berserker

Adam Walker. 26. 1x1 roleplay blog.

[charlotteofthedeadlands]

stillborn ;

[walking-adam-blog]

The only time that she felt safe was against Adam, and Charlotte leaned a bulk of her weight on the man. Her head pressed against his jaw, and she wrapped one of her arms tight around his waist. The idea she was with anyone else seemed ridiculous, and the concept that someone else lived with her was poisoned her stomach.But Adam was hers now, and only hers. She didn’t always look at James or Patsy, her eyes dropping downward when she jumped up the steps, keeping her same long stride as she walked. Yet, Charlotte did danced around the past in her mind, her hand pressed against the small of Adam’s back as she swayed a bit. They must of looked unbalanced, especially with the blood that dropped itself against Adam’s cheek and knuckles. The smell of smoke was familiar, too familiar as she felt it burn her nose. It had been what felt like forever since Adam had smoked around her. She remembered stealing packs for him when they laid in Paris. It was a kind memory, a better one that London and and a kinder one than then the skeleton friends they ran across. Adam used to relax when he smoked, and shake his head just a bit as he exhaled. Charlotte always liked laying next to him as he did, and his back to fall into the bed with a small back loose its tension. It used to be calming, at least before this mess happened, and before James’s eyes scanned Charlotte with a snakelike perception, and she looked up at Adam to see if he caught it. He didn’t, and that only made Charlotte tense.

Tense up until Adam spoke up, and the two walked together like they always had down the halls. "Thank you, for helping us. We needed it, it’s been a long time to get here. We were in Paris for a while and then… a few other places, and then here. I guess,” she said before catching herself off guard. James wasn’t listening, seeming to not even bring his eyes down to Charlotte as they talked. There was still a darkness in him, a darkness whenever he saw Adam. But she noticed the keys, and the way he had some sort of strange authority over the group that lived in the town– or at least the ones that stumbled into the church turned bar. James was always a grudging leader. She remembered how him and Patsy would always be trying to set people up, always trying to bury themselves in other people’s lives. It was a spirited back then, almost in jokes and laughter the way they would kiss in public, or the way Charlotte could never really shake the fantasy of Adam and Charlotte together to complete some sort of strange double dating fantasy. But now it all seemed to be fantasy, like a strange dream from a drug trip gone wrong. Charlotte tried to bring it back, place where she had last seen there faces. James she saw less of, Charlotte knew that for certain. Mostly because it usually meant that Adam could be there, too and she didn’t want to deal with the painful awkwardness of seeing him again. But Charlotte could have sworn that it was at Patsy’s when she came over for wine night. And James swiftly left with a cigarette in his mouth and a mumbling of seeing his mates. She wondered if that night he saw Adam. It was only a week before the war; it was so soon before the outbreak. Patsy and her drinking wine on a small patio on the third floor flat and Charlotte got a bit too drunk on what was supposed to be a lazy Sunday night. Patsy braided her hair and reminded her that five years was a long time, maybe she should try seeing Adam again. Maybe in a week Charlotte would have texted him, but it seems like forever now.

Her hands started to shake as soon as he left. It didn’t make any sense. They were dead, or supposed to be dead. And the signs of the skinny, broken versions of them. It wasn’t like they could drink wine and forget about their problems anymore. The slamming of the door frightened Charlotte, and her mind spun with the memories again. “How is this possible,” she stammered out, her feet moving to the bed that was too small in the middle of the makeshift room. The whole church was made into these rooms, mostly broken down into the barest of essentials. But she flopped hereof down on the bed, with her eyes wide as she looked down at her hands. “It’s not possible, that’s it. I’m just sick.. we’re just sick to death,” she stuttered even more. Her head dropped against her hands, squeezing at her hair between her fingertips. Charlotte was still mumbling to herself, things that did not make sense to anyone but her as she pulled at the dark, uneven strains. Patsy and James were not themselves anymore. The memories of their relationship flooded her. Of the fights they would create and the tears that she would cry against Charlotte’s shoulder. They were supposed to be in London, that strange mix of mismatched strangers that sprawled across Britain. She wondered if the other couples would appear. Of Jackson, the country boy whose never been to London until the military, or of Will, whose Scottish accent was thicker than Adam’s. It all started to overwhelmed Charlotte in that familiar way. First in her hands, then in her breathing, then in the undeniable way she couldn’t just calm down, how she couldn’t stop talking. She was rambling now, all slurring together so that none of it could make a word of sense as the corner of her eyes turned red. Charlotte looked up, across at Adam and shook her head. “What… what do we do?”

He felt guilty for thinking it, but when James left them alone Adam could not help but be relieved. After all this time he supposed he should have wept tears of happiness for his lost friends. Or at least been able to say more than a few blunt words and do something besides cling to his wife. Or was she just his girlfriend? That thought was even more unpleasant, and Adam stood there for a moment, trying to figure out if he and Charlotte really had gotten married or if that was just some fantasy his mind had come up with to get through the insanity. His hand went up to his neck in instinct, to where the chain holding his ring seared against his skin. They had gotten married, he reassured himself as the smoke from his cigarette burnt is eyes and ash fell to his boot. They must have. They did. And that was all that mattered. And no James, no Patsy, and no bastard ex lover of Charlotte's could take that away from him. He smiled lightly at that thought. Content, he stood there, oblivious to how Charlotte scuttled over to the bed and began to speak. Everything was how it should have been. Perhaps he had fucked it all up in London but now everything was fine. It was as if those drunken nights with girls whose names he could not recall had not existed, as if James had not told him hundreds of times that he ought to call Charlotte and take her out to a damn dinner so he and Patsy could tag alone. No, because now they were all here together as they have always been, and the irony seeped deep into Adam right before the sound of labored breathing and high-pitched ramblings strung against his ears. "Charlotte," As always Adam went to her. With his arms outstretched he shuffled over towards the bed, and the cigarette was placed on a battered looking bedside table before he sat down beside his wife. "Hey now, hey-..." She was shaking violently. Enough to scare Adam a little bit and force his hands to twine with hers. "It's okay. Charlotte, Charlie ya got to breathe now sweetheart. It's not impossible,it's, just...I can't believe it either." But it was real.  

Again the Walkers found themselves at a crossroads. On the one hand, it was still James and Patsy no matter how different they looked. It was still their best mates. Still familiar faces in a world where everything else had gone to hell. And it had been so long since they had seen them that Adam had given up hope long ago that any of their friends or family had survived the outbreak that it seemed foolish to let them fall to the wayside once more. On the other hand though....Adam looked nervously back towards the door as Charlotte writhed. They were different. They were broken and shattered just like they were, and the man was having a difficult time trying to wrap his head around the idea of trusting them. He didn't like the way James looked at him, or at Patsy. He didn't like the implications of what the other couple had been doing, and he didn't want to think of what they did in order to be in charge of that dump. Adam shuddered. Then leaned down to kiss the curve of Charlotte's shoulder as if the movement would help him think of an answer. "I dunno, darlin'. I dunno anymore but...we migh' as well stay for a wee bit until we figure it out." He kissed the same spot once more. She was still quivering against his lips, shaking with her panic, and he let out a tiny sigh before caving in and wrapping his body completely around her with their foreheads touching in the way they always did. Their positions had switched from when they arrived at the doctor's house. Now instead of Adam whining and pleading to leave he was shushing her into submission and biting down the idea to just climb out the window and run as fast as they could to the car. They couldn't leave. Not yet. Not now. "Just relax, Charlie. Ya know I'll keep ya safe. 'nd baby Walker too, aye? Ya know I will. I swear it." It felt odd to be talking about the baby at a time like this. Even saying the word seemed to taste like ash on Adam's tongue, and despite the smile on his bloodied mouth it still hurt when he pressed his lips to her babbling ones. They were sick, that much was true. Sick and certainly not able to take care of themselves let alone some small thing that cried at the drop of a hat. But obsessing about how completely out of their depth they were would do nothing now for Charlotte's madness, and Adam continued to croon at her under his breath and wipe whatever beginnings of tears from under her eyes. 

After what seemed like ages Adam thought to switch direction. If not for Charlotte's sake then for his own thoughts that kept twisting around themselves and getting all jumbled up inside his head. Mostly they were thoughts of the other man, of the man Charlotte had said she killed and thoughts of that very man sitting where Adam now sat and comforting her when Adam could not. "I asked for a washroom 'nd tha' old bastard took us 'ere." One of his hands reached up to try to fix the mess of her hair. She'd starting sweating again, which forced uneven dark bangs to cling to her forehead and the rest to frizz up at its edges. Adam knew he couldn't have looked any better. If the throbbing pain in his face was any indication, he most probably looked like shit. "So maybe there's a tub in here we can use, eh? Wouldn't tha' be nice? Tae get cleaned up a little bit before we go out there again? I don't think we made the best first impression, really."

[charlotteofthedeadlands]

stillborn ;

[walking-adam-blog]

The chaos was the strangest of it all. Charlotte stood next to Adam, a man she loved, in front of the people that she had already weeped for. She was reminded of the cold winters in the house that Adam recovered in. How they would laugh about them, at the memory that she recalled to be much more fun than it actually was. The looping of memories shattered in Charlotte’s mind and she once again felt sick. The same illness that ached over her since the doctor. Her arm still looped around Adam’s arm. She needed his body to keep her from falling, but in her own way she was holding him back. She didn’t want to see the pair fight again, and she squeezed the thinning jacket under his arms. Patsy got comfortable against James’ body. They were like looking into a mirror, and charlotte felt uneasy about how thin they were. About how patsy’s beautiful blonde hair had turned from beachy waves to frizz, untamed like the wind outfit the makeshift bar. They were hallowed, and James who always looked so strong to charlotte turned into a gangling mess of limbs and ripped clothes. There affection for each other seemed to disappear. They always were a couple that kissed, that grabbed each other in public. It embarrassed Charlotte then, but now it was just a memory of what should have been, and what it could never be anymore.

“i killed him,” Charlotte said coldly.  It had been so long since she thought about the outbreak. Since south of the river fell, since running across the bridges to see the lifeless growling of a man who she submitted to out of laziness. Thinking about him made her sick, for loving someone else, for needed a man that wasn’t Adam. Her eyes stayed down, still not wanting to look at anyone as she thought about London, about a makeshift home that she created. She forgot about the nights with Patsy. The apartment drinking afternoons after their classes, about the amount of times that she told her to give Adam another chance, the times she talked about the mindless ‘zombie’ girls he was shagging and the way that made her stomach sick. She had blocked most of it out, yet there was still a sense of patsy that had never left her. There was moments where she cried for her, where she would shiver in her sleep and it was Adam who would coo her back to safety. And though Adam was not one to talk about his feelings, he never had been, she knew that James would always somehow be on his mind.

"Ah well, we all make mistakes, don’t we darling?” Patsy replied with a smile, “But it doesn’t matter because we are back. The original team!” She must have remembered things much different, Charlotte thought to herself as she clung back to Adam.

Patsy suddenly pushed herself off of James and turned around to face him. They mumbled to themselves before her arm slid down to James’ back pocket of his old jeans and pulled out a broken box of cigarettes. Another whispered exchange as charlotte let her head drop down against Adam’s shoulder. A whisper of an apology left her mouth as her other hand slid down to her stomach, her arm wrapped around her torso in some attempt to keep her baby safe from the evils of the outside world. She needed him right now, and there was nothing that she say. But he knew, her husband always knew. After there was brief moment of tension again the other couple and Patsy turned around, her boots squeaking the floor before she slipped one of the cigarettes from the pack. James has turned from this point, having another low conversation with a man at the bar. “Still smoke, Walker?” she asked smoothly. Enough to make Charlotte lift her head and take a half step away from the two. A pit in her stomach about the whole thing, and she moved her long fringe from her eyes, not able to gaze at the way that Patsy popped the cigarette between his lips. “We are so happy to have you back,” she replied with a smile before she heard the whistle of James and she turned around.

“Up,” he said simple, pointing to a set of spiral stairs behind the bar.

With a roll of her eyes, Patsy protested. Her body slumped over, enough for Charlotte to notice the way her bones stuck out of her skin. “But we have guests, James!”

“I didn’t stutter… and hand 'em over,” he said colder than he had ever spoke before. He was never a serious man, nor the type to snap like that. He looked down, holding out her hand.

With a scoff and a stamp of her foot, Patsy turned back around and gave both Adam and Charlotte a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll be back so soon my lovelies, don’t move a muscle and we will catch up!” she said in that same shrilling of her voice, and she walked past James and slammed the cigarettes down in his hand before she hurried up the steps.

It was all so strange, and Charlotte felt uneasy about the whole thing. Dizzy again, and the weakness in her bones began to overtake her. James lit up his own cigarette, flicking his lighter too many times before it finally smoked up.“Don’t mind her. We know how excited she gets about this shite,” he mumbled out, pushing his weight off the bar and walked to Adam. He always liked being taller than Adam, and his chin lifted up higher. He walked to him and lit up the lighter for Adam, looking him straight in the eyes as he stood there. “It is good to see ya, ya’ bloody bastard,” he told him firmly, sniffing hard as he put the lighter away. “It’s good for the missus, and for me.”

A slow, sick feeling crept into Adam's gut and stayed there the more Patsy spoke, weighing the man down. It was such a silly thing to get upset over but when his old friend brought up some ex of Charlotte's he could not help but blister in agitation. He didn't like that. He couldn't stand it, or stomach even the notion of her wrapped up in some other man's arms, in some other man's bed while they enjoyed a life they took for granted. Even if it was his own damn fault for not calling, even if he had shagged countless girls after their split, it was still sickening. And it seemed even under the most duress Adam could not help his jealously. His arm curled tighter around her waist. "It was a long time ago." He mumbled. It was said more to himself than to the woman. More of a whisper, as if he was trying to the bubble of the glee when Charlotte admitted his fate. Good riddance, the bastard. "A long time ago. Tha's all tha' is, love."

Everything seemed to go too fast for Adam to comprehend. From the screechy, familiar voice of Patsy in his ear to the sensation of a cigarette being shoved between his lips, he felt as though he and Charlotte had been picked up, shaken about, and then dropped without warning into a universe that made little sense. Maybe the combined hits from Lorelei and her father and James had truly turned his brain to much, because he couldn't find the sense to say anything at all in return. Even quicker still Patsy was distracted by the call of her boyfriend, and as soon as she had arrived, she was walking up the staircase with her finger wrapped around the following man's belt loop. His blood ran cold at the realization. Not even the sudden flame in front of his face, nor the words slipping from James' mouth could distract him properly from the horrific thing he just witnessed, and he hoped that Charlotte had not seen...or at least had not understood. "Ah." Adam didn't know what to say to that. If they had bumped into each other at a restaurant, or perhaps a wedding of a mutual friend after a long bout of having not seen each other James' words would have been fine. But the other man had just attacked him, and they were standing there when they shouldn't have been living, and Adam was had not lost all his sense just yet. He had to be a fool not to infer what Patsy just did. And it seemed James realized what Adam knew as well, since he smirked in an odd, chilling way, and lightly punched Adam against his shoulder once the fag was lit. "First one of those is on the house. If ya want any more though 'm afraid I can't be so accommodating."

That was an even stranger thing to say to someone he hadn’t seen in...what, a year? More? Less? Adam looked back down at Charlotte once before lifting his free hand and pulling the cigarette from his lips. It had been so long since he last had one that his lungs felt like they were on fire right before the nicotine kicked in. He coughed once. "We haven't any money..." Adam couldn't believe he was having this conversation with James of all people. "We haven't...haven't much of anything. At all, really, besides the ca-" He shut his mouth before the man could reveal the car they had stolen from their last shelter. Once upon a time he would have trusted the other bloke with any secret or any thought, but now everything was different, and the only person Adam trusted any more was the woman clinging to his side and keeping his heart in sync to hers. Luckily though, James didn't seem to notice the almost-slip, and he waved his hand almost carelessly, in such stark contrast to how he looked a few minutes before, and gave Charlotte a look Adam could not recognize. 

