rebel without a cause

Milo poured himself a drink and just about poured it down his throat. A harsh chuckle escaped him at the words, shaking his head roughly. He didn’t want to talk about it, he didn’t have the energy to explain that it wasn’t just his dad. That everyone left, one way or another, that love was a goddamn curse. “Yeah, maybe I should, I don’t know.” The alcohol was definitely clouding his mind.

“I don’t wa- I don’t want to talk to him. I just want to forget about it all. I don’t- God, it’s so fucked up and I’ll do something, I’ll deal with it, but I don’t want to right now.” He looked at Ytel, eyes virtually begging him to know what he meant.

“Okay, not today,” he said rather flatly, smirking. Ytel surged forward and tasted the alcohol on Milo’s breath, letting his tongue slide into the other’s mouth uninvited. “I know why you came over,” he whispered hoarsely. “And unless you’re into some weird roleplay shit I think we’re done with that portion of the night now.” He grinned against Milo’s mouth.

Milo looked up at him at the touch more than the words, staring at him almost without seeing him at all. He thought of everyone who had left him, everyone, he had loved. The word was cursed, but he'd known that for a long time. It was like a physical restraint that kept him from saying it usually, almost like a stutter that wouldn’t end for one word only. “No food,” he said gruffly, watching Ytel pour himself a shot. He nodded slowly. “Glad to help,” he rasped. “I want to forget everything and everyone. I don’t want to think about anything except fucking.” But that word alone made him think about his friend, his ex, and the nice and perfect-for-him guy that was sleeping with him probably right now and he wanted to hit something. He wanted to hit something because this was good, but he was selfish. “I’m fucking tired. I want it to stop.” I want my brain to stop. “You know, when I was a kid my dad went to the store. He never came home. He left a seven-year-old alone and I told my big sister years later that I didn’t remember it really but I still remember it. I remember waiting because I trusted him. Even after she found me I thought oh he’ll be back. I thought that for years. But people don’t come back.” There were unshed tears in his eyes as he shook his head. “Pour me another.”

He made a move forwards to touch Milo until the werewolf kept speaking. Oh. He’d never shared that before. What was Ytel to say to that? “You’re not alone anymore, mate,” he said, trying not to smile, and passing the alcohol to Milo. Ytel watched him pour himself a drink and gulp it down eagerly, as if he were a starving man. “We all have daddy issues. I mean... yours are... Jesus, solidified, valid, but... you can’t... can’t let them ruin your life. You have so much more to live for than that jackass.” He took a sip of his drink. “Have you tried to find him? Have you decided... maybe talk to him, give him a piece of your mind? Best way to get over it is show him how good your life was without him. Show him you don’t need him. Just don’t let him see your weaknesses. That gives him power.” 

Ytel’s own issues were very different than Milo’s. Ytel lost his brother and his parents at too young of an age. Lost to the plague. They were taken from him, they didn’t choose to leave or abandon Ytel and Irma. But everyone’s family was fucked up, even the happy ones. A cheating parent or something, anything was possible. 

Milo went into the apartment easily, glancing around with a nod as he realized it really hadn’t changed. ‘I don’t know if I want you here or not.’ The words made Milo chuckle lightly with a small shake of his head as he set the vodka on the counter. Join the club. Neither does anyone else, he thought in dark amusement. “Trust me, I did.” Fuck the memories out of my head. Help me forget him. Make the coming irrelevance to them not hurt as much. He cleared his throat and glanced at the fridge with a shake of his food. “That’s what she said,” he said easily, without thinking about it, always deflecting. Was that what made him so easy to outgrow? It made sense. who wanted an ADHD shit running around? He moved closer and poured a shot quickly, unable to make himself wait for the other man and downed it with a grimace as he lowered the glass to the counter. It had to go numb, he had to go numb. He poured another and took it without even making a face this time. His hand was shaking a little as he set the shot glass back down. “How’s your night?”

