A Land of Make Believe

the  bones  of  the  boardwalk  were  beneath  its  docks.  dwayne  took  pleasure  in  weaving  a  path  among  its  underbelly,  hand  reaching  out  to  touch  the  damp  pillars  after  the  tide  had  retreated  from  the  beams.  oddly  enough,  the  space  felt  like  a  bridge—a  place  between  the  sea  and  the  shore.  when  the  tide  was  up,  it  bore  witness  to  the  life  beneath  the  water's  barrier.  when  the  tide  was  down,  the  sand  revealed  anything  that  was  once  hidden.  if  dwayne  were  a  holy  man,  he'd  attest  to  this  being  a  sacred  space.  a  doorway  to  a  secret  world.  he  knew  well  enough  about  secret  worlds,  realms  of  impossibilities  and  ancient  rites.  blood  was  still  dried  to  his  chin  when  he  ducked  underneath  the  shadows  of  the  docks  to  watch  the  waves  crash  against  the  outer  most  posts  of  the  wooden  structure.  if  his  heart  still  beat,  he  imagined  the  violence  of  the  ocean  to  echo  his  own  adrenaline  after  tonight's  feeding. 

turning  to  rejoin  the  night,  dwayne  didn't  see  the  flying  rock  but  he  felt  it  nail  him  in  the  back  of  the  head.  whipping  around,  he  saw  no  suspect  at  first.  he  didn't  dignify  the  offense  by  touching  the  place  where  the  rock  struck.  the  pain  was  nothing.  it  was  the  principle.  his  vampiric  eyes  flashed  through  the  dim  lighting,  searching  for  the  attacker.  his  gaze  did  a  double  take  out  in  the  depths  of  the  water.  between  the  swells,  another  set  of  eyes  bobbed  in  the  sea.  not  a  seal  or  any  other  recognizable  creature.  its  gleeful  giggling  reached  his  supernatural  ears,  and  dwayne  growled  through  gritted  teeth.  facing  the  water  once  again,  he  pointed  straight  out  and  directly  at  the  offender.  his  wrist  rotated  and  his  finger  beckoned  them  closer. 

Wouldn’t that be hilarious?

               HER   DISCOMFORT   WAS   IMMEDIATELY   OBVIOUS,   AND   A   PANG   OF   GUILT   had   settled   between   his   ribs.   The   feeling   was   fleeting, or rather pushed aside soon after it arrived.   But eventually, he  decided   to   grab   a   handkerchief   from   his   breast   pocket   to   clean   his   bloody   hands;   Alastor   knew   it   wouldn’t   do   much   given   the   severity   of   his   violent   attack, but the point was to make her feel a little at ease.  

                     WHEN   SHE   STEPPED   BACK,   ALASTOR   STAYED   ROOTED   IN   PLACE.   THE   malicious   gleam   behind   his   monocle   faded   to   something   kind   instead.   His   head   dipped   to   the   side   as   fingers   worked   the   piece   of   cloth   around   his   hands.   It   was   clear   she   was   no   demon,   and   that   meant   she   had to be   a   glorified   pigeon   from   above.   A   bold   move   to   come   down   here   unescorted,   but   Alastor   could   appreciate   boldness.   Despite   that,   she   was   still   anxious.   She   masks   herself   like   you   do!   

As did the fact that he was cleaning off his hands, something softer making its way into his eyes. Almost like he was trying to make her more comfortable. It was nice. Nicer than she thought he’d be. “…You were?” She wasn’t sure if that was true or not. Eyes followed the handkerchief as it floated down, only to snap back up before they could land on the body again. She wished she could do more—something, anything—for the poor soul at their feet, but they’d already been dead before Alastor killed them. There was no bringing back a soul after that. Not once it’d been destroyed so thoroughly. Not to her knowledge.

THE  FOOL:  A  cobblestone  bridge  at  dawn.

THE  MAGICIAN:  A  bustling  street  market  under  twilight.

