if it's meant to be, then it will be

"Well, at least they got that little lady back where she belongs." He let out a chuckle of his own, having no issue picturing exactly what had happened.

He listened as she continued on about what had gotten the pastor into such a tizzy. It wasn't entirely all that surprising to him to hear that kids were out doing things they shouldn't be but as she continued on he could see why there might have been a bit of an uproar. Vincent gave her a knowing nod as her hand slid over her belly, receiving the message loud and clear. "Ah, well at least they were being safe." Of course not the point of it all but at least there was that.

Once their food was settled on to the table, Vincent wandered over and plopped himself into his usual seat. "They're just kids. They're going to do stupid things especially now that they got the time for it." He was sure that there were plenty of people that would argue with that point but he didn't entirely care. "No one got hurt, right?"

“  Not  that  I'm  aware  of.  I  mean,  whichever  boy  was  responsible  for  beating  up  on  his  daddy's  truck  might've  got  a  whoopin',  but  I'd  say  he  probably  came  away  with  a  bruised  ego  more  than  anythin'.  ”

Securely  tucking  in  the  sides  of  her  fried  bread,  Gen  lifts  the  makeshift  Mexican  meal  to  her  mouth  and  takes  a  bite.  Once  she's  thoroughly  chewed  and  swallowed,  she  studies  Vincent.  “  You  got  into  some  trouble  when  you  were  younger  and  still  living  in  Texas.  Any  abandon  panties  on  floorboards  I  should  know  about?  ”  she  questions  while  innocently  batting  her  long  lashes  over  the  rim  of  her  lemonade  as  she  takes  a  sip.

Gen  tries  and  fails—quite  poorly—to  mask  a  feeling  of  retroactive  jealousy  brimming  in  her  chest.

Genevieve  blames  it  on  her  hormones.

Sure,  she's  taken  his  last  name,  wears  a  ring  that  symbolizes  their  eternal  bond  on  her  finger,  shares  his  bed,  and  is  carrying  his  child,  but...  She'd  carry  his  heart  around  with  her,  too,  if  she  were  able.

 “oh my god..” 

 “i don’t want to move.” 

 “take off your jacket, the hell? you’re making me hot just by looking at you.” 

 “i’m so hot..” “loving the confidence.” “oh shut up.” 

 “why don’t we go to the beach?” 

 “i heard the pool’s open!” 

 “this is why i hate summer.” 

 “guys come on, let’s take advantage of this. we can have fun!”

 “if you don’t get off of me.”

 “it’s too hot for hugs.” 

 “turn that oven off, are you joking?” 

 “do we have any ice cream left?” 

 “you ate the last one?” 

 “i ordered you your blue raspberry slush, your favorite.” 

 “you did not just bite into your popsicle.” 

 “oh my god, i actually cooked an egg on the car.” 

 “i know it’s hot but jesus, put some clothes on!” 

 “what are you guys talking about? i love this weather!”

 “why isn’t the air on?? turn it on!” 

 “did you know it was going to be this hot today?” 

 “oh my god, look at the sprinklers! can we go play in them? please?” 

 “ew, you’re all sweaty…” 

 “are you okay? is the heat getting to you?” 

 “drink some water, you’re not looking too hot out here.” “you’re seriously making a pun. right now?” “that was unintentional.”

 “you’re gonna melt. get in here.” 

Though he knew that if his parents ever came to visit, he'd likely have to find somewhere else to take them for service. But that would be a bridge he'd cross when he got there.

Vincent followed her to the back door after gathering up the last of their things, moving to push the door open for her. A gentleman always, just as he was taught.

A smile creeped up on to his lips as she started on about dinner. "Is that your way of tellin' me I should just stay home?" He teased, letting a small laugh escape. "I'm kidding. I'd still love to come by. You helped me get all that unpacking done so my evenin' has freed up significantly. I can still get plenty of rest later."

Blanching  at  his  next  comment,  she  swings  around  and  nearly  side-swipes  him  with  the  basket  balanced  on  her  arm  in  consequence.  Gen  shakes  her  head  fervently  before  Vincent  continues  on,  stating  that  he  was  merely  joking.

