them interact (main/default verse)accepting all muses@thewiccanmechanic

    There were some businesses in townthat Casey liked more than others. Some places had a betteratmosphere. Some places had nice employees. A few had bathrooms youwere allowed to use without being a paying customer. And some placeshad food.

    This place though? This place hadcomics.

    She accidentally found the shopone afternoon, shortly after first arriving in town. It was a refugefrom the downpour outside then and was now a refuge from worry andfear. It was just something about comics she liked. They weren’t likereal books. Easier to read and follow along, and not as boringeither. She could lose herself in them.

    One day, she’d have a collectionof them. Casey had already started acquiring them. As she roamed downthe aisles, she kept a look out for the owner, or the manager who ranthe place. The owner was a demon and Casey avoided him on principlealone. She might get along with his daughter, Kat, but  but hewas creepy. Worse than creepy if the rumors were true.

    The manager wasn’t around either.Casey didn’t mind her so much, but she’d heard that Carla didn’t takeit lightly when people stole things. That was another reason why shewanted to avoid the management today. A new issue had just releasedtoday and she intended to get her copy.

    The shadows were darkest near theback of the shop, where the light didn’t quite reach. More than that,it was where Dylan was, immersed within those shadows. He’d popped inonly for a minute, but opportunity presented itself when the girlentered. She was a shoplifter, he knew. He had seen her take comicsfrom the store before, but he’d never confronted her. Maybe heshould. It was bad for business, supposedly.

   Her aura was bright, reds andoranges and the yellow of concentration. She looked over hershoulder, spotted no one near her, and made her move.    

   It was as good a time as any—ideal,actually, for busting her—to emerge from out of the darkness. Thegirl was distracted with slipping the comic into her open bag, a fewseconds before she looked up, wide-eyed, and realized she’d beencaught.

    Startled by his sudden appearance,Casey took two steps back, and uttered a not-so quiet curse, thatechoed in her head. Shit. Caught. Now what? Was he going to call thepolice? Have her locked up? Seemed a small price to pay for acomic—or twelve, if you counted her previous shoplifting—but somefolks took that shit way too seriously.

    Or, considering he was a demon, hemight just kill her. Suddenly, she wished it was Carla who had bustedher. The abrasive manager would’ve been preferable to this.

    She didn’t even have an excuse, ora lie, for why she was stuffing it in her bag. She just pulled itback out, the cover wrinkled now, and held it up along with her otherhand in a gesture of surrender. “Hey, man, hey. Take it. Sorry.Sorry.”

    Fear had a lovely tinge. It wasnot always the same for every person—colors varied, but the feel,the motion of it, was always the same. Bright, spiked. Dylan was moreinterested in her aura than the comic she presented him, but he tookit all the same and idly flipped through the colored pages withoutlooking at them. It took a moment before he tore his gaze from heraura to study her face.

    Now that he really looked at her,he recognized her as one of Kat’s friends. Well, that wasdisappointing. She wouldn’t like it if he took her soul now, wouldshe? He made a note to double check the ‘No-Kill’ list pinned on thecork board in the back. What was her name? Cassie? Something likethat.

    He didn’t say anything, and thatwas weird to her. She waited for an admonishment, lecture, yelling orshouting—nothing. He didn’t even look angry. Instead, he smiled.And that was way more unsettling.

    Finally, he spoke, giving a waveof his hand toward the door. A single word. “Shoo.”

    That was it? Shoo? Casey didn’tquestion it and turned, hightailing it for the exit. Somehow, as sheheaded out the door and out into the afternoon sun, she knew she’dgotten lucky this time and it left her with one certain thought—shereally needed to stop stealing from the places she liked to hangaround, before she ended up in jail or worse. Maybe even stopstealing in general.

    She could still feel his eyes onher as she walked briskly away, and she didn’t dare look back.

