The young man hastened down the narrow lane in a poor attempt at appearing easygoing and unnoticeable. His hair looked rumpled and there was a darkness underneath his eyes that told of sleepless nights on trains. He held his backpack to himself with his hand on the single strap over his shoulder. The wind took a turn, and he cursed the wind that had blown away his hat in Milan and the rain that had broken his umbrella in Marseilles but most of all, his wet socks, which had begun to irritate the thin skin around his ankles.
“1...3...what—how is this 13?” Daniel balked at the lane, glancing between the numbers around him and the wet scrap of paper in his hand. The sun had set Daniel didn’t know how long ago, and the desperate cold feeling was beginning to curl around his stomach. He leapt up to wipe at the 13, only to discover it was a small slug next to a 7, half-covered by ivy.
“Gimme a break,” he muttered at the slug, which did not respond.
There was no doorbell, but he still felt like a jerk for banging on the door. It was old and there was glass and it rattled. Someone had painted small roses inside the glass. It wasn’t very good, Daniel thought, but someone had loved it enough to do it four times in every corner.
He banged gentler. He was hours late, but the housekeeper couldn’t have gone to bed. The guy he met at that bar in...somewhere...had said to stay here for the night before meeting up again in Istanbul. His parents’ housekeeper was used to it, he said, because all his friends stopped there, sometimes 5 at a time.
The house looked quiet, though the lights were on. He blinked against the rain and sighed. He was too miserable to be terrified. Was it the traveler’s checks he’d purchased? Was he tracking the numbers on those? How does he do it?
❓- Did they ask a lot of questions when they were younger? Did they like to explore the world?
“This is Daniel Molloy, Boy Reporter, coming to you live from Mrs. McGrath’s backyard, where I am joined by Pop-Pop and Shannon. Thank you for joining us. Miss Molloy, what can you tell us about what happened?”
“I sat here yesterday an’ I was helping make the posters an’ an’ this, big, huge, it was enormous, this enormous dog came up an’ licked my face!”
“And what was that like?”
“Gross! Haha! An’ wet! I’m gonna go see if Kaitlyn’s home. Be right back.”
“No wait! Shannon! Come back!”
“Thanks for your patience, folks. The one finger to my ear means the studio has a small technical difficulty. We go now live to Pop-Pop, local expert and friend of the show, to get to the bottom of this mystery. Why do dogs lick your face? Welcome back, Pop-Pop.”
“Thank you, Danny.”
“Pop-Pop! We talked about this!”
“Oh, excuse my manners. Thank you, Boy Reporter. This is so different from your news studio. Where’s the camera? Is that why I couldn’t find the oatmeal this morning?”
“I was gonna put it back!”
“Whoa, buddy, you’re not in trouble, okay? Now how’d you manage to make the oatmeal canister work like a camera? Was it magic?”
“Magic’s not real, Pop-Pop. Everybody knows that.”
“Uh oh, then somebody better convince me it isn’t!”
“But that makes no sen—”
“Danny I’m baaaack! I brought the dog!”
“You said it was an ‘enoooooormous’ dog!”
“He has a big personality!”
“That thing is tiny! You got licked by a before-dog, Shannon! That’s not news!”
“Sure it is! Better’n who ate the last slice of pie in the fridge!”
“I know it was you, I saw you!”
“Kids—”
“Prove it, DAN-iel!”
“I will! You can’t hide the truth!”
“Agh! Nobody cares! Why can’t you just be NOR-mal?”
“Shannon, that’s not—”
“Takes one to know one, dweeb!”
“Loser!”
“Liar! Liar liar pants on fire liarliarpantsonfire Shannon is a lia-aar! You better put ab-ses-tos in your pants and get some burn cream because your pants are on fire! Ow! Ow-ow no hitting! She’s hitting me! Shannon’s hitting me! Stoppit!”
“Snitch! Snitch! You’re not my brother! You’ll never be a reporter!”
“Break it up, you two. Shannon, go wait in your room. Daniel…”
“I’m sorry. Sir.”
“C’mere, buddy. C’mere, sit next to your grandfather.”
“She started it! She lied about the pie and I got in trouble and I didn’t get to go to Great America that summer and I’ve never been and she lied about the dog and—”
“Do you still want to know why dogs lick your face?”
“Well duh. C’mon, Pop-Pop.”
“It’s because they love you.”
“What? But it’s slobbery and gross.”
“Sometimes love is slobbery and gross. It’s one of the ways dogs show you they love you. Dogs can smell all the ugly feelings you have, so they help you lick it off.”
“Oh.”
“Now do you love your sister?”
“Yeah. I guess. Yes.”
“Your mother told me about the pie.”
“I saw her—”
"Let me finish, now. Do you think you were showing her your love, just now?”
“…no. I was not. But she hit me!”
“You’re right, and that was wrong of her. I’m going to talk to your parents about that. Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Didn’t hurt. Pop-Pop?”
"Can you not tell Mom and Dad?”
“Why not?”
"It was nothing. It didn’t even hurt. I was making it sound like it did. I…wasn’t showing her my love.”
“I’m proud of you, Danny. You’ve got spirit and you’ve got courage. Now if you could have some wisdom too with that, you’d be set for life. You can’t do that without love.”
“D’ya think Shannon was right? About…the reporting? Sir?”
“Oh a leanbh. So is it the ‘truth’ that’ll be the end of you one day and not a fine whiskey after all?”
“Pop-Pop, I’m almost thirteen. I don’t need this Lucky Charms crap.”