“Jesus Christ,” he said as Milo took not one but two shots. Ytel grinned, grabbing Milo’s hand. “Slow down, or you won’t remember the night I give you,” he chuckled, but let go easily enough. Ytel wasn’t a romantic, he wasn’t like the man Milo had stuck in his head. In fact he was probably a bit more like Milo, with a bit of a bite. “So that’s a no on the food, then. Okay, fair enough. The soda’ll fill me up easily enough,” he shrugged, pouring himself a shot and a chaser. Since it was red cups, he eyeballed them more abounding than he would otherwise, since something told him there would be a long night ahead of him. Something about Milo tipped him off that he was having a bad night, and he didn’t know if Milo was going to bitch about it or not. Small talk was boring, he’d rather get to the meat of the night, aka the sex. He could listen if he needed to, but he wouldn’t kick the other out of Milo needed a shoulder to cry on. Ytel wasn’t heartless or anything. “Boring ‘til you came around. Now I’m not so sure. But it’ll be good I think now that you’re here.” He grinned at the other as he took a sip of his shot.

A bright smile quickly made its way to David’s lips as his uncle accepted the offer for help. “Do you still miss Germany?” he dared to ask, thinking that Ytel might possibly that peculiar trait of Irma because he didn’t quite feel at home in Lethe just yet. The ‘What is home?’ question sounded more rhetoric than not, so the nymph didn’t think he was supposed to provide an answer. He just smiled at his uncle, glad that his own definition of home included his family, which had luckily become larger in the past months. “But you’ve settled in well, right? I mean, I know it’s an uh- interesting town, but those I’ve met have been mostly welcoming and kind” he asked, hoping that would be the case for his uncle too. It was just a David thing, wanting to know other people were happy and comfortable. Hearing about his mom when she was younger was always highly amusing because, well, some things hadn’t changed with time. “She must’ve been a handful” he chuckled. And she could still be a handful at times but David clearly adored his mother with all his heart.

“That is a convoluted question, young one. Don’t ask questions you do not wish to know the answer to,” he smiled, as if that were any answer at all. “Lethe has its good and bad apples, of course. I am rather fortunate in my work, but I do not venture much outside of it,” Ytel shrugged. He didn’t think people were very kind to him, but then again his face didn’t scream friendly, either. It was a two way street, which Ytel didn’t much worry over. “Oh she still is!” Ytel laughed. “Do you know your mother? Mein Gott, if someone told me she punched a man in the face, I wouldn’t even bat an eye. She is an aggressive one, its a wonder how she met your father. I suppose she must be different at home though, for you to end up so polished.” 

Irma looked over her shoulder at him, the exasperated look showing exactly what she thought about him and his good behavior. “You are extreme and pigheaded, but I have known this my entire life, just as you know I am stubborn and rude,” she said with a shrug. “It is my job to wound you once in a while, yes? Who else would do it with such fondness?” Interacting with Ytel seemed to come in two varieties: painful, and less painful. She hoped it stayed in the latter category, but given the look on his face, and this talk of his headstrong daughter, Delia, then perhaps not.

“You need a drink.” It wasn’t a request, and Irma reached into her fridge to extract a bottle of wine. Not two beers, no, but good enough for the time being and she dumped a little into cups for them both. “If I was meeting our father for the first time, I would do my research, too,” she said honestly. Her father was a distant, foggy figure, and in truth, she found Ytel to have filled his role a long time ago. Irma sighed at his words, reaching across the distance in a rare display of affection to squeeze his wrist. “We are family, Luci and Delia included, and we are long-living, we have all the time in the world to get things on the right track. Have some faith, drink your wine, and talk with your daughter.”

“And love, don’t forget love... did you just call me schwein?!” He laughed it off, not at all surprised despite his tone. He was a little unaware of what flashed across her face, her considering the painful and less painful way of ‘dealing’ with him. He wouldn’t use those words, but she would. It was better to be in the dark. 

