the queen of hearts : arianna

[cajun_songbird]

[ Written by Orin's mun ]

The End

"You'll have to forgive me," Orin said. In the dim light, the deep pitch color of the blood staining his mouth was hardly distinguishable from the paint. "For the mess," he added casually as if he felt he had to explain himself. "Comfortable?" asked suddenly with an upward inflection to the crumpled bloodied heap in the corner that was Bradley Thibodeaux.

"Fucking...freak," Brad managed through a mouth full of blood. Swollen eyes lulled to the figure that stood in the doorway. The figure that was stepping over his mother's fallen and prone form. Brad spared a glance to his mother, not fully grasping her death. His eyes rose to the greater and more immediate threat. A grimace overcame him before he spat a thick clot. "I...," he managed his words messily at the vampire's gradual approach. He took a moment to lift a hand, and with the back of an already drenched wrist, he swept his mouth once, "..fucking shot ... you ... you're dead." He shook his head heavily from side to side, the matted locks sticking to his forehead from the congealing blood "I killed you... " he muttered. His hand slowly lifted toward Orin to extend a shaky accusing finger. "I fucking killed you. I fucking shot you..." The hand was swept mindlessly to the side, through the air in a violent movement of dismissal. Dismissal of acceptance. Brad's knees lifted then and heels were pressed to the drenched carpet in an attempt to push off from the floor as if he could back himself further into the corner.

"That's not why I'm here but, now that you mention it, I think I do remember that. Nice of you to remind me. I'll keep it in mind tonight," Orin said fore warningly when his footfalls stopped him just short of Brad. Orin's shadow was thrown over the other man's beaten form, taking the glint and the red from the blood and making it seem as if Brad had simply been doused in black ink. "Huh.." Brad shifted his head upward and managed a cocky smile. "You're here 'cause I fucked your whore." His words were spat vehemently, and before he could muster up a mocking laugh, a kick was dealt to Brad's midsection which sent him doubling over.

Orin's hand, soiled to the wrist with Brad's drying blood, took a fistful of the other man's matted hair and with a heavy pull, Brad was yanked from his corner. He was dragged across the carpet in no time at all to where his mother lay in the sopping carpet surrounding her. Orin slid a booted foot under her to kick her form over. The former Elaine Thibodeaux flumped over with an arm flopping lifelessly out to the side; eyes staring endlessly up at the ceiling. Orin changed her point of focus by slinging her son on top of her.

"TELL ME BRAD. IS MUMMY OK?" Orin screamed down at Brad, baring blood stained teeth. Brad's hands reached out to brace himself from the fall, and he succeeded, though they put his eyes in the direct path of his sightless mother's. "Mother," Brad uttered..."Mother," he muttered again, a hand raising to graze her cheek as if it would rouse her. The only thing it succeeded in was leaving a solid red smear.

"I HAVE AN IDEA!" Orin chimed in with cheerful madness while stalking in a pace behind the two. "Lets check her pulse!" He lunged forward in an instant, crouching down beside the two. He picked up Elaine's limp wrist with crusted fingers as if it were an appetizer. His expression changed into a mock graveness "Oh..I dunno, Junior. It doesn't look so good." Orin reached a hand forward toward Elaine. "I'm fine really!" Orin said out the side of his own mouth in a shrill and glass splintering voice while operating Elaine's lifeless jaw as though she were speaking. "No, you're not silly goose," Orin argued in his own voice. "I am!" he added shrilly, puppeting Elaine once more. "She's delusional," Orin offered consolingly with a pat on the back to a delirious Brad who was still searching his mother's features. A glint caught Orin's eye and he reached over to pluck the tool of Elaine's destruction from the carpet. He turned it over in his hand thoughtful before he sent it down with one swift movement to sever Elaine's hand from the wrist; all the while holding her hand in his own as if they'd been greeting each other. It was offered to Brad in that same consoling manner. "I think she would have wanted you to have this."

