Vaughn R. Demont's Blog, page 32

From Twitter 10-21-2010

11:10:07: Looks like Spencer is going to clear 80k, and to think this was originally supposed to be a short story. #kingsconfidante

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Free Fiction Friday: The King's Confidante - Part 24 (NSFW)

x-posted to freeficfriday

Welcome back to Free Fiction Friday!

This week's chapter is above average length, coming in at 3600 words, and Spence has crossed the 77k mark.

The archive for the freeficfriday community is up to date, so if you've been looking for where you can read all of the FFF material from all of the participating authors in one place, you're set. :)

Everything's tagged according to author, title, and genre for easier reading, but if you prefer to stick with Spence on my blog, just click the "free fiction fridays" tag if you need to catch up.

This week's posting roster consists of: vaughn_r_demont, id_locke, and please welcome our newest Free Fictioneer, desiresdd , Michael Mandrake who is also posting this week.

Interested in joining the Free Fictioneers? We have weekly and bi-weekly slots open for interested authors. Please send any inquiries to the moderators vaughn_r_demont and/or id_locke

Anyway, without further ado, please enjoy this week's chapter of "The King's Confidante". :)



"I understand that I'm putting you in a tough spot, but you need to know I wouldn't be here if it wasn't an emer—"

Rourke's fingers run gently across my face, a tinge of pain whispering at his touch. His face starts shocked, but quickly turns stern. "Who did this to you?" Despite that he's dressed in gray sweats and a t-shirt, it's difficult not to imagine him in his regalia at this moment.

"Our Dad." Thornton peeks around the doorframe, still in the hall, holding Mom's hand. I'm surprised she isn't freaking out at him, considering he and Dad look a bit alike, but maybe she's just too far gone to notice. "Well, our brother did most of this." He motions to his own face, then to mine. "But Dad might as well have. I don't know what's happened to him, he's gone a little crazy."

Rourke looks past Thornton to inspect my mother, who thankfully, is free of injury, physical, at least. "You are putting me in a terrible imposition, Spencer. I can't offer haven to Coyotes."

"What about me? What about Mom?"

Rourke sighs gently. "Your mother, I will give her shelter. You, you are an exception."

"Because he's half?" Thornton quirks a brow. "And c'mon, the Do-, er, the Phouka aren't in the Feud anymore, what does it matter if you give us space to take a breather for a night?"

Rourke's eyes settle on my brother, a growl rumbling under his voice. "Boy, I would advise you to cease speaking out of turn."

"Rourke, c'mon." I place my hand on his forearm. "Please, after the night we've had."

The King of the Phouka turns his severe gaze upon me. "Feel fortunate I am offering you shelter at all." He takes my mother's hand from Thornton. "Rachel, you are, as always, welcome in my home." Rourke leans down to meet her eyes. "Please go in and have a seat."

Just like that, Mom sleepwalks over to the couch and sits, waiting patiently.

Rourke then looks at Thornton. "You may go."

"Rourke, please." I squeeze his arm, and he growls softly at me.

"Spencer, I'm certain a Coyote will have little trouble finding himself a place to hide while he licks his wounds."

"Rourke!"

"Spence." Thornton interjects, putting a hand between Rourke and I. "Don't sweat it. It's okay. He's right." He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a gas station receipt and a pen, and writes a string of numbers on it before handing it to me. "That's my cell, you call me when you've got a plan, all right?"

I take the number and study it before sticking it in my pocket. "Okay." Not really knowing what else to do, I give him a hug, complete with back pats to keep it brotherly, and it feels a little weird, but a good weird. Shortly afterward, Thornton heads back to the elevator, giving me a wave before getting on. I return it, and then follow Rourke back inside.

"So I'm the exception because…" I look at my mother, and then motion for him to follow me into the bedroom. Probably not a good idea, but I hardly want to talk about the sex I've had with Rourke in front of my mother, whether they used to go out or not.

He follows me in, and closes the door behind him. "Because you're my chosen consort."

"I thought I still had a day or two to decide on that."

He smiles, a nice easy smile and I can already feel myself erecting, longing for his touch. "No, gradhan, you still have time to decide whether you wish to live with me. You are my consort."