He slapped the table at the offer of a drink, and was glad it was wine over water. He knew his sister well, day-drinker if there needed to be an occasion. Or if there didn’t. “Yes, but I am not you.” If Ytel were to meet his father for the first time in centuries, man, he would just run straight up to him and engulf him in the longest hug imaginable. “I suppose you speak the truth. Stubborn ass,” he grinned fondly. “I am not known for being patient, you know! You are my sounding board for everything, sweet sister. So expect a call from me later tonight. Or a text, depending on what she does to my jaw.” He rubbed it emphatically, as if the pain had already surfaced.

“I’m not so sure about that.” She gives an unsure laugh, pulling her the sleeves to her shirt over her hands. “I have memories that I don’t want, desires that I can’t control, and an appetite that makes me want to throw up because when I was human, I couldn’t stand the sight of blood, and now it’s the only thing keeping me alive, so…” Hale trails off, shaking her head and looking away from the man. She didn’t mean to allow that to come out, she’s usually better keeping stuff like that away from people, but today was sensitive. Hearing the comment about having many more birthdays after this one, Hale was unable to hold back a groan while rolling her head back dramatically to look up at the sky for a moment. “I sure hope the fuck not.” Lifting her head, brown eyes find the man again, blinking slowly.

“So we got Adam, Eve, and Herc for fish, sounds like a party to me,” he told him with a thin smile, eyeing the fish. Maybe that’s what he needed to invest in: a pet. Some fish, even, though he never stayed in one place long enough to keep them. Luke followed him aside, no reason other than boredom and also to say goodbye to two fishes that deserved more. He respected death, albeit not his own. “All water leads to the ocean, but think we ought to say something for them if we’re sending them out via a shop bathroom.” Luke knocked politely on the door with his free hand, giving the other man an opportunity to step inside. He glanced around, an absurd snort escaping him as the single toilet bathroom door closed on them. The light didn’t work, so he propped the door open with a foot. The lady from the front, looking wary, appeared at the end of the aisle. “I think she’s judging us,” he said cheerfully, one hand sliding into his pocket. “Alright, do you want to say something to them? They aren’t my fish, probably isn’t my place. Honored to spend their final moments with them, though.”

Ytel opened the roomy, unisex bathroom and was surprised when the switch didn’t work. However he was grateful for the man’s propping of the door, and didn’t notice the woman coming to watch the ‘funeral.’ He dropped the two carcasses into the toilet. “Okay, okay. How about... Adam and Eve, I am sorry for calling you dufuses, but you are at the bottom of the food chain. You deserve your status, but not your death. It was too soon. I enjoyed picking youse out at the shop and the walk to, well, here I guess... Just outside. May you rest in peace, because you lived in peace... Because you have no brain cells. Nema.” He turned to the other. “That’s the opposite of ‘amen.’ I never got your name. Thank you for sharing this with me. I’m Ytel.”

Holden gave a small laugh as she watched the child rush in and hug the stranger. The mother stared at them both in horror, uttering multiple apologies before pulling her child back into the waiting room. “Children are very forward,” she said with another chuckle. “But then I think you may have mixed up your numbers, I’m so sorry about that. That really does happen every now and again. I’m Dr. Shephard. Pediatrician. So I’m probably not the one you need.”

They watched in silence as the little girl and her mother walked away, the mother looking back at them and scowling at Ytel’s abrupt language. “I can read, you know? Where can I find a Doctor Story around here? Not Strange, Story, like a book? I didn’t like that movie,” he finished under his breath. 

“I highly doubt that good behavior will last long, dear brother, you are too inquisitive for your own good. You’re in luck, there’s no one to beat up, and someone took over the last one for you,” she replied with a slight shrug, thinking of the last time she opened her heart to someone and the cruel ending of it. However curt his words were, she hadn’t ever found herself hurt by them. Maybe she was too used to his moods, or too used to the behavior, but she ignored it fairly easily, accepting his small smile with one of her own. “Definitely. Looks like you put more effort into it, too, rather than something you picked up on a whim.” Her words end in a question, and she raised her brow, silently asking if that was the case. A whim was a good start, at any rate, it showed that he was thinking about his daughter and Irma thought that was a good enough step. “Not sure, something in the face I suppose, we might not look like we’re related, but there’s something about us all in the eyes that’s similar.” With her darker hair and lighter eyes, Irma didn’t look much like him and Cordelia, her son even less like them, but there was a certain spark in all their eyes that hinted at the familial connection. “She looked like you, that’s how I knew. And I think we will know, if enough of us get it. Cordelia has a child, does she not? If they are half as stubborn, then we know,” she said, a slight edge to her voice.