Brad all but flung himself from the scene of the inside of his mother's wrist. He pulled away and backed himself up toward the bed until his back pressed against the footboard. "You sick FUCK!" he screamed trying to manage from becoming ill all over again. He'd already discarded his dinner and a good amount of blood during the earlier beating.

Still crouching, Orin narrowed his eyes on Brad disapprovingly. He glanced down to Mummsy and fitted her severed hand into the one which was still attached. "Hold that for a second would ya." Pause. "Saw'right?" He asked her and then leaned a hand forward to operate her mouth again. "Saw'right," was said in that shrill voice he'd assigned to Elaine. Orin seemed satisfied with such and rose to his feet again, then stepping towards Brad.

"Don't come near me, you sick fuck. Stay the fuck away from me!" Brad's arms slung out madly while he tried to employ the bedpost to aid him in standing. Orin let him rise. "She wanted it. Do you hear me!? Your little whore begged for it. She got down on her fuckin' knees and she fucking- " The next sound out of Brad was an unintelligible sound that was something between a grunt, a growl, and moan. Orin's hand curled around the back of Brad's collar and before he knew it he'd been hauled out into the hallway. "Oh, watch your step!" Orin warned while hurtling Brad's head into the adjacent wall. He released Brad to the wall, letting his own momentum propel him into the collision. When Brad crumpled to the floor Orin reached to reclaim his collar and Brad was dragged along.

"Where is it?" Orin demanded while they traveled. Brad groped for his shirt, the collar pressing against his air passages.

"FUCK YOU!"

"I think there's been enough of that going on for you. Where is it?"

"I don't know what you're fucking talking about you sideshow fuck." Bradley wheezed.

"You have stunning vocabulary. I'll ask one more time. Where. Is. It? The deed. Ari's deed. To her house." Orin had drug Bradley into his own office. Leaving Brad to recover his breath on the floor, Orin began toppling glass objects; leafing through papers before discarding them to the floor. Brad was silent all for his coughing.

The toolbox had been found in the bottom desk drawer. The pliers had been extracted and it only took the removal of two molars to get Brad to point to the picture frame on the wall that turned out to be a safe. Courageous Brad even managed to scribble out the combination for Orin. "Now... " Orin breathed in a 'that's that' sort of manner before turning back to Brad and tucking the papers into an inside pocket of the trench. "Where is Ari's ring?"

"I don't know what you're fucking talking about. I never saw any jewelry on the bitch."

Orin lifted the pliers unrelentingly to Brad's mouth for a fourth go. Really, it seemed the more teeth Orin "dentisted" from Brad, the funnier the guy talked. It was a plus however that the slander and insults were no longer intelligible. It was however misfortunate the answer regarding Ari's ring wasn't going to happen...couldn't happen now.

"Time to go for a ride." Orin patted Brad's head.

---

They left the Mansion in one of Brad's cars. The house smoked and smoldered behind them. Flames were ripping through the interior and licking out the windows as if the lot had been a gate to hell itself. Orin was driving with Brad lain out in the back seat. They were at the end of the long driveway and out the gate by the time they could hear sirens. Orin began to employ the proper turning signals for driving by reaching an arm out the window to politely indicate his right turn to the empty street.

"Lovely night for a drive isn't it?" Orin smiled into the rearview mirror. Brad's swollen and discolored face stared back.

"Ooo" Orin cringed. "You might want to get that looked at."

***

The drive hadn't been too long. It was very near Ello's neck of the woods. Of course, having crawled your way out of a six foot deep hole and dragged yourself along for a good couple of miles it was easy to find your way back. Brad had been drug from the car and handed a shovel which Orin pulled politely for him from the trunk.