“  Oh,  good,  ”  she  replies,  sighing  with  relief.  “  Just  didn't  want  you  to  feel  pressured's  all.  ”

She  extends  a  hand  and  rests  it  against  his  forearm.  “ They'll  be  delighted  to  have  you.  A-And  me, " she stutters.  “ I  will,  too. "

He had needed to get away for a little while. Would it have been easier to just hole himself up in his house for a bit and gone from there? More than likely but he was riding that thin, thin line of another episode so the logical thinking had gone straight out the door days ago. But why trying to be one with nature was his go to idea remained to be discovered.

One with nature. AKA drinking the six pack of cheap beer he had in hand and laying in the grass somewhere. Not practical but maybe it'll make him feel better. Likely not.

There was a spot past the tracks that he could remember and he figured that would be good enough. No one would just be showing up there unlike if he just stayed at home. And his phone was off so there wouldn't be that bother. A fresh pack of cigarettes, a drink, and a few hours to himself. Heaven, practically. (if one didn't think too much about it.)

Given the time of day, seeing the train still sitting there on the tracks wasn't surprising. If they stuck to their normal schedule he knew that it would likely be a few hours until they pulled out. What he wasn't expecting to see was a girl sitting at the edge of a open boxcar. Especially considering the hour of the night. He should have just kept moving on and let her be. (stranger danger and a man approaching a woman that late at night do not go together) But curiosity was certainly a beast. One that he hardly ever ignored.

Dakota approached but kept a respectable distance, his free hand raising as if to show he meant no harm. "Trying to catch a ride somewhere, sweetheart?" He asked before leaning over to set the pack of beer down on to the gravel. "Train doesn't leave for a few hours so I hope you're not in a rush."

Sliding  her  leg  over  the  edge  again,  Genevieve  leans  against  the  pushed  back  sliding  wooden  door  to  her  side  before  upturning  her  chin  toward  the  inky  black  night  sky,  accentuated  by  a  sea  of  rhinestone  stars.  “  Not  plannin'  on  stickin'  around,  so  don't  get  any  ideas.  ”

Genevieve  looks  at  the  unwelcome  stranger  again  while  narrowing  her  eyes  in  suspicion.  “  Could  do  with  havin'  one  of  those,  though,  ”  Gen  adds—nodding  toward  the  six  pack  dangling  from  his  hand.

She  shrugs.  “  If  you're  feelin'  generous.  ”

Not  a  good  idea  to  keep  talkin',  she  knows.  Gives  him  a  reason  to  stick  around.  But  if  there's  one  thing  she  learned—and  fast—growing  up,  is  that  you  take  an  opportunity  when  it  presents  itself.  Assess  the  risk  it  poses,  and  act  accordingly.

It's her hands he looks at first. Not that he would recognize her by hands alone in the quivering torchlight of a Red Keep postern gate, but for a curious moment his gaze is captivated by that small detail, that familiarity bared to the night and suddenly made so foreign to him. Then the rest of her resolves around it, like incense smoke clearing away but leaving its sweet perfume behind. He takes the sight of her in with a frantic eagerness bordering on loutish gawking. "I beg your pardon, my lady," Mike rushes to explain, even as his warm, dark eyes remain fixed on her. "I did not mean to startle you."

He is keenly aware, all of a sudden, of himself: the prim, careful fall of his tunic, the silver-wrought clasp of his doublet, the soft, narrow margins of his life. Of how little he knows of opportunities like the one she offers. And then, of course: of how much he wants it. She asks if he would like to come, and the answer rises in him in a hot uprush of excitement. There is no courtly grace to it, only that irresistible pull towards the unknown, towards the life that hums enticingly just beyond the gilded confines of his duties. He feels it in his chest like a crescendo wave waiting to break.

"Yes," he says, and the word comes out almost as laughter. His pulse stumbles in his throat, quick and bright and ungovernable. "Yes, if you would have me. My hand is better now, I thank you. I…" A small, helpless pause, honesty overtaking his feeble attempts at poise. "I have never seen those parts of the city. Not like this." It seems to delight him, this sudden realization of his own sheltered ignorance and the thought that there's so much yet to see and experience.