Oh, shit. Okay, stop staring at his crotch, no matter how much you want to. No, no, eyes aren't a good spot either, they're too soft and sweet and entrancing. Chest. Right, his muscled hairy chest with dark nipples that call for my tongue and…

The floor. Yep. The floor. "How exactly did that happen?"

"When I took you, Spencer." His fingers lift my chin upward. "Don't you remember how I was dressed?"

"Uh…" There was a cloak, and he didn't take off his shirt, only opened his pants enough to let his dick out, there was a metal thing on his head. And then I remember the key phrase: Because tonight, gradhan, you will lie with the King of the Phouka, and share his bed. You will take his seed as he took yours. "So… because you were wearing your crown when you…"

His lips brush against mine, and I'm losing the will to resist. Rourke gently seats me on the bed. "When I took you, yes. That you have never been with a man other than I only sweetens it for me." Rourke inspects my face, and furrows his brow. "Though this puts me in a difficult position. Someone has harmed my consort, marred his beauty, and for that, I am allowed to take retribution. However, if it was your father that is responsible, that complicates matters, especially that he is a Coyote." He sighs softly, and stands. "Wait here, at the very least I can tend your wounds."

"You're not going to…" I glance down at his groin, seeing a very insistent erection there to match my own.

"Oh, I wish to, have no doubt of that, but there are more important matters. Rest, Spencer, I'll be right back."

He puts me before sex, even though we both obviously want. And I still don't love him, what the Hell is wrong with me?

I lie on my back, staring at the ceiling, the pain of my wounds settling into a warm throbbing. What feels like seconds later, something cool is pressing against the side of my face, stinging a little, but nothing I can't handle. I didn't even notice that I'd closed my eyes before. When I open them, Rourke is seated next to me on the bed, dabbing something against my cheek.

"That smells awful." I wince, crinkling my nose at the odor of rotting plants and stale coffee, but he snaps his fingers at me.

"Lie still." He rubs something equally pungent under my eyes. "This will reduce the swelling, I'm afraid the cut on your brow will leave a scar." He attempts a weak smile. "It'll add to your roguish charm, I'm sure."

"Is Mom okay?"

"I inspected her, she seemed fine, though exhausted. I gave her some food, she ate it when I wasn't looking. It's been some time since she's been here." He glances toward the door to the living room, cracked open. "Odd, don't you think?"

"What?"

"That I would pursue her, but end up with you. I must admit I'm thankful now that my courting of your mother didn't succeed, it would make our relationship rather awkward." He gently kisses me. "Tell me what happened."

"Dad needs a sacrifice, like you said, he wanted me to choose between me and Thornton."

"And you chose?"

I shrug, smirking. "I chose Dad. He didn't approve. Then Thornton and I escaped with Mom, got in a couple licks on Dad and Hank, and we came here. Needed to bring back your car anyway." I glance down and see that both of us are still more than ready for a night of passion. "So uh, I'm your consort, is that why I'm always…"

He hand reaches down to gently massage my bulge. "Ready for me? Yes. In older times, to be named my consort would make you my husband, but times have changed." He pulls a wet looking burlap-esque bag away from my face, and sets to applying more modern bandages from a box outside my range of vision. "To begin, if I were to take a mate to share my throne, it would have to be a woman, as a King should produce heirs. However, I could still keep you around to sate my passions."

"I suddenly feel like brushing a USDA sticker off my chest." He snaps his fingers at me, and I lie still while he places a Band-Aid on my eyebrow.

"I'm royalty, and marriages among us are rarely for love." He kisses me softly, his leg swinging over my waist to let him straddle me, and his sweats are doing a very poor job of obfuscating that he's forgone his boxers.

"Rourke?" My eyes are glued to his erection, and the damp spot it's making in his crotch. "You should take care of yourself. I mean, I want to, you know I do, but uh…"

He lowers himself slowly, his tented sweats stroking along the bulge in my jeans. "But?"

