Some centaur au ficlet. Scene from a Jones family reunion, Saturday-focused, from back before things went completely sideways for the family tree.
~~
To say there was a ruckus going on would be to understate things.
The adults didn’t pay too much of a mind to the older children during reunions- it was family property, they tended to start herding, and the teenagers generally had an eye on them for ‘who can we get to help in the Ongoing Jones Teen Prank War’ purposes. So, it was easy to just listen for screaming, keep your eyes out for smoke, and focus your attentions on catching up with the other adults and keeping an eye on the little kids. If somebody got hurt or a stranger was creeping about, news would reach an adult with a quickness. Either that or one of the teenagers with Weirdness experience would handle things before they were an issue.
Which meant, despite something of the sort happening every reunion, it still always managed to be a surprise when a roar echoed across the property. Normally it was teenagers scattering like dandelion fluff, but this year the kids took up the mantle. The few human ones darted up the nearest trees and buildings. Eva’s calf darted up the nearest building. Everyone else made for the treeline or their grandparents, all laughing the entire way. And there, in the center of it all, was a charging Zak. Originally, he headed for Richie, but quickly determined that he was never going to catch him and turned to head for Edie instead- the second most likely mastermind and unlikely to escape from up on that shed.
One could readily guess what had happened, as he circled and they yelled back and forth, Edie still teasing as both flashed Ossy teeth. Clearly, he’d made the mistake of taking a nap in the vicinity of his many cousins- the end result being his stripes and forelock, normally a blazing white against golden scales and dark hair, had been dyed in pink and purple. His brothers apparently hadn’t been any help either. Fisk was sat at a table, the picture of innocence, while Komodo snickered from atop another one before grabbing a whole casserole of buffalo potatoes and slipping away, using the commotion as a distraction.
Shaking her head with a smile, Drew let him go, handing her mother-in-law a loaded plate as she settled beside her to watch and see how long it took for the two to wrestle and make up.
“You know, I do love this family.” Patting her shoulder, the older taur flashed a toothy smile.
(tw: long-term captivity, torture/human experimentation, claustrophobia trigger (small, dark cellar), vague gore, stalking, obsession/yandere, possibly disorienting prospective shift several times throughout the scene, crude language)
[Previous | Masterlist | Next]
Jeremiah:
Jeremiah pinched with two fingers, then drawing them back out across the warm, smooth screen. The faces filled the phone, smiling of course. Everybody had to be smiling in photos nowadays. Fucking weirdos. Smiling was fine, but…no one smiles that much. It wasn’t truthful. It wasn’t right.
Then again, Jeremiah wasn’t one to complain about that - not when he still had a hard time recognizing himself in the mirror some days. New face. New name. New life. New chance.
So on and fucking so forth.
But in all seriousness, this face didn’t look like his. Everything was wrong. It was square, warm. Every smile he smiled was practically sparkling - it crinkled at his eyes and almost lifted his beard. When he smiled now, people smiled back.
Not entirely a bad thing, but…
Again. Smiles were so wrong. Off-putting, almost. They were little lies put on display so everyone could be a little more comfortable in this fucked up world, pretending it wasn’t all going to shit. Well, maybe it was going to hell in a handbasket. Maybe the handbasket and the shit should race. Now that would make Jeremiah smile.
Speaking of smiles,
Jeremiah turned his attention back to the over-joyous baboons on his screen. His eyes flickered between the two faces. ‘Everett’ on the left. ‘Aaron’ on the right. Aaron was grinning, turned sideways with his lips pressed to Everett’s cheek. Everett’s face was scrunched up, holding back laughter as his ‘boyfriend’ was being fucking adorable for no reason. It was just a social media post, and he knew the smiles were fake. At least one of them had better be.
It made him sick.
Whatever.
The face was right. Jeremiah had found his target.
But hell, it’s not like he could just walk up to the guy. That would be stupid. He was going to do this right. And that meant waiting. Waiting at least a bit longer. And doing this the right way.
.
Aaron:
Aaron had hardly been at work for half an hour and he’d already messed up two orders.
Stupid stupid stupid.
He’d made a vanilla café au lait instead of a vanilla cappuccino for some reason, then his dumb stupid idiot brain thought it was a good idea to make an iced mocha hot. He was practically beating his face against the register by the time the poor woman finally got her coffee.
She was probably going to be late now thanks to Aaron and his dumb butt.
He was just so frazzled still from this morning. Everett and Aaron had snapped at each other the entire way to work. Then, half an hour longer as they sat in the parking lot waiting for Aaron’s shift to start.
Don’t misunderstand, Aaron was glad Everett showed up. It was incredibly sweet to give him a ride to work, and Aaron loved when he did little surprises like that. It was sweet and good and perfect.