“  It  was  my  pleasure.  It  gives  a  healer  great  satisfaction  to  know  they've  aided  another,  even  in  the  simplest  of  ways.  ”

They  start  off  on  their  small  journey  into  the  lower  part  of  the  city  then,  arm-in-arm.  Sconces  flicker  against  walls  of  brick  and  mortar,  acting  as  dim  signals  to  indicate  that  they're  headed  in  the  right  direction.  “  Have  you  ever  been?  ”  she  asks  curiously.  “  The  initial  shops  and  markets  are  what  most  are  familiar  with,  selling  their  wares  and  spices.  The  deeper  you  go,  however,  the  more . . .  Well,  suffice  to  say  that  the  attractions  become  precisely  that:  more.  ”

Gen  studies  him  from  the  corner  of  her  eye,  wondering  about  his  privileged  upbringing.  What  it  must  feel  like  to  inherently  belong  at  court  due  to  being  born  with  a  title,  a  noble  name,  and  a  silver  spoon.  To  not  have  to  bow  and  scrape  and  claw  your  way  to  gain  for  yourself  that  which  is  freely  handed  to  others  who've  no  appreciation  for  the  innumerable  gifts  they've  been  granted.  Simply  because  they  believe  themselves  entitled  to  them.

Although,  to  the  young  lord's  credit,  he  is  paving  his  own  way,  it  seems.  By  making  use  of  his  hands  instead  of  a  silver  tongue,  no  less.  Even  she  is  guilty  of  regularly  utilizing  the  latter  to  her  benefit.  She's  become  quite  adept  at  it.  To  survive  at  court,  however,  it  is  practically  a  prerequisite.

“  Tell  me,  ”  she  chirps.  “  Of  the  ventures  and  opportunities  which  brought  you  here.  ”

All women came from the same rib. That's what her father preached. If one of them was cursed, they all were.

Fox can hardly blame her for the miscommunication, it wasn't as if she was clear with her intentions. Still, it took all her effort not flinch away from the finger curling a strand of her hair around it. She stayed grounded in her own stance, shoulders tightening more than they already were. Yet, she could feel the jumpiness in the hollow behind her knees. The urge to run and not stop until air tasted like copper and every breath was a stab of familiar pain.

Genevieve's comment was a close enough replacement.

"You don't understand anythin' about me." She answered, keeping her expression neutral. It was a thought she had often. With soft-handed boys thinkin' they were men and rough-handed men not realizin' they were boys. With women. With friends. With family. There was no one waitin' at home. There was no home. Just a place with a bed and a coffee maker and a television that stayed on all night. Muted as it threw strange lights and shadows against the wall.

Some customers probably liked it when Gen talked to them in this way. Pointed out faults or hinted at taboo topics. To Fox, it made her sad that the other thought of it at all. That there were those who wanted it filmed. A different sort of photo album.

Eager  to  put  her  hands  to  use,  she  tugs  a  crumpled  cigarette  carton  from  her  back  pocket,  followed  by  a  half-empty  lighter.  Once  she's  puffing  on  a  cig  with  satisfaction,  and  the  items  have  been  tucked  away  once  more,  she  flicks  the  filter  from  boredom while exhaling a lungful of smoke—the nicotine making quick work of calming her ragged nerves.  Just  how  much  of  a  racket  can  she  manage  to  drive  up?  How  much  can  she  take  the  pristine,  dewy-eyed  little  cunt  for, huh?

Imperceptibly,  the  corner  of  her  mouth  twitches—trying  to  turn itself  downwards  and  into  a  frown  at  the  cruel  thought.  She's  trying  to  help,  ain't  she?  That,  or  she's  plannin'  on  using  the  offering  to  her  advantage,  given  Gen  accepts  it.  If  she  thinks  she's  gonna  spend  all  night  pumping  her  for  information,  she's  got  another  thing  comin'.

“  Four  hundred,  ”  she  spits.

Then  she  steps  closer,  purposefully  crowding  her.  “  You  do  anythin'—thinkin'  that  you're  gonna  blackmail  me  into  talkin'  somehow—just  keep  in  mind  that  I  know  some  men  who'd  be  all  too  happy  to  go  to  work  on  someone  as  pristine  as  yourself  with  nothin'  more  than  a  tire  iron,  a  pair  of  pliers,  and  a  blow  torch.  Try  me.  ”

amusement arrives and settles comfortably around teresa in genevieve’s presence. “you wouldn’t believe the amount’a times. what if i’m not tryin’ to catch anything?” she shrugs slow with atlas-burdened shoulders, “maybe i just wanna to see what survives.”

she throws a dart that edges the center of the board.