I look at him plainly. "Rourke, we're loud. Seriously, I wasn't vocal until I met you, and you tend to make a lot of noise, especially at the end, and it's really hot, but uh…" I look around him, toward the door. "But my Mom's right out there, and no matter how zoned out she might be, I really don't want her to hear her son and her ex-boyfriend having sex."

That and you don't love him and you really need to stop this from going any further before it ends badly and you end up hurting the only guy who's ever loved you. Just say it. Sack up, Spencer, c'mon.

"We could always shower together, I could suck on your cock, and you could chew on a washcloth in case you get too vocal." He drags his hand over my groin, fingers hovering over the fly of my jeans.

"Shouldn't we… Shouldn't we like, plan something, for getting the urn back?"

I feel my fly get unbuttoned, unzipped, his fingers trailing along my erection. "We'll certainly be in a better state of mind to plot after we've both had a good hard fuck to clear our heads." He scoops me off the bed, carrying me into the bathroom, and sets me down in the claw foot tub before starting the bath. He sets himself behind me, wrapping me in his embrace as the tub begins to fill. "We'll go slow, gentle, and I'll keep you safe in my arms, gradhan."

God damn it, Spencer, just tell him!

"Okay, but we need to be quiet."

Ugh, you fucking wuss.

His hands trail over my chest, some of Hank's handiwork still showing there, but Rourke is careful to be tender, his lips brushing against my neck. "I'll arrange for your mother's protection in the morning, it's the least I can do for you. I won't be able to request more than a squire, but I'll make sure to ask for Duke Tremaine's finest. He owes me for a tale I told him of his ancestor."

"Stories are worth that much?" I don't turn to look at him, the heat of the water helping me relax, Rourke's arms helping me the rest of the way.

"Tales of the worlds before, yes. In many cases, little is left of them but stories, which is why bards are so prized." His teeth nibble gently at my ear. "Hence why my title carries so much weight in Her Majesty's court."

"King of the Phouka?" I squirm slightly, helping his erection wedge into the cleft of my ass.

"Riordan, Her Majesty's storyteller." His right hand drifts down to my groin, the feeling a little weird now that it's immersed in hot water. "It would seem you're collecting a few of your own."

"Need to watch what I say, though, Thornton said something about my cursing having a knack of coming true. Bard's tongue, I think he called it. He said it's common with Phouka." I let my hand drop to stroke along his thigh.

"With most, yes. I have the luxury of saying what I care to, though my words still carry weight in the right company." He slips his right hand under me, working himself free of my ass so he can begin probing at me with his fingers. "It would explain some of the attraction, if you are indeed a bard, I've longed for someone to share my stories with, as I please. There are many Phouks who would kill to learn what I've told you."

"You don't go for your own kind?"

I feel him shudder as he turns off the water with his foot. "Spencer, every Phouka is in some way descended from me, and the idea of taking one of them as my consort is rather chilling." I gasp audibly as he slips a finger inside me. "And as I am King of the Phouka, and Her Majesty will not be abdicating any time soon, my tales are for only her, my Queen, when I find one, and you, my consort."

I need to keep focused here, because the last time I just gave in to sex with Rourke I came to hours later. "What about, uh, her? The Silver Lady?" I'm still pretty sure I shouldn't say her name aloud.

"She is neither my Queen, nor my lover, and she gave up being a sorcerer-king to remain young and beautiful. My tales are no longer for her." He pushes another finger inside, and my breath catches in my throat. It doesn't hurt, not really, nothing I can't handle after the day I've had. Rourke chuckles softly.

"What's so funny?"

"Not funny, more amusing. This reminds me of when…" He sighs wistfully. "Reminds me of the first time I was with a man."

"You did it in a tub?"

"More that he did me in a tub, and if you knew the size of them back then, it was an impressive feat I'll have you know. Then again, I was shorter, everyone was." His free hand gently strokes over my chest, the heat of the water definitely working on my aching body. "It was early in the year, long past my celebrated day, so I was little more than a forgotten legend. Magic was still about, but only for hedge wizards in towers, the true Ra'keth were settling themselves in the cities, and their numbers were already beginning to dwindle. After…" Rourke takes a deep breath.

I help him along. "After the unfortunate event." After his son died.