"We'll think of something."

"Right." The adrenaline from the brawl had slipped away by now, and it was replaced with the throbbing of Adam's mangled face and chest and knuckles. Just for once he wanted to not be bruised. Just for one bloody day. Adam huffed in frustration at it all, and turned completely towards his wife to hold her against his chest. "Ye got a washroom round this dump, mate?" The Scot didn't notice the break in James' relaxed expression. Nor the anger, the offense that he took at that jab. Adam simply kept the cigarette tight between his lips. And his hands continued to rub against Charlotte's back in the same soothing fashion they always did. 

"Course."  After a long moment of silence James plucked the cigarette from his lips and turned his heel in a clear sign for them to follow. "We're doin' pretty damn well over here. Not total animals like the rest of the world." Adam disagreed. Though the church was better than the Boucher house, the smell was much worse in there, and the company a lot more threatening than the invalids who drooled over themselves and stared too long whenever the Walkers kissed. However...Adam's eyes flickered back down to the bottle in James' hand, and the smoke was still thick in his lungs as they followed behind, Charlotte's hand still clenched within his. There were far more carnal pleasures in this madness. Something to distract him maybe from the child growing inside his wife or the fact that they had both completely lost it. Even if it was just for a little while...even if James was so different he couldn't recognize him any longer, there could be worse things than discovering those they once loved weren't rotting in the masses. "Just try to not use all the hot water, if ya will." Stopping abruptly in front of a door, James shoved the bottle back towards Adam to pull a ring of keys from his pocket. Seemed like the drunken fool of a friend he once knew had turned into someone of importance around here, Adam thought. Someone in charge. Someone who could do a lot more damage than a few punches. And worst of all he hated thinking these things of his mate. Truly, he did. And still there was something so off about him when he pulled open the door for Charlotte and flickered his gaze downwards quite suddenly to stare at their feet. "'nd don't take too long. I don't feel like listening to Patsy's bitching when she comes back, eh?" It didn’t sound like a suggestion, and he didn’t wait for a response, and just as quick as Patsy James was stalking away with a look and a cloud of smoke.

[charlotteofthedeadlands]

stillborn ;

[walking-adam-blog]

Charlotte let out a yelp at the fight, and her body pulled away from Adam. This was hell, and she was sure that they were both dead in a ditch somewhere.. or worse.  Her eyes widened as the red color strained the expression and mouth of the man she loved, and her eyes looked at the man who was a ghost of her own past, too. Hell.  Her mind started to jerk, with violence to the pubs she would go to, of the nights spent with the curly haired blonde who would tease and poke at her. The jabs to her sides and her voice shot back ringing in her ear  ‘Ah but he’s fit, that Scottish Adam Walker,’ haunted her mind with just as much gore as the fist fights that they had fallen into. It was home again, and it was a tiny apartment and a busy, bustling city. Strains of a youth that she could never get back, and the shouting of James fought with the flashbacks and were too vivid to be ignored. Her eyes were closed, and her hands went up to her ears and the frozen in her body caused her to one again be able to help. The brunette was just as worthless, with a life that sucked her soul from her body, and Charlotte’s body became to quiver.  James, James, James.  The man fell right back into place and it was almost as if the attack had never happened. As if it was all going to be ‘just okay’ and it was all some misunderstanding at some that was out of her control.  Adam’s voice jerked her eyes back open, and the spitting action caused her to tense. She wanted to do something, and she wanted to be able to move. But nothing. And her hands still pressed against her ears as she stared. “Please… please don’t!” she finally let out, tumbling from a broken mouth with swollen eyes. She hadn’t known she was crying.  The woman pulled against James, and the four of them stood in together in a sort of Twilight Zone of emotions. A hollowness filled Charlotte as her legs somehow moved her next to Adam. Her fingertips went up to his swollen lower lip, and her fingers touched against the blood. It was so commonplace, the red, and it didn’t even phase her. It was too hard for her to rationalize any of this, so she focused back on her husband, her finger putting a slight pressure on his mouth. “How hurt are you?” she hissed, somehow putting herself between James and Adam, and her thoughts only curved toward the father of her child.

“What the fuck?!” the blonde said, loud, low voice. She, too had draped herself against her partner, but there was something off about her. Her blonde hair had freezer out, and charcoal black lined eyes that had always been dark. Her arm dropped from James and she moved to Charlotte. Her shoes clicked, and the slight heel on them caused her presences to demand something that was unheard of since the war. “Fucking Charlotte Clarke!” she cursed again, and she, too, stood between the men.  Though it didn’t stop James from coming up from behind her, and wrapping his arms around the woman’s stomach.  Charlotte’s eyes tore from Adam and drifted to the woman. Not her, too.  Her words floated again in her mind, and her body became sick with weakness. She had thought she had gotten away from her former life, from her times in the bars and the shopping centers of the city. She thought she had ran far away from Southbank, but it all seemed to catch up with her again. Charlotte’s face turned pale, white, sickened by it all. “I thought you were fucking dead! Everyone south was the first to go and somehow you show up like nothing fucking happened?” There wasn’t the same jarring anger that James had, but the disbelief still rung true. Charlotte’s body tensed up to Adam, and as she usually did believed that somehow Adam was going to do what he always did— he was going to fix it, and he was going to get them out.

There was a stutter to Charlotte’s voice, and her fingers still sticky with the blood on her hands. “Patsy?” her mouth was just as dry and James, still hot with anger, glared at the couple and used his girlfriend as some sort of shield. “I’m sorry I…-“

Quickly she was cut off by her hand jerking up and swaying the air around with her fingers. “Don’t you say a word, you fucking bitch,” she said, and Charlotte wasn’t sure if she was joking or not. Sarcasm seemed to be dripped and torn out of her system, and her ability to joke always seemed to come delayed for the young girl. “I think a drink is in order, James. Our mates are back in our lives,” she said, twisting her head behind her. When she moved, her bones were too visible. Patsy was always a thin girl, enough to make Charlotte envious of the way that clothes would always fit her. But now she didn’t feel that way anymore. “Do you mind getting the whiskey?” she asked, leaning her back against his chest. It seemed that they had found their way to snake around each other, and Charlotte’s expression was still in awe. How was this possible that not just one, but three of her ghosts came back to haunt her. She blinked, and her hand went to find Adam’s somewhere in the mess.

"Fine." Adam managed through bits of blood and an already swelling lip. "Fine, 'm fine..." His wits had been knocked about from the beating, leaving him dazed and hurting as Charlotte fretted above him. Had he just hallucinated that bout? Had he just...had he just really seen his friend?  Practically the only person besides his family that he gave a damn about when the outbreak hit and quite possibly the person he had hurt the most from his escape to freedom? It didn't seem possible. It didn't seem real at all. And yet the splitting pain in his face and chest was no made up episode. James was real. And he was furious. And Adam could not find the will to blame him for it. Still, he couldn't help but whisper an incredulous 'what the fuck' as he hoisted himself off the ground. Even in a world overrun by the undead, James was still such a prick. Typical. He spat out the collected blood and heaved before realizing where he was and who he was clinging to. "Ye alrigh', Charlie?" Adam hadn't paid mind to the conversation between Charlotte and the fourth figure. Nor did he notice James slipping away to find the whiskey he'd been sent for. His eyes had been ringing too loudly for the soldier to hear much except his own horrified heartbeat, and his arms fell effortlessly around her waist as if to protect her from what she'd just witnessed. "'m alrigh' there isn't anything tae-..." 

"I can't fuckin' believe it!" The screech of the other woman was shrill enough to make Adam jump. "After all that and everythin' ya put each other through, you idiots are back together!" He turned around just in time to catch a roll of bright blue eyes. "I honestly can't believe it. I can't. James! Darling have you seen them!?" That makes two of us, Adam mused bitterly. Because even after having the truth of the matter beat into him, Adam could not believe his eyes. James. And Patsy. The both of them looking worse for wear and glaring at him with eyes hardened from what they'd seen. He'd never thought in a million years that he would have to face his past. Not since he'd met Charlotte anyways. It was a miracle itself that he had ran into her...and now...James was trudging back with his teeth noticeably grinding in fury and his fist clenched around a whiskey handle. From this safe distance he could see how different they looked. Both James and Patsy were thin- thinner than he'd ever seen them and probably not too different from how he and Charlotte looked. Thin and gaunt and battered looking they had deep circles under their eyes and crows feet on the sides. James looked as though he had attempted to keep clean shaven while Patsy's long blonde hair was piled up on top of her head in some bizarre semblance of style. And they looked both completely different and the same as they'd always been. Always together. Always their own special brand of mad. It must have dropped 10 degrees by the time James had made his way back. At least that was how it felt to Adam, who had directed his eyes down to the top of Charlotte's head. With his free hand James seized Patsy by the hip and forced her against his front again which caused a loud, girlish squeal to bubble up past her lips. None of their audience members were interested in the exchange anymore, all falling back into their drinks or mumbled conversation which seemed to appease the stress of the situation. If only a bit. 

"Maybe we ought tae just leave..." Adam's eyes flickered nervously round the room as he mumbled. Down to Charlotte who had found her way tucked against his side and beneath his comforting arm, to James who was holding the bottle towards him as if daring to reject the offer. Angering his former friend even further seemed like a bad choice to Adam, though. And after a long moment of the men staring at each other, Adam took the bottle before James had the chance to throw a punch. And he didn't throw it back until Patsy's gaze turned a little too coarse for his liking. 

"Can't believe it, can we James?" Patsy's lip curved instantly upwards. A timeless characteristic of hers to be the life of the party. Even if the party this time was a run down church full of run down men. She seized the bottle back from Adam, clearly dismissing him as she stared straight at Charlotte and handed it over, her mouth running a mile a minute as she attempted to 'catch up'. "It's a miracle. A bloody miracle. How on earth did you get out of there? Last I heard you and what's-his-face were dead. What was his name again? Harold or Andrew or...well, what does it matter! Nothing matter from back then eh!?" She laughed. "Go on, go on, pass it round. Can't fucking believe you survived this mess Charlotte. Really, honestly can't."

[charlotteofthedeadlands]

stillborn ;

[walking-adam-blog]

Charlotte’s mind was empty.  Never in her life has her mind been so lonely without the thoughts of obsession, without the thoughts that would weigh her down.  The anxieties of being liked, of being popular with her friends, of being just as pretty as her friends, of doing well on her exams, of running her heels. The running, running, running spun her brain into nothingness and Charlotte had never been less of herself. Her hand clung down to her stomach— a stomach that was too small to be able to stick a life to it, and rubbed between the flaps of Adam’s military jacket across her hips as she leaned against Adam. No, they shouldn’t have had any sort of ability to speak of something so innocent. Not after what they had done. Not after the lives they had taken themselves for no reason, not after the darkness that were their shadows, the companionship of blood, the pain of knives and guns and bullets and swords that still hung across their bodies. Charlotte was nothing anymore, nothing but mousy brown hair that ombred into a lighter brown at there frayed tips as the strains hung in a ponytail too high for their position. She rubbed her face against the curve of his shoulder, and sniffed as she stood upright, stood on her riding boots that were so beaten and broken. Their lips still kissed, however, and their bodies were still linked, and their mouths still pressed harshly onto each other. Their kissing meant nothing more than the more hurt, more promises, more pain and Charlotte’s other hand clung to the curls of his hair that were cut in insanity. “Not a bother that you take care of me, but you do all the drivin’ is all, sweetheart.” she said with some sort of painful laugh as she moved to the car and popped herself into the passenger seat as her body sunk into the leather. She hadn’t even noticed that Adam lead her to the car, that Adam asked about her seatbelt, that he shut the door behind her. Charlotte truly believed she was able to do this on her own, clicking in and out of reality and somethings truly believing she was back in London.

Their hands linked together and Charlotte’s body turned itself to look upon Adam’s face, across his nose, through the blood that caked to his skin. Her body, as if always did, made itself small in the curve of a smile would sometimes pretend to cut her face in sanity. She refused to look at the signs, she refused to see the way that the letters twisted, how she wasn’t able to understand what any of them meant anymore. So she watched man and sometimes could see the handsome, youthful boy she knew so many years ago, crisp in a uniform, a romantic notion for a no nothing relationship. But Charlotte kept rubbing her thumb over his thumb, and she watched the way his face twitched, and the way that he watched the road, the way he would occasionally pull his hand away from her to pull against the stick. Sometimes she would look out the window and she could have swore she was back in England, perhaps at the board of Scotland if she dare to be so blunt. Her eyes saw the town, and she ignored the signs she wondered were in English and looked at the village town with a church staining the center of the town. “We must,” she said in a small voice, her head going down against his shoulder and rubbing the blood that had caked on her skin against his oversized jacket. “For the baby.”

For the baby— the delusion was heavy as the two finally got out. As the two went into their next suicide mission. They walked together, something that they had to with Charlotte’s mind and Adam’s foot. Her sword still crossing against her small back, and her foot crushing the broken sticks as they walk. The sun was going down, and the town’s shadows were long, longer then their own as their feet hit against a cobblestone. It looked like something lived here, but no guards stopped them, there was no use for papers, and there was no medical records. No hospitals or children that lined the streets. There wasn’t even solders, the ones with guns too big and egos even bigger. There was nothing. Nothing but the sound of their own feet, the stumbling, the awkward trips or two until the pub of the town became visible, where the smoke was cascading from a chimneys and Charlotte stood to look upon it with her eyes. One hand hard across Adam’s waist (when did it get so small?) and the other clutching her stomach as if something was really alive in their. “I love you,” she whispered against his shoulder before the two finally took the steps inside.

It was more of a scene from the wild west than a beautiful French village. The bar was lined with people just as broken as they were. The shelves covered in booze half drank and lined with tables of regulars. There was too many people inside, busy, crowed, with a small piano that had stopped as soon as the two had walked in. People of all colors, shapes and ages all turned. Charlotte wasn’t able to piece together how it was even possible. How no one had even given in inkling to the sort of crowd that was in there. After heightened breaths and tense shoulders, one of the men stood up and stumbled over. A small shotgun in his hand and a uniform tattered across his shoulder, tightened with a piece of string around his waist. Charlotte was able to see he was Adam’s age. Taller, thinner than she should be with a muss of brown hair that was just as unevenly cut and thin lips in a straight line. He went right for Adam, gun clearly held in front of him with a straightened arm. “Oi! You think you can just walk in here, mate?” his voice was too familiar, but Charlotte didn’t want to look. She rather curve herself against Adam as the thick Yorkshire accent. The steps creaked under him before the gun got close enough to Adam’s head. Charlotte flinched against him as wild brown eyes looked right at Adam, square against the blue eyes. It took him a moment, to really look at him with a shaking hand before the features came into focus. James, the boyish lad that Adam spent his fleeting military career with was staring right back at him. The always slender boy shook his head, and he could have sworn he’d seen a ghost. “Adam Walker!” his voice cracked, “You sonofabitch!” There was no way that the boy could have fired, not at him, but Adam still had been the first one to run, and the Walker name thickly rolled against his throat as he swung his other hand clean across his jaw.

For the baby. 

Adam had a feeling he was going to be hearing those words a lot. And not just hearing them from his wife either, but thinking them and living them and obsessing day and night over what their actions would bring. He wasn't fit to be a father when life was normal and fine. He certainly wasn't fit to be a father now, he wasn't even fit enough to be a proper partner and save Charlotte from anything. He only made everything worse, he only furthered her madness along by letting the doctor stick whatever needles he felt like into her arm. He was the one to hold her still. And whether he liked it or not, he was the one that let responsibility fall to the wayside and quite literally fucked them over. Suppose he should have thought about where he preferred to wander before neglecting to pull out for once, Adam thought bitterly as they strode through the doors. And to make it even worse he felt more idiotic the more he thought on the life they could maybe piece together once it was born. Maybe they could be happy...not rice or sane or anything like that...but happy. Adam sighed. God, he really was an idiot. "I love you too, Charlie. I do. Always." 