"You remember this spot don't you? I do." Orin took a spot by a tree, leaning his back against it. He crossed one leg over the other casually and folded his arms to watch. Brad defiantly spit another clot of blood from his mouth in the direction of Orin's feet. "S'what you get for smoking." Orin nodded matter-of-factually as he slipped a clove to his own lips. Deciding he didn't quite like the tree too much Orin shifted to seat himself on an oblong wooden crate which had been ominously placed nearby for...some reason.

"Oh come on." Orin glared down at Brad with a half shrug not buying the 'I'm in pain and bitterly resentful' act as he lit the clove. "It's not even filled in all the way!" He aimed a hand at Brad accusingly as if he were shouting at a ball game

"You can manage."

What Brad managed was something that sounded a lot like it included 'Son of a bitch'. "C'mon." Orin said in a resolved sort of manner. "We'll work together." With that suggestion he stood from his seat on the crate and neared Brad who viciously protested the Malkavian's grasp. His thrashes were ignored as Orin pulled Brad to his feet, grabbed the shovel and arranged the tool in Brad's hand as if he were teaching a kid how to swing a golf club. "Here we go. On the count of three jackass. One. Two. Three" He forced Brad to fill the shovel with a single load of dirt and though he himself was doing most of the grunt work Brad was still taking part in digging his own grave. Good enough for Orin.

After a few shovel fulls Orin figured Brad got the point. With that done, Orin shoved Brad out of the way leaving him to fall the ground with a bitter and painful moan. He'd lost too much blood to fight anymore. His whole face was a swollen mess, especially his virtually toothless mouth which had previously bubbled blood as Orin busied himself with setting a proper mansion fire. He'd even tied a scarf around his neck during the process as if he were a boyscout.

"I know what your thinking." Orin mused whimsically to Brad as he began tossing shovel fulls of dirt over his shoulder in the already existing cavity in the earth. "You're thinking...boy I'll be glad when he's done with me.... Or maybe you're thinking... Jee...I wonder if Mum's saving me a spot." Shovel. Dirt. Shove. Dirt. The hole was growing nicely. "Or maybe you're thinking...I should have never touched Ari. Maybe you're thinking you should never have even given her a second look...you know." Shovel. Dirt. Shovel. Dirt. "Because trash like you deserve what you deal. And you Brad... you deal in Hell.... so I'm sure they miss you. It's time someone sent you back. ... You know...you're going to have some time to think about it." As the digging went on Orin took up humming. Brad was trying to combat-crawl his way back toward the car. Orin ignored him while his humming formed into the words to a song.

"And now, the end is near." Shovel. Dirt. Shovel. Dirt. "And so I face the final curtain." Orin smirked to himself ironically and peeked out of the hole at the next part "My friend" Back to digging. "I'll say it clear. I'll state my case...of which I'm certain. You've lived a life that's...bull. Traveled each and every highway." Pause "Including your mother." The song went on with it's occasional added lyrics until the hole was dug and the crate had been positioned inside. The next addition would be Brad of course. A very alive Bradley. Orin went up to grasp him by the wrist just as poor Bradley had come within an arm lengths distance of the car. With a backward yank there was a sickening pop as Brad's arm dislocated at the shoulder socket. His body kicked up dirt and rubble as it was drawn toward the hole like an old rag doll. He was unceremoniously chucked into the wooden crate, landing with a broken thud.

"I've loved, I've laughed and cried" Orin went on with the song oblivious and indifferent to the cries of pain. The moans. The blubbering which he was sure sounded like desperate pleading.

"Oh. Brad. " As if he'd just remembered something important. "One more thing before I tuck you in." Orin extended a fisted hand over the open grave and held out over Brad. It opened slowly and the handful of spent bullets began raining down into the coffin tapping against the wood and Bradley like hail. "They didn't fit. So I thought it best to return them. It would never have worked out for you and I anyway". Orin lamented with a sigh as he chucked the clove into the coffin before he lowered the lid. The song was resumed as he began driving the nails.