"Yes, I decided that I wouldn't risk having any more children, so I swore off women. I believe I mentioned a few times where I found alternatives, but it's not the same as sharing a bed. Regardless, other than my tricks I wasn't much more than a human, so until my day would come in November, I would wander the roads as a storyteller, occasionally with a troupe, but mostly on my own. I'd often trade stories for my meals, or for lodging."

"I thought you couldn't share your stories unless—"

"I wasn't a subject of Her Majesty yet, it was she who bound me, a condition of my service and title. Thus my kith and kin all became of the Fair Folk and lost our capacity to lie, which only made the trickery easier, I've found, but I'm getting away from myself." He puts a third finger into me. "I'm supposed to be telling you how I fell to the wiles of a man.

"It was a miserable Spring, the rains were constant, dreary, and even I thought I would catch my death from cold, so I worked an arrangement with an innkeeper where I would tell my tales every evening for two hours in trade for a warm place to sleep by the fire and whatever food was left over at the end of the day. Not all that bad an arrangement, actually, since my stories would earn me drinks from the patrons, and helped me cultivate an appreciation for a good whiskey." He chuckles, nibbling my ear again. "A drink that you Yanks can't make to save your arses.

"As the nights went on, the innkeeper… Gods, you would think I could remember his name. Anyway, I was asked to do more tell stories to earn my keep, but I managed to negotiate a room out of it."

"You had to sleep with the innkeeper to get a room?"

He laughs, the water rippling about us. "Oh Spencer, not on his best day. No, I had to clean tables, mugs, muck stalls, run errands for the guests. The King of the Phouka was once reduced to shoveling horseshit, yes. But one night, we had a guest with a rare request, a bath. You have to understand, it was a luxury, and expensive, as the tub would have to be brought up, clean water poured in, more water boiled to warm it all, it was a time consuming affair. So, as the inn was busy with the terrible weather, it was left to me to prepare the guest's bath."

"I think I can see where this is going." I twitch when his free hand slides down to my erection, stroking it slowly, renewing the attention.

"Do you want to hear this, or not?" He chuckles softly, thrusting his fingers in my ass, my muscles clenching still. "He was a sellsword. Mercenary. I prepared his bath for him while he disrobed, there was nothing untoward, really, despite that I'd never been with a man, I'd seen plenty of them naked, of course. This man, however, was a bit bruised, rough, he'd been in a border skirmish only a day before. He asked me to tell him some tales while he bathed himself, and I obliged, hoping for a little more money. He kept staring at me, entranced, which I attributed to my skills as a storyteller, until I saw he was staring a bit lower."

"You were hard?" I feel my hips start to move onto his probing fingers, up into his stroking fist.

"At that point, gradhan, it had been seventy years since I'd last been with another person. A good breeze would have me swooning in lust, and one's hand is simply a practice of diminishing returns." He increases his pace ever so slightly, and I can feel my balls starting to churn, flickers of climax making me bite my forearm to stifle a moan. "So, Spencer, I was a bit puzzled that he wasn't listening to me, and a little insulted, as I pride myself on my storytelling. I was about to confront him on it when I noticed that he was apparently in the mood for a wench, so I told him I would work something out with the innkeeper, and have a girl sent up."

"Let me guess, he didn't want a girl."

"That much was obvious when a wet hand was slipping into my breechcloth, yes." I know that he's blushing right now, just from the pause. "What happened afterward is embarrassing—"

"He stroked you in your underwear and you came in less than a minute. After that, he pulled you into the tub and probably did to you what you're doing to me right now, right?" I smirk slightly back at him. "I believe you, but there's a lot of stories on the internet that go like this, it wasn't hard to guess the ending."

Rourke snorts in my ear, stroking me a bit fast now, the water starting to splash audibly. "Is that so, consort? Pray tell, His Majesty would like to know how this particular wanton tale ends, then."

I want to say I have a witty retort, but I have three fingers up my ass and a hand with centuries of masturbatory skill working my dick toward a sprint-finish, so I think I'll just ride it out and have a bit of happy to end out a pretty shitty day, okay?