[normallyxstrange]

“Some people call this wisdom” drabble (original fiction) feat. Dylan & Kat #fictober18

#Fictober18 prompt

Day 14:  “Some people call this wisdom.”

featuring Dylan & Kat

blood // ; violence mention //

    She stood silent, watching and waiting. Her father had told her not to move from this spot, and Kat had taken the words to heart. The wind whipped her hair into her eyes. She ignored the sting of it and blinked to clear her vision.

    The spot where Dylan vanished remained empty, the hollow between the jagged outcropping and the sand below dark with shadows—but not their brand of shadows. Kat would've sensed it if they were. She kept her gaze trained there all the same. When he returned, that was where he'd appear. It was where he'd appeared each and every time—briefly, bloodied—before jumping back into the darkness. He was gone a little less each time and she hoped that this time would be the very last he'd make the round trip.

    There was movement in the shadows and they turned darker. She let out a breath and finally moved. She headed down the incline, bracing her feet when the rock slipped under her shoes. By the time she made it down to the outcropping, Dylan had arrived.

    The shadows retreated, taking their unnatural chill with it. He lifted his head to the sun, taking in a deep breath, enjoying the warmth of it. The blood on his face and clothes was still wet and sticky. Hearing the crunch of rock under boot, he looked down at his daughter.

     “Well, m'thinkin' explorin' the city's outta the question.” A hand smeared down his front, pressing the blood-slickened fabric to his chest.

    “I tried to tell you that. The Sarbor don' like outsiders.” Her words were flat. He'd tried so many times. Most creatures would relent after several intrusions, but not these demons. Clearly, they'd been far too annoyed with Dylan to even consider giving in. Violence—and a lot of it, she judged from the bloodied state of him—was their go-to method in dealing with intruders anyway.

     “S'alright, Kit-Kat. We'll work around it. 'Sides, some people call this wisdom—knowin' when to back off.” It was less a matter of wisdom and more a matter of self-preservation. After they'd killed him the sixth time, he was running out of energy to regenerate so quickly, so often. He needed a pick-me-up—a soul or three to restore the lost power. And then—maybe--he'd try to gain access to this so called 'golden city' again.

    Or, maybe they'd find a new area to explore—one that was a little less stabby-stabby.

    “C'mon. We got the rest o' this place to look at.” He pivoted on his heel and began to walk. The shadows trailed after him.

     Kat just stared at her father. It sounded more like he was giving up but she wasn't in the mood to suffer whatever he'd suffered anyway. She didn’t argue. Wordlessly, she trailed behind him. There had to be something better around here anyway. A golden city couldn't be all that great.

© 2018 F.R. Southerland, @normallyxstrange​ / @frsoutherlandauthor​

[normallyxstrange]

“No imagination” drabble (original fiction) feat. Dylan & Carla #fictober18

#Fictober18 prompt

Day 2: “People like you have no imagination.”

featuring Dylan & Carla

swearing //

    Why did they even bother having store hours posted, if he wasn't going to follow them and just open the place up at 3 o' fucking clock in the morning? Carla stifled her yawn, thankful that she had a working coffee maker in her apartment and a 16 oz travel mug to carry the caffeinated beverage in just to deal with situations like this.

    Next time, she'd turn off her phone before going to bed so he couldn't call her. But, nah, he'd just show up via the shadows or something, like the creep he was. She sometimes forgot that her boss was a demon and could do whatever the hell he wanted.

    Idly, she wondered if it wasn't time for a career change.

    Whatever. She was there now at his behest, leaning her weight forward, against the counter. The temptation to sleep while standing up was strong, but she forced herself to stay awake by taking another drink of caffeine.

    Man, he really liked to talk. Carla, admittedly, hadn't been listening, and rather than have Dylan repeat himself, she just nodded.

    “People like you have no imagination,” he said, finally stopping his erratic pacing. Hands on the glass counter, he leaned forward too. He was close to her—uncomfortably close—but that was nothing new.

    Out of habit, Carla eased back. “Excuse me?”

    “No imagination. No creativity. Nothin' worthwhile in that head o' yours.”

    “Wow. Your rudeness has reached peak levels.” She'd indulged him enough. “Did you call me here just to insult me or what?”