"I've had my fill; my share of losing" it was a bitter note while the last nail was driven in.
"And now, as tears subside. I find it all so ... amusing"A whimsical smile and the first shovel full of dirt was thrown onto the crate. It wasn't untill then that Brad commenced to scream. A wave of satisfaction washed over Orin. He'd been getting worried.

"That's it Brad! Sing with me!" Another hunk of dirt landed on the crate with a heavy thud.

"For what is man, what has he got? If not himself, then he has naught. To say the things he truly feels" Orin took a pause out from the song "I think you're the sick fuck Bradley" said charmingly as if he were dedicating the song. "And not the words of one who kneels. The record shows... I took the blows-actually you did-but at least we did it... my way."

[cajun_songbird]

1921

"Gisselle!"

Bursting through the front door of the small house, Timothy quickly yanked the hat from his head while looking around the room anxiously. The fact that they had paired him with that rather morbid newcomer had put him on edge and for some reason, he really wanted to see his wife. Not seeing anyone in the living room, he dashed down the hallway; doors being thrown open in his endless search along the way. Skidding to a halt outside of the kitchen, he backed up a couple of steps as he spied the object of his search, standing at the stove with her back to him, and their daughter at her feet playing with a bowl and a spoon.

"Didn't you hear me callin', Ellie?"

Turning to glance over her shoulder towards her husband, a careful dance / side step was made so that she wouldn't step on Arianna when she turned around. Hands wiped down the front of her apron carefully as violets narrowed on his form. "In case you ain't noticed, Timothy Paul, it happens to be seven in the mornin' and you just gettin' home?" The corners of her mouth turned downwards into a deep frown. "You smell like tobacco and whiskey," said disapprovingly as she turned back to the stove to finish breakfast. Ari glanced up between her parents and frowned as well -- if a six year old can frown -- before turning her attention back to the spoon she was holding. As long as they didn't start yelling at each other again, she'd be fine.

Timothy sighed and took a step back, hands shoving themselves into his pockets before he glanced down to his daughter. "Things came up," lamely offered before he hiked up the fabric of his pants and knelt down in front of Ari. "Whatcha doin', ducky?" asked as his hand pointed to the spoon and bowl she seemed dead intent on. "Helpin' Mere make breakfes'." Nodding firmly with that, the spoon was held up to him as if she were asking him to taste test it. "You din't come home las'night." Eyes the same color of her mother's turned upwards to him unblinkingly, and he shifted uncomfortably under the innocent scrutiny. "Your Papa had to work, Ari. So I can take ya to the carnival later on."

That earned a squeal of excitement from the six-year old before the spoon and bowl were abandoned. Arms were thrown around his neck and she planted a sloppy kiss to his cheek. "Ferris Wheel!" was trilled out before the gleeful moment was spoiled by Gisselle's sound of disapproval. "Ain't usin' that blood money on her that way, Timothy." Dark blues shot up her way instantly. "Now listen here, Ellie... if I can use it to pay for this house and everythin' else, why can't I take her out there for awhile?" If there was one thing everyone in the house knew -- Ari included -- is when Gisselle said no, she meant n o.

"How you gonna ask me a question like that and be serious?" By now, Ari was gathering together her previously abandoned utensils and heading to sit beneath the kitchen table. It was her 'safe spot' when they started arguing. Timothy pushed up to his feet and stared down on Gisselle, who hands were going to her hips. A surefire sign that it was about to hit the fan. "If it wasn't for the fact our daughter would be sleepin' on the streets without it, I'd say to Hades with your money. If you wanna take her somewhere, get an honest job and earn the money the right way. Then talk to me about it. Until then, I think it's time for you to get on upstairs and change outta those clothes, because frankly you're startin' to make my kitchen smell." Inhaling deeply after the brief tirade, her eyes remained determinedly on his.