But…Everett didn’t seem to understand that Jessie just wanted to help? Those two fought constantly. Aaron could hardly leave them in the same room together - both were dead sure that the other was a bad influence. Neither seemed to be able to process that the other genuinely cared about Aaron and his well being.
“You doin’ okay, kid?”
Aaron glanced up to see Harold in his usual spot at the front table. Hardwood and wire legs - he always liked that one. It let him see the front door, chat with anyone in line, and hop behind the counter if he saw a need. It was sweet, but the old man really just needed to go home and actually start his retirement. Well. His sixth retirement, technically. Harold had a hard time making them stick.
Aaron gave him a small, reassuring smile. “Yeah, I’m okay. Just a weird morning turning into a weird day.”
Harold stood up, groaning - maybe a little overdramatically - before turning to step toward the counter. He returned Aaron’s smile, though far more genuinely. “Well let’s see how weird a day, then. Then you can stop fussing about what today could be, and get to living it.”
Aaron had to bite his tongue to keep from finishing Harold’s sentence. ‘Stop fussing about what today could be and get to living it’ was his token phrase. He said it to almost anyone who came through the door.
Aaron, instead, stepped to the side as Harold came around the counter, letting him in - it was his coffee shop, anyway. Even if he didn’t technically work there anymore, Aaron wasn’t about to tell him he couldn’t step behind the counter and make him something.
Harold grabbed the portafilter, tapping out grounds that Aaron hadn’t cleaned yet. He ran it under the boiling water. “What would you like today?”
Aaron shrugged. “Actually, black sounds good.”
Harold stopped, turning to him with one eyebrow quirked. “Weird morning indeed. I hardly even recognize you with an order like that.” Nevertheless, Harold bent slowly down, reaching under the counter. “Light?”
“Yeah. Maybe the Ethiopian?”
Harold snatched up the appropriate tin of pre-measured coffee beans, and tossed them into the grinder. By the setting he rolled the dial to, Aaron was apparently getting a pour-over.
The magine squealed and groaned, splitting and grinding the little pieces.
.
Zak:
Zak sat on the cold, dark, hard, dirty, uneventful, pitiful, dusty…uh…hmm, more adjectives…….stone…oh! bruising, (that’s a good word) - floor. Maybe even hateful. Definitely redundant.
Well, not that the floor itself was redundant, but him sitting on it sure the fuck was. He was pretty sure his butt was permanently warped to the odd convexes of the cellar floor. Not that he could tell. James liked the cellar to stay dark and boring - nothing so fancy as a mirror would he deign to present to Zak.
Shame. Zak couldn’t exactly remember his face anymore, but he knew it was one handsome mug. A heartbreaker. Probably. He hadn’t really had a lot of experience before his now-warped butt ended up in this creepy little spot, but…well, he was pretty darn sure everyone wanted him. They had to. He was just that heckin gorgeous.
If only he had a mirror to fully appreciate it. Maybe then life down here wouldn’t be sooooo fucking boring.
He had mastered it, though. Letting his eyes glaze over, staring into the middle distance, playing movies in his mind. Little people he created in his head that sprung to life and entertained him. Julietta and Celia were finally about to admit their feelings for each other. But - gasp - neither of them knew that Celia’s ex-husband, Pedro was - pause for effect - still alive!!!
Okay, so maybe that was from a soap opera. Zak thought that it maybe might be from a soap opera? But really, he didn’t fucking know anymore. He just made the stories, twisting and shredding little bits of others off of their forms and shoving the oozing, gorey pieces together until they kinda maybe a little bit formed a new one. Some fucking frenkenstein of a story that kept him sane.
Or was it Frankenstein’s monster?
Let’s be real, Frankenstein was the only monster in that book, anyway.
The point being, Zak was still sane. Probably. Possibly.
Okay, well, he had no idea how to tell if he was sane.
What the fuck did ‘sane’ mean, anyway?
Zak’s head snapped up, thoughts interrupted as the footsteps approached the cellar door. The chain rustled and clanged against the hardwood. Then blinding light split through the darkness.
Zak hissed, covering his eyes with his arm as James’ heavy footsteps plodded down the stairs.
.
Aaron:
The grounds made a gentle, barely-audible hss as the water dripped slowly down the filter, exposing the grounds to air once more. They plastered themselves to the side of the paper, evenly spreading down the small cone as the steaming coffee slowly trickled into the mug. Aaron watched, a little jealous. Though, of course Harold had been doing this a lot longer than Aaron - he knew how to get the perfect pour. Something about the way he poured in a slow circle - maybe Aaron’s wasn’t quite circley enough, but he never had such a neat lay of the grounds.