His smile grew at his sister. “You don’t think I am capable of good behavior? Ouch. Now its you who wounds me.” He followed Irma then nodded at her inquiry. Yes, it was random, a drop-by. Best case scenario Delia wasn’t home and he could leave it with his grandson. Worst-case... she throws it at his head, glass splintering into his scalp and forehead, oh God. A little hesitation spread across his face at the image, but he shook it off soon enough. 

Now sitting, he nodded slowly. “I suppose you’re right. Our eyes aren’t identical, but similar. Maybe she did her homework at the library. She seems rather diligent. Must be for a cop, yeah?” He sighed as Irma continued on. “I have not met Luci, she hasn’t blatantly told me I am not allowed, but also hasn’t given me her blessing. We’ll see if that is still the case once I hand her the flowers you have so neatly arranged. Thank you for the vase, Irma.”

Stunned by the question, Hale looked at the man with wide eyes and slightly parted lips. She wasn’t expecting him - or anyone she would have stopped on the street - to ask questions about a cupcake. “Y-Yeah. It is…” Thinking about what the man was asking, her eyes drift back to the cupcake she’s holding out to him. Nothing about this feels like a ‘happy birthday’. One, she’s hungover. Two, no one other than Fayre and now this man knows it’s her birthday. Three, she’s most likely going to go out tonight to forget that it’s her birthday. Four, she’s either going to be late or not show up for class, and then feel guilty about it. “It’s… my first birthday after… Turning, so… I don’t - It’s not… It doesn’t feel conventional, I guess.” Hale pushes the treat towards the man again, her eyes gesturing to it hastily. “Please, take it. I’m not going to enjoy it and I don’t want it to go to waste… Rafi, who made it, put a lot of hard work into it, and… The least I can do is not throw it out?”

Hard not to collapse into Ytel, right then and there. Hard not to collapse in general. Fionn pinned down a groan, his stitches making their presence very, very well known, mid-embrace. He very nearly fell out of the hug, leaning back into the nearest stall. And laughed, or did his best to, anyway. That hurt, damn. “Some things never do change, ah? Like you and your manky little mind. I’d at least make dinner, first…” With a tight twitch of his neck, a grimace, Fionn curled over his wounds and sucked down a bit more of that cigarette. Irma… Irma was… a sister. Yes. It’d been a while. 

Family. To be near family. Oh, Ytel. Always was the better man, between them. Though, that wasn’t such an achievement. Easy to do. 

All the same, Fionn had liked him when they met, and liked him when he left. Which wasn’t all that common. So he nodded, faintly. “Right. Good. And Christ no. Where the fuck would I do that? In this… place?” He flapped a hand, vaguely. At the whole town. With all that family in it. Last thing they needed was him sticking around any longer than he had to. Which was any time at all, really, really, so, he was already doing them a disservice. Nothing new, there. “A drink. Now you’re talking, man.” Pushing off the timbers, Fionn clapped Ytel on the shoulder. “Lead the way. You a servant, then? Well, well…” he clicked his tongue, teasing. “Suppose we’ve both come up in the world, haven’t we? Literally, and otherwise…” Though, it didn’t get much lower than a muddy, rat-infested trench, stinking of blood, shit, the dying, and the dead. And Fionn would know; he’d seen some fucking lows, before and since.