He knew better than to argue back. It wasn't that he listened and did what she said. The fact of the matter was, they both knew she was right, and how could you fight back against the truth? Hands went up in front of him, surrendering to her point of view as he turned to walk out of the kitchen. Pausing beside the kitchen table, he rapped on the top of it a couple of times to catch Ari's attention. "Sorry ducky, maybe another time, okay?" Without waiting for a reply, he headed for the bedroom and slammed the door shut behind him.

The knocks on the table made her jump, and both hands clasped over her mouth to subdue the giggles building up because of it. Of course, all traces of laughter faded once she realized she wasn't going to go to the carnival, but.. Mamas were always right, and they knew what was best. Especially her Mere. Scuttling out, she hurried over and threw her arms around one of Gisselle's leg; squeezing tightly before dropping back down to sit on the floor. "S'okay, Mere, din't wanna go noway." Nodding firmly with that, the search for a new spoon commenced as Gisselle glanced down to her. The older woman sighed before turning towards the stove again.

"That man's gonna be the death of me one day," muttered under her breath.

In the bedroom, Timothy pulled his shirt over his head and moved over to the dresser to find some clean clothes. "That woman's gonna be the death of me, I just know it," muttered as well before he slumped down heavily onto the bed and cradled his head between his hands. When night fell, he knew what he had to do, and that coupled with Gisselle's theory on his life, was giving him a serious attack of the 'I don't wanna do this anymore' blues.

[cajun_songbird]

December, 1921

The closer it got to the holidays, jobs seemed to pop out of the woodwork. Just last week, they'd hit a bank over on Bourbon. The week before that, a casino near the edge of town. As of yet, no fatalities had occurred, but it seemed from the talk coming from the `boss man's` room, that was about to change. Timothy, Charlie, Bill, and Martin were sitting out in the living room, nervously exchanging glances between each other. The killing didn't bother Charlie and Martin, but the two men respected the other two's squeamishness about it. That new guy, Mike, didn't have the first problem about snuffing someone either, but he seemed to be the type to work alone. That one job that Tim had accompanied him on had been the first and last time the guy had been partnered with someone.

"Whatcha think's goin' on in dere?" Leaning over to whisper to Tim, Bill's eyes darted nervously towards the closed door. "Ain't got th' first idea, man. Gotta feelin' we ain't gonna like it either." They all had families to support. This was the main reason they did what they were told, regardless of their feelings on the matter. Gisselle had went on another rant this morning before he left the house, and that -- coupled with the searing pain that had been ripping through his side for the past few days -- had put Timothy in a rather dismal mood. "You'd think wit' somethin' important goin' on, they'd be lettin' someb--" Bill's words cut off abruptly as the door swung open then, revealing a rather large, overweight, aging fellow by the name of Don. His name was synonymous with his title in the outfit. He had been the Don of the Chicago Outfit before Al had come along, taking over everything and putting himself in the spotlight.

"Yous guys ready or do I gotta give ya incentive?" Removing the cigar that had been clamped between his thick lips, hands extended in front of him almost graciously as his beady eyes drifted over the four men there. A chorus of "Yeah, boss" and "We're ready" instantly began, and Don grinned slickly at them. "deBurgh, yous take Bill there, and go find out where dat guy Mike is, see? He got your instructions. I want it ta be a clean sweep, no witnesses. Capice?" A serpent like tongue darted out to run over his lips before the cigar was reclamped. "Make sure yous guys let 'em know Don Rouchex sends his regards for a happy holidays." Chuckling to himself then, he turned on his heel and walked back into the room, door shutting with a dull slam behind him.

"Who da hell went and made dat guy boss, huh? He's crazy." Charlie -- albeit quietly -- voiced what everybody else in the room was thinking. With shrugs and noncommittal noises, the group dispersed to their cars. Tim motioned for Bill to follow him to the Ford parked out front, the door popped open for him. "Somethin' 'bout dis ain't right," was muttered to Bill as Tim slid behind the steering wheel, the key jammed into the ignition to kickstart the motor. "Yeah," was Bill's only reply as his eyes fixed dead ahead. The country began making way for the city as the miles dispersed, and once they were in city limits, Bill turned to the other. "I doan think Charlie and Martin are gonna be comin' back from dis one."