But whatever pleasant, stupid thoughts he was thinking on were gone however, when the doors finally opened and what lay inside came to view. It would have been almost comical, the sight, had Adam and Charlotte not been through everything they had. It was like something out of a movie. Or a bad film even that Adam would have scoffed at while laying useless on his couch and shoving potato chips into his mouth. It wasn't a movie though. It was all right there in front of them, even the man who looked almost too familiar and who oddly enough sparked an almost forgotten memory. Seeing him wasn't possible. But Adam knew that face. He knew that voice. He knew that man. He knew exactly who he was, just from those few seconds. For a brief, mad moment Adam was certain that he was looking straight at a ghost from his past. And then he was certain what he was seeing was real when the ghost in question lunged forward to sock him in the jaw. Jeers rang out instantly at the sound of bone against bone, along with scattered applause and whistles as if they were the best entertainment this lot had seen in awhile. Adam would have thought that reasonable enough had his face not been exploding in pain and his body thrown down to the floor with an graceless thud. He knew that man. He knew him even if he hadn't have screamed Adam's name, and it was with a twisted stomach did the soldier rasp out to his once best friend. "James." 

"You worthless piece of shit." Adam's head was turned aways but he could still hear the other man shoving Charlotte away and stepping forward to land a kick. "You lyin', sorry coward! You've got some nerve showin' your face round here! Got some nerve to even be breathin' after what you did!" 

Adam figured he deserved the first punch. Probably the next few blows as well if he were being completely honest with his own lack of courage. He'd never thought he would have to come face to face with his old life. He never thought...not in a million years...that someone besides Charlotte would rear their head and confront him with mistakes made ages ago. Yet there was the man who he'd spent far too much time in pubs in, who had been his first friend in the military and the only one worth spending any time with. The man who had introduced him to the woman he'd pledge his life to now. And though he could hardly wrap his mind around all that was happening, Adam was quite finished with being beat to a pulp in front of a crowd. 

"James!" He spat out the blood filling his mouth. "Would ye quit it! Fuckin' stop it! Are you mad!?" It seemed to be enough to get the other man from kicking him. But not quite enough for James to resist seizing Adam by the shoulders and flipping him round to shoot a glare. 

"Aye, I’m mad. But not as mad as you, you bastard. You fuckin’ coward! I should have shot you myself when I saw you runnin’ aways from all that bullshit. You left us all there while your sorry arse fucked off! Ya didn't even have the decency to tell me what you were doing! You didn't have the fuckin' idea to bring me with you! You left me to die out there with the rest of those idiots! I din’t kill ya then but I’ll be damned if I don’t do it now!" Throughout James' rant he shook Adam by the flaps of his jacket, hunching over his friend and spitting out words of rage that meant nothing to those still interested in the brawl. Adam hadn't the time to feel the impact of those words over the ringing in his ears or the shock of it all. And neither of them paid any mind to the hand that reached out to James' shoulder, one with fingers too long to be Charlotte's, or the woman with hair duller than Lorelei's but still blonder than anyone else's in the room start to pry James up and away.

[charlotteofthedeadlands]

stillborn ;

[charlotteofthedeadlands]

To be held; Oh it gave the girl such joy to be back in his arms again. The dilutions have filled wrapped her up, hugging her tightly, squeezing her too tight. Adam held her with a strength that was the only thing that could keep her sanity. She she pressed her face against the curve of his neck and breathed in, breathing in the dirt and the blood and will follow them. Charlotte was barely a person anymore, and her mind couldn’t click itself into a steady stream of sanity. She wasn’t clever anymore, not was she independent of her own thoughts. Her thoughts were obsessive, obsessing over what to do next, where to eat, and sometimes she would check the dressing of Adam’s foot in his sleep, just to see if she needed to clean the stitches that had long been resolved and fallen from his skin. They were all just skin, such a weak barrier between the world and the blood underneath. And even weaker to think of the protection her body could give a child. Of the body that Adam would throw around so carelessly for the concept of life inside of her, their life, and the clinging chance that maybe they were back in London. That maybe they were living in some small flat trying to make it together. They would have always needed to fight for this love, for this odd couple: the regretful solider and the lonely academic.  They were a violent pair, the Walkers, and the violence was only going to get worse. But for a moment she shut her mouth, though it still quivered against his skin, and her arm squeezed the fabric to make sure that the man she loved wouldn’t leave her. She grew more and more dependent on Adam, not only for protection, but for her mind, her mind that was slipping since they met the girl with the stag on her back. And her jealous insanity and her blood red worry that literally could break Charlotte. She cried, and she clung to him as she smeared her face against his prickled neck and tasted the metal of the zipper of the parka that he wore.

Charlotte wondered where her leather jacket went. For the quickest of moments she remembered zipping it up, and running out of the city. It seemed like so long ago, so long since she saw the boyish face and the freckled nose of the man she left all of those years ago. They could have had children by then, she mused in her mind, too scared to admit that out loud. If Charlotte would have faced her fears, if they could have been careless and young together. A young little girl, with a Scottish name and an Northern heart too wild for the streets of London became an fantasy too scandalous to have admitted to Adam. As she slept in a drug induced coma, Charlotte had seen her. The curls of her hair, the mismatched shoes she insisted on, and the times in the parks and playgrounds with Adam making sure none of the bigger kids would bully her. But that was something that she couldn’t say now, she couldn’t get the words from her throat. So she stood there, and lifted her head up when Adam looked down at her and broke into a smile she tried to smile back. One arm, still unbelievable weak, swung up from her side and went to rub against her check. She wondered when the leather turned into the worn and tattered edge of an itchy military coat. With a heavy sniff, she somehow figured out her footing, and she looked up at her husband and tried to smile back. “We’re newlyweds, Mister Walker, and we’re awful at the pill,” she jested back, and for a moment, she was able not to focus on her own mind, her own crazy thoughts. Perhaps that was the point of a child, Charlotte mused in almost amusement, to get her mind off herself. “You can’t keep your bloody hands off me,” she breathed and leaned up into his mouth to catch it in her own, to taste him and to hold him until she pulled back, and pressed her forehead against his to relax. “No, no, not my own… but perhaps yours, or perhaps my father,” she replied, her fingers rubbed against his neck before she pried her face up, looking up at Adam.

“We need to find a city,” she said, already going back into her planning mode. They needed to get somewhere healthy, and somewhere where she would be able to relax and wash their faces. They needed to get the blood off their body and try to find themselves again, “Drive to a city, find some food, find some shelter, and hopefully be able to double check. You need to sleep, you’ve been takin’ care of me too much I think.”

[walking-adam-blog]

No matter how wonderful it would have been in a different life, the simple fact of the matter was that they didn't have a life to normalize anymore. They didn't live in the same world they grew up in, where a normal child of theirs would have to live a boring, completely average life. They didn't have the chance to do what so many of their friends had done and attempt to be normal adults. And they never would. The only thing left to do was to pretend, Adam supposed as Charlotte clung to him for dear life. Pretend, and try their best. Even if in the end it would completely tear them apart. "Maybe. Aye." Just the idea of having something tangible enough to name made his stomach twist. They had no right. No right at all to be so foolish. So completely stupid. Stupid enough to subject someone else to this hell and then act as though it was all going to be fine. "Or maybe one of them odd, 'unique'-soundin' ones eh? Like...bloody hell, I don't know. River. Or Apple." His nose wrinkled at the thought. Almost as if in that one moment names held any importance or bearing. It was gone as soon as it came, washed away by the bitterness of Charlotte's mouth against his own. Damn her. And damn his own idiotic self for not thinking ahead. Of course saying out loud that her condition made him want to toss his body off a cliff instead of ravaging her was not the best idea for the time. And when she did pull away, Adam could not help but feel a bit better. Like the weight of the alleged child inside her was not as heavy as her words had been.Not only had he ruined Charlotte's life by his existence and his madness and seemingly never-ending obsession of keeping her by his side. Because now, even if she got the courage to leave him, she would never be able to outrun a child of theirs. Charlotte was far too kind for that. And too wistful, too aching for the sort of family she deserved.

"Ye say tha' like its a bother or sumthin'." A forced laugh sputtered out from Adam's lips. But even before it was freed Charlotte was off and away, continuing her habit of pushing forward when Adam barely had the chance to catch his breath. It was never going to change, that. And Adam in turn had stopped trying to fault her for it. "I though' it was my job tae take care of you...isn't it?" He didn't bother trying to put away the pump in it's proper place, too distracted by the sudden need to hold the door open for his stumbling, bloody bride. He tried not to focus on how his hand shook when he did. Or how all the oxygen along that roadside seemed to have been sucked away to greet more deserving lungs. He simply closed the door behind Charlotte once he was sure the safety belt was clicked. And he ran his hands through wild hair not thinking of the darker red of blood that was left behind. Just keep going, he told himself. Just like learning to walk again, just keep going and going and don't ever look back for the fear of being trapped behind in memories. Just get to the next town. Get to the next shelter. Get anywhere else but that gas station forever burned in his mind. 

For a couple that had just learned supposedly good news, they hardly spoke in the car. Adam took Charlotte's hand in his, grazing a bloodied thumb over her knuckles as various trees and roadsigns flashed past the windows. Occasionally there was the question of how she felt, of if she was growing ill from the drive or hungry when there were some stolen bits of food buried away in their bags. But mostly Adam was far too lost in his thoughts to carry out a proper conversation. Signs that were a muddled blur of French and German changed to strictly French again, and Adam had to chuckle just a small bit when he realized how ironic their journey had been. They just couldn't stay away from that damn country, it seemed. They couldn't stay away from the same patch of land where they had met, where they fancied themselves married and let the weight of everything else suffocate them. Things had been shit in Paris. But at least there hadn't been a madman there trying to turn them into a science experiment, so it was back to the French countryside they went, eying the small villages that passed by as their whispers faded back into silence. "Smoke over there." Adam said after awhile. "Smoke never brought us no good in the past, darlin'."

[charlotteofthedeadlands]

stillborn ;

[charlotteofthedeadlands]

Reality is sick. It was dirty and it was wrong and Charlotte pushed on through it all. Even though she didn’t want to sometimes, even though they should have been dead, she lived on next to Adam. And for some reason she thought the life that the doctor told her about was real, that it would somehow, in some desperate way, keep him there forever. She turned into the girls she used to mock, the ones her and Patsy would snicker at in their friends clique or on the soup operas that they would somehow catch. There wasn’t much to hold onto anymore, and though she knew a baby couldn’t survive, that having a child would be the death of them, she couldn’t help but pretend as if it would make things better. That the love between them would all that child needed. And after everything that doctor had done to her, she needed something to trust in again. He had pushed her body, he had stuck holes in her, he had pulled her hair and let his bitch of a daughter tease her as she was going to sleep. She did so much sleeping then. Perhaps because she didn’t sleep on an empty stomach anymore, or maybe the drugs were all meant to keep her sedated. None of it mattered anymore, not if Adam was there. It didn’t matter how much her mind had turned to nothing, how her thoughts were even more confused then they were before. That when she had thumbed through Walden in the bed she didn’t understand what the symbols meant. No, everything was going to be solved. Adam was going to hold her, with his bloodied hands and his broken nose Adam was going to keep loving her.

Charlotte was in shock. She had finally admitted it, finally said it to him and this is how he was going to treat her. She was still shaking, still coated in that blood, and her eyes still wild from the drugs that she was forced to take. There was no reallity. However, there was a pitiful thought that maybe Adam would be excited. That the life they lived wasn’t so evil after all, and that things were warm, and normal, and London wasn’t so far away. That she wasn’t standing in some country that she couldn’t pronounce the words. That she could be laughing in the park with a man who loved her, a man who married her in spring and gave her a child come winter. It was so foolish to think that things were just okay, and the snapping unsureness of her own mental reality was starting to hit her violently. She thought of the kisses in the tube station, the kisses as the last train was about to come and whisk her away to the other side of town. Of how she should have fucked it all and spent the night with him. It wasn’t the phone calls, it was her. It was always her who jumped from the cars with a gun in her hands. It was her who could have called, her who nursed his broken ego. She watched insanity flood Adam, and remembered the highs he got on his pain medication. She wondered if she, too, appeared to have the same level of insanity. If her eyes had that same blankness, if her hands looked like his, if her heart had the same sort of cuts that she cleaned against his lost foot. It was impossible to tell the difference anymore. Parts of her still in England, parts of her left in Paris, and to the mountains where she begged for her life and even with the doctor who ripped her open. Adam’s words didn’t cut as deep as his eyes did. The bluest of blue eyes that she looked to so often for support, for color in such a dark and monochrome world. Even the ground was grey, even the trees were grey. Charlotte squeezed his arm as he looked at her like she was truly crazy.

But he kissed her. Adam always kissed her so sweetly it almost always cleared her mind. Her hand went to his cheek, running across an uneven beard as their lips met, and she tasted his skin. It had been a long while since they kissed, knowing after her food was tainted and the needles started their rounds, Charlotte wasn’t herself. She wasn’t fit for kissing, and the woman let their mouths linger for longer then they should. It was all they had left, the kissing. The only sense of comfort worth having was in their bodies. But when Adam pulled away, her lower lip tightened against her teeth. She snapped. “It’s not impossible!” she snapped out, not able to look at him as she explained. The looking was the hardest part after all. She pulled her hand away, touching the uneven cuts of her hair, how the lighter pieces of brown were now overtaken by darker, duller strains. “Three months, apparently. That’s what that doctor said I’m three months along and that’s long enough to stick Adam.” Her feet were unable to find footing, and whenever she looked up at Adam, she would promptly look away. “Three months ago we were in Paris… or where we in the house… No, no, it was Paris it was certainly Paris. And you and I… you and I had sex in Paris. When we almost died. We did we almost died, I don’t understand how you can’t remember!” Her voice was now a big louder, a bit more strained.  Her eyes were swollen up with tears, and her hands would not stop the quivering. It was constant, with red framed eyes and a nervousness to her that she had kept even before the breakout, her world seemed to be falling apart in front of her. “I can’t… I can’t have you go away, too. I can’t stomach it, I can’t take it!” She started crying now, breathing sharply in and out, in and out. The chaos in her mind was louder than any screams, any sobs that might come out from her throat. Mostly now filled with the crippling anxieties of losing him, of properly having him be taken away. And tough he might not believe, the idea of raising something on her own, the idea of a life they created without him to see it through. “I can’t read anymore Adam,” she finally sputtered out. Like everything hit her at once. In in some ways, it had. She brought her hand up to her cheek, and the military jacket that she wore of his was heavy on her shoulders as she used the sleeve to touch her face. “I can’t…” she started again, her hips falling against the side of the car.