"Oh are you now? I couldn’t tell, with you mentioning it all the time. And you say there’s no magic in the world already?”
"Santa Claus isn’t real. The Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy don’t exist and never have. Oh my God, Pop-Pop, I’m not a kid anymore.”
"That’s all well for you, but what if I were to tell you that I don’t believe you? I think magic is real. I swear. Cross my heart. Spit and shake my hand.”
“Huh? I don’t get it.”
“Prove me wrong, Danny. Get eyewitnesses. Tell their stories, about stone circles and dancing to the moon and all that good old rot. Report on the abnormal until not a single soul in the world thinks they can’t live as who they are.”
"Pop-Pop, you sound like a hippie.”
“Would a hippie take you to Great America?”
Mr Daniel Molloy—with his newly-minted Press Pass as staff and not just struggling stringer for KQED—sits in the back of the bar, admiring the celebratory amber liquid in his tumbler. His grandfather tends to pop up in his dreams whenever he considers his career.
The men in his family are known for their thirst. For life, for love, for drink, and for a certain brand of violence. The senior Molloy’s had been for family until he died of a broken heart and ten bottles of 92-proof. But before he died, he’d recognized Daniel’s own thirst for the truth in a way certainly his parents never had.
“And still don’t,” Daniel thinks to himself, eyeing the handsome dark-haired stranger cohabiting the back of the bar. He hefts his bag of blank tapes onto his shoulder and picks up his drink. The stranger is gone when Daniel looks back up. Like magic. He grins abruptly, delighted at the mystery unfolding before him, and begins his chase.
"For I am a sinner in the hands of an angry God. Bloody Mary, full of vodka, blessed are you among cocktails. Pray for me now and at the hour of my death, which I hope is soon. Amen."
Ostend...Ostend had been yesterday. Or this morning. He smoothed out the crease in the road map and peered at where he guessed he was. He had to keep moving, but sometimes it felt more like he was outrunning exhaustion rather than some figment of his imagination. He looked down at the dark waters, clutching the map absently, and wondered if he’d really gone mad. Did you hear about Danny Molloy? He went a little crazy and disappeared. Kept talking about vampires. Damn shame. Poor Shannon.
He hadn’t talked to anyone familiar in such a long time.
❛ choke . intimately wrap your hands around my muse’s throat . ( 👀 )
𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐃 & 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐅𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 (a series of nonverbal prompts . mature themes present , ‘ my ’ muse belongs to the one who posted the meme - send “ + REVERSE ” to reverse the prompts .) :
Armand smiled up at Daniel, entirely relaxed on their bed. It had started off well tonight, no bitterness, or double meaning just Daniel seemingly wishing to explore his body. Warm hands sparking off so much pleasing sensations in his cold flesh. Daniels excited form felt so hot in so many ways on top of him.
He'd fed well himself though, especially for his beau. Distant memory of worshipping his own marbled God. Stolen warmth. Currently Daniel was straddling him totally naked, wanting. Armand quite liking the hands at his throat. Index finger languidly tracing the veins brought to prominence by this action in forearms, wrists and knuckles. Silent save for the familiar, calming beat of Daniels heart, slightly elevated now. Which was to be expected. Who knew how he would react to this possible show of dominance. It wasn't as if his lover could hurt him even if he wanted too, it wasn't as if he needed to breathe.
"*Would you like me to make breathy noises, and perhaps a moan or two? The harder the better for my senses, darling.*" Voice like a velvety laser into Daniels mind.
I really want to hear you talk about all the stranges experiments Armand did to you.
Mostly, he was really interested in stupid human tricks, the kind of stuff you ham it up with at parties. Like the rubber hand trick, the falling Superman, all the weird things you can do to trick your brain. We also learned that I can roll my tongue, whistle, and pass a coin from knuckle to knuckle.
But he got a kick out of optical illusions, too, like those Magic Eye 3D books. It was the 80′s.
The night sky had broken, the new year had spoken
I was beside myself, I stood out in the cold
In an empty parking lot, my breath was streaming hot
I willed the car to start to bring me home to you
Lead me back from the darkness like you do
Before I knew you, I lived in the rearview
To wish back an image of myself I thought was true
So now when colors fade and on that day of days
I needed you to say it wasn't one to rue
Oh and lead me back from the darkness like you do
Headlights and cold rain distorting the dark panes
Wipers clicking and my thoughts they followed suit
I felt like Willy Loman, the mighty plans I'd spoken
Guess they were illusions of a man who dreamed too big
But I remember you dancing in autumn when we met
You won't believe I saw it then so many years ago
There was something about you I struggled to forget
My blood was rushing down to you
You were leadin' me back from the darkness like you do
Leadin' me back from the darkness like you do
Leadin' me back from the darkness like you do
Leadin' me back from the darkness like you do
Leading me back like a horse to water knowing I'd refuse
'Cause you're a wanderer too
💔 our muses having a pointless fight over nothing important
“Boss,” Daniel said, pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to stave off a pounding headache. “What do you care if the kitchen has trim made of one endangered species versus another endangered species?”
“Mr. Molloy, the wood used in this entire condominium complex has been locally sourced and—”
“Yeah, okay, lady, just, can you give us a moment here?”
“Certainly. I’ll be…right over there if you need me.”
“Thank you. Jesus, they’re certainly expensive enough to be endangered.” He turned to Armand with his arms crossed petulantly. “Do you want to tell me what this is about? Is it about the socks? It’s about the socks, isn’t it? I knew it. Jesus, the one night I decide to choose my own socks you spend two freakin’ hours debating on wood grains with poor Linda over here.”
