Post by Michael Vael on May 9, 2024 16:35:58 GMT -5
[nospaces]
[newclass=.elmwhiskerr-post]background-image:url(https://i.imgur.com/IDIwXw1.png);background-repeat:no-repeat;width:360px;text-align:justify;padding:20px 50px 25px 50px;background-color:#f5f5f5;color:#666;line-height:1.2!important;[/newclass]
[newclass=.elmwhiskerr-post b]color:#3C584F;[/newclass]
[newclass=.post-elmwhiskerr-o]background-color:#3C584F;width:460px;padding:15px;[/newclass]
[newclass=.elmwhiskerr-post span]color:#a187ba;font-weight:bold;[/newclass]
[attr="class","post-elmwhiskerr-o"]
[attr="class","elmwhiskerr-post"]
Michael startled awake at the sound of a door closing. Not softly, but not quite announcing either. Whoever was entering the bunkhouse wasn't trying to be quiet. He lifted his head to listen to the low-pitched grumbling and exaggerated huffing that followed — it seemed they had every intention to wake him if the door didn't do the trick. [break][break]
He very nearly startled again when the woman, stuffed on the tiny bed between him and the wall, shifted as well. She slowly came awake, pulling the blanket down from her face while her bleary gaze sifted to him groggily. How the fuck had they ended up on the top bunk, and why, and what was her name again, and — oh, whatever. Michael cleared his train of thought abruptly. It didn't matter. [break][break]
Moving slowly — feeling the beginning of a headache pound at the base of his skull — he shifted to peer over the edge of the bed. In the center of the room, standing stock-still and staring at the floor, was his niece. She looked petulant. Moody. Arms folded tight across her chest, chin tucked, and a furious knit at her brow. Broody... in that distinctly "eight-year-old girl" way. [break][break]
"Hey, chickpea," Michael drowsed out, voice thick and gravely. Abigail lifted her face, mouth pinched stubbornly (an expression he was certain he could find in more than a few childhood photos of his sister). "Mom's crying again," she grumbled back immediately, apparently too disgruntled for good mornings. Or any greeting at all, it seemed. "She told me to 'go away and leave her alone'." [break][break]
Michael clucked knowingly. [break][break]
Beside him, the woman (suddenly quite awake) shifted to jab an insistent nail over and over into his side. He lifted a hand behind him to try and discreetly swat her away. "Ah... I see. So you came to bug me instead." Fingers curled around his arm and tugged him down and back, just before a mouth pressed to his ear with a hushed, angry whisper. "You have a kid? What the fuck?" [break][break]
He shouldered himself free, brow knitting irritably, and lifted a finger to his lips. Even without looking out at her, Michael could recognize the sound of Abigail kicking her toes into the floor. Not a huge tell... but he'd seen it enough to know she was affronted by his lazy statement (and trying not to show it). "I'm only kidding. But... leave your Mama be. You know she has her days." [break][break]
Abigail scoffed. He could hear in her voice the sudden slackening of her "thundercloud" body posture as she began a pitchy whine. "But what am I supposed to do? We were gonna go into town today. She was supposed to take me to the beach. She's promised for weeks but this is the first weekend where it hasn't rained." Her tone darkened again, dropping to another grumble. "Stupid ass clouds an—" [break][break]
"Don't cuss, Abigail, your Mom thinks you're learning that shit from me." [break][break]
"I am learning that shit from you."[break][break]
Michael breathed hard through his nose and closed his eyes (mainly so he didn't have to see the dark-eyed, dangerous glare beside him). He took a moment to gauge the thickness in his head, trying to decide if it was going to be the sort of hangover a cup of coffee would make short work of. When he surmised... that it was possible... he wiped a hand across his face and started fishing around beneath the blanket for whatever clothes were in reach. "Do you want me to take you?" [break][break]
Abigail hummed. Long and thoughtful. As if she had to consider it. As if he didn't already know the offer was her whole, hopeful aim when she'd barged in. "Is your friend coming, too?"[break][break]
The woman tensed, the fury in her eyes swiftly transforming into something wild and stricken. Michael only sighed, then renewed his search for her clothes with less subtlety. She pulled herself up and did the same, glaring coldly whenever he tossed what he found at her with little ceremony. "No. She's not." [break][break]