    He sighed, seemingly as exasperated by the situation as she was—which made no sense. Very little of what Dylan said or did made sense to her, but more often than not Carla rolled with it—as she did now. “Thought it was obvious why I called you.”

    “Uh, no. You just told me to get over here. Like it was some goddamn emergency.”

    “Well, m'openin' the shop twenty-four hours. Saw a place like it in the last dimension I was in. S'brilliant, yeah?” He grinned. “You never woulda thought of that. No imagination.”

     Take a deep breath. Count to ten. Don't slap that look off his face if you can help it; you haven't found a new job yet, girl. “Yeah, I don't think so. No one in this town's going to go comic shopping at four a.m.”

    “That's where you're lackin' imagination. The vampires. The demons that only like to come out at night—there's a whole world o' opportunity we 'aven't even tapped yet.”

    Carla found it hard to believe that most demons and vampires were lamenting the fact they couldn't purchase comic books and comic book paraphernalia at peak hours. Then again, there was Dylan, his daughter, and a smattering of other supernaturals she did know who probably wouldn't mind snagging a comic at midnight.

    “Cool idea, bro. But you've got to hire a night shift person. I'm strictly sticking with the daytime hours. A girl needs her beauty sleep.” She picked up her coffee cup and picked up her purse from the chair. “I'm out.”

    “Extra pay, yeah? Benefits? I could get you benefits!”

    “Ooh, I've got an idea.” Carla plastered on her biggest, brightest fake smile. “You work the nightshift and deal with anyone who wanders in, and I go home and finish sleeping. This is your 'brilliant' plan, after all. You handle it.”

    As she started for the door, Dylan followed behind. “Listen to reason: s'gonna be the next big thing. Bigger'n big.”

    Carla just shook her head and pushed open the door with her hip, cool night air hitting her. “Well, let me know how that works for ya. I'll see you in the actual morning.”

© 2018 F.R. Southerland, @normallyxstrange​ / @frsoutherlandauthor​

[normallyxstrange]

“Remember, you have to remember” drabble (original fiction) feat. Andy & Dylan #fictober18

#Fictober18 prompt

Day 27:  “Remember, you have to remember.”

featuring Andy & Dylan

    “There's nothin'. Don't you see? Can't you see the nothin'?”

    “I see it.”

    She saw a man—a demon, she reminded herself—in the midst of a complete breakdown. A memory flashed in her head from a couple years ago, to the first time she'd witnessed it. This was much the same. His eyes were just as wide and bold, pupils blown. His hair was mussed and there was an unwashed odor about him. She realized, with a pang, that he'd been like this for days.

    “Good. Good,” he murmured, absently. His eyes were unfocused and Andy knew he was looking not at her, but at her aura humming around her. “If you can see, an' I can see it—we got no worries.”

    She had no clue what he was talking about, but she let him ramble. Slowly, she stepped close to him and reached out for his arm. From past experience, she knew she could ground him with a little physical contact—a touch to the arm, the shoulder, the face.

    He recoiled back from her. The sound that came from him was nothing human—guttural and raw, a growl that made her flinch back.

    “No! No! Don't—don't touch. Don't look. Don't feel. Nothin'. M'nothin'.” He pressed himself back against the wall, sinking down to sit on the floor. His fingers gripped tightly to his hair—so tight Andy feared he might literally rip it out.

    She knew what was happening here. She had also seen it before. His grip on reality had slipped. There was no way to know how, but it didn't matter. Andy edged forward, crouching when she was near enough to him. His previous reaction made her hesitant, but she pushed through it to touch his wrist.

    This time, the soultaker didn't shy away. His skin was cold, as it always was. Andy ignored the numbness biting into her fingers and gently drew his hand away. Fingers untangled from his hair and went limp. He lifted his face to her and this time, his eyes were focused on her.

    Andy offered a small smile. “You're not nothing.”

   “But I am—I am. I know. There's me and there's another me. And the me I am now--” He shook his head, words cutting off. He whimpered instead.