THE  HIGH  PRIESTESS:  A  midnight  masquerade.

THE  EMPRESS:  A  sprawling  garden  in  full  bloom.

THE  EMPEROR:  A  high-rise  office.

THE  HIEROPHANT:  A  grand  cathedral.

THE  LOVERS:  A  secluded  balcony  overlooking  a  bustling  city.

THE  CHARIOT:  A  speeding  train  cutting  through  a  desert

STRENGTH:  A  clearing  in  a  dense  forest

THE  HERMIT:  A  small  cabin  atop  a  snowy  mountain

WHEEL  OF  FORTUNE:  A  crowded  casino  with  spinning  wheels  and  flashing  lights

JUSTICE:  A  dimly  lit  courtroom

THE  HANGED  MAN:  A  deserted  pier  at  sunset

DEATH:  An  abandoned  train  station  at  dusk

TEMPERANCE:  A  quiet  book  shop

THE  DEVIL:  A  lavish  underground  nightclub

THE  TOWER:  A  crumbling  lighthouse  during  a  violent  storm

THE  STAR:  A  lake  under  a  blanket  of  stars

THE  MOON:  A  foggy  forest  path

THE  SUN:  A  sunflower  field  at  golden  hour

JUDGEMENT:  A  forgotten  battlefield  at  sunrise

CHERI CHERI LADY

TO KNOW YOU IS TO LOVE YOU

IF YOU CALL ME "BABY"

I'LL BE ALWAYS YOURS

he  played  a  lot  of  games  with  the  boys.  they  were  wild  and  carefree  when  prowling  the  boardwalk  or  feeding  from  the  beach,  and  dwayne  was  used  to  be  perceived  as  a  wild  boy  just  looking  to  pull  one  over  on  someone.  nothing  but  a  troublemaker.  it  was  funny  and  didn't  bother  him.  she  wasn't  like  the  girls  wandering  away  from  their  boyfriends  to  take  a  ride  with  them  by  the  ironworks.  she  didn't  fit  the  type  to  rock  out  at  one  of  their  shows.  max  was  focused  and  probably  kept  up  with  all  of  her  adult  responsibilities.  she  would  be  an  easy  target  for  any  of  this  brothers  if  the  goal  was  simply  to  loiter  around  the  shop  and  lift  a  few  antiques  here  and  there.  dwayne  knew,  after  a  while,  it  wouldn't  only  be  fun  and  games. 

he  teeth  bared  as  the  words  halted  on  his  tongue,  dwayne  growled  to  himself.  he  couldn't  just  spit  out  that  the  drunks  and  thieves  and  troublesome  teens  on  the  boardwalk  weren't  the  only  thing  she  needed  to  keep  an  eye  out  for!  she  would  think  he  was  fuckin'  crazy  if  he  said  vampires  were  out  there,  and  he  was  one  of  them…  maybe  she  wouldn't  even  get  noticed  by  any  of  the  others,  but  dwayne  was  growing  more  nervous  by  the  night  that  one  of  these  times  a  gloved  hand  would  point  her  out  of  the  crowd.  he  couldn't  pinpoint  why  the  idea  got  stuck  in  his  head,  but  dwayne  saw  her  in  every  girl  laughing  with  her  friends  by  the  ferris  wheel.  he  saw  her  in  beach  babes  screaming  as  someone  chased  her  in  and  out  of  the  rising  tide.  just  last  night,  dwayne  got  a  vision  in  the  middle  of  his  bloodlust.  a  girl  with  max's  hair  color  begged  him  to  stop  drinking  from  her.  his  brothers  howled  with  demonic  laughter  as  they  continued  to  scoop  up  her  friends.  dwayne  paused  long  enough  to  look  in  her  eyes—before  he  broke  her  neck. 

she  didn't  have  your  eyes,  dwayne  thought. 