There was the sound of Abigail moving across the floor and climbing on top of the bottom bunk. Two hands clutched at the edge of the top bed and she lifted herself up to peek at them, her gaze drawing curiously to the bewildered woman between him and the wall. Her eyes were far too smart and too analytical to match the oblivious, "cutesy" tone she suddenly chose to inquire with. "Is this a girlfriend or a girl space friend? You said the space between girl and friend is almost always important."[break][break]
He opened his mouth. But the woman spoke first. "Space," she asserted firmly, sounding a little sharp and decisive despite her earlier panic. Fighting the urge to roll his eyes, Michael nodded his agreement. "I also said it was always important — not almost always important — to call me your uncle as quick as possible when I'm with a girl, space, friend." He punctuated the words with an accusing lift to his brow.[break][break]
"Oh. I forgot that part."[break][break]
"Yeah...?" his lips pulled at one corner into a knowing (unconvinced) grin, and he plucked and poked at the little fingers she was using to keep herself levered up. "Sure you did." When she thudded back to the floor with a huff, he swung himself to dangle over the bed's edge and ran a hand through his mess of hair. "Go. Get ready. I'll meet you in the kitchen after a bit. Maybe, if we're real lucky, Mamaw will be up and around and she'll make us some breakfast, huh?" [break][break]
The beach was busy. Los Eurosia was a huge city and it was Saturday, so... of course it was. But still, they'd managed to find a spot enough away from everyone else that they wouldn't have to bump elbows. Abigail sat cross-legged on the towel before him, braiding her long, stringy hair in front of her as he positioned and taped a large bandage over the duck tattoo across her left shoulder blade. [break][break]
Most people would likely assume it was a drawing. But adults could be nosy. And he didn't think it was the type of thing to not raise a few, pointed questions. It was best to cover it up. [break][break]
Just as he finished, Abigail held out a hand, fingers wriggling demandingly, and he pressed the elastic band on his wrist into her palm so she could tie the end of her braid. He watched the peek of her profile while she ducked her head in concentration. Even at this angle, he could see the (still somewhat broody) furrow to her brow. [break][break]
"Buck up, kiddo. Mom will be alright by the time we get back. She'll say sorry and all that. And the beach ain't going anywhere." Abigail didn't answer but, after a moment, only shrugged her shoulders. Michael blew out a long breath and — when it became clear she had nothing to say on the matter — started the task of slathering her up with sunscreen. Neither of them needed it. They were already tanned, being in the sun as much as they were on a daily basis, and they never bothered with the stuff on the ranch. But... the smell of it... the way its oiliness would grab and hold the sand on their skin... well, it had just seemed like a part of the "beach-going experience". Plus, Abigail had been the one to run back into the house and grab it. So he made a point not to pass up the little formality. [break][break]
"Alright, can I go now?" She asked, pushing herself to her feet and turning on him. He watched her eyes dart about the ground and the way she chewed at her inner lip. Stubbornly petulant, even still. He nodded, before pulling his hands down her upper arms to clean the rest of the sunscreen from his fingers. "Yeah. Go on." She whipped around, face flashing just briefly, but he caught her wrist and lifted a brow when she snapped her head back to look at him. "Play nice," he warned. And she smirked (knowing very well that he didn't give a damn if she did or not). "I'm serious, Abs. Mamaw won't be happy... with either of us... if I have to fight some kid's dad because you were being mean." [break][break]
A tiny snort was his only answer before she pulled free and started a sprint toward the shore. It wasn't exactly an agreement to be good but... at least it was some sort of acknowledgement. At least he could say he tried... if he had to defend himself to her mother (and his mother) later.