“suppose, i could try honey,” attention drifts over the faces filling out the bar. all of them part of the ghost story she did her best to crawl out of. occasionally eyes’ll focus on her, snag on her carved-out sharpness, and their faces crease with pity … or irritation.

the real bold — their dates included — see to how her mama’s copin’. tell her how tragic it is following the quick illness that took her daddy.

it then becomes a joke asking if the freshest body was still warm when she found it. she waits in bog-heavy silence for the punchline.

teresa pried out her polite girlhood in new york, returned home chewing the shards, and buried it when she buried wynne.

“don’t think i hate myself that much.” a little louder, pointed, and final. she chokes back the rest of her now-tepid beer, “y’know, this is my first date in years … suddenly questionin’ why i didn’t become a nun.” cheeks red, mouth relaxing into a lazy smile, teresa presses the tip of her finger into the point of her last dart, “maybe i should do those cops a favor.” grinning, she mimes pressing it to her throat.

She  leans  back,  but  only  just.  “  Worked  on  me,  whether  you  were  tryin'  to  or  not.  And  I'm  not  easy  t'catch.  ”

Gen  plucks  the  dart  from  between  Teresa's  fingers  before  dragging  its  pointed  tip  between  her  breasts.  “  If  you're  bored  with  him,  I  could  make  your  evenin'  a  whole  lot  more  interestin'.  If  you're  up  for  it.  ”

Stepping  back,  she  lifts  an  amber  bottle  to  her  wine-red  lips  and  downs  a  swig  of  heavy  lager  before  cringing.  Not  her  typical  drink  of  choice,  but  the  redhead  opted  for  trying  something  new  tonight.  Poor  choice,  it  now  turns  out.

Setting  the  drink  aside  to  be  quickly  forgotten,  she  tosses  the  dart  at  the  shoddy  board ahead,  and  watches  with  satisfaction  as  it  sails  through  the  air  before  embedding  itself  just  beneath  the  bullseye.

"We'll have to get the photos developed soon then so we can work on that." He moved to the fridge to grab the sour cream as she asked, not bothering to grab anything else. What she had already pulled out was just fine for him. "Anythin' else I can grab for you, my love?"

He returned back to the spot he had been standing in, watching as she moved about to get their lunch prepared. The mention of the pastor got him to raise an eyebrow, curious as to what got him all worked up. "The one week I'm gone and I miss that? Do tell me all about it. And the chickens of course, hopefully they're all well." A light laugh left his lips before he moved on about his own parents.

"Wasn't exactly the most thrilling of weeks. You know how my parents are. They surely aren't chasin' after chickens and the like." While it had been nice to see his parents again, the life he had gotten used to with Gen was entirely different than life back home in Texas. "My mother went on and on about comin' to visit after the baby arrives. So that might be in the future for us. I think she'd have a heart attack if she were to attend a sermon here though. Especially if Pastor Sanderson is gettin' a little fiery."

Genevieve  leans  over  the  sink  and  opens  the  window  above  it—inviting  a  pleasant  summer  breeze  inside,  which  sends  cream-colored  curtains  fluttering  while  silver  windchimes  tinkle  musically  just  outside.  “  I'll  start  with  the  chickens  first.  ”

Cutting  the  microwave's  incessant  beeping  short,  she  pops  open  the  door  and  removes  their  steaming  food.  “  Nothin'  super  excitin'.  Lady  hopped  over  the  fence  between  our  houses.  I  was  doubled  over  laughin',  watching  Mama  try  and  wrestle  her  back  in  the  right  direction.  Daddy  ended  up  trappin'  her  in  a  cooler  before  taking  her  back  over.  ”

She  shakes  her  head  while  a  vivacious  giggle  spills  from  her  glossy  lips.