    “Shh, shh.” She stroked her fingers through his hair, smoothing back the unruly strands. “You are you. You're here. This is real. Remember that? Remember me?”

    She didn't know if she had his focus or not, but she kept talking in a soft, soothing voice. “You have to remember. I know you can.”

    The silence that followed unnerved her, so she filled the gap with other words of encouragement, quietly spoken. Her fingers continued combing through his hair.

    And then he shifted his weight and looked at her. Cold fingers slipped between hers and gripped tightly—far too tightly than was comfortable, but Andy didn't protest or complain. She squeezed back. That was encouraging.

    His eyes were clear, focus finally there. “M'fine now, love,” he said, voice lower than usual, tired.

    She didn't believe he was fine. He'd never been fine. But at least he was there now, and that was a big step forward.

© 2018 F.R. Southerland, @normallyxstrange​ / @frsoutherlandauthor​

[trustmeimawitch]

🗣+ andy and Dylan

Send two muses, see them interact (main/default verse)accepting all muses@thewiccanmechanic

     It didn’t really seem to matter how many wards she put up, or how many sigils she drew on her wall–Dylan always managed to get inside her apartment. Usually, it was when she was around. Inopportune moments, mostly. The middle of the night, having just gotten out of the shower, settling down to enjoy an entire pizza herself and suddenly having to share–those moments.

     When she walked into her apartment, arms laden with grocery bags, to find him rummaging in her kitchen, all she could do was give a resigned sigh. “Shit. If you’re going to break into my place, the least you can do is help me put away the groceries.” 

    A streak of orange flew out from beneath the couch and darted for the still open door. The kitten moved too fast for Andy to shut the door, and with her arms full of bags, it was hopeless to catch her. “Vivi, no! Goddamnit. Dylan.”

     “M’not the one leavin’ the door open, love. Don’t blame it on me.” He moved lazily from where he’d paused, munching on a handful of Doritos. His expression was more than slightly amused, and it only grew more obnoxious when he saw the annoyance and frustration flash in Andy’s aura. She always did have such a lovely one. It went so perfectly with her temper and the sharp look she directed at him. 

     He pretended to be put out by the implication of that look. “Fine, love. I’ll get her. Hang out.” He passed through the shadow and out into the hall. 

     Andy took in a deep breath, watching as he retrieved her cat from the end of the hall and walked her back, cradled against his chest. 

     “Almost had it there, huh?” Dylan sing-songed, rubbing the kitten behind the ears. Vivi started to purr. Andy could hear her even standing several feet from him. “Almost got away.”

     Andy rolled her eyes and the door slammed shut with force behind Dylan. She stepped to the kitchen and deposited the grocery bags onto the cluttered counter and took her cat back from him. “What are you doing here anyway?” she asked as Vivi wound herself in Andy’s hair and nuzzled her neck. 

     “Came to visit m’favorite witch, o’ course. Why else would I be here?” He immediately began to rummage through her purchases. 

     “I can think of a dozen reasons. None of them good.”

     “A dozen?” He repeated, mock surprise in his voice. “Why, you only need one. And it ain’t good. Dirty, in fact.” And then Dylan flashed her that wicked grin of his and grabbed the box of Cheez-its from the bag. 

     Andy gave a smile in return, tight-lipped and sarcastic. It was tempting, she had to admit that, but no. That was a closed chapter of her life. “Take your snacks and go. And next time, text me for a booty call like a normal person, so I reject you with a series of emojis. ‘Kay? This face to face stuff–I’d rather not.”

     “Well, you don’t have to be facin’ me–”

     “Dylan no.”

     He just continued to grin. “Can’t blame a demon for tryin’.”

[trustmeimawitch]

Dylan’s Backstory Drabble Series, all links:

Part One (1564-1589) | Part Two (1589-1720) | Part Three (1720-1816) | Part Four (unknown [1816-2013]) | Part Five (2013) | Part Six (2014) | Part Seven (2014-2015)