[walking-adam-blog]

Stupid. Adam's stomach tore itself to ribbons as he watched his wife panic and shriek in reply. He was so stupid. So bloody, fucking stupid. Not just because of his instant dismissal of her claim but the sudden realization of what they had done all those hours when the tragedy of existing was too much to bear alone. It wasn't an impossibility. Of course it wasn't. Not the way they acted as if sex was a proper substitute for food or water or any sort of substance. And of course something that should have been something to celebrate had twisted itself into ugliness and fear and even a small sense of hatred. Every time he and Charlotte had escaped one hell another had to make itself clear, only this was not as simple as hot-wiring a car and driving off into the Swiss mountains. This one, much like the virus, would follow them round until there was no where else left. "But he could have been lying!" Adam argued. "He could 'ave...he could 'ave been trying to upset ye! And it has!" His hands shook as he reached for her, pulling her from the side of the car and pressing Charlotte against his chest. She felt so small in his arms. Smaller than usual, weaker, and yet still carrying something even weaker than that. It couldn't be true. It wasn't, Adam told himself. It wasn't true. It was just another lie spoken by a monster. It wasn't true. But when Charlotte's words stopped tripping over themselves in his mind and came clear, there was no time left to try and convince himself that she was simply mad. "Let's...let's not worry about that." Adam whispered against her hair, as though he hadn't just been punched in the gut with her revelation. It didn't seem possible that the most intelligent woman he'd ever known couldn't do something as simple as pick up her favorite book anymore. It didn't seem real. Or right.  But then again, nothing about their lives felt real anymore. Adam was no longer the soldier he never wanted to be, or the man who always knew where the party was or could catch the eye of any passing girl he wanted. And Charlotte wasn't the same as he remembered. But more like a shell that would show signs of the woman he fell in love with at the farmhouse."Yer fine. You're just tired is all. You're just fine. 'nd I'm not going anywhere..."

They had talked of children before. Back when they were so wrapped up in each other that there was little else to discuss other than the life they could have had. They mentioned children here or there, children with Charlotte's eyes or hair or intelligence or Adam's horrid sense of humor. And in a different time or different life there was no doubt in Adam's mind that this news would have been the best sort. But they were standing at a gas station, both reeking of gasoline as Adam forced his body against hers. Every inch of him wanted to argue. He wanted to shake her, honestly, until she got her sense back and she was the girl who forgot to message him back after getting caught up in a book or kept trying to haul him over to the museum when they both knew he wouldn't. But then again..Adam pulled back an inch, enough to really stare at her, to see if she would laugh and smack him and tell him ho gullible he was for believing this nonsense. He saw nothing of the sort in Charlotte's expression. Only a woman who was clearly waiting for him to do as he always did and run away. It would have been easier to. Just as easy as it was to start a row. But Adam forced a smile instead, swallowing his words and accepting the fact that he could not, would not attempt to live without her at his side. He'd lost that choice so long ago that it wasn't even a real option, and when he spoke again, in the voice Adam always used when he was trying his hardest to play pretend, he prayed that Charlotte could not see the terror in his eyes. "Charlotte, I-...a...baby then, eh? Well suppose it was only the next logical step, Mrs. Walker Only a matter of time the way we go at it." They were going to die regardless of what she said was true or not. They would die with a child in tow, a child that had no right being born when everything else was was dead, or they would do so with Adam still smiling the same mad, false smile just so Charlotte might smile back before the end. He left the pump where it was this time. And leaned forward to kiss her even harder than he had before since it was easier to kiss her or pretend than it was to obsess over her sanity. "We'll have tae think of some clever names then won't we darlin'? Not after yer mother I take it?" 

[charlotteofthedeadlands]

stillborn ;

Charlotte was uneasy. It seemed like an understatement in the world that they lived in now. That everyday was a cycling misunderstanding of uneasiness in a life full of destruction. Somehow they had gotten out, and somehow even beyond that they were able to live to see another day, but Charlotte wouldn’t be the same. She always cut herself from the world when she felt the pressure to much. It was the assault in the alley, it was the blood on her hands, and it was the fact she struggled to breathe. She sat in the car that Adam drove. She thought by now she would be used to the driving, to the way that Adam sped across the land, how everything blurred uneasy. It happened like it always did, a hot wire, a quick few pulls of cables, and they would be off again. But this time she didn’t pull for a book, for any pieces of paper, for anything to distract her mind. She had enough on her mind. She had the screams of a teenager underneath her hands. The Walker family was a brutal one. They were full of anger, an rage, and fear, but she couldn’t leave him, and in turn Adam wouldn’t let her go. He squeezed her to her death and she strangled him right back. But the car kept moving, On and one, forward as they went to another mistake. 

 She hadn’t known how long they had been going, for any sign that she saw seemed to twist into patterns she couldn’t understand, into long blurs of things she couldn’t see. Charlotte began to tap again, against the side of the car, against her own broken knees. Her bones felt older now, and her soul heavier as she watched the quickness of the car going by outside that was still slower than her own mind. Another stolen car, another strong sense of stress overtook her body. Her life was always this, was always the slow turn of the clock going down, clicking and clicking over again in her mind. It was telling her to stop everything, it was telling her to give up. There was always that voice in her head, there was always the thought that she would never be able to make it. After the things they have seen, and the love they created out of heavy breathing and desperation, Charlotte knew nothing but to love Adam Walker. She knew nothing more than leaning against him, about teetering so close to falling that it hurt. Everything hurt. And death, sweet and painful, was the only thing that was real. Death and worry and longer nights and shorter days. Snow that would fall less so than it had since the attack, and the memories of the strangers and the strange that she had killed along the way. Charlotte was never going to get it off. She was never going to find a way.  Once again time seemed so unnatural. That hours or minutes or months could have past against the window, and her eyes closed for seconds to years. Every moment flickered over her eyes, and the snow and broken trees and houses that scared her were far away from her thoughts. There was nothing to say to Adam. There was no explanation for what the two had done. Over the people she was sure she killed, over the bloodied fists that Adam clutched the wheel of the car with, over the bits of blonde hair that still cling to her clothes, and stuck to the blood that was on her hands as well. They were a violent pair. They were trouble, but it wasn’t anything of the guilt that ate her. 

There was no easy way to say what she had to say. Cutting her, the stress became violent against her throat. Her hands continued to shake, and her body seemed to never be able to relax anymore. There wasn’t anything worse… there couldn’t be anything worse. There was no way that her words could make any sense, especially with the blood on her hands, especially with the stress on her mind. This was the longest she had been without the drugs, without the mind changing feelings, without the sleep after sleep and the pleas of her husband. She nervously tugged her finger at her ring, spinning it around on her finger as she started to pace. Adam had asked her not to get out, but she had to stand on two feet. But she was uneasy, in the cold earth and the lightly snowy sidewalk of the empty gas station they stood at. There was no easy way. There was no easy way to express her how broken she was, and there was no understanding of her chaotic feeling. She moved right to him un easy steps. 

“Adam… Adam!” her voice was sharp, louder than she even expected it to be as she stomped over to him. Her hand went to his arm, pulling him from the tangles of the car as he did his best to steal the gas. It was more insanity, it was more craziness that Charlotte had found herself in. Dark, thick bangs had grown too long to cover parts of her eyes as the wind picked up around them. But she pulled him, pulled his attention to her, the attention that she craved too much. They were too codependent, they were so needed to live. She looked with the same constant madness, and she needed the blue to calm her. She needed someone to calm her down. “Adam, look at me,” she huffed out, shaking her head as her fingers quivered upon his wrist. “I need to..  I need to tell you,” she said. There was oil on her hands now, another layer against the blood that has stuck to her. She wondered if her hands would ever be clean. “Adam… I’m pregnant,” she told him finally. The words thick off her tongue, and her mouth dry as soon as she said it. Her eyes widened as she said it out loud. It’d been the first time she heard it from a mouth other than the doctor who poked at her skin. It didn’t even seem real when she said it, like a horrible dark twisted story told to scared to image. There was something breathing inside of her, something that was so awful it might as well have been a the monsters that wanted to eat her flesh. There was stillness now, and a moment of nothing as she looked up at Adam. The risk was overpowering, and she could almost think of what the words would be in a different world. For a second she could image the joy it should bring, but she became bitter because of it, and her mouth was covered her tongue as she held her breath, as her hand clutched his jacket hard between bloodied fingers, clutching and squeezing him for any sort of support that Adam could give her.

[walking-adam-blog]

After awhile everything began to look the same. All dull, all lifeless, blending into an ugly mass of shapes whipping past the windshield they sat behind. Adam couldn't even remember how he wound up in that car after the chaos. He couldn't remember dragging Charlotte out any which way he could find or hot-wiring the car or wiping his bloodied mess of a face against his jacket through the pain. But none of that seemed to matter now as he and his lover sat in silence. They were safe. Beaten down and barely living they were, but safe all the same. And moving again on to whatever place they would find the next bout of torture. It was not the first time they had fled. It wouldn't be the last either, knowing their luck. Adam was sure no matter where they landed it would be as temporary as all the times before. First the farmhouse, and then Paris, and the country house in the mountains until they found themselves in a den of monsters. It couldn't possibly get worse. But on the other hand he had little hope of it getting better, especially when there was little left to hope for after all they'd seen. Staying alive was starting to seem like a curse to the man. Whenever he turned his head to look at Charlotte he was reminded of how broken they were, how completely damaged beyond repair thanks to the company they found. And it was sickening to think most times that if Adam had died from the bite, or Charlotte from the drugs shoved in her veins, they would have been far better off. 

Still, there was no use wallowing in misery. That could wait until Adam was too weary to continue driving or the road ran to an eventual end. And he continued to act as though there was nothing odd about the situation when he stumbled out from the car and towards the abandoned gas pump. It was like they were on a holiday through the country, he thought bitterly. A holiday in the dead of winter with not another soul in sight and the only souvenir being the false foot that scraped unpleasantly against the gravel. Adam heaved a sigh. Forced a smile in Charlotte's direction as he watched her crawl from the car. And carried on fiddling with the pump and the machinery as he thought of something humorous to say. Or anything like his usual sweetness, anything to draw out the trace of the smile he loved so much. Ever since they left that hellhole Adam would see glimpses here and there of the woman from his past and not the shell dying in bed linens.It wasn't any fault of Charlotte's of course. He didn't blame her for the outbursts. Or the shaking in her hands or the wild look in her eyes. He couldn't blame her for that just as she couldn't blame him for his fury when he'd first been crippled or his obsessive need to keep her in his eye line. Though Adam couldn't help but miss what they had once when the outbreak was new. What they could have had before everything went to hell and he had stopped being an idiot long enough to call her back. So lost in thought was the man that he jumped when he heard Charlotte's voice. Like being torn as violently from his thoughts as his hand was from the pump. Gasoline spilled over his pants and feet, the stench instantly filling his nose and making him cry out. But the brief moment of shock was noting compared to the dread Adam felt when he saw the look in her eyes. Something was wrong. Something terrible enough to cause his wife to act like she did and stutter and heave out her words like they were the heaviest she would ever say. And Adam didn't even have the chance to try to sooth her before the words came tumbling out and his blood ran cold. 

I'm pregnant.

A million different thoughts sped through Adam's mind in that moment. There was confusion, and shock, shock that this news seemed to come from out of nowhere. And there was a bubble of happiness for a fleeting moment. It would be a lie to say he had never once thought about something so innocent and beautiful in a life full of nothing. But the happiness went as quickly as it came, and an odd sort of expression fell over the man as their eyes locked. "Charlotte." Though he meant it as comforting the look Adam gave was one of pity. "Sweetheart, yer not-...You're confused, I think." It wasn't the most impossible thing in the world. It wasn't as if they were careful when they let themselves fall into lust, or had any shortage of acts necessary to bring about a child. But still, the idea of it seemed so strange. That simple biology refused to halt when the rest of the world did or take any form of pity on people who'd suffered so much. She couldn't be pregnant. And they couldn't care for a child even if she was. It would just be another soul to save, another mouth to feed, another risk that the couple could not take. Even if it was their own blood, it would only be seen as a curse. 

"Whatever that bastard kept giving ya didn't do no favors for your health, love. You know tha' aye? And I know it too. 'nd sometimes ye just got...frazzled. A bit. A bit frazzled is all. This is just like all tha'." Adam's tone was low, patient. Like he was trying to explain arithmetic to a child who refused to be taught. "You can't...you can't be pregnant. You're just confusedl. But it's alight, eh? We don't 'ave to worry bout them anymore." He found it far easier to blame the drugs than allow himself to panic. She was not in her right mind that was all, he tried to tell himself. She hadn't been in her right mind for weeks, always babbling and crying and spiraling into fits not even he could free her from. And though ever since the needles stopped and the Walkers were free Charlotte seemed normal enough, Adam refused to crumble again. He kissed her on the mouth to silence her. A brief kiss that would not agitate his crooked nose but long enough to tug her bottom lip between his teeth. And then he moved to pick up the pump and continue on with the task of filling the tank, as if Charlotte hadn't just dropped the sort of news that would ruin their lives. "Just give me one second, Charlie. 'nd then we'll talk through it alright? Think its time tae get a meal in anyways."

[charlotteofthedeadlands]

bone of my bone;

[charlotteofthedeadlands]

Charlotte wasn’t sure which one she liked more— the kisses against her thighs or the warmth of his body so close to her own. For his mouth was so giving, and his hands so smooth against her own body that she trying to pull herself away from him would grow impossible. She was his wife now, and it was her duty, was it not? To please her husband, to listen to him, to spread her legs when he asked and to give him comfort when he needed it most. She knew she wasn’t the most entertaining of woman, with her nervous little ticks and her over excited heart, but perhaps she would grow to be more interesting to her husband. But for now she was content with this, with the unmodesty, with the need, and the hand squeezing when she came against his lips and the heavy breathing when she found herself needing him more than anything else. She was starting to get addicted to the attention, to the pressing and prodding against her legs, but also she was keen on the way that he held her close. Her breathing was still heavy, it’s true, but her body rolled itself close to him when he finally flopped next to her, and she closed her eyes softly when he rubbed his finger against her cheek.  The coldness didn’t both her any more, now that Adam was beside her. There seemed nothing strange when she lied next to him. There did not feel of anything impure, or anything wrong. She assumed this is what married people had to feel, at least once in their marriage. To feel like someone was there, and she didn’t mind how rough he might have been, and she didn’t care how scared she was when she landed in Scotland, because now she had him. The man who had taken her in body and name might hopefully fall in love with her.

There was a silent understanding as she rested herself against him, as her hand became untangled from the blanket and plaid around her and reached out pulled her fingertips underneath his shirt, pulling as she nudged herself up to his chest, as she touched his skin. “What are you trying to say about me, my dearest husband?” she asked, lifting her head up to look at him. He was handsome, she noted. The longer she looked at him the more she thought so. The moment they had met her eyes were so swollen with tears she did her hardest to fight back, and her body trembled with an embarrassing violence. But through it all she didn’t really get to see him, not properly at least. But him with his smile and his red curly hair that tangled with the lush grass only caused Charlotte to grin, and even push her body up just a bit to press a full kiss against his jaw in thanks. “I can walk myself in a moment, I think it would be better if we just lay here for a bit longer,” she admitted. A smile now grew over her lips. It was full, and bright and honest more than anything else. It started at her lips and curled to her dimples, down onto her laugh lines and through her dark brown eyes. As she smiled and shifted her body. Ungracefully, but quickly, she spun herself so she laid on her stomach, draping one arm over his chest. Her blanket now wrapped even more awkwardly around her, tucking across her stomach and pinning it between their bodies as she kicked her foot against his leg, twitching it in a slightly more nervous way. “You allowed me to sleep, you could have easily awoken me,” Charlotte said, her hand slipping off his chest and smiled as she tapped her finger against the tip of his nose. “You’re really kind to me. Letting me sleep, giving me space, and even…”-she paused and scrunched her nose as she tried to figure out what to say-“whatever that was… you just did.- I am a lucky woman indeed, Adam Walker,” she said brightly, pressing her mouth against his jaw again as she twitched her hips closer to him. There was a moment where she wondered what it would be like to lay on top of him like he laid onto of her the night previous. But she was still learning, and her mouth still wasn’t sure where to touch.