Doling  out  equal  portions,  Gen  places  dewy  slices  of  tomato  on  the  side  of  each  porcelain  plate.  She  helps  herself  to  one—chewing  idly  before  continuing.  “  With  it  bein'  summer  again  and  the  kids  out  of  school,  the  teens  are  bound  to  get  up  to  somethin'.  Guess  some  of  the  high  schoolers  took  one  boy's  daddy's  truck  for  a  bit  of  a  joy  ride.  Left  it  in  the  middle  of  a  pasture  with  a  couple'a  flat  tires  and  a  pair  of  panties  on  the  floorboards.  Along  with  uh  .  .  .  somethin'  else,  which  belongs  in  a  biohazard  bin.  ”  She  gives  him  a  knowing  look  then  while  sliding  a  hand  over  her  swollen belly.

After  tucking  fried,  buttery  bread  securely  around  sumptuous  meat,  Gen  walks  their  readied  meals  over  to  the  little  breakfast  table  they  have  shoved  into  a  corner.  “  Pastor  Sanderson  bein'  .  .  .  Well,  himself,  just  went  on  and  on  about  'women's  piety'  and  'deference  to  the  Lord'  and  'knowin'  her  rightful  place  in  the  grand  scheme  a'things'.  ”

A fight it had been but it was to be expected. It never seemed like trolls were so easy to back down so of course it had taken several men to take care of it.

Aldric shook his head at her question, looking back at her as she did what she needed. Even if he wasn't as acceptive of the help he knew better than to get in the way of a healer that was trying to work. "I wasn't actually. My timing just happened to be spot on. I was originally just passing through after restocking on supplies." He told her. But he was glad that he had arrived when he had. In his eyes it was still a shame that the boy's arm had been broken but if that was the worst of it, he had no room to complain.

He fell silent as she went on about how brave he was, not quite uncomfortable with it but more like he wasn't used to hearing such things. "Thank you." Aldric let out quietly. "I just know my way around a sword is all." Truth, of course, but incredibly downplaying his roll in all of it.

Genevieve  nods.  “  I  understand.  ”

With  her  handiwork  now  finished,  she  presses  a  clean,  linen  bandage  into  his  hand  for  safekeeping.  “  If  the  one  I've  just  wrapped  you  with  soaks  through  in  the  night—change  it.  Otherwise,  wait  until  the  morn,  wash,  then  wrap  yourself  in  the  fresh  one  I've  just  given  to  you.  ”

Tucking  away  various  baubles  and  tinctures  into  her  kit,  Genevieve  considers  her  prospects.  With  the  town's threat  now  tended  to,  it's  best  she  stay  put.  At  least  until  the  morrow,  lest  another  require  her  services  tonight.  Her  stomach  grumbles—embarrassingly  so—and  her  cheeks  warm  in  mortification.  “  Suppose  I'll  see  to  supping  at  the  inn,  ”  she  mumbles.

Slinging  her  kit  over  her  shoulder,  she  turns  back  to  .  .  .  They  failed  to  exchange  names.  There'd  been  more  pressing  matters  at  hand,  however,  so  the  oversight  can  presumedly  be  forgiven.  “  I'm  Genevieve,  by  the  way.  ”

Verdant  eyes  survey  a  nearby  stone  path,  and  then  she  steps  toward  him  once  more.  “  You  should  do  the  same.  Get  some  food  in  your  belly,  then  rest.  You're  of  no  use  to  yourself  if  you're  lying  unconscious  on  the  King's  Road  from  blood  loss.  Thieves  and  worse  will  take  your  sword,  then  every  last  coin  in  your  pocket.  ”

Genevieve  withdraws  from  his  side.  “  And  then  where  will  you  be?  ”

A fact he knew well enough. But of course thankful he had corrected his path before he was too far gone.

A brief confused look appeared on his face as she mentioned Revival Week, not familiar with something of the sort. He listened quietly as she explained a bit of it, what would be included, all of that. But the sweet look she gave him at the start was almost enough to distract him. "My parents always went to the same church so by extension, I did too. St. Peters." He, of course, knew that she wouldn't know anything about his church but it didn't harm anything to mention it. "But this Revival Week of yours is something new for me."

All of it was new if he was honest. But that came with the territory of moving somewhere completely different. And that was the point, was it not?