I'M DOING THE SAME THING
same place every night; with the same folks under the same neon lights
Michael startled awake at the sound of a door closing. Not softly, but not quite announcing either. Whoever was entering the bunkhouse wasn't trying to be quiet. He lifted his head to listen to the low-pitched grumbling and exaggerated huffing that followed — it seemed they had every intention to wake him if the door didn't do the trick. [break][break]
He very nearly startled again when the woman, stuffed on the tiny bed between him and the wall, shifted as well. She slowly came awake, pulling the blanket down from her face while her bleary gaze sifted to him groggily. How the fuck had they ended up on the top bunk, and why, and what was her name again, and — oh, whatever. Michael cleared his train of thought abruptly. It didn't matter. [break][break]
Moving slowly — feeling the beginning of a headache pound at the base of his skull — he shifted to peer over the edge of the bed. In the center of the room, standing stock-still and staring at the floor, was his niece. She looked petulant. Moody. Arms folded tight across her chest, chin tucked, and a furious knit at her brow. Broody... in that distinctly "eight-year-old girl" way. [break][break]
"Hey, chickpea," Michael drowsed out, voice thick and gravely. Abigail lifted her face, mouth pinched stubbornly (an expression he was certain he could find in more than a few childhood photos of his sister). "Mom's crying again," she grumbled back immediately, apparently too disgruntled for good mornings. Or any greeting at all, it seemed. "She told me to 'go away and leave her alone'." [break][break]
Michael clucked knowingly. [break][break]
Beside him, the woman (suddenly quite awake) shifted to jab an insistent nail over and over into his side. He lifted a hand behind him to try and discreetly swat her away. "Ah... I see. So you came to bug me instead." Fingers curled around his arm and tugged him down and back, just before a mouth pressed to his ear with a hushed, angry whisper. "You have a kid? What the fuck?" [break][break]
He shouldered himself free, brow knitting irritably, and lifted a finger to his lips. Even without looking out at her, Michael could recognize the sound of Abigail kicking her toes into the floor. Not a huge tell... but he'd seen it enough to know she was affronted by his lazy statement (and trying not to show it). "I'm only kidding. But... leave your Mama be. You know she has her days." [break][break]
Abigail scoffed. He could hear in her voice the sudden slackening of her "thundercloud" body posture as she began a pitchy whine. "But what am I supposed to do? We were gonna go into town today. She was supposed to take me to the beach. She's promised for weeks but this is the first weekend where it hasn't rained." Her tone darkened again, dropping to another grumble. "Stupid ass clouds an—" [break][break]
"Don't cuss, Abigail, your Mom thinks you're learning that shit from me." [break][break]
"I am learning that shit from you."[break][break]
Michael breathed hard through his nose and closed his eyes (mainly so he didn't have to see the dark-eyed, dangerous glare beside him). He took a moment to gauge the thickness in his head, trying to decide if it was going to be the sort of hangover a cup of coffee would make short work of. When he surmised... that it was possible... he wiped a hand across his face and started fishing around beneath the blanket for whatever clothes were in reach. "Do you want me to take you?" [break][break]
Abigail hummed. Long and thoughtful. As if she had to consider it. As if he didn't already know the offer was her whole, hopeful aim when she'd barged in. "Is your friend coming, too?"[break][break]
The woman tensed, the fury in her eyes swiftly transforming into something wild and stricken. Michael only sighed, then renewed his search for her clothes with less subtlety. She pulled herself up and did the same, glaring coldly whenever he tossed what he found at her with little ceremony. "No. She's not." [break][break]
There was the sound of Abigail moving across the floor and climbing on top of the bottom bunk. Two hands clutched at the edge of the top bed and she lifted herself up to peek at them, her gaze drawing curiously to the bewildered woman between him and the wall. Her eyes were far too smart and too analytical to match the oblivious, "cutesy" tone she suddenly chose to inquire with. "Is this a girlfriend or a girl space friend? You said the space between girl and friend is almost always important."[break][break]