I will admit that I do close my eyes and try to visualize Rourke being with a guy for the first time, when he felt another man's dick entering him, letting go inside him, the first time he probably did the same to another man. Considering how lecherous he admits himself to be, I have to wonder just how many guys he's been with, if he's ever been with a girl since Selah. I mean, he was dating Mom, but they never went all the way, and…

Oh shit.

Oh shit, shit, shit.

"Rourke."

"It's all right, Spencer, just let go, let it all out, come for me." His lips nibble at my neck, adding to his array of hickeys he's left on me.

"No, Rourke, we have to—"

Rourke asked how this wanton tale would end, and if this were a story I was reading on the internet, both of us would stop talking and just fuck and fuck and have simultaneous orgasms for the next eight hours. Instead, I can see the corner I've painted myself into, the softballs I've throat Fate's way over the last few hours, and now here I am, gleefully taunting her to hang me with all that spare thread I've given her.

The bathroom door opens.

I see my mother's face peek through, her eyes falling on Rourke and I. I can literally see the realization spread through her face, the hundreds of questions clogging up her throat, emerging as shattered barely phonetic fragments.

When I was learning the grifter's trade in Tolon Park, I was told that the best of the best can come up with a perfect story, on the spot, zero prep, no matter how compromising the situation may be, whether you're caught with your hand in the till, holding the smoking gun as the cops burst in, or when you're blown so completely that you might as well hang up the trade and go legit. The great ones can talk their way out of anything, with anyone.

And it would appear that I am not one of the great ones, because I cannot think of a damned thing, but I know that seconds are precious, that Rourke can't lie our way out of this, so, in a panic, I manage a few of the same fragments, before contorting my face into a flimsy mask of rage.

"Jesus Christ, Mom, don't you knock?"


To be continued next Friday!


And that's it. I'm going to bed. :)

From Twitter 10-19-2010

10:00:17: Fable 3 comes out in one week. I should probably write a buffer chapter for Free Fiction Friday, shouldn't I?

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From Twitter 10-18-2010

12:51:34: I received an e-mail requesting a Spencer/Thornton scene, or as they called it, "Crain-cest". God, there's a TERM for it? #kingsconfidante

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From Twitter 10-17-2010

14:40:33: 74,000 words down, onto 75k. #thekingsconfidante
21:04:28: And 75,000 words. Trying to decide whether to make the push for 76k tonight, or be happy with the day's wordcount.

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From Twitter 10-14-2010

09:00:58: @reech_me Mostly I bit the bullet and plowed through. There's a lot to like and a lot to hate, IMO.

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Free Fiction Friday: The King's Confidante - Part 23

x-posted to freeficfriday

Welcome back to Free Fiction Friday!

This week's chapter is average length, coming in at 2500 words, and Spence has hit a new milestone, having crossed the 73k mark.

The archive for the freeficfriday community is up to date, so if you've been looking for where you can read all of the FFF material from all of the participating authors in one place, you're set. :)

Everything's tagged according to author, title, and genre for easier reading, but if you prefer to stick with Spence on my blog, just click the "free fiction fridays" tag if you need to catch up.

This week's posting roster consists of: vaughn_r_demont , id_locke , and please welcome our newest Free Fictioneer, elanahawk who is also posting this week. Also, please welcome a new member of the Free Fictioneers, Michael Mandrake ( desiresdd ) who will start posting his fiction next Friday. Please make sure to check him out! :)

Interested in joining the Free Fictioneers? We have weekly and bi-weekly slots open for interested authors. Please send any inquiries to the moderators vaughn_r_demont and/or id_locke

Anyway, without further ado, please enjoy this week's chapter of "The King's Confidante". :)



"You are aware you've won, right?" God, I sound awful. "You've got the urn for that crazy bitch, just leave me out of it." I glance over at Mom, knowing probably just the sight of Dad sent her deep in her head. I feel a wellspring of anger bubbling to the surface, knowing that she might not come out this time. I gotta stay cool though. "Hey Thornton."

"Hey Spence." Ugh, he sounds worse off than me. "Nice place."

"Yeah, it's great. IKEA really doesn't deserve the bad rap they get, you know?"

Henry glares at the two of us. "Shut up!" Dad raises a hand at him, and he calms down.