[walking-adam-blog]

Hints of perfume still lingered from last night, Adam noted as his nose buried itself in the tresses of Charlotte's hair. Not so much of whiskey or the earth that rubbed off from their actions, but the pleasant scent of floral and oak she'd been doused with before walking down the aisle. It was in those things, so small and seemingly insignificant, that kept his attention on his bride. That and of course the gradual growth of her smiles. The way she went to his touch as if it were the only one she'd been given. Or the light in her eyes whenever she realized he wasn't about to scream at her. Such things only made Adam sure she had not had the most comforting, nor the most attentive of lifestyles before he slipped a ring on her trembling finger, and gave the man reason to keep acting like she was the first woman who had caught his eye. Whether he planned it or not she was the only one that mattered now. "'nd I a lucky man." His eyebrow twitched upwards at her kiss. Bemused, but pleased at how affectionate Charlotte could be to this stranger that called himself husband and touched her every which way he could think of. "It isn't often I meet someone else who would rather lay in the grass than go inside." Nothing would get down. Nothing of importance, or true work or to keep the food in kitchen cupboards, but it felt so nice to relax with his wife. And since he could not provide her with a honeymoon, this would be the closest thing to a post-wedding holiday Adam could give. 

He kissed her as they lay smashed against each other, choosing to press their mouths in tandem rather than carry on the conversation. Adam had little left to say. And Charlotte even less so when it came to learning each other. Anytime they tried it fell into pauses too long for Adam to stand and bouts of nervous stuttering that wound Charlotte up red-faced and embarrassed. Still, she was the sweetest thing to his eyes. And sweet to his tongue as well, and warm beneath his fingers that pinned her close. He spoke no lies. No trickery when he vowed more times he could count that he would be kind. Every word the man crooned was dipped in honey and such honesty that he could hardly believe it himself, and every promise was just as much an apology. For the things Adam wanted were as simple as a warm body to hold and simply someone there to share his company. To smile when he smiled. To kiss back whenever he took her cheeks into his hands and closed the space between them. Charlotte so far was all those things. And then some, as he was starting to learn. Beneath the fine fabrics and the corset and the tears was a girl who needed someone to tend to her. And who better to keep guard, to take care and keep his hands patient and trying than the watchful shepherd? Adam smirked against her lips. Though not long enough for Charlotte to notice as he kept his lips moving and his tongue occasionally flicking against her lower one as if reminding her of what he'd just done minutes ago. "You will be happy." Adam promised. A promise mumbled and barely understandable as he refused to pull back enough to speak but one he was still hellbent on keeping. "'nd we will be happy. 'nd tha' is all that matters. It's all I want."

He'd lived so long in the countryside that the view of their surroundings had lost their effect. The cold was not something that bothered him. The wind no longer an annoyance, only helping the muss of Charlotte's hair get wilder with every passing second. And even now with Fergus barking every so often it was white noise to Adam's ears. There was something far better to admire. A woman who could keep his attention and a bride so different, so fascinating that he'd forgotten his laziness. Charlotte Walker. The name brought him joy rather than anxiety. The little gasps of air from her mouth kicking Adam in the heart and sending his blood to his ears. He really would have to thank his parents, he thought as he pulled her tight and smeared his hands across. But it could wait...There were other matters to tend to.

[charlotteofthedeadlands]

bone of my bone;

[charlotteofthedeadlands]

Never in her life had Charlotte ever received this amount of attention. She was never the center of anyone’s anything. She was just always background noise for her sisters, who were younger but much more beautiful than her. The three had all grown taller than her by the age of fourteen, and willow like their mother’s side while Charlotte seemed stunted around them. And loneliness grew in her gut the longer she remained unwed, and suitors would come and go too quickly before she was even able to catch a name. Her life would always go so quickly. From parties to dances to masses to dinners, all being tagged along to learn how to sit properly or eat correctly. Though all of that didn’t impress the person she would spend the rest of her life with. Adam cared little of breeding, or of class or rank. He didn’t care of her piano playing or her dancing, for it was all different now. Though Scotland and England were joined now it was still a completely different land to her. Her fingers squeezing hard against his hand, making sure their fingers linked as if that was the only thing in her world that mattered. Hips rose slightly at his affection, pressing more flush against his mouth as she her body became tight against his touch. This was nothing of the stories she made up in her head about love, and consummation the night before was far more pleasant than painful. They felt equal to each other, and even though Charlotte knew better than the get wrapped up in romantic notions. That somehow this was love, and the truest of forms as two souls were meant to be together. But it didn’t feel like a novel, it felt more like a fairytale, of folklore than of beautiful words that had been penned down. But whatever it was, it was affection she hadn’t known she would be able to have, and it was touching she didn’t know she could feel, and it was a man she could have sworn she wouldn’t have loved, a man that would never touch her kindly, of someone who would resent her accent and her country. But instead he had pulled himself between her thighs and Charlotte forgot of the accent of his words or the loyalties to whomever or the leg that he had lost.

It came in that wave again. That new wave she had learned about the night before when his fingers strummed across her. The good waves, the nearly suffocating sense of pleasure. Again her body tensed up, and her cheek pressed against the dirt she laid on and her eyes remained closed tight. She had forgotten of the marriage, and of the elements that whipped around her. The nudity and the cold air, and even the ring that laid across her fingers that squeezed against his own. Was a wife meant to feel this sort of pleasure? She let out low pitched whimpers, and her breathing became nearly panicked as she slid his hand up her stomach and briefly across her breast before sliding back down. Everything turned back into hot instinct against. How she would coo for her husband, how she would start to shake when she got too close. Adam overtook her, besting her with something she hadn’t even ever through of. Her cheek rubbed itself in the dirt, and her eyes remained closed as she thought about the night before. Little tiny flashes of Adam’s eyes down against her, remembering how his body did the same thing, how it buckled on top of her, how he cursed and cooed, how she could have fallen for him right there. That and the dirt that she knew was caking against her hair and cheek, and the way her hand shook as it held onto Adam’s, pressing his calm down against the curve of her pelves that was hidden from her. It happened all at once again. When her breathing broke and her body tensed and that serge of power pressed hard against her until it didn’t. She was wrapped up in him up until that popping feeling left her and her body went from being too tensed to too relaxed. From a mind full of Adam, and his arms and his tongue, and his hands back to the hillside she laid against. To the dirt that had smeared across her cheek. And after a moment, the girl chuckled, her fingers unlacing with Adam’s and sliding up her torso until they got to her face, dropping over her eyes as her body rolled a bit to her side. “Adam Walker,” she cooed just as sweetly, her hand jerking down and her fingers wiggling for his attention, and a smile curled over her lips as she relaxed against the tartan and grass. Bits of mud had caked the tips of her hair that were still trying to hold onto a curl, and a large smear across her cheek and jaw that she could barely feel. Mostly her body was turned soft, relaxed as she longed to feel his weight once against close to her, and even more so curious of what he wanted next. “My darling husband I need you beside me…”

[walking-adam-blog]

It hadn't yet been a full day since the ceremony and only hours since the actual marriage bed itself, but there was no doubt of affection between the couple. Affection, and something close to what Adam thought was love. For he had to have some liking to her to do such a thing, he reasoned. To not just tear up her skirts and force himself inside her without any warning at all. To be so enamored with making her feel safe. To touch her as he did, and in return to have such trust placed upon his shoulders from his skittish, sobbing bride. There was also that returned sense of satisfaction when Charlotte did tense above him, and if there were no blanket and if she had the mind to look down she might've been able to see the smirk tugging on her new husband's lips. Still. He stroked his tongue against her regardless, and kissed her with soft, open-mouthed pressures until her climax ran its course and her shoulders heaved atop the ground as though she'd just ran from the house and back. A final pressure was given after a moment. And then a sigh of content loud enough for Charlotte to hear over her breathing. "Charlotte Walker." He echoed back, wiping the back of his hand against his mouth. "I think 've taken quite a liking to ye." Perhaps he did love her after all. But it didn't feel right to speak it aloud when they knew so little of each other, when the only words he could pry out from his wife were ones of stuttered memories of her mother or the almost-constant beggings to be faithful. So rather than put Charlotte on the spot or confuse their heads even more Adam peppered kisses more kisses to the inside of her thighs and up to where the hem of the blanket kept the rest of her from view. He brushed the blanket away from his face, sighing and humming and letting his hands continue to wander and his mouth explore what it could find as he flopped right against her. It all had happened so fast. And easily too,  enough that the man forgot his belt was undone and the panels of the kilt  were left crooked and sloppy. So strong that both his mind and his lust had been dulled as he held her in his arms. 

They lay there awhile, with Adam almost fascinated by the heavy rise and fall of her chest and his grasp on the girl never quite relaxing. No matter the circumstances surrounding it she was his wife now. In every sense of the term, in name, in standing, in purity. And now if the man thought on it hard enough he wondered if he would have changed anything about that moment. He grinned again when he realized the only thing he wished was different was the fact that they were in the fields with his sheep occasionally braying loudly rather than in the comforts of his- their bed and the fire cracking beside them. He wet his thumb before bringing it to her cheek, wiping absentmindedly at the stain left behind. "Quite a likin' indeed. 'nd if things were different...and we had a choice in the matter at all, 'm quite sure I wouldn't have refused you." He chuckled at the irony of it all, and kissed her firmly on the same spot he'd just cleaned. "And just so ye know, dearest, tha' doesn't count as one of the three. Ye slept late it's true. But the day's still young. 'nd the heart still wanting."  It was true he had no wealth. No education. No propriety, and not even two feet to stand on. But he was glad to give what he could offer, and Charlotte seemed to blossom under the attention like a flower beneath the sun. He was rougher than the men she should have wed. Harsh as the wind that never seemed to stop. But he was strong enough to hold Charlotte close, and still as delicate as a shepherd could be as he tucked the folds of the blanket around her. They were going to have to get up soon. Even if the cold wasn't an issue there was something about his wife laying in mud and grass that bothered the man. Probably the best way to treat a lady either, though it seemed Charlotte didn't mind it too terribly. "Do I need tae carry you back over the threshold? I dinna mind it at all if you please." He nodded to the mess of her hair left behind after the night  prior and their less than modest romp in the field. “I feel as though I’ve soiled you. ‘nd I’d like tae do it again someplace where the sheep aren’t watchin’.”

[charlotteofthedeadlands]

bone of my bone;

[charlotteofthedeadlands]

There was just smiles now. Charlotte was perfectly pressed against her new husband, feeling his mouth that touched against her body and relishing in the idea that she was free now. The wind didn’t cool down the pressure that rested in her gut, that seemed to never want to end with Adam around. Forever wouldn’t be so bad with him, and she prayed that he would never sour on her, that he would never grow tired of wanting her. There was too much to learn, and Charlotte did her best to follow along with it. To kiss a bit better each time, to touch him with soft, generous touches when he did it to her. And Adam spoke promises that she never thought a man could give her, of not having enough of her, of truly looking into her eyes and seeing something that he wanted. It all made Charlotte excited, and even let out a playful giggle at his words. “Three times a day…” she replied. She was starting to pick up the pattern now, the jest that he would lay on her. The more she sat there, right on top of him like she was some prize he had won with the freshest air she ever breathed straining and pulling against her lungs, she felt beautiful. Her brows lifted at the idea though. She would assume it would be exhausting to do such a thing, and Charlotte ran over it in her mind the actions of last night, the time it took for them to finish, and the fact it took her longer. But her thoughts seemed to strain when Adam laid her back in the grass. The blankets mixed with the jacket and Charlotte did her best to cover up against the cold. A shiver went down her spine as the air hit her breasts and stomach, and she pulled one of the corners she managed to find and pull it over her chest to keep it the cold from blistering against her too much. “You have so much faith in me, Mister Walker.”

Charlotte could almost tease. At least she could smile as she laid in the grass. She hoped that his body would pull on top of her against like it did last night. The weight that he had was no trouble, and she knew she would grow accustom to it the longer that they remained wed. And if he wanted her as many times as he said, than she would certainly be quick to give it up to him. With a heavy sigh, Charlotte closed her eyes, feeling some sort of vague pattern from his lips before there was a jerk of her thighs. She hadn’t made that connection yet and her legs pulled apart too easy. It all happened at once, and suddenly she felt his mouth pull across her core. That was not something she had ever thought to feel before. No one had ever mentioned to way a man would taste her, or that a man would want to lay so intimately against her. But it felt so warm, and so safe, and almost as soon as it happened Charlotte’s back arched, and her hand went to her face to cover any sort of strained expression she might had. There was nothing left of modesty anymore, and to be a woman of his she had to forget about a life of properness, of tea parties and traditional love making. Adam was not a traditional man, and she knew that the moment she looked at him. Not at the wedding or the feast that followed, but when they looked at each other in the home that they now shared, in the warmth of a fire and the comfort of his hands that touched hers with such timidness at first. Adam was a lover before he was a husband, even to her. He easily seduced, and shockingly respected, and seemed to understand woman more deeply than even Charlotte could understand her own inner femininity. One of her hands jerked down underneath he instinct, to make sure that they would touch in some way, and her hand slipped over her stomach down to his hand that pressed against her in some attempt to relax her. It did, and her fingers slipped against his and her hand curved across the back of his hand, over his knuckles to keep him right there. Apparently there were more ways to make love than she ever expected, and Charlotte was excited to learn.

[walking-adam-blog]

For the first time since their union, Adam hadn't an inkling of what when on in his wife's head. There were no tears to convince him of fear. No babbling and sobbing, no pleads against his ears to force up guilt. And even if he wanted to look upon her face to see the  expression awaiting him, their positioning kept him from doing so. The only thing the man had to go on was the hand searching blindly for his own, the tensing of her bones beneath his touch, and the arousal that hit against his tongue with an almost unquestionable force. At least this was pleasant, Adam thought as he tangled his fingers with her searching ones. She wouldn't be able to speak of things like his leg or her family or anything else of a bother when her senses had been awakened. Or whip herself up into a panic over his body heaving atop of hers or the so-callled scandalous nature of Adam's affection. A peace if there ever was one. A comforting act that put Charlotte straight in the center of Adam's attention and subject to whatever love he could give. That was how the new husband saw it. And Adam cared not if she questioned these actions, or if she scribbled out letters to her sisters, to her cousins, or dared ask the ladies in town if their lovers ever did something similar. As long as Charlotte smiled at him when they were finished, and not some false smile but a true one that made him return it without knowing, then she could do whatever she wished. Bits of blanket fell over Adam's curls, hiding his face from view and keeping the sight of his tongue stroking between her legs a secret from his wife. Finally there was an excuse not to speak, to not stutter out promises and do his best to convince that he wasn't a complete waste of space. Every once in awhile he would pull his mouth away and speak her name, or little bouts of affection in a language that sounded like gibberish to Charlotte's ears. Perhaps if they ever took a break from exploring each other he would try his hand at teaching her the Gaelic that overtook their wedding and the rest of their lives. Or take her to the town to watch the trades and the haggling of men who cared far too much of money. 

Still, even with all that, it wouldn't be the most excitable of livings. There were no parties or socials to attend other than the weddings of his kin that seemed to happen every month. No adventure besides the storms that racked against the hillsides or the birth of a new member of his flock. But even so...Adam hummed in content against his bride. And touched her with a tenderness he didn't even know he possessed. And let his heart swell in what he assumed was a feeling of love. Even if they never found the right words to use with each other, even if there was always a sort of underlying resentment for the lack of choice in it all, at least there would always be this. And Adam let himself become lost in that feeling, ignoring how the wind mussed about the strands of hair free from the blanket, oblivious to Fergus' occasional barking to sheep in the distance, or the raindrops that sprinkled lightly on their tangled bodies before stopping completely. There was left only the taste of Charlotte against his lips. And the warmth of her palm against his own. And the strain that came from trying not to smile as he continued. Even if she did not know it just yet, Charlotte was indeed a blessing. But he would make sure she became awares...even if he had to lay out there all day. It didn't seem like such a burden. 