He opened his mouth. But the woman spoke first. "Space," she asserted firmly, sounding a little sharp and decisive despite her earlier panic. Fighting the urge to roll his eyes, Michael nodded his agreement. "I also said it was always important — not almost always important — to call me your uncle as quick as possible when I'm with a girl, space, friend." He punctuated the words with an accusing lift to his brow.[break][break]
"Oh. I forgot that part."[break][break]
"Yeah...?" his lips pulled at one corner into a knowing (unconvinced) grin, and he plucked and poked at the little fingers she was using to keep herself levered up. "Sure you did." When she thudded back to the floor with a huff, he swung himself to dangle over the bed's edge and ran a hand through his mess of hair. "Go. Get ready. I'll meet you in the kitchen after a bit. Maybe, if we're real lucky, Mamaw will be up and around and she'll make us some breakfast, huh?" [break][break]
* * *
[break]The beach was busy. Los Eurosia was a huge city and it was Saturday, so... of course it was. But still, they'd managed to find a spot enough away from everyone else that they wouldn't have to bump elbows. Abigail sat cross-legged on the towel before him, braiding her long, stringy hair in front of her as he positioned and taped a large bandage over the duck tattoo across her left shoulder blade. [break][break]
Most people would likely assume it was a drawing. But adults could be nosy. And he didn't think it was the type of thing to not raise a few, pointed questions. It was best to cover it up. [break][break]
Just as he finished, Abigail held out a hand, fingers wriggling demandingly, and he pressed the elastic band on his wrist into her palm so she could tie the end of her braid. He watched the peek of her profile while she ducked her head in concentration. Even at this angle, he could see the (still somewhat broody) furrow to her brow. [break][break]
"Buck up, kiddo. Mom will be alright by the time we get back. She'll say sorry and all that. And the beach ain't going anywhere." Abigail didn't answer but, after a moment, only shrugged her shoulders. Michael blew out a long breath and — when it became clear she had nothing to say on the matter — started the task of slathering her up with sunscreen. Neither of them needed it. They were already tanned, being in the sun as much as they were on a daily basis, and they never bothered with the stuff on the ranch. But... the smell of it... the way its oiliness would grab and hold the sand on their skin... well, it had just seemed like a part of the "beach-going experience". Plus, Abigail had been the one to run back into the house and grab it. So he made a point not to pass up the little formality. [break][break]
"Alright, can I go now?" She asked, pushing herself to her feet and turning on him. He watched her eyes dart about the ground and the way she chewed at her inner lip. Stubbornly petulant, even still. He nodded, before pulling his hands down her upper arms to clean the rest of the sunscreen from his fingers. "Yeah. Go on." She whipped around, face flashing just briefly, but he caught her wrist and lifted a brow when she snapped her head back to look at him. "Play nice," he warned. And she smirked (knowing very well that he didn't give a damn if she did or not). "I'm serious, Abs. Mamaw won't be happy... with either of us... if I have to fight some kid's dad because you were being mean." [break][break]
A tiny snort was his only answer before she pulled free and started a sprint toward the shore. It wasn't exactly an agreement to be good but... at least it was some sort of acknowledgement. At least he could say he tried... if he had to defend himself to her mother (and his mother) later.
you grew up and me, i just got older[break]
wasted years and blurry friday nights
wasted years and blurry friday nights
Tag: Open [break]
Let me know if you have designs/ideas or think you might want this tagged for you!
Let me know if you have designs/ideas or think you might want this tagged for you!
[newclass=.elmwhiskerr-post]background-image:url(https://i.imgur.com/IDIwXw1.png);background-repeat:no-repeat;width:360px;text-align:justify;padding:20px 50px 25px 50px;background-color:#f5f5f5;color:#666;line-height:1.2!important;[/newclass]
[newclass=.elmwhiskerr-post b]color:#3C584F;[/newclass]
[newclass=.post-elmwhiskerr-o]background-color:#3C584F;width:460px;padding:15px;[/newclass]
[newclass=.elmwhiskerr-post span]color:#a187ba;font-weight:bold;[/newclass]