"I'll keep an eye out for the flyers. I suppose I'll need all the info I can get." Vincent chuckled, leaning back in his seat just a bit. "Don't take this the wrong way, I'm just not used to everything being such a display. My congregation preferred worship to be something private. A whole week of something like that would have sent the elders back home into their grave." He grinned at the thought, easily picturing the shock that would have been painted on some of his parents' friends.

"I have certainly noticed that y'all do things a bit differently here." Vincent let out as he moved to help clean up. It wasn't a bad thing in his mind. Just something that he had noticed while at the service. It had been a bit of a shock to him at first but didn't help that the church that he attended back home was even more conservative and strict. "Roman catholic. Raised in it since the day I was born."

Then  again,  if  his  fellow  congregants  back  in  Texas  preferred  minimalism,  his  denomination  must've  been  something  else  entirely.  No  scepters  or  chalices  allowed. 

Meanwhile,  Shady  Grove  Baptists  believe  in  embracing  the  beauty  God  has  to  offer—thus  implementing  it  during  practically  every  service  and  function.  From  fresh  flower  arrangements  placed  around  the  church,  to  the  odd  stained  glass  window  or  decorative  hymnal  placed  in  a  pew,  it  all  conjoins  to  make  one  feel  close  to  a  sensation  of  Heaven  on  Earth. 

That's  how  it  comes  across  to  Gen,  anyway. 

Her  head  shoots  up  when  he  confirms  her  assumptions.  Right  on  the  money.  Grandeur  of  the  eye  is  one  thing.  Being  stringent  during  service  another.  Catholicism  certainly  appeals  to  each. 

Genevieve  stands  after  having  packed  away  the  remaining  containers  and  now  empty  pitcher.  She  settles  the  basket  into  the  crook  of  her  arm  and  smiles.  “  It'll  certainly  be  a  change,  then.  Just  hope  it  doesn't  end  up  seemin'  like  a  bad  one.  There's  lots  of  denominations,  but  the  one  thing  we've  all  got  in  common  is  who  we  worship.  Hopefully  that  makes  it  easier  to  adjust.  ” 

She  makes  her  way  to  the  back  door,  already  running  through  a  lengthy  mental  checklist  of  things  to  do  once  she  reaches  home.  Gen  and  her  Mama'll  have  their  hands  doubtlessly  full  for  the  next  couple  of  hours  at  least  while  they  prepare  supper  for  tonight. 

Or maybe make it worse. He wasn't thinking too clearly.

“  I'm  in  charge,  ”  Gen  states  lowly  while  leveling  him  with  a  heady  gaze.  “  You  don't  touch.  Cause  if  you  do,  it's  over.  ”

Genevieve  upturns  her  palm,  spits,  then  wraps  it  firmly  around  his  velvety  length.  She  steadily  pumps  away,  keeping  him  nice  and  firm—his  cock  filled  with  hot,  throbbing  blood  to  keep  it  perfectly  erect—before  folding  it  back  against  his  stomach.

She  scooches  up  on  her  knees,  then  settles  her  dripping  cunt  along  his  length.

Doesn't  really  count  if  she  never  takes  him  inside  of  her,  does  it?

Leaning  forward,  she  twines  her  fingers  tightly  between  his own,  pressing  the  backs  of  his  hands  into  the  grass  on  either  side  of  his  head.  The  redhead  rocks  her  hips,  leaving  her  supple  breasts  to  bounce  mere  inches  above  his  face.  “  Ah!  ”  She  gasps  wantonly,  with  a  sharp  intake  of  breath.  “  Such  a  good  boy.  Mm,  feels  so  good.  ”

Genevieve  bucks  her  hips,  sliding  easily  along  his  cock.  She  stares  down  at  him  with  unyielding  resolve.  “  Say  you  love  it.  ”

She  quickens  her  strides.  “  Tell  me  how  good  it  is.  How  much  of  a  filthy  mess  you're  gonna  make  when  I  let  you  come  all  over.  ”

Gen  grinds  down  against  him,  biting  her  lip  to  keep  from  crying  out  from  the  feeling  of  sheer  pressure  applied  to  her  swollen  clit.  “  God—fuck!  Could  make  you  do  anythin'  I  want.  Mine  to  do  with  as  I  please.  Ain't  that  right?  ”