max  turned  away  from  him,  and  so  did  the  memory  of  the  night  before,  his  recent  killing  spree.  out  of  your  way.  dwayne's  tension  eased.  the  anxiety  of  his  worry  she  might  be  discovered  by  the  rest  of  his  coven  momentarily  forgotten  as  he  tried  to  make  sense  of  what  she  was  saying.  wrong  idea…  ❝  this  isn't  about—  ❠  he  couldn't  say  it  wasn't  about  him  because  that's  exactly  what  this  conversation  was  about,  so  he  quickly  pivoted.  ❝  i'm  not  worried  about  me.  what  is  it  about  me  that  would  make  you  think  i  give  a  shit  about  what  other  people  would  think?  ❠  he  pulled  at  his  leather  jacket  and  his  long  hair.  his  motions  were  rough  from  his  repressed  frustration.  the  festering  guilt  built  up  over  the  past  few  weeks  which  he  tried  to  ignore  made  his  actions  less  controlled  than  usual.  then  dwayne  was  tracking  her,  eating  up  the  space  she'd  put  between  them  until  he  was  grabbing  her  arm  and  pulled  her  back  around  to  face  him.  he  stilled. 

the  signs  were  there  that  this  upset  her  more  than  he  knew  it  could.  especially  since  he  hadn't  gotten  to  the  part  about  bloodsuckers  yet.  her  heart  was  beating  faster.  the  muscles  in  her  face  were  flinching  underneath  some  mask  she  tried  to  wear.  dwayne  could  task  thick  emotion  on  her  breath.  ❝  do  you  want  me  to  leave?  ❠  the  words  were  a  curse  to  him.  he  literally  went  after  her  because  he  didn't  want  her  to  leave  him.  he  didn't  want  to  banish  her  from  the  carnival,  but  he  was  going  crazy  not  knowing  how  to  protect  her. 

“I don’t know,” she snapped, though it didn’t quite have the bite she wanted it to. “What the fuck else am I supposed to think, when you say shit like that? Because, if that’s not it, then I would love a real explanation.” There was a real plea just beneath the surface there. A desperate need for him to actually have a good explanation. Some way to explain away what he just said that wouldn’t leave her aching like she currently was.

Eyes remained averted when he turned her around, Max unable to meet his gaze, trying so damn hard to hold herself together. She was hurting, and it was his fault, and it sucked, because she’d thought… She’d thought he was different. That he really didn’t care about what other people thought. That he liked her for her, that they were friends, that things would be different this time.

Stupid of her, really.

for  argument's  sake…  some  of  the  tension  slipped  from  his  shoulders  as  an  easy  smile  dawned  on  his  face.  her  god  seemed  to  be  the  art  of  discourse.  from  the  moment  they  met,  he  couldn't  recall  a  single  point  they  agreed  on,  and  dwayne  thought  he  knew  stubborn.  max  had  a  way  of  giving  him  intimate  knowledge  of  what  the  lifestyle  could  truly  mean.  he  treated  her  firm  resolve  like  a  new,  shiny  toy—patiently  twisting  and  pulling  at  each  knotted  string  until  he  could  draw  a  bit  of  sweet  humor  from  her  if  that  were  possible.  dwayne  was  guilty  of  being  clueless  when  he  thought  he  could  keep  her  from  the  boys.  it  wasn't  his  intention  to  keep  her  a  secret,  but  when  david  spared  his  attention  to  someone…  it  only  meant  one  thing.  dwayne  hadn't  imagined  his  aim  until  fear  stroked  his  chest  at  the  thought  his  brothers  would  want  to  share  in  playing  with  the  antiques  seller.  he  felt  his  throat  constrict  as  if  a  spell  tied  his  tongue  against  any  explanation.  taking  a  step  closer,  dwayne  shot  a  wary  glance  over  his  shoulder  at  the  closed  door.  anticipating  the  welcome  jingle  of  the  door's  bell  that  didn't  come.  ❝  the  boardwalk  can  be  dangerous.  at  night.  ❠  a  childish  warning  reserved  for  those  more  careless  than  she.  who  was  he  to  tell  her  to  stay  away?  his  darkened  eyes  hardened,  powering  through. 