It didn’t take long. Harold held up the mug with a smile. “Let’s find out, then.” He squinted down at the dark liquid. His brows furrowed.
“What?” Aaron asked. “Is it bad?”
Harold’s Core Use was a little bit of clairvoyance. Just a touch. If a coffee (yes, it had to be coffee) was made specifically for one person with them specifically in mind during the making, he could tell by the cup what kind of day they’d have - possibly a few highlights or low points. Sometimes, he even had a few tips.
Harold shook his head. “No, it’s not that - it’s just. Oh.” He snorted a laugh, then reached toward the little fridge. He grabbed a little glass pitcher of creamer and poured a bit into the mug. The white swirled, slowly blending with the coffee until it made a rich golden brown.
Harold chuckled, peering deeply into the drink once more. “Ah, there it is.” He glanced up. “You know, it’s not black coffee if there’s cream.”
Aaron shrugged. “It’s still drip. And the cream is good.”
Harold held his gaze for a moment longer. “Never change, son.” He glanced back down to the mug. “Alright alright, what do we have today…Anxiety today, mostly. Oh, but you’re going to meet a friend! An important friend? Wait, a…lover?” He squinted. “I can’t quite tell. But a maybe-friend.” He glanced up, beaming. “That’s great! I’m always saying you need to get out more. This will be good for you!”
Aaron rolled his eyes, gently taking the coffee from Harold’s fingers. “I don’t even know who it is yet.”
“No, but isn’t that the best part? Life never gets boring. Doesn’t matter how long you keep at it - you’re never bored.”
Aaron supposed that was true.
.
Zak:
“Oh fucking finally,” Zak quipped as he stood, brushing the dust from his jeans. “I was getting so goddamn bored.” He strolled forward, meeting James halfway.
God, faces were weird. Zak knew it was James because - well - James was the only one who ever came to visit him. He’d long gotten used to James wearing new faces, but - well, this one was disorienting to say the least. Weirdly hard to be mad at a face like that. But. Still fun to piss the fuck off.
“So what do you want to do today? I was thinking maybe we could fly to Paris. Oh! Or we could go to the park an-” Zak cut off, gagging on nothing as his vocal chords froze. Again.
He swallowed, ignoring the stiffness. He rolled his eyes as dramatically as he could manage. James never let him have any fun anymore.
He just stared down at Zak, face as horrifically unimpressed and dull as always. “You’re in one of your moods.”
Zak opened his mouth to speak, holding up a finger. He tried to mouth the words as fully and clearly as he could, but James didn’t seem to get it. He just furrowed his brows, watching Zak’s face contorted with the effort.
Eventually, James must have assumed this was more annoying than Zak talking, because James pressed his fingers to Zak’s throat, and suddenly he was free again.
Zak cleared his throat to shake the strange sensation - you’d think he’d be used to it by now - then he tried again.
“What I was trying to say is I prefer to call it a ‘phase’.”
“I like your silent phases better.”
Zak grinned. “That’s a lie and you know it. You loooooooove me.”
Aaaaaand suddenly Zak’s voice wasn’t working again.
Great.
“On the ground.”
Zak crossed his arms, thinning his eyes at James.
James rolled his eyes again. Then Zak’s legs didn’t work anymore either. He crumpled unceremoniously to the ground. Fucking typical. He winced as the sharper pieces of stone bit into the vulnerable flesh.
Just because he felt like being a little shit today, Zak rolled over with his arms, gripping the floor however he could - and tried to drag himself away. His dead legs scrubbed against the uneven stone, pulling him back.
Sometimes, when James decided to take away body-worky rights, Zak was numb in those places too. But of course, not this time. Probably because Zak felt like being a brat today, but James had had more and more fun playing with nerves lately. He liked to push Zak’s body to the limit, manipulating it. Making it lie to itself.
Rude, honestly. It was basically trespassing. Which Zak was at least 87% sure was a crime.
…Maybe it wasn’t anymore? He had been down here a while.
He barely got a few…steps? Crawls? Pulls? Whatever - before his face crunched against the stone as well.
Ah. Arms no-worky.
Well, he had gotten further than he expected. Sometimes James pinned him down with a foot to his back instead and let him just squirm and writhe, trying to get away.
But apparently fun was illegal now, too. And James preferred ‘shut the fuck up and hold still while I rip you open to see what’s inside - again.’
What a guy. Probably real popular in the dating world.
Wait. Wasn’t he still chasing that ex of his? Boyfriend? Ex? Husband? …Ex husband? Ex boyfriend? Fuck if Zak knew. It had been a while. He’d already hacked up that story into mush and blended it with all the other little thoughts scrambling his mind. Not that James was his favorite topic of conversation anyway, just…well, his only topic of conversation.
