#haemish

Once, it sat in his bedroom on a ship, then tucked away behind sheets in his cabin. Now, in this new home Deji bought for him? It did not belong near her.

So, he banished it away with other boxes and other things from his past. This trunk sat the furthest he could push it away from his family; as if it could poison the air they breathe.

He knew opening it was a mistake- a grievous one that would bring back every bad thing he did on that planet. Everything in there would remind him of atrocities and crimes he has yet to share… and he has yet to pay for.

Standing before it, the key felt like ice between his fingers. Like the cold is so much it is burning the flesh away from bone. But looking at it, his left hand was no more effected holding the key than if he were stroking Soldier’s fur or a blade of grass. It was harmless, but Haemish still felt pain radiating from it.

This was a bad idea. He should put it back in its hiding place and never think about it again. He sat on it for almost twenty years, what’s another twenty?

Remember what she said… another twenty years meant less years on his life to be with his family. He would waste moments lingering on his past. Looking now would inspire him to start letting go of this heavy baggage. The process was; to look, process, then begin getting rid of the toxic items within. Keep the good, burn the bad.

The trunk itself is nearly half his height, standing over three feet with the lid closed. It is damaged, burnt from a fire, scored from a battle or two, banged up from transport. The lock is brass, flung from the top to the lock and secured for nearly five years now. There were streaks of dust over it from him hastily wiping at it moments ago, before he hesitated.

He hesitates still… before he lets himself think about it anymore, Haemish hastily shoves the key into it’s place and turns to unlock the vessel. It clunks and the sound of it rattled like thunder.

Continuing with the momentum, he eases the lock free, then pushes the lid open. Immediately he is assaulted with the smell of blood, so much so the old man nearly gags from the decay in the scent. Sweat, mildew, jungle….. rot. All of it was rot.

He blinks away the watering of his eyes, shaking his head in earnest to try and break the scent from his senses. He fishes his hands in to peel back and away the tarp covering the contents. And already Haemish found himself regretting this ritual.

There they sat. One ring of twine, one curled up artifact. Dangling from hastily rended holes sat six withered, dry Aurin ears. There were varying sizes and colors but every one of them had tattered edges, none of them seemed to have been cut cleanly. Of course not, that would have been kind.

Next to it- stars, he couldn’t even look upon it -sat a tail. One that he remembered having been extremely fluffy, but now it is squished from it’s prison and patchy from age. Almost without thinking, he pulls both items from the trunk and sets them into a pile to be disposed of. The next tarp is removed.

Photo albums, possibly the copies Sidheach had made when he was worried his parents might separate after he and his brother grew old enough to no longer depend on them being together. A separation was imminent, it was just a question of when.

The books were taken out as the man notes to look at them later. That would take their own ritual and their own purge.

Looking back into the trunk, he frowns as he notes how oddly this has been packed. There are no memories of meticulously putting blankets and tarps between layers. Did he do this?

Momentum fading again, he forces himself to start the next layer. The next bore patches, medallions, and other memorabilia from the Fray Dogs. There were a few pieces from earlier times with great birds marking patches and buttons. But what really took his attention was an aged photo ruined with water and dust. It was a group shot of faces he hadn’t seen in decades, many of them did not make it off the surface of Arboria. Unable to look at it right now, he sets the picture atop the albums.

The last layer comes and momentum does not stop. It cannot. The smell has gotten worse the deeper he has gotten, so he knew the most dangerous of it must be there. Whatever he ( or someone else) tried to bury deep, maybe something he wasn’t ready for.

Even then, he peeked inside.

A bloody vest stared back up at him. it is dark green, canvas and thick. The garment is folded out, covering masses settled on the floor of the trunk. Thick, black stains cover the back of it and he felt that phantom thob of the prosthetic organs inside his form. He shivers as he finds his fingers closing onto the tattered garment. He pulls.

Something stares up back up at him with hollow, empty eye sockets. The skull is not human, no. Her eyes were large in comparison, the mouth smaller. Her teeth were sharper and tiny; more like a cat’s than anything.  Large crevices sit closer to the top of her head than the sides, suggesting ears were elsewhere.

A crude, metal crown made from scrap is melted into the brow of the skull. Mac began to shake when he then notices she sits on a bed of ears.

He doesn’t remember screaming, but he must have. Max was crying suddenly and Deji drops something from the kitchen. She quickly makes her way to the stairs and Haemish slams the trunk closed. Like thunder, it falls locked.