❝  if  you  see  me  there.  we  don't  know  each  other.  ❠  it  sounded  like  he  was  concerned  about  being  embarrassed  by  her,  but  dwayne  didn't  know  how  to  tell  her  that  associating  with  him  meant  DEATH.  it  was  like  flashing  back  to  when  he  first  entered  the  shop,  and  he  teased  her  about  his  reputation.  in  ordinary  situations,  people  rarely  believed  the  truth  when  faced  with  the  impossible. 

Then he took it a step further. Hurt made itself apparent in her expression, before she tried to shove it down. To lock it away where he couldn’t see it. To hang onto a smidge of dignity and keep holding her head high, rather than slink away into the back room to lick her wounds in private, like she wanted to. “…Right.” The word was clipped, her tone forcibly hard, because anger was easier to stomach. It was better than the way she felt as though she’d just been thrust back into high school. Max, the bullied. The pariah. The one no one wanted anything to do with, lest they gain themselves a reputation like her own. Crazy. Loser. Slut. At this point in her life, she shouldn’t have even been surprised by this particular turn of events—it wasn’t as though someone being embarrassed by her was anything new. Hell, she’d even gotten it from her own family.

That didn’t make it hurt any less.

Matt could feel the throb of his own bones under the layering of his suit. Knew patches were missing, fading to red. Knew he was lucky they'd managed to scurry away from the fight when they did, because the tremble in his legs was getting dangerous, even as he played it off, stood tall, stood sturdy. He'd have rolled his eyes at Frank's growl there, if he thought it would matter. Not like it would be seen, anyhow. " Shush. . . " Was instead what he mumbled, leaning in closer, turning his head slightly. Like an animal listening for the predators out in the world. Small ticks that indicated he was zeroing in where he needed to, finding the voices he was looking for. Heard a callout of ' lost sight ' and, ' couldn't catch 'em '. Good. Perfect. Maybe they might just get away with their lives. It was only then that Matt's face turned towards Frank now. Didn't seem to think nor care for the proximity thanks to his stunt of shoving the other man into the nearest, most hidden alley. Took in what he could — the scents, the sounds. Franks pulse oddly even, if only slightly elevated. Like this was nothing for him. Go figure. " You expect to take out every one of them, then? That's a bloodbath, Frank. " And it was one Matt couldn't, with good conscious, let Frank go through with. Even as the other continued on. Spoke truth that left Matt to sigh through his nose, turn his head away again. Not listening for anyone this time, but just so he wasn't faced with the fact Frank had a point. It ate at Matt in ways nothing else ever really could. " It's not right, but you going on a murdering spree wouldn't be any better. . . "

Lucky for them both, then, that Frank was a grown-ass man.

Given how close they were, it was pretty easy to tell that things had worked out in their favour. From what he could see on Mudock’s face, from the attention the lawyer was paying him now, Frank figured it was safe to say they were in the clear.

He didn’t try and pull away just yet. Told himself, as he leaned back against the wall, he was just catching his breath. Giving his aching, battered body a minute to recuperate before they took off again. Murdock was doing the same—that’s the only reason he was still so close.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “A well fuckin’ deserved one, too.” Sometimes a bloodbath was needed for the greater good. That was something Murdock never seemed to understand. Instilling fear in people was one thing, but what about the ones that weren’t afraid?

Like it or not, the trash needed to be taken out when it started to stink. Frank was only doing what Murdock didn’t have the balls to.

“Bah…” He finally shoved away from the other man, moving quietly towards the mouth of the alley. Carefully looked out—left, right, weapon at the ready—and made sure the coast was clear. “Tell that to all the people they’ve hurt,” he said when he was sure it was. “All the ones they’ve beaten and rounded up and locked away in little cages. Tell that to all the families that’ve been broken up, all the people that’ve been shot in the fuckin’ street bringing groceries home to their kids, all because of them. You tell all their victims the world’s a better place with those pieces of shit still in it.”