Every mobster's nightmare. Your own gang turning on you. Slamming his foot down on the brake, the car skidded to an abrupt halt in the middle of the road. Jaw tensing, his eyes didn't leave the windshield, but rather seemed to be boring a hole through it. "Whatcha heard, Bill?" asked calmly, without any real inflection. Bill began shifting uncomfortably in his seat, hands nervously sliding along the seat belt across his lap. "Nothin' really. Just dat Charlie's been shootin' off at da mouth, and Martin's been goin' along wit' him." Cause enough for an assassination, to Don. Hell, to anyone in power in this day and time. "Get out da car, Bill," said suddenly, blues finally turning to fix on the other man. "Tim, whatch--"

He was cut off before he could finish. "I said get da hell outta th'car, BILL." Reaching over suddenly, the seat belt across the man's lap was undone and the door was opened, the man pushed unceremoniously out of the car. "Go on home. I'll get wit'ya later. Don't answer yo'phone or th'door." With little more than that, Tim pulled off in a squeal of tires. Grabbing his hat from the road, it was dusted off as Bill scrambled to his feet and looked around quickly. "He dun lost his damn mind," muttered under his breath before he took to the back streets and alleys to his house.

Tim sped down the streets as if the Devil was chasing the car, stop signs ignored and the corners taken at break neck speeds. Before long, he was pulling up in front of the DeFoe house. Jamming the car into park once it stopped, the door was all but kicked open before he was heading for the steps leading up to the porch. At the door, a fist began beating almost angrily against the screen. "MIKE, I KNOW YER IN THERE." Rap-rap-rap-rap. It was one thing to kill someone you didn't know, but when it got to the point you had to knock off someone you'd spent the past six years working with? Even a mobster had to have some morals. If he had to knock all damn day, he would.

---

"One bright mornin', when this life is o'er, I'll .. fly away." With hands deep in a ball of gooey dough, Gisselle's voice rang out strong and true through the house. After the .. dispute with Timothy this morning, she began doing the only thing that could take her mind off of troubles, at least for a little while. Baking. A six year old Arianna was standing on a chair at the counter beside her, doing her best to keep up with her Mere's singing, though she was having a little trouble. "I got dis part, Mama! Don't sing." Small hands coming up as if that'd stop the woman, Ari cleared her throat. "Ta th'home on God's ceeleshal shore, I'll fly 'waaaaaay."

Looking expectantly towards Gisselle then, as if for approval, the elder woman chuckled softly to herself before nodding, lips pulled to expose teeth in a wide smile. "Tha's it, cher. Ya sang it angelically." Beaming under the praise, Ari nodded firmly before reaching over to stick her fingers into the dough, an "Eeeee," of disgust loosed at the squishy feel. Fingers were then held up towards her face as she sniffed it. "I doan unnerstand how dis stuff turns inta bread. Yucky." Careful not to touch fabric, Gisselle's arms slid beneath Ari's and lifted her from the chair to set her on the floor. "Very carefully, cher. Go wash yer hands." With a pat to the rear, the youngster was ushered towards the hallway.

Little did either know that just outside their comfort zones, a pair of eyes watched their every move.

[cajun_songbird]

January, 1941

The first thing she noticed upon getting off of the train; it was a lot colder in St. Louis than it was in New Orleans. Bundling the coat closer around her form, a brief smile was given to the conductor as he handed her the two bags she had brought.

Timothy had said he'd meet her at the station, but the one thing he had failed to mention... how would they recognize each other? Eighteen years had a way of changing people; that nasty little thing called "growing up". As hard as she tried, she couldn't remember his face. It was hard to remember the face of a ghost. He stayed from home more than he stayed, back then.