[charlotteofthedeadlands]

bone of my bone;

[charlotteofthedeadlands]

Adam seemed to care very little about the coldness in the air. Nor did he seem to care much for the heat that started in her gut and worked its way up. It burnt to be kissed by him, when his mouth would press and pat over the pads of her lips, Charlotte was strangely home. She was home in his arms, wrapped together as she felt his hands slid up her body. This was nothing of marriage she was taught. This was nothing for the religious act or the faith that marriage would bring. But Adam’s hands became intoxicating, worse than the whiskey she had that night. Perhaps a letter home would be good, asking her sisters of what love should feel like, of her mother of what lust was. She had no one else to turn to. No one but her husband who was more keen on undressing her. But as easy as Charlotte slipped on his lap, her dress was pulled off from her skin exposing her pale white skin. It was covered in goosebumps no matter how close she was to Adam, and the riskiness of it all only caused her to need him more. She was desperate for him, cooing against his mouth whenever he kissed her, letting out deeper groans when his mouth would run across her body. She was his, claimed and wed and needing him more and more with each moment. Her lips once more pat against his, and she felt the roughness of his teeth as she would feel a small bite or tug, or how his hands touched her like she was about to disappear. They were moving much faster than they did before, with a heightened sense of need as she brought her hand to his shoulders, rubbing the fabric before unhooking the delicate ties to expose more of his chest. “If you’re worried of the cold,” she groaned, her eyes flicking shut as she ran her hand up into his hair, rubbing her fingers against the curls and tasting his mouth. “Then we should hurry back inside…”

It was a weightless suggestion, and Charlotte pulled back down to look at the belt harshly cut across his waist. Shaking hands went down from his hair to his belt, lifting her weight up just enough to cause some distance. Fingers moved nervously, still unskilled at the tasks of undressing her husband, especially in such close quarters. Should she ask him to wait until the night? It all rushed through her as she glanced back upward at his face. She saw the pout of his lips, and saw the way his shoulders heaved each breath too heavy. No one has ever wanted her so badly, needed her taste and begged for her company. True, by law she must obey her husband, and in turn Adam must supply her a good home. She would to bring them children, and hopefully they would live happily. But marriage was a slow burn, was questions and answers and learning the differences of each other, questioning how to raise a home. Charlotte expected a man who would hurt her, at least force her to the bed on their wedding night. She assumed he would be old, perhaps married previously, perhaps nothing good at all. But instead she received Adam, a boy who seemed to be too understanding and too kind. A man who touched her and begged her and needed her. Charlotte felt the power in his mouth, how it would stain her for hours even after he moved away. Her body could be marked by him, and already her virtue, but beyond that. Charlotte slipped the belt off his body with one quick tug, snapping against the fabric before she set it aside. Her legs shuffled, from tangling by his feet to twisting back more to his hips, holding him in place, wanting to feel him close. Her knees pushed his shirt up a bit, now that it loosened around his waist, and Charlotte wrapped her arms firmly around his neck. She hadn’t meant to allow her hips to push down so firmly against his lap, or note the slight push downward. Her body was reacting snapping itself to him, exposed to the elements. Slowly she pulled back, her hand going to his chin as her fingertip pushed against his lower lip. “My husband…” she huffed out in a light voice, clearly losing her breath, “How… how do you want me?” A bold question for such a timid girl, but once more she allowed herself to be had by Adam in whatever way he wished. She wished to steal his heart.

[walking-adam-blog]

"We're not hurrin' off anywhere, wife. Not righ’ now anyways..." Adam could not help but be reminded that this was not the fashion in which good Christian marriages went on. Good, Christian, proper marriages were to be filled with touches too conservative to call lustful, with emotions boiling beneath the surface, repressed until it all came spilling over in a fury till it was bottled up once again. And Adam was no fool either. One look at Charlotte and anyone could tell that she expected that sort of relationship expected of her. No love other than the one forced from duty. No true smiles. No true happiness to call her own until children came to distract from her sorrow. No life of her own worth living.  But Adam was no stuffed up Englishman who embraced those ideals. Where her sisters would be wed off to the elite Charlotte had been locked to a man who cared little for what was proper and what was not. He was the sort of man who took swings of whiskey first thing in the morning and who was stupid enough to think that a union of love was the sort he craved. He was the sort of man who believed her could love her at least, and he could recall clear as anything that she had voiced a similar sentiment last night. There were no rules to follow save for the ones their priest rattled off in Mass, and there was no such condemnation against loving your wife in a field. Adam sighed as his belt was tugged off, eyes falling closed to feel the weight of her question. "How do I want ye? Every morn, before the sun rises to start..." Sturdy hands seized Charlotte's backside, holding her firm to his chest as he shifted up to his knees. "In the midday, when the wee ones are sleepin' or out 'ere and aways. 'nd at night when everyone finds sleep except for us." It wasn't truly an answer to her question. For she had asked how he wanted her, not when, or whatever response Adam could sputter out as he laid her on the grass. Her gown was trapped somewhere beneath her. Along with the quilt it stuck up along edges and forced their bodies to lay slightly askew, and he laughed loudly as Fergus rose to his feet and ran as though knowing what was about to happen.

"But this will do fer now." Adam was weary of talking. When they spoke to each other it was always too strained for him to stand, or full of topics he balked at like his foot or his prior experiences with women. But the more they touched the more he could relax, the more he could truly be himself, and when he kissed her swollen mouth or neck or exposed chest he found himself learning her far better than her words could teach. It was clear she wanted to be loved though. Or at least respected in a way she hadn't yet been before, to stay the center of attention for longer than just a few moments before it shifted to one of her sisters or her fears or anything else Charlotte could think of. Each of his kisses seemed to linger longer than the last, ignoring how the folds of his kilt grew in their disarray now that the belt was gone. And each sank further and further down until Charlotte's leg was tossed over his shoulder and his hand splayed out over her stomach to keep his wife still. Perhaps he shouldn't have tugged the gown off after all, he mused as his mouth seared her thigh. Or kept it on till he was finished for what he had in mind. But the coat was still over her shoulders as best it could be, and the wind seemed to die down just for them, and his mouth refused to hold back as his head forced her legs apart, tasting his bride in a way she probably had not ever dreamed of.

[charlotteofthedeadlands]

bone of my bone;

[charlotteofthedeadlands]

Charlotte knew better than to question her husband, and as soon as his pained look across his face set in, it was clear to her than he grew offended by it. Her lower lip quivered a moment as he spoke, and she felt scolded. “I hadn’t meant…” she tried to say, but the skittishness came back and her hands dropped down against her own lap, nervously doing her best to shelter it from him. Her own state wasn’t work bringing her man down with her, and a man who she was sure wouldn’t pick her if he had the chance. The outsider’s lips curled into a small frown. “I wasn’t sure if one stole your heart as well, I didn’t want to interfere with the heart,” she said, or at least tried to as she noticed how rough her words sounded. But his fingers locked underneath her chin and her eyes softened as she looked at him, and her expression seemed to relax when she looked into his eyes. And his mouth pressed firmly against his when he kissed her. That was a better feeling, and in her apologies, she brought her hand up to his cheek to make sure the kiss would stay longer than Adam first intended. It was hard to question his intent, and it was even harder to be upset with him. He promised her, so she believed him. That was all she could do now. The worry of his injury, or the woman he went to bed with, or the anxieties laced with marriage all left her mind as his mouth pressed against her neck. This was an addiction, the only thing that she could understand in the whole promises of marriage and the rules and the rites, but Charlotte had never been taught about this part. She never was taught how a man could hold her in more than just protection, but in want. Perhaps this is what the Highlands bred. The colder air and the freer rules caused Charlotte to crave as well. His mouth smeared across her neck, and a small little coo left her lips as her hand ran up his neck, quickly and quicker still, the bride closed her eyes and tried not to think of anything else. His words brought her back, and her eyes opened with haziness as she locked back into the blue. “Only I,” she noted as the night events once more flashed before her eyes. “And only you.”

The instinct overtook her, and her legs went from tangling by his side to shifting, moving so her body was full facing him as she looked back at him. She wanted to touch him, and in ways that she didn’t assume were proper, and wanted to be taken by him however he begged to be. Charlotte felt the low lifts and falls of his body when he breathed, and the echo that his mouth made against her neck that pulsed through her veins. Her nose and cheek still flush, and her hands grew more brave as she lifted her fingertips and clutched the edge of his jacket. There was a teetering urge to pull it off, to tug against his sashes and shirts to see what he looked like in the hazy daylight. Her eyes looked down at her hands, watching, carefully fighting off the impulse that was darkening her eyes. Touching was not meant to be sport, was it? A woman needing a man for an undesirable desire that she couldn’t express seemed very unladylike. Children were what made men love a woman. Children after children, bright eyed boys and curly haired girls. And the way to have those children was necessity. She was meant to offer her body willingly, but this was more than a will. Her hands kept fidgeting, clearly battling between pulling it off or buttoning it tighter. She began to play with the buttons now, opening and closing them. “I don’t know if I will ever be satisfied,” she admitted, “With you. Last night you only made me want more. I can’t explain it, and I wish I could but…” Her eyes finally looked back up at Adam, feeling the air cooly hit against her exposed shoulders. The blanket that was tucked so tightly against her started to loosen, opening up and exposing her nightdress even more. “I was a just a girl when I met you, Adam Walker. I don’t feel like one anymore. The only thing that scares me is how much I want you, too.” There was a pause as she looked at him. Exposed as ever, and trying to be brave for him, she allowed the thickness of the blanket to drop from her arms freeing her as she dropped his buttons, leaving them open as she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him in and kissing his mouth. Her lips were still sheltered and shy, but she did kiss him with fever, and his body was so warm.

[walking-adam-blog]

"If anyone is tae worry over stolen hearts," Adam whispered between pressures. "I think it shall be me, dearest. How many of those Oxford men wept when they heard you were shipping off, eh? ‘ow may do I expect tae be beating off with a stick once they find out where ye are?" If anything he was lucky she hadn't found yet another thing to fret over, he mused with a snort. And now on top of that to watch Charlotte writhe on his lap until she put herself in an even more intimate position, he would be lucky if this were actually happening rather than a drunken dream. He beamed at her. Silent and proud he let her pour out her heart into his lap, almost awed by how Charlotte could hold his attention. She was such a silly thing, really. If it ever came down to it Adam could admit she was skittish and shy and better left off in  setting that suited her. He belonged in the highlands, but it would take time before she saw the empty countryside as her home. Hopefully though, she would think Adam as her true husband much sooner than she did the former and not as a stranger who could not keep his hands to his sides. "I'll take tha' as a good thing then." His gaze flickered to her shoulders, to the blanket that was inching off her skin and slowly but surely revealing the white fabric beneath. "I doubt I'll be any better. 'nd I might 'ave tae take ye every day just to be sure..." It was a crude thing to say, even to one's spouse. Crude, and deserving of a laugh afterwards so that Charlotte knew he meant it in good faith. Yet no laugh came from the man at that moment. He was far too busy smacking his lips in response to her, and letting his eyes flicker down to the sheer fabric covering her whenever he had the chance. Damn thing was thinner than he remembered. Or at least thin enough to see her nipples perked through from the cold. Adam groaned without realizing. "You'll catch yer death out 'ere." he rasped, "We're in the middle of the fields for Christ's sake..."

But as his hands tugged the gown up around her thighs, and then even further to come up over Charlotte's head to expose her, Adam thought very little of the wind. Or the chill in the air or the very small likelihood that one of his relatives would ride by to check on them. It was impossible to think logically at all now that he could see her. Now that his mouth had dipped to one breast and his fingers seared across his wife's hips. Left to be battered under his affection Adam held her close. And if he spoke it was in the language she had no understanding of, whispering curses and prayers and promises that all sounded like gibberish to Charlotte's ears. Was it normal to be this enamored? This...loving, when they still hardly knew the other? Or was it simply lust that carried Adam forward in his movements with his unending desire to touch her? As usual Adam had no answers. And truthfully he cared little of what caused Charlotte to straddle him or the feeling that pulsed tight in his gut. "Charlotte," When his mouth finally moved it left a lip-shaped bruise behind in its wake. When he let go of his vice-like grasp on her waist he only did so to tear at his sash, to shrug off his coattails and wrap her in it as if it would do any good. As if it were just another claim on the girl who had taken his home and his name and whatever sense he had left in him. The action left Charlotte back tight against his chest and her core grinding ever-so-slightly upon his lap. Damn kilt. He kissed her far rougher than she had in the past. Damn clothes, damn fields. It would have been far better to be back behind his walls and fucking her properly on the bed as a lady deserved. But the sheets was far and his wife was already bare and there was no sense in wasting a naked lass with a suggestion to go inside. "The belt." He whispered on a mouth swollen and red. "I want ye right back. I do, dearest. 'nd I don't want tae wait again until the sun sets or till we're both drunk with wine."

[charlotteofthedeadlands]

bone of my bone;

[charlotteofthedeadlands]

“That’s horrible,” Charlotte spat out quickly after his story, her eyes still transfixed to the wood. There wasn’t a look of true disgust, or a bitterness to her eyes that would make her seem disinterested. More than anything she wondered how she hadn’t noticed. She tried to remember if he limped, concluding that he might have after the ceremony but she wasn’t sure. And the two collapsed into bed quickly after. But she hadn’t felt it, even with all the touching that they had done and the spinning of their bodies against each other in comfort. Perhaps Adam knew how to hide it, for he certainly has had more practice in the bedroom than she expected. All these little things made up her new husband, pieces upon pieces of a man that she was still learning so much about. But her lips curled up into a smile at his comment about England, and she looked down at him, trying to keep it light, casual between them. “I could say the same about a Scottish brute,” she admitted under her heath before looking back at Adam with a curve to her lips. She wanted to kiss him again, but once again she stuffed that feeling back down into her stomach. Becoming a proper wife seemed to be the most important thing in the world to her now. Even if it was scary to her. She had to be gentle, just as Adam was treating her. She had to be a lady, and she shouldn’t speak ill her her husband’s home. But Adam had been so honest with her, and after his confession with her accident she couldn’t help but feel even closer to him.  She must do her best to not bring it up, and to not poke and prey into it either. It was hard to learn a man so quickly, but she did her best to try.

Marriage was still a strained topic. Charlotte always knew she was meant to be a wife, there was no question about it with a family of four daughters that who they marry would be the most important piece of their identity. It was more important than the books Charlotte read or the piano lessons she took or the walks she enjoyed by the water. Everything she did was meant for her to be more desirable. Be a wife who can read music, be a wife who could discuss literature, be a wife who could patch up ripped trousers and knit up thick scarves for winter. But none of that now seemed to be important. There wasn’t a piano in Adam’s home, and all the dances she had learned were clearly not in fashion as she learned at their reception. The books she read were from the great English writers, and if Adam’s comment about bastards was any indication of their overall attitudes of her accent than she would know as the outsider. It must be just as hard for the boy, for the tension was always thick between the two countries, and not only was Adam cripple, but he was quite literally sleeping with the enemy.  It hadn’t been that many years since the unification of the countries, and this marriage seemed to be as shaky as the politics. Charlotte’s hands nervously squeezed against Adam’s as she thought of something to say.

“My family is about all I have,” she admitted after a moment. “I don’t know much else to say.” There was another pause as she tried to figure out the word, and her voice was brimming on the anxieties again. Her other hand rain carefully through his hair, tangling against the waves and smoothing out the flattened spots as his head rested against her lap. All they had was their intimacy, thankful that their bodies seemed better at communicating then their mouths or cultures. Their hands fit together nicely, and his lips tasted sweet against her own and Adam’s body appeared much rougher than it actually become, and her fingers ran across his hand as it rested somewhere against his chest. She looked at it for a great deal longer. It was embarrassing how she didn’t know what to say, so quickly she did her best to change the subject. At least change it to something that had been resting in the back of her mind. Soon her eyes dropped away from Adam’s, and even her hand that tucked itself into his hair had fallen and started to tug on the grass under hand hand. “Could I ask you something? I… I don’t know how to say it.” There was another pause, another second that she hadn’t known what to say until she finally coughed out once more.  The question had lurked too long, and her heart raced against her chest so heavy she wanted to spin the blanket tighter around her. “Can I ask you to stay faithful to me? At least for now.. at least until you learn if you really want me…” Charlotte instantly regretted it after speaking it. The topic didn’t need to be discussed, and Adam’s former lovers still hung low in her mind. “If you can’t, Mister Walker, I can understand, I just don’t want to be looked at as forgotten if one of her lovers might come up again.”  