"Henry, take it down a notch, okay son?" Dad shakes his head dismissively. "Not much of a sense of humor beyond grade school stuff. But bullies are tricksters in their own right, if you ask me."

"I didn't." I pull a few tissues from the box near my feet and dab at my face. Yep, blood. But considering the room's a little blurry at the moment, I'm not all that surprised. So much for taking severe beatings with a smile. TV can be such a liar sometimes. "This why you're here? Listen to yourself speak? What do you want from me?"

"The Silver Lady needs a sacrifice, son, and since I've missed so many birthdays and Christmases, I'm going to let you choose who she—"

"I pick you." I manage a smile that considering how messed up I look could be seen as disturbing. "Already spoke at your wake, gone through the mourning period, even had my grief-sex, so it'd be a time saver, really."

There's a flash of movement, and suddenly I see my father's hands at my mother's throat, a glint of metal in his hand. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. "Stop! Just stop!"

"Choose, Spencer."

"Dad!" Thornton growls harshly. "You're way beyond a prank now, this is fucking nuts! Let them go!"

"Son." Dad smiles to Thornton, the blade still at my mother's throat, her face placid. "Thornton, fuck the stupid Feud. I'm getting in on something bigger. The Silver Lady will revive her son, a damned Ra'keth, a true sorcerer-king, no matter what any of us do…"

"So you're giving in and pledging service to the supervillain to avoid their wrath and maybe pick up some perks?" I laugh lightly. "Yeah, because that always turns out well in the movies. You'll be first to die just so the guy can prove his phenomenal powers that we mere mortals are no match for or some other hackneyed cliché."

Not the smartest move, but it works, as it gets Dad off the couch, and he shoves me against the wall, the blade at my throat now, again.

"Dad!" Thornton squirms, trying to stand against the wall. "By the laws of Father Coyote, I chall—"

He's put to the floor by Henry, my brother's eyes closed, though it looks like he's still breathing, thank God. Dad nods to Henry. "Thank you, son. Didn't want a delay."

"Seriously, Dad?" I try to suck in my neck away from the blade, which I don't think is possible, but there's a fucking knife against my neck so I'll try anything, okay? "You're kind of all over the place right now. You want me to pick someone to die, or you'll kill me? What if I choose to be the sacrifice? You can't kill me then. Besides, can't you see that… thing is just messing with your head?"

"I love her." His eyes are a little crazier now. "I'm her favorite. Me. I've given her everything she's wanted, and she's going to let me be a father to her son. Finally one that won't be a disappointment."

I glance over at Henry, who's still glowering over Thornton. "Really? You're okay with that, Hank? Not even insulted a little?" I roll my eyes at him. "Sycophant."

"Spencer." Dad presses the blade gently against my skin to reiterate the severity of my current situation. "Choose. Your brother, or you."

"Kill Hank, you'll end up having to use him anyway when I make my highly improbable escape."

Dad has to chuckle at that suggestion, but the blade pulls away half an inch, letting me breathe normally. "Oh, I have to hear this."

"Well, for starters, Thornton's not knocked out."

Hank then looks at me, shocked, and then downward at Thornton, who yanks on Hank's ankles, tripping him up, causing him to fall backward, his head clacking off the coffee table, and with that my oldest brother's out cold. Dad turns to face the table, suddenly, and catches the whiskey bottle in the face, putting him to the floor as well, the knife clattering away from his grip.

My mother drops the broken bottle neck on my father's chest, her eyes intense, but lucid. She snatches the knife, and points it at Dad, trembling. "Get out of my house, and take your bastard with you."

"Mrs. Crain?" Thornton Gets to his feet, scratching behind his head. "I think he's out. We're not exactly hardy folk."

I stare at him. "Weren't your hands tied?"

He winks at me. "I'm an escape artist. That's my knack. Saved me from some very kinky weekends. Long story short? I ended up running through the snow in the dead of winter wearing only a pair of handcuffs while I was chased by an amateur dominatrix carrying a .45 and a foot-long dildo. Keep that on the D.L., though." Thornton then appraises the room, and winces as he moves, sore as I am. "We need to get out of here."