Donald was a very shy, very internal farmer from a little town called Kirkintilloch on a small island named Ffrendel; a part of a region I like to think is a lot like the UK on Cassus. He mostly worked on his family’s cropshare, but often tended to animals in the evenings on the Hawking’s estate to make extra money.

The Hawkings were Lowborn as well, but due to the lack of development in the area, the Highborn families bled from the village and left many sizable homes up for sale. They sat empty for nearly a decade before the town Governess decided to start selling them and make some money off the now run-down mansions. She started letting Lowborns rent the spaces... and in most cases everyone moved in with them; Grandma, Grandpa, all the cousins, all the aunts and uncles. Everyone.

The Hawkings, however, were lucky. They were able to afford the home without having to move the rest of their extended relations in to pool incomes. Their daughter was a famous wrestler in the region and her income on fights and appearances alone kept her parents and siblings very comfortable.

That daughter was Emmaline! She finally met her Donald when visiting for the winter. She came out to check on her family’s steeds on a particularly cold night when she found the stable hand still with them. It was too late for him to be working, but he was still there well after midnight, trying to give the poor animals warm blankets and rubbing knees and noses. She fell for his big hands and weak little smile as they talked through that night; she mostly talked and he mostly smiled.

After they got married, she quit her life on the holovision in order to take care of him. He needed a lot of tending to- his hair needed cutting, clean his nails, make sure his beard is trim enough so the rowsdower don’t chew at it. As odd as it is to go from the life she had to the life had next? She was happy to keep this dirty farmboy clean and happy. She also worked as a nurse for angry old farmers and their kin.

He found the cunning reason why not long after the McGalfrey family settled into their new home.

Work was hell. All day he was on his feet and organizing Abraxsis’ affairs. Meetings, training schedules, supply lists- a second supply list, even his home affairs was Haemish’s to handle. As if he did not have his own home to then sort when he returned at night. Weylin and Hawke at least were busy starting their own lives in the legion… he only had the Beast to handle and keep happy then.

One hundred and fifty gold a day seemed to be her price. It made Lilly content and less inclined to confront him upon returning home from work. She would place a plate of dinner out for him, give her husband one look, then leave the kitchen and leave him in the most peace he has had in almost thirty years.

Today was different though.

Abraxsis left earlier in the day. That was not unusual, Haemish stayed until six anyway to sort though his mess anyway.

But somehow, today? He felt an inch in his own ass to go. Get out. Pick Lilly up some flowers, then take the boys out fishing. He’ll cook. He had something he had wanted to talk to her about; the more he put into tonight, the easier he thought the talk might be.

So with a little wave to the private sorting files on an enlarged screen; he left. Mac liked to pretend the man would have stopped him if he had looked up from his work.

He remembers the day was sunny and the sky was bright when he walked home. The heat was an unbearable pressure on his uniform, but all he could think of is how good the fishing will be.

The lights were off. It was strange, but he tossed it off any suspicion with assumptions that Lilly was out shopping. Good. He could just leave the flowers on the table and go.

Keys clicked and he waved them over the door handle. It clicks locked. Frowning, he unlocks his home. That suspicion soon turned cold in his belly, was someone in the home? Did someone come in, do something, then leave? Was Lilly alright?

With great haste, he pushes the door open and steps inside. Going still, Haemish strains to listen in the darkness. He catches a sigh, then a whimper.

Stars, she’s hurt.

He moves quickly, but quietly. Things he learned from the jungle poured into his memory as he moves around his plush chair and into the hall towards their room. Her name sits worriedly on his tongue, but he does not ask for it yet. An intruder might still be in the home…

There is orange light pouring from the slightly open door creak. he moves for it immediately, grappling the edge of it to throw it open. Indeed, the intruder was still there and he was writhing under his wife’s frame.

His abrupt entrance takes the attention of both figures in the room. Lilly sat bare above someone else, her face flushed and form stilling from motions interrupted. Her ginger hair curled and pooled around her round cheeks like a fertile idol and caught in the lashes of her hazy eyes.

The man under her bore a crest of pure white. Down the edges of his face, it swept to his chin in a clean, well groomed line to barely tuft at his chin. His skin is peachy, though now painted orange in the light of candles nearby. His face seemed too well chiseled, too well defined with marble like features and cunning blue eyes.

Abraxsis smiles sweeping a perfect hand over his hair as he chuckles Haemish’s way. “Ah. Six o’clock already? Time does fly, does it not, Dog?”

Haemish couldn’t be uprooted. But he managed to- somehow he found numb strength to turn and leave his own bedroom.