[walking-adam-blog]

It was easier when they were like this. When they were silent for the most part, and only gentle touches were shared rather than anxieties for their future or shame of their past it was almost as though it were a normal union. If his parents saw him now they would be satisfied, he hoped. At least he was trying his best to act like a husband should, or as he thought a husband should act anyways. His brothers who were married often told him of their troubles at home or their aggravations with wives who scolded them for drinking too much or caring too little. His sisters who were to be wed would tell him of their hopes, of their sighing daydreams of spouses who would give them child after child. And it all cumulated into a mess of ideas and expectations  that hardly made any sense and worsened by Charlotte's fear of him. He wished she wouldn't be so skittish. He wished for a lot of things, all not necessarily fair to his bride who'd been sheltered her entire life and raised with the endgame of winding in some man's bed. It wasn't fair to expect her to love him straight aways. It wasn't right, or logical in any sense to expect Charlotte to accept his disfigurement without question and without pause, or to strip herself of her nightgown and plead for him again when she'd only just lost her innocence. Still, the fingers carding carefully through his hair was a start. Their bound hands felt pleasant. Their silent knowing of effort all the more meaningful when the only sound around them were that of sheep and rustling of grass.  

It ended - as it often did it seemed - with a question Adam knew was going to agitate and a shift of his frame to sit up. She was naive. Almost painfully so with her hands that never stopped quaking and words that tumbled out in a rush. But Adam insisted on being as proper a husband he could manage, and he gripped both hands between his as the reply came. "Do you think so poorly of me," he asked in words laced with offense, "tha' I would go against vows made before Christ and 'is holy sacrament? Tha' I would bring another into my house 'nd fuck her in our bed?" Even the thought of it made Adam's skin crawl. For he was not a man of education or standing, but he was a man of loyalty, if nothing else. And a man who meant every word he spoke at the alter no matter how badly Charlotte sobbed or how his misery and sickness bubbled in his gut. It had been a mistake to bring up his past last night. The alcohol had loosened his tongue and his nerves had spoken to try and calm his new wife down. But it was a mistake, and one that now had to be mended with kinder words and promises a plenty. "Any lovers I've taken were town tramps whose hearts were filled with pity when they saw my state. And I would sooner lose my other foot than try 'nd find joy in them." Vaguely Adam wondered how long it would take until Charlotte believed him. They had only met a dawn ago and still the man was impatient as he was lazy. He ached for smiles and comfort in his company. He wanted joy, a joy which he got hintings of when their clothes were shed and words forgotten. One hand fell from the trap of their position, and it moved to the wild bits of her hair which got more and more tangled by the wind. "You are hardly a tramp, Mrs. Walker." His fingers curled possessively over her chin as his face pushed closer, invading her space and keeping Charlotte still as their mouths met. He knew she would not fight it. But it hurt not to make sure this time they kissed properly and not of that shy nonsense. He'd already seen all of her, and she of him, and the man had grown long weary of dancing around each other as they did. If she so feared his wandering gaze than he would touch her until she had no choice but forget.

This time Adam had no qualms about pulling her sideways into his lap, trapping Charlotte within his arms and suckling on the side of her neck as if nothing were the matter. If she would not - or could not - speak of her person than he would learn for himself what she craved. And he would take great pleasure in it, whether it be noting what spots on her skin made her cry out or her favorite pages in books he could not decipher. "'nd I already know I want ye." His mouth let go with an obscene- sounding pop. "I knew it from the moment I saw ye, 'nd then I tried to be a gentleman but tha' didn't work neither so I had to 'ave ya. Quite keen tae have ye again..." Adam paused to let the seriousness of his words wash over him, praying as hard as a man could with his wife in his arms that he didn't frighten her. "Only you. Now does tha' answer satisfy you, dearest? Or is my brutish accent too thick on yer ears?"

[charlotteofthedeadlands]

bone of my bone;

[charlotteofthedeadlands]

It didn’t mean anything. She tried to tell herself over and over again, using the words of Adam to relax herself back into a clam. No need to get worked up, no need to shiver or flitch away from the man she was sworn to. But it was hard to change overnight, no matter if her name and her family had been changed in the time. Panic would always strike her, and her face would never be able to stop itself from showing her emotions. She was open, so innocently so that it was hard to blame her for it. Young and fresh to the country, it would take her a while to get used to the customs, get used to trusting in someone so full heartedly. Charlotte’s mind started to flicker again. How could she not have noticed? The girl continued to look down against his foot, a leg that didn’t seem an different than anyone else’s leg. But how could she not have noticed under the sheets, or when he pulled it off before they slept. She tried to piece it all together, but the night before was mostly blanketed with the passion she felt, and she excitement and fear of become someone else’s. She felt so terribly young, and naive. There had to be have been a reason why a man such as he hadn’t been married yet, a man with soft kisses and kind hands hadn’t been worth a wife before her. “I’m not scared,” she admitted to him as she started to warm up to the idea. He was right, after all. He had a home, he had land, some sheep, and a bed big enough for two. Revolt was not the emotional she felt, nor was she upset by the idea of of having a husband without a foot. Cosmetic, it was all just for show. The girl noticed his breath become warmer on her skin, and she lifted her eyes to look up at him “I just… I just didn’t figure it out is all,” she replied with a little huff before she allowed her upper body to once again rest against his chest. She liked to be close to him, and she liked to be touched, and that was enough for her to stay.

There was nothing to blame him for, and her wide eyes and her teary dissipation. Charlotte found herself becoming more calm when she felt him, when she could hook her chin against his shoulder and touch her nose upon his neck. Adam’s skin was a prayer to her, a prayer she hadn’t know to ask for when she would string her fingers across a rosary. But God made her safe, and Adam made her safer, and Charlotte did her best to ignore it as much as possible, to allow them to be young again. Still, he was handsome. That didn’t change his smile or his mouth or how bright his eyes were. Brokenly the words zipped through her mind like a wheel, spinning until she finally had to stop it on her own. “I want to touch it,” she blurted out in a tiny voice. It was gnawing at her, the need to know. Pulling her body away, she pushed herself down, leaning over to his ankle and poking at it. She wanted to feel the indent, and his leather of his shoes kept from an real exploration to happen, but she could feel where the foot was strapped to, and when the softness of his skin was replaced by a dip to the edge of the wood. How strange it all seemed. After a few little pokes she pushed herself back up to sit with her husband against the grass. “That didn’t seem horrible,” she whispered to herself, not used to having a man so close to her to hear her little mumbles to herself. After an adjust of the blanket she looked back up at the man she called her husband and tightened it around her shoulder. “There are worse things to happen to a man. Like a dark soul, or a wicked heart. You do not have either such thing. I’m still very thankful for you,” she admitted with a smile. her lips curling upward and loosing any sort of anger or fear she might have. It was replaced once more with a relaxation. Adam was rather good at that, calming her down, talking her off her twisting cliff of a mind. Charlotte reached out to take one of his hands, pulling it into the layers of blankets and rubbing his knuckles underneath her thumb. “It happened when you were young?” she asked softly, her eyes looking up into his, opened to learn.

[walking-adam-blog]

Though it caused Charlotte some notion of distress Adam was grateful she hadn't noticed. For it was easier to explain now rather than when the wedding had been as fresh as the tears on her  reddened cheeks. It was less of a bother, knowing that if she'd seen before their love-making she would have erupted into more sobs. And while Adam wasn't exactly pleased when she ignored his demands to prod at the leg he knew it was no easy thing to accept. There was no question anymore of why he hadn't yet married anymore. Or why it had to be arranged between families to secure him a wife, even one who should have been married off years ago to a man of grander standing. She'd been bound to an undesirable. A lowlife, who had neither wicked heart or stern hand but a who held no importance either. And she - Adam did not look at her as she grazed the wood - she was worth even less than that now as the wife of one. "Aye, when I was ten. Silly thing, really. We had this game of hoppin' up on the horse carts in the village." He spoke in that same low tone, as if commenting on the sheep that wandered round them or something as simple as the clouds above. "''nd one day when I tried to jump up on one I put my foot in where it shouldn't 'ave gone. Like the wheel cobbs..."

It wasn't the most pleasant of stories. Nor was it the most exciting since Adam had told it time and time again to those you looked too long at his leg or plucked up the courage to ask. And so many years had passed that the farmer grew almost bored of his disfigurement. Still, he knew he knew he owed his wife the truth, and he shrugged again as he spared her the horrid details of the aftermath. The misery he'd caused his family. The luck that he was still alive and still had a face worth looking twice at after that horse dragged him twenty paces. "But I'd rather tell people I lost it in a more exciting way, eh? Like fightin' off some English bas-..." Adam pursed his lips in delayed realization. And he allowed his eyes to flicker once to his still very foreign, very English wife. "...Tard. Or-...ye know. Most people 'ave known me forever 'nd know the truth so there's no use lyin'." He prayed she found no offense in his words. Hoped, but rather certain she would regardless. He couldn't blame her either, since if their positions were reversed Adam would have found great offense indeed. And so he was quick to distract the girl as his body adjusted and his head fell lazily to rest in Charlotte's lap as if it were apology enough.

He could be as cold as her fingers, Adam mused as he lay there. If he had the nerve he could demand she never bring it up again simply because he was weary of its story, or force the conversation to that of a lighter topic. But he was not a man of little temper towards women and he ached only to make Charlotte feel as loved as she had beneath his frame. It was no fault of hers that she was shocked at his appearance. Or even if she were disappointed now that she knew the truth. Though she should have noticed the very moment she stumbled down the aisle, she hadn't, and it was little more than a side note to their union. Charlotte longed to know him, after all. And now she knew more than she had moments ago. "Tell me sumthin' else of ye." He voiced after awhile, thumb stroking absentmindedly upon her fingers as he forced their twined hands to a place more comfortable. "You know my name day, 'nd me accident and my shame. But I only know of yer family, dearest. Tha' and how pink ye turn in bed which ‘m certainly thankful for." And how she ached for a life more comfortable. For a husband whole and a husband as clever as any man from her home. Adam did not voice this knowing aloud. "Ah, 'nd yer age too I suppose. But that isn't nearly as much as ye know of me."

[charlotteofthedeadlands]

bone of my bone;

[charlotteofthedeadlands]

Charlotte hadn’t mind the closeness, or the teasing that caused her already reddened cheeks to blush up. He still seemed to fancy her after all of this, and her eyes found the curiosity and the courage to lift up to look at him. Her hand was handsome, and she lifted her hand back up to touch the lines in his cheek. “I wanted to say hello,” she said in a small voice, feeling her hips move closer to him. She was pleased to find herself not scared of his touches anymore. Last night certainly proved he had decency, so Charlotte moved closer and allowed the blanket to rest across her shoulders, showing off more of the cream colored fabric. A part of her knew Adam still hadn’t a clue about what it meant to be a husband, just as Charlotte struggled with knowing what it meant to be a wife. There had to be some reason that he was picked for her, someone of his age, she assumed, would already have a wife to care for, already found someone of his own wish to have. If woman had wanted him before, she couldn’t imagine why he didn’t take up any of his lovers. Or at least they sounded like lovers to naive ears. With a small sigh, Charlotte dropped her head down against his shoulder and nudged against him. She still had to get used to his body, that she was allowed to touch it. So many times her chastity was drilled into her mind, to not touch, to not even thing about it. But now she could, and Charlotte felt free to explore without the heavy haze of Scottish whiskey. The air was bitter to her shoulders, and she lifted one hand to press on his other shoulder to hold him. “I’m pleased that you’re just as handsome as I remember you. Perhaps that’s the real reason why I left our bed, to make sure your hair was still as red, and your arms still as strong and your hands…”-there was a moment of distraction as Charlotte slid her hand behind her to his hand that held her from behind and squeezed against his knuckles-“Where still.. you know…” there was a nervous bit of a chuckle and she lifted her head up to look at him. Embarrassment flushed over her cheeks as she recalled the night before. “I don’t think many wives had the same experience I had on their wedding night…” There was still a struggle to look at him after her words, and she swallowed hard as she blinked her eyes back up. She was caught by his eyes, and the softness of his smile, and how the sunlight did well for his skin.

She was pleased to be called his, and she wanted to keep learning him. With a hesitation, she lifted her chin upward to kiss against his mouth. Her mouth never seemed to hit correctly at first, and it took the girl some attempts before she was able to achingly taste his mouth between her lips. There was no secrets of her innocences when she kissed. They were nervous still, anxious of ruining the moment s her hand clung to the shoulder of the fabric of his jacket. She wondered how anyone could think poorly of a man as him, of a family that accepted her more than her own. But her mouth could learn easily, and she slowly parted it to get a better taste, running her tongue against the bottom lip as her head tired to one side. She wanted to badly to impress him, to make him love her in all the ways she was told men loved. She offered her body to him, and she already assumed her soul was still so wide. Slowly she pulled back and pressed her forehead against his and smiled. Almost overnight the woman lost the knot in her stomach, and the tears that once covered her lashes had all dried. She made an attempt to shift her body, seeing she was leaning to heavily on her new husband, and as she shifted her hips one of her legs jerked forward and hit against his foot hard. There was a hallow sound, and a feeling, that rippled through her spine, and she pulled her foot back into the safety of the blankets. But her eyes remained fixed on his foot, a foot that didn’t feel like bone at all. Her hand squeezed against his jacket harder and her body curled even closer to his as if the foot was somehow not attached to his body. With a  tiny bit more bravery, she pulled her foot back out and slowly tapped against wood once more. “I…” she started to say, but the words didn’t seem to come out, and her throat was dry. Perhaps it was all an illusion, or a mind trick, but something didn’t seem to be completely logically as she squeezed harder on his jacket, her eyes wide and nearly glaring at it as her foot slowly snaked back underneath the blankets. Even the sheep dog’s ears perked up and his head lazily turned to see what had happened between the humans.

[walking-adam-blog]

Her kisses were like her words; soft and hesitant and eager to please. And sweet - so sweet on his mouth that Adam sighed in content whenever he had the chance. She was so keen now, his wife. Not out of duty like he knew was the case last night but out of the simplest curiosity and perhaps even a flicker of desire. He knew he felt the same. For Charlotte tasted of honey he could not get enough of. Like stickly sweetness clung that to his lips and forced goose flesh break out over his neck. "I should think so." He mumbled when he'd a chance to speak between kisses. She wanted to speak of how handsome he was but all Adam could think to offer in reply was how lovely she looked in the proper light. How much she had pleased him, how badly he wanted to relish in her again. "Ye are my wife, 'nd ye are to 'ave the best I can give. My lovely, wee thing..." He her explore to heart's content, parting his lips when her tongue sought entrance and keeping his hand firm in its place throughout. His wife had turned from a weeping, broken mess at the feast to the girl he held now in his arms, and curious was he to find out what other secrets Charlotte held. If today she gave the first kiss, then what would tomorrow bring? And the day after, or even years from now when his hair grayed and the lines in his cheeks became permanent. Adam didn't mind this though. Just to kiss his wife without worry that she would erupt into tears was enough to clear his mind, and the wind went noticed and the sound of sheep and birds above turned to background. He could lay there all day, he could. Just to lay in the grass with Charlotte's mouth on his own and very little fabric blocking him from between her legs no work would get done.