"Mom?" I take her hand, and she looks at me, the fire starting to die in her eyes, panic setting in. "Mom, we've gotta go. Like, now. C'mon."

I tug her toward the front door, Thornton in tow, who closes the door behind us once we're all out in the hall. Mom is quiet, but when I check her, her free hand is covering her mouth. Please, don't let her fade off, God, I really don't need that right now.

The elevator is still on our floor, and I thank Fate for having my back on that. As exciting as it would be to have one of those scenes where we're madly mashing buttons and having the doors close just as Dad or Hank appears, I think we've had enough thrills, chills, and spills for the day, okay?

The doors close uneventfully, and the car starts its descent. Thornton leans against the wall while I hug Mom close. "It's okay, we're safe. We're going somewhere safe."

"Spencer, what's going on?" Her voice is weak, strained, barely clinging.

The elevator dings and the doors slide open. Again, thank Fate, Dad and Hank aren't waiting for us just as the doors open. I pull Mom out and then proceed to the exit, with Rourke's Lexus still parked in front. I beep the alarm and motion to the passenger door. "Get in."

"Did you steal this?" Her tone is more shocked than parental, and as nice as parental would be, as it'd be a sign she's reclaiming her lucidity, I don't really have time to have her dawdle. I open the door for her and nudge her in, and she gets the idea. Thornton gets in the backseat while I take the driver's side. Seconds later we're pulling into traffic, not really going anywhere, just putting distance between us and the building.

"Uncle Rourke let me borrow it." I give a severe glance to Thornton in the rear-view, and he nods once in reply, getting the message. The last thing I want Mom to know is that I've been sleeping with a guy who used to go out with her and—

Okay. Not carrying that train of thought into dark and squicky places.

"Spencer, what is going on?" And there's the parental tone.

"Mom? I can honestly say I have no idea how to explain. Plus, uh, I'm driving, so I should keep an eye on the road and not be distracted and uh…" I catch Thornton's eye in the mirror again. "I see you've met my half-brother Thornton."

"Hi, Spencer's mom." He weakly waves, and lies down on the back seat.

"Don't change the subject." I can see her trembling out of the corner of my eye. I don't know what she's seeing right now, but I'm sure she has to be on the verge of breaking down.

"I'm in trouble, Mom. We're both in trouble. Let's just say that some bad people are trying to do some bad things, I know about it, I'm trying to stop it, and they aren't too happy about it." I glance at her. "I'm sorry, but that's the best I can do right now. I need to concentrate on getting us somewhere safe, okay?"

"Spencer, I need you to tell me the truth, damn it! Stop treating me like I'm fragile—"

"You are! One mention, one mention of Dad, or Rourke, or anything outside the damned apartment and you blank out for days and I have to take care of you! Do you have any idea what would happen if someone found that out? They'd take me away. They'd take you away and you're pretty much all I've got that's stable. Do you think I want all this bullshit? The hustling people and the stealing just so we won't lose our home? God damn it, Mom, I know I'm eighteen now but I'm still just a kid, okay? I don't want to have to be responsible for everything yet but I have to be." I sniffle a bit, setting my jaw and staring at the road.

The car moves on in silence until we get to Grunstadt.

"Hate to break an awkward silence, but…" Thornton peeks his head into the rearview. "Any reason we're rolling into Little Dublin?" The way he emphasizes it, I'm sure he knows exactly where we're going.

"Need to bring the car back." I guess I'm still a little pissed. I mean, it wasn't really called for, and Mom's been through enough today, she doesn't need me yelling at her, especially…

Considering she hasn't said anything.

I pull the car over and see that Mom is staring ahead, blankly. She's gone, again. I lean forward, resting my head against the steering wheel. No one to blame but myself for this one. Suddenly my fist is slamming into the steering wheel, the horn honking repeatedly, some enraged sound tearing its way from my throat. Mom doesn't even twitch.

"Spence." I feel a hand gingerly touch my shoulder. I grip the steering wheel with white knuckles as I feel the hand squeeze gently. "C'mon, brother, just hold it together."

