IP: 184.167.4.118
Posted on February 1, 2021 at 10:18:09 AM by Tovah
our mother has been absent ever since we founded Rome
Kane has never been honest with her about seeing ghosts. Talking to ghosts, ferrying them from place to place. Working, at a professional level, with ghosts. If he had, maybe Tovah would believe they exist. Instead, all she knows is that Kane has definitely lost his mind. “Kane,” she keeps repeating, but he will not look at her. He’s looking straight out into the empty room, muttering and threatening and telling her they aren’t alone, even though Tovah can see very clearly that they are. That is, until he lunges forward with an awfully convincing pantomimed uppercut, the table thuds, and chairs go flying. Exactly like in Poltergeist. “Jesus Fuck!” she shouts, finally allowing him to crowd her back against the bar, if a little roughly. Her hip sings from where she thumps against it, a bruise already forming beneath her ridiculous getup. But Tovah barely notices this small injury. She is too busy trying to see the ghosts, now, wondering how many there are, and how Kane can see them, and overall what the everliving fuck is going on here. Kane seems keen to make a hasty exit, maneuvering them toward the boarded-up, broken windows; Tovah does not resist. If they are gunna be in a literal ghost town, it seems sensible not to be willingly trapped in a room with them. But then they stop, as he decides instead to have a conversation with one of them instead. Tovah hisses a string of expletives, each one more colorful than the last. Kane is breathing hard, stiff-straight and as tense as she’s ever seen him, and she’s seen him get his ass kicked by a very large man before. This does not inspire confidence. “Yeah you do,” she agrees, when he’s finally moving again. The front doors are squeaking on their hinges behind them, but the back door resists their attempts to turn and rattle the knob. Finally Kane kicks it open with a snarl, and they are half-tumbling down the cracked wooden steps and into an alley, where a horse is standing expectantly. A horse. “No. No way,” Tovah starts, but Kane is already dragging her over there, one hand snaking around her waist to hoist her up. “Hell no. I am not riding that thing. Kane!” Ghosts were one thing, horses were entirely another. This one is at least 65 feet tall, midnight black with eyes like a literal demon’s…which it must be, because ten minutes ago they were the only living things for miles. She’s got her heels dug in now, kicking up dust as she tries to twist out of his iron grip. But instead of letting go, he turns her roughly to face him. His voice is still low and harsh, like it was when he threatened their invisible adversaries. But there is an edge of raw desperation in it as he begs her to cooperate, that reminds her of the beach. A half-faded memory of blurry words, when he thought she was dead. When she was dead. “Okay. Fine.” She lets him manhandle her into the saddle, squished between his body and the horn, and then they are moving forward at a “brisk,” jouncing pace that makes Tovah painfully aware of every part of her that jiggles. After a few minutes of this she feels like her tits have been through a blender. They do not stop after a mere few minutes. Tovah is superficially aware of the storefronts they pass. The fields. The tumbleweeds. But for a long time, most of her attention is taken up by her burning, chafing thighs, and her aching back, and the sweat, gods, the sweat. She’s so distracted that it takes at least two laps for her to notice they are going in circles. It’s impossible – they are certainly not riding in circles – but somehow they are going by the same buildings, over and over again, no matter which direction they go. At first it isn’t obvious, with the changing light and the homogeny of everything they see. But by the time they are passing right in front of the saloon, just as the last rays of sunset are turning the whole town orange, Tovah has had enough. “We have to stop. This isn’t working,” she mutters through gritted teeth. She grabs at the reins and pulls the horse’s head roughly to the left, down a street they haven’t yet explored. At least, she doesn’t think they have. The houses here are a bit nicer, better kept, with shady porches and windows that haven’t been punched in. She pulls and leans backward to try to get the horse to stop, and even as it continues walking slowly forward, she slips out of the saddle onto the ground. She does not land on her feet. “Motherfucker every part of me hurts,” she exclaims to no one in particular, staggering to her feet and limping up the front walk. The steps squeak loudly beneath her heels. The door is locked, but Tovah is ready for this, fishing a pin out of her hair and wrenching it open with her teeth. Her headache is almost as severe as her saddleburn. Normally, she’d have had that lock picked in ten seconds flat. But it takes her a few minutes, this time, through the haze of pain and fear and frustration, and by the time she has it open she is storming forward, yanking out the stupid comb and kicking off the stupid shoes. Kane is right behind her. Close enough that she has to tilt her head back when she turns, hands propped imperiously on her hips. “Time to explain.” Her green eyes are flashing bright; her voice is low and threatening. She has never been so angry with him as she is in this moment. “Actually the time to explain was a fucking while ago, but better late than never I guess.” |
but there's gunna be a party when the wolf comes home
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