Standing there on the platform, eyes wide as she looked around, the sound of someone calling her name caused her to jump in surprise. Turning to face the one calling her name, she almost burst into tears. It was like somebody had turned the focus knob on the television.

".. Arianna."

"...Papa..."

Face to face, in the flesh; it felt almost surreal in a sense. It'd be a lie if she told herself that she didn't sometimes wonder what he was doing, where he was, .. how he was faring. The truth of how he was faring was evident in this appearance. Skin was sallow, eyes were red and bleary. You could almost feel the life draining out of him. Jet black hair had long faded to gray, and lines creased a face that had once been smooth and unmarred.

A faint smile appeared as he watched her approach, a wavering hand extending to help with the bag. Unsure of what to say at the moment, all Ari could do was shake her head and tug one of the bags closer to her body. "I've got them. Are you parked close?" Meeting his eyes levelly, she tried at a smile to mirror his own. Eighteen years of wondering... and they were finally there... together.

"I didn't mean to send that telegram outta the blue, Ari.. I've been meanin' to get in touch with you for awhile, it just never seemed like the right time...." And now that he was dying, it was the perfect time, he thought ruefully, a hand reaching up to brush through his hair as he pointed towards his car. She didn't need his help, that much was evident, so he hung back and let her carry her own things.

A thousand questions sprang to her lips; questions that she had been carrying for all of these years. Why did you leave? How could you abandon me and Mere? Why did you have to wait until you were almost dead to realize you wanted me? Throwing her cases into the trunk when he opened it, she actually turned and opened her mouth, but one look at his weary expression, and forlorn features.. and she couldn't do it. As much as she told herself that she hated him, she couldn't do it.

"What matters is that I'm here now, right? I'm glad you got in touch with me..." Nodding with that, she climbed into the car and tugged the door shut, hands clasping in her lap as eyes went downcast. They had from now until the.. end to talk. Silence was golden in moments like these, and not another word was said as the car was started and they pulled off from the train station.

---

Holding the phone for a moment longer, Ari stared down at the receiver incredulously. That couldn't have been... no... He would've said more than just a few words if it had been Orin. A scowl crossed her features the more she thought on it. Tell her I miss her. Yeah, I just bet you do, she thought sourly, slamming the phone down in a fit of aggravation. "Something wrong?" The weak question made her turn around, a sheepish expression on her face. Timothy hadn't been able to stand or sit upright since they had made it back to his house; whatever illness he was inflicted with had started to show almost immediately.

Cirrhosis. It seemed like such an innocent word when he had first told her. The more he explained the condition to her, the worse it got. The disease came about from all of his years of alcohol abuse; something that Gisselle had always warned him about. It's easy to think that you're immortal when you're young and headstrong, as he had been. With cirrhosis, the liver cells give way to scar tissue, and the organ loses it's ability to function. When your liver shuts down, it cases jaundice, and it also makes you bleed out from any orifice available. This comes from the blood trying to find alternate ways to the heart. Even as the question was asked, he started coughing, a handkerchief that he kept handing becoming stained with blood as it came from his mouth.

"No, nothing's wrong. Just had to check on some things." Forcing a smile, she moved over to the bed and sat on the edge, one of her hands going out to cover one of his. Clearing his throat, he waved the free hand in a dismissive gesture, trying to reassure her that he was all right. Bleeding, but all right. "I'm proud of ya, Ari. Can't believe my little girl got her own club in the Quarter. It's tough business there." That smile of hers became even more forced as she listened to him, the pride in his voice prominent and heavy. If he knew the way that she had acquired the club, Ari had the distinct feeling he wouldn't be so quick to congratulate her.