It seemed natural she would pull away when she did. Not because of the clunk, but to catch breath and speak again of learning each other. And so the shepherd paid no mind to Charlotte's foot, and did not do so until she kicked it out again to tap much lighter than before. It still gave him no pause. "Ah, the great bother." Adam was on the verge of chuckling when he noticed Charlotte's expression. Though it was not one of amusement nor any other pleasant thought like he was expecting, but rather as though she were in shock. As though this moment in the grass was the first time she realized why her new husband was undesirable like any other cripple. He swallowed at the thought. She had to have seen before, shouldn't she? Or had the girl not been able to look past her tears when she was lead to the alter, or felt the slight limp in his step when he lead her to their bed. It felt like such an obvious scar to Adam. Though perhaps it was a good thing she learned of it now rather than think him unfit the moment he bedded her. Perhaps she already loved him, and it would be strong enough to ignore how unlucky she was in this match. "Damn thing. 'appened so long ago I barely remember." Adam's voice was light as it was low. "Much easier tae manage now then it was back then. Can walk ‘nd do everythin’ else..." Suddenly worried that Charlotte would find him revolting, Adam drew close to his bride. It was his turn to give chase now. To once again promise a life worthy of smiling through and give reason to a love they could have. Though he was older, and poor of wealth and missing skin he still longed to be as good as the Oxford men she talked of. Or at least, force a smile on her mouth that would be wider than any other man could pry from her. "No fear dearest. I can be a good husband without it. 'nd I dinna need two feet tae keep the bed warm or yer stomach full, swear on the cross of Christ itself." He was practically cooing at her now. His hand moved from its place on her backside to her waist. His lips, while still moving in their occasional rhythms could not help but purse to her forehead gently. Now that their union was over with and the sheets stained with her blood he had thought he was free of this shame. But again Adam found himself wishing that she could accept him as he did her, careless mind and leg of wood and all. Pleading, praying that something as silly as a childhood accident would not keep the girl from giving the affection she'd only just gotten the courage to do. "Come 'ere Charlotte. Yer eyes are so big again, 'nd I miss those sweet kisses."

[charlotteofthedeadlands]

bone of my bone;

[charlotteofthedeadlands]

The world suddenly seemed slower now. Maybe it was the tension that twisted her stomach for a week when she heard news of her proposal had finally released, or the kissing had gotten to her head, or the earth that was around her was so untouched and clean. Charlotte wasn’t worried about the matter, but more about the wiping of the wind around her face and caused her nose to turn bright red and her hands to clutch the blankets tighter to her body. The plaid trailed behind her as she walked, and her lips curled into a smile as she saw his head perk up from the grass. He was still as young as she remembered, and his smile was still cracking across his face. “You allowed me to sleep!” she replied back, kicking against the dirt and dragging her feet. Finally the sheep dog made it to Charlotte, and she opened up her blankets just enough to jerk her hand out so the dog could smell her, and lick against her palm. This life couldn’t be so scary, she thought to herself. With fresh air and a man who seemed excited to see her. Fergus let out a huff and started to spin around the woman. Charlotte smirked as she noticed what he was doing, and the animal was literally trying to heard her with the rest of the group. He zipped around her as she walked, as her hair flew across her cheeks and her body ached for someone to hold her. The turn of the season was harsher than it was back home and Charlotte made we way to the boy who she was apparently wed to. Life would be changed, and she didn’t mind it anymore. Her temple still throbbed and her hands still shook from the weather or the shock. She picked up her steps until she found him and for a moment she was staring next to him, tilting her head as she looked upon him. She hadn’t known how to greet him yet. A piece of her was still scared to touch him, but the other only wanted to be felt by him. Love was a good enough answer for this, but it felt slightly different than what she predicted it to feel like. For the love was deep in her stomach, and expanded across her body through her veins. It was consuming, and only became worse the more she looked into her eyes. They looked even bluer in the sunlight, brighter, clearer. His hair redder, his skin lighter. She wanted to keep touching him, but she wasn’t sure how to do so.

Charlotte found herself quickly in a pile next to him, the sheets covering most of the curve to her body, up to her collarbone and around her shoulders and cheek. For a few seconds, she bit the inside of her cheek and tried to find something clever to say. But the marriage happened so quickly, and their romp felt even quicker. Charlotte wasn’t used to feeling this way, and the uneasiness clouded her judgement. So she reached out to touch his shoulder, rubbing her fingers against the material before sliding down to his chest before noticing what she was doing. A blush started to flourish against her cheekbones and she moved her hand to her lips and touched them. They still burnt from the kissing and the urge to keep doing so. But the night before had been one of whiskey and excitement, and a loyalty to do what she had always felt obligated to do; Charlotte was always to be a wife. If not to the shepherd than to someone else to be auctioned off. But she was glad it was him. Fergus became uninterested with Charlotte as soon as she stopped giving him the attention, sniffing her hair a few more times to double check if it was the same woman from the night before. When he was comfortable with that, he laid down near them, his eyes facing most of the flock. Charlotte let out a small chuckle as she looked down. She assumed she was just staring at him again, and she became embarrassed by her wide eyes. Her fingers still covered over her lips, tapping against the lips as she tried to think of something to say. As if getting closer to him made her loose her thought and her rambling words couldn’t leave past her mouth. So she didn’t say anything, and the awkwardness chocked past her throat as she let out a nervous laugh to break the silence. “I hope you… slept well,” she finally managed out, bouncing between looking at him and looking at the grass and picking at the greens. Her lower lip found its way against her teeth and she bit against it.

[walking-adam-blog]

Oddly satisfied that his wife had sought him out rather than waiting away in the house, Adam could not help how wide he smiled. She looked a right mess she did. Though a lovely one, if he said so himself. And the closer she drew the more Adam thought of what to say. For the ceremony of it all was long done and to speak again of how sorry he was, or how unfair it was, or how he would try his hardest to make things right would just sound dry. As if the weight of his words would be lost in how repetitive they were. "Ah, so I did." Another laugh left the man at Fergus' actions. "As I told ye I would. Bit early tae go back of my promises..." If only Charlotte knew of how serious he was. With every little promise he made, even the ones said while drunk, Adam had every intention of fulfilling them. He wanted to see her smile as bright as she was now, to watch her expression light up every time he gave some thoughtful gift or said some loving thing. It was a mad tick to please Charlotte in some way. Or at least be a decent enough husband to her though he was hardly a decent enough anything else. For even to call him a decent farmer might have been a stretch of truth, and if he could choose or if he could force himself to try his best for one single thing, then Adam would choose the bride he'd been given over and over again. It couldn't have been that hard, could it?

The surprises never seemed to stop. For while Adam had intended to stand up to greet his bride Charlotte beat him to it by collapsing into a heap at his side. He laughed. Loud and long and enough to cause the few sheep wandering around to turn their heads in interest. How daring his wife could be, Adam mused. How lovely, as she moved her hand along the curve of his shoulder until it fell to his chest, almost following the path of the sash beneath his coat. Amazingly he'd almost forgotten how nice it was to be close. And even more so the man realized the feeling brimming in the pit of his gut was one of longing. It had been hours, he barely knew her, and yet he had missed the presence of his wife and the sight of her windswept cheeks. “Aye.” Adam's voice was hoarse for reasons he didn't know. “Quite well, Charlotte. Not even the snores of my wee wife could rouse me." He couldn't help it. Nor could he help the crooked smile from appearing on his face as soon as the tease was out. He'd had enough of tip-toeing around Charlotte as though she were a candle about to go out. There was no sense in acting like they weren't wed, or they hadn’t laid together, or weren't one, and he ached to be young and more curious than ever of the woman at his side who he truly knew nothing about. He'd also had enough of waiting. And with a sigh he pulled Charlotte flush against his front, letting the heat from her body warm him and the lingering scent of her perfume sting his nose. "You'll catch cold if ye wander round the hills in a nightdress 'nd blanket, dearest." Adam's hand wandered to Charlotte's waist, then dared to go a bit lower as he hauled her closer by her backside. He'd already seen her bare. He'd already been inside her, and ran his mouth along whatever patch of flesh he could find. So to touch Charlotte now in such a lazy fashion couldn't be so wrong. "Have tae keep ya warm while yer out here then, won't I?" Adam hadn't yet kissed her though the desire to was strong. The need to keep her close in the grass, the pleasantry in letting the tangles of Charlotte's hair hit across his face. He settled finally on pushing his lips to her forehead. And once again he allowed Charlotte to set the pace of things. If she wanted to kiss her husband than she could do so. Or if she simply wanted to lay there for awhile until the cold got too much, then that would suit just as well. It was perfectly fine by him to do either, and his work required very little of him besides being present to make sure none wandered off.

[charlotteofthedeadlands]

bone of my bone;

[charlotteofthedeadlands]

Charlotte had already fallen asleep when Adam was shuffling back to the bed after he blew out the candle. The day was just too exhausting, and the girl had finally found a position that was comfortable enough to stay in. She was still, and her eyes were shut and her body was tucked perfectly against the curve of Adam’s chest. Tightened still in that ball she found comfort in, Charlotte’s hand was tucked underneath her cheek and a small whistling sound started to leave her nose. And she stayed asleep for much longer than she ever wanted to. Form the stress of the day, from the wedding and that traveling and the shaking hands and the orgasms and the food, Charlotte needed to rest. She needed to clear her mind, and she needed Adam’s body to keep her warm. The night she did not stir once, and she stayed in her small ball until Adam shuffled out of the bed the morning after. The sun in the room didn’t effect Charlotte, nor did the patting of Fergus’s paws against the wood or the shuffle of her husband. No, the bride just slept, rolling into the center of the bed and spreading out against the fabrics and the cloaks and the pillows, tucking one underneath her head before she lulled herself into an even deeper sleep, and the whistling came back into her nose again and her body went back to being completely still.

It wasn’t until the sun was higher in the sky did Charlotte finally start to awake. It was slow, and usually she just tried to pull her blankets tighter around her body. There was no one to wake her, and the siblings she had and the mother who was strict where there to make sure she rose. So the girl slept later than she had in her life. It came slowly from her nose first. The smell was thicker, but freer and she remembered in the garble of her mind that she wasn’t in her childhood bed. The texture was thicket around her cheek as the plaid was laced against her hair, flattening the curls. She was also naked, she realized, as her stomach scraped against the sheets, and her body started to stretch out. The true realization didn’t hit her until she opened her eyes to face a dark wooden wall. There was no paintings, no wallpaper, and a sense of panic always stricken the girl. She wasn’t in London. Her hand went to her face and she rubbed it, breathing quicker than she wanted to when she finally saw her wrist. A wedding. She was wed. Adam started to fill her mind now. She remembered the whiskey shots and the wedding kiss and the talented fingers and the wet lips that spilled out so many promises to her. A bride. She was a bride in Scotland. And her husband wasn’t there to awake with her. It still didn’t feel normal yet. The bed wasn’t her bed and the home wasn’t her home, but she prayed that one day it would be, that one thing in her life could be just hers, even if it was a man.

Slowly she lifted herself up to a sitting position. A small dull pain from her pelves started to throb against her as she rubbed it. She was his, she remembered. She had given herself up to him in the easiest way. She remembered his mouth, and the way it scanned her body and kissed the imperfections. She remembered him being handsome. Charlotte pulled her hands into her hair, pushing it back away from her face before she slowly slid herself to the side of the bed. The nightgown that he had given her was laying on the floor, so while still trying to cover her body up, she pulled it back over her head. That was covered enough, for the memory of the sprawling land back into her mind. The house was modest, and her suitcase was still the largest thing in the room. She would have to unpack today, and she would have to settle herself into a new life. She put back her small booted heels again, slipping them over her feet before wrapping herself up in a tartan blanket. She tightened it around her before standing up and walking out of the small home. As soon as she walked outside, it hit her how beautiful it was. The country was big, and the air was so smooth. She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes. This was her home now. Her home was jagged earth and the greenest grace. She stood int he entrance for a while, taking in the sound of the sheep’s hooves and wild air. She tightened her blanket around her. She wasn’t done up like she was the day before. Her hair was a mixture of straightened and curled, and her body was still not covered up completely, but she wanted to see her husband. There wasn’t anyone around, and the girl took a step down from the home to the Earth and started walking toward the small dots of sheep she saw not too far away.

[walking-adam-blog]

No matter how drunk he'd been, or weary, or satisfied, his body had long grown accustomed to waking when the first light showed. It was practically instinct at this point, though it threw the man for a loop when the sound of light snoring filled his ears rather than the rooster's crow. For a moment he even forgot of what had happened. Of the night he'd just been subject to and the following acts of marriage they fulfilled. Of course, it all came back to Adam once he realized there was someone pressed against him. Someone tangled in his quilts and bits of wild hair sticking out from a head tucked beneath his chin. Charlotte. Adam smiled at the sight. At the memory. Somehow she remained against him throughout the night, and that same smug pride that had filled Adam when he gave her release was back in full force. His wife was a lovely thing. A fragile thing, and a humorous one as she continued to snore ever so slightly. But the love he felt was still there. At least he assumed such feelings as those of love, and after a long while of enjoying their close presence Adam sighed and untangled their bodies as to not wake her. Sleep, he remembered. He had promised her sleep. And some sense of peace before she was thrust into a new life. He would have preferred to at least talk to her as he got dressed, as he strapped his false foot into place and wiped the sleep from his eyes. She liked to talk. Well, she liked to ramble. And her voice would have filled the silence nicely as Adam tended to the fire. But he also figured there would be plenty of time to talk later in the day, and he wasn't bothered in the slightest while his hand fell to stroke her forehead. "Sleep well, mo nighean donn."

Charlotte did not stir at the sound. Nor when Adam pressed his mouth to the spot his hand had just been, or when his fingers returned to fix the wild bits of hair.Just another whistling snore was her reply which forced another smile on the lips of her husband. And then he was straightening the blankets over her and staring at her in the early morning light, and hobbling out the door to leave Charlotte be.

It was a normal day as any other despite the chaos of its night. Overcast. Cold. Flecks of rain hitting against his forehead every once in awhile as he lay in the grass with his flock mingling around him. Soon enough the winter would arrive and he and Charlotte both would shiver and huddle close to the fireplace. More worries would come. More of his sheep slain to feed them, more money spent to buy proper coats and proper food. But to worry of it now seemed foolish. And Adam allowed his eyes to close lazily, letting the wind sweep his curls around as he reminisced of earlier hours. Her skin had felt so wonderful on his own. So pure, though the sense in the man realized that he cared very little of her innocence. It was in the way Charlotte clung to him that pleased Adam the most. It was in the little confessions of possibilities, in the way she kissed him back. How she never flinched away. Part of Adam wanted to pull himself up and head back to his house that instant. For the sheep would be fine for a few minutes as he slipped into bed and roused his bride awake. But there was also that pesky business of actually getting up from his spot, and the grass was so soft, and his eyes so heavy, and it was far easier to fantasize about Charlotte rocking into his hand than moving to actually bother her. Or the sound of her moaning...or the memory of the nightgown being torn from her skin...The sound of Fergus bolting past startled the man back to reality. Tired blue eyes opened, Adam's elbows hoisting his body up to watch the dog's path. For a moment he was confused. The next, filled with a sense of happiness as his gaze met a much smaller figure heading his way. Finally, Adam thought with excitement, she was awake. And the sight was worth the wait as Charlotte looked more lovely than she had the moment he'd first met her. Her hair was all a mess, the wind not helping in the slightest, and he could see how well his family's colors suited her complexion now that his vision wasn't blurred from drink. He beamed. "Good mornin', Mrs. Walker." The voice of the man was loud and rolling as the hills surrounding them. His body slow to pick itself up, to find its balance on the uneven plain and his words came easier than they had with the help of whiskey. "Or shall I say good afternoon? Ye missed the sunrise."