"I can't fucking do this. Christ, I am so fucked right now. Mom's… god I don't know if she's ever coming back out and—"

"Spence! I need you to hold it off for a little while longer, your mom does too. Not to mention we're both pretty banged up and could use some looking at. Can you keep going for ten more minutes, or however long it'll take to get to the Dog's?" Thornton's eyes in the rearview are concerned, but they're the eyes of a follower, I can tell.

"I had an idea, but I think it's blown. I don't know whether to fight or run. I don't know if we can even run, if those Ra'keth things are anything like everyone's been saying."

Thornton smiles weakly, and squeezes my shoulder again. "Well, I guess it's a good thing that we're not fighters, we're tricksters." He rubs his face, wincing. "Well, maybe not that much of a good thing. I should probably sign up for karate."

I take a deep breath, and look over at Mom, still sitting patiently, staring ahead.

I feel Thornton poke my shoulder again. "Hey, did you hear the one about the blonde who got an AM radio?"

"Took her a month to realize she could play it at night."

And yeah, we both laugh, because you gotta laugh, right?

I pull the car back out into traffic. "Dad told you those too, huh?"

"Guy's a damned encyclopedia. My Mom doesn't really appreciate them."

"She's blonde?"

"Nope, just finds them offensive to women, though she has to try her damnedest not to laugh. Usually fails." He looks over at the passenger seat. "So, uh, what's the deal with your Mom?"

"She blanks out sometimes, she could come out in an hour, or a few days. It's kind of sleepwalking, I can lead her places, she'll eat, use the bathroom, but other than that, she's really not there." I swallow hard.

"What, and it's just you to take care of her? She doesn't work?"

"She'd kick your ass if you knew you were saying that. She's an author, and she takes that a little personally." I smirk slightly, weakly, remembering a long lecture once from Mom about how much work goes into a book, but then I sigh. "Mom hasn't really written anything in a few years. Every time she gets a good idea, she'll be partway through it, something will remind her of Dad, and well…" I motion to her, as she stares emptily ahead. "A few days later, she'll scrap it. Around the time the money started running out, I did a game of Three Card for lunch money at school and brought home about twenty in singles. A couple weeks later I'm down in Tolon Park with the other sharks, learning the trade, turning those singles into fives and tens. Mom still gets some money for her old books, I just close the gap, you know?"

Thornton is silent for a few seconds. "God, this is weird."

"What?" I glance at him in the mirror.

"Just this. We're fleeing from Dad and Hank, and in the middle of all of it I'm getting to know my little brother." He shrugs. "Glad it happened, though." I feel him squeeze my shoulder. "Nice to have a brother that actually, you know, talks."

I chuckle, feeling a bit of tension ease. "On TV, that's what's called a dramatic break, gives the audience a chance to catch their breath."

"I get the feeling you watch entirely too much TV." He looks out the window. "We're going where I think we're going, aren't we? The Riordan's? You know he's never going to let me in, right? I mean, I know he'll let you in, considering, uh…" Thornton laughs nervously. "Well, I guess I could use that method as long as he's in the middle and we don't make eye contact."

I stare at him in the mirror. "Dude. Sick. I don't want to think about being with my brother in a Devil's Three-Way."

"Shows what you know, a Devil's Three-Way is two guys and a girl. Three guys is a Lucky Pierre, and that only applies to the guy in the middle." He sees me staring. "What?"

"How are you not a festering pit of disease? Or drowning in child support debt?"

He grins as we pull into the garage under Rourke's building. "Well, I saved a bunch of money of my child support by switching to condoms."


To be continued next Friday!


And that's it. I'm going to bed. :)

From Twitter 10-13-2010

08:43:04: @mythicfox Content patch day, so the servers were all down for about 18 hours, 12 longer than usual.

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From Twitter 10-12-2010

09:25:55: I suspect there are going to be a lot of twitchy WoW players come 3pm.
16:23:06: @reech_me Even worse that they extended by 3 hours.
17:20:25: @mythicfox Re: The e-mail you sent: They should make a movie out of that and show it every Christmas.

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From Twitter 10-10-2010

14:41:07: @mythicfox Wait until you start complaining about nerfing.

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