“What’ve you gotten yourself into?!” Ytel shrilled at the sight of Fionn in agony. “Good God must I be the big brother for all my friends?” he exaggerated, laughing it off. He blinked as Fionn failed to explain his distaste for Lethe. It left a sour taste in his mouth, but he would have to pry into that later. “That’s what it’s called, arschloch! I am nobody’s servant. I work for good money, labor with my hands, my abilities. You remember the earthquakes I used to make. You stay here, find a comfortable spot to sit at. I’ll get the beers and find you in a moment.” Though Ytel sounded pissed off as ever, Fionn would know it was his usual temperament, especially when handling Fionn’s dramatic ass. Ytel snuck into the quarters and pilfered two bottles of Blue Moon, weak shit compared to what they used to brew overseas, but a buzz was better than sober. They could at least agree on that.

“Do you want any help with that?” he asked with a smile, thus offering his help to his uncle. He didn’t know much about interior design but David was good with his hands, drawing. Perhaps he could work on some classic film posters to liven up Ytel’s place. “Well, it’s been home for while and I like it. And my mom is settling in well, I think. She seems happy”. And seeing his mother happy was much more than he could hope for. Life hadn’t been always kind to her, after all. He wasn’t so sure what to say about his father, though. His dad was… he was an interesting topic. “He was never too involved, you know, so…” he trailed off, shrugging. The fact that there was even a relationship -if one could really call it that- between Mosiah Sayed and his son was mostly because David kept reaching out, even behind his mother’s back. He called him twice a year to congratulate him for his birthday and to say ‘Eid Mubarak’ at the end of Ramadan. David wasn’t religious himself but that mattered to his dad so the nymph made the effort just for him. “And my mom would probably smack me in the head if I said I missed him” he added in a joking manner, putting on a smile and attempting to make light of the topic.

“I’d love some,” he smiled at his nephew. “Yes, your mother can find a home anywhere. I never understood that in her, but it is a good quality I suppose.” He looked down and thought about how she had fallen in love, so easily and thoughtlessly, and how he himself would never allow such tomfoolery. She could be careless, but she was all he had in this life. Irma, David, Delia and her son. Johannes was dead, as were their parents. Irma was all he had left of his family, of his past. “Yes, I see,” Ytel replied bluntly. “I’m glad to know you have made a new home. I’m still fairly new, less than a year, but... Ah I dunno. What is home, anyway?” he asked rhetorically. Had he ever had one besides his parents, his brother, his family? Germany? He couldn’t fucking say. “Yes, listen to your mother. She is a physical one. I swear, she always tried to climb me when she was small enough, picking fights. Now she uses her words more often than not, but that is Irma,” he said with some love in his voice.

Noah so desperately wants to say it is kind of funny for the sheer absurdity of it. But he is technically working… “Well… I can’t imagine why.” He rubs his chin as the man ponders on more expensive measures. “Sir, may I ask what is your intention with the culprits once you catch them?” He worries if the man will harm the (likely) children. “That… is a lot of trouble to go through to pull a prank but I suppose we can’t rule it out just yet.” He says as he crouches down next to the man. “I am not exactly an expert in taxidermy but it doesn’t hurt to try. Artists often leave their signature on their work, do they not?” He examines the stuffed animal, thinking to himself. Technically, placing a stuffed animal at a farm may not be a crime, unless they can establish trespassing. Even then it does not seem like a kind of job a police department would put their resources in… But then again, Noah is technically on vacation so it is none of the department’s business what he does during that time. “I must say, this may not be a case for Lethe PD… but perhaps I can assist you in finding who did this on my free time. My vacation starts… now, so.”

Ytel stopped in his tracks, then looked up at the other. “Talk to them, what else?” he replied in a feigned innocence. He looked for the stitches on the underside of the skunk, buried under lots of black fur. He used the side of his thumb to run along the underbelly of the dead rat and felt the stitches, then smiled at the lich. “Yes, you’re right. Maybe its on the inside of the skin,” he said, placing it on the desk to carefully rip it open. He looked up at the man when he suggested the Police Department shouldn’t handle the case, and he looked like a kicked puppy in the rain. When Noah suggested he could help on his off-time, Ytel grinned and hugged the man. “Yes! Thank you!” After stepping back, Ytel cleared his throat. “I think we make a good team. I’d make a good detective, no?”