Zak liked to play games with James. He played the ‘how much will James let me bleed before saving me’ game. And the ‘how many insults can I hurl before I start screaming’ game. Oh! And of course, the ‘how close can I get to finally punching him in the face before I regret it’ game.
James was such a fun guy like that. Very dynamic.
What game Zak didn’t like was the ‘body no worky and you aren’t even allowed to scream as I rip into you’ game. That one was less fun.
Though, unfortunately, apparently, possibly how today was going to go.
.
Aaron:
Today was going…better than Aaron had expected. For getting off to such a rocky start, he soon fell into the rhythm of work. Something about his ‘customer service’ voice always helped. Even if it was fake, it…tricked his mind somehow. Made him believe he was truly having a good day with a voice so warm and kind. After a while, that demeanor sank in, dripping through every fiber of his body. It warmed him. It became him.
After a few hours, he was humming while he worked, hopping over the counter every few minutes to move a chess piece on the board in front of Harold between customers. He never won that game, but he always loved to play. Aaron liked the rooks the best.
Aaron was feeling a lot better, though it was past noon already, and the other guy hadn’t come to pick up his shift. Harold had noticed, too. He kept checking the clock and looking at the door. Finally, he sighed. “I really need to fire that kid. He skips too much.”
Aaron swallowed. “No no, I’m sure it’s okay. He probably just got caught up. I can stay! I don’t have any problem doing a double today.” He really didn’t. He would much rather stay here with the warm, rich coffee, playing chess with Harold than go home and talk to Jessie about this morning.
.
Zak:
Today, James was…relatively brief. It was only an hour or two. Or five. Or seventeen.
Zak didn’t really know.
All he knew is his insides were outsides somehow, and he couldn’t breathe. Everything James did just added to the culminating white-hot agony that ripped through him. It lit every cell - every nerve on fire.
Every time he started to pass out, James’ cool fingertips pressed against his temple again, yanking him back into consciousness.
It wasn’t fucking fair. Why did it matter to him if Zak was asleep or not? He could do the same fucked up experiments with or without conciousness. Sometimes James did let him pass out. Or at least let him scream.
Evidently he wasn’t in a charitable mood today. Gee. Wonder why that was.
It was hours before the pain faded, stitching itself up and away as his body re-knit. Zak could feel the fibers pulling back together over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over again, re-sealing the torn flesh with fresh, pink skin. Or just pulling back together seamlessly - like nothing happened in the first place.
Zak didn’t know which he preferred. Of course he didn’t want to be scarred, but…It was so wrong to look over himself after the agony and have nothing to show for it. Like it had never happened at all. Like he was losing his mind.
Maybe he was. Again, Zak didn’t have any idea how to tell.
All he knew is life jumped back to his limbs as he lay, strewn across the jagged ground. He knew because he was twitching now. He hadn’t been twitching before.
His voice woke up too, betraying him with a low, soft whine that stretched on and on as James climbed the steps again, slamming the door shut.
Tears were already dripping down Zak’s nose as the chain pulled back into place over the door.
Then, silence again.
Sooooo fucking boring.
.
Aaron:
Aaron stayed straight through until closing at 8:00. Harold had left a few hours ago, leaving the shop mostly quiet and dark. He hummed quietly as he started closing out the register - it was still ten minutes until closing. He didn’t expect another customer.
Apparently, Aaron was wrong.
The bell on the door chimed as a stranger stepped into the shop.
He smiled kindly up at Aaron. “Hey, are you guys still open?”
Aaron glanced at the clock, then smiled at the man. “Yeah, just for a few more minutes. But I can get you something to go if you’d like?” He’d have to clean the machine again, though. Stupid. Why hadn’t he just waited?
“Oh, no no I don’t want a drink. I was wondering if you were hiring?”
Aaron paused. His eyes naturally flicked to Harold’s empty seat, wishing he were there to handle this. “I mean, we aren’t actively searching right now, but…” He shrugged awkwardly. “I can always ask the manager- uh, I mean owner -about it? If you leave your name and number, I can call you back tomorrow?”
The man smiled. It was such a soft smile - one that made him feel safe and relaxed. Not unlike Harold’s. “Sure,” the man replied, pulling a pen from his pocket. He plucked a napkin from one of the tables, and bent over it to jot down the quick note. Within moments, he was standing in front of Aaron again, holding it out. Smiling again. “There you are. The name’s Jeremiah, I hope to get a chance to work with you.”
Aaron smiled back, taking the outstretched napkin. “That would be nice.”