After a few moments of silence, he cleared his throat again and shifted on the bed. "There's a few things that we need to talk about before.. well, ya know.. and there ain't no better time than now. I don't know what your Mama told you when I left..." So. It was already time for that conversation. Pushing up from the bed, she grabbed a chair from by the window and tugged it over closer so she could listen. He waited until she got settled to continue, a heavy frown tugging the corners of his mouth down. "I gambled.. I drank... I did some things that you ain't supposed to while in the confines of marriage..." His eyes went downcast then, hands fiddling absently the handkerchief still grasped tightly. "I loved your Mama, don't get me wrong, but ... things happen that you can't control..."

Ari broke off his words with a faint laugh, her head shaking from side to side. "That's something you don't have to tell me." Leaning up to reach into her pocket, a crumpled pack of cigarettes was unearthed, and she offered him one. Timothy declined, so she lit one up for herself. Ari had the feeling she might need something to brace her nerves during the conversation, and there wasn't any alcohol in the house. He had quit a few months ago, but the damage had already been done to his body. "I know about the gambling and drinking.... I was young, but not stupid. You and Mere had a way of fighting so the whole neighborhood could hear, and I was only a few feet away.."

He nodded with that. "Yeah. You weren't home the night I left... at some friend's house or somethin'. That's neither here nor there, though. I came home, flat busted and drunk outta my head. Gisselle told me she had enough of my ways and told me to get ta packin'." He glanced up to Ari and grinned faintly, shoulders lifting in a shrug. "Your Mama was a fearsome woman. I thought it best to do what she said. Figured she'd cool down in a day or two, like always, and I'd come home. 'Cept when I came back home, she had the law take me outta the house...." His voice faded off after that, and the look he turned on her was searching. ".... when did she die?"

That single question.. it held so much hurt. So much.. emotion... Even after Gisselle turning him out, cutting him out of both her and her daughter's lives.. he loved her. Tears welled up in Ari's eyes as she watched him, her chin tucking down towards her chest. It took a minute or so for her to answer, and even then, her voice cracked. It was painful to think back on it. "About seven years ago.. she just got tired, I think.." A shrug then. "She'd been sick for awhile, but we didn't have the money to take her to a doctor. Not like she would've gone anyway.." A grin. "If the healers in the parish couldn't take care of it, nobody could. That's a direct quote." The humour faded after a moment, and she lifted her eyes back to his. "There was never anybody after you though. She said she had her one try at love, and that was all she wanted. The only man in her life was the Good Lord. Another direct quote."

It was amazing how one little sentence could make him feel so much better. There was never anybody after you. With the way things ended between him and Gisselle, that was all he could've hoped for. "There wasn't anybody else after her either." he admitted quietly, his chin lifting a bit as his eyes turned towards the ceiling. "She threw her weddin' ring at me that last time." Even as he spoke, he reached into the collar of his shirt and drew out a thin chain; the ring dangling on the end. "Said she didn't want it. That I could use it to gamble with, or sell for booze. Couldn't get rid of it, though....." Another coughing fit hit him; this one strong enough to bring his shoulders off of the bed. Turning his head to the side as he wiped his mouth, he muttered a few words to Ari, "I think it's time to turn in for the night.. I'll talk to you in the mornin'."

Nodding, she used the arms of the chair as leverage to push herself up. "Yeah, you need your rest. I'll be down the hall if you need me for anything." Leaning over him, a kiss was pressed to his cheek before she began walking towards the door. Pausing, the overhead light was turned off so that he could sleep comfortably. Another cough sounded before he glanced over her way, though she was little more than an outline in the doorway from the light in the hallway. "I love ya, Ari girl. Sleep well."

A pause. ".. you too, Papa. Night."

---

It was raining the day they put Timothy Paul deBurgh into the ground. Of course it was raining, Ari thought bitterly, the umbrella she held over her shoulder given a shake to rid the water from it. Everyone had left the cemetery an hour or so ago, but for some reason that she couldn't quite put her finger on ... she couldn't leave. The tent over the grave kept the dirt from turning into muck, and with a glance over her shoulder, she approached the fresh mound. Umbrella deposited to the ground, the rain drops splattering on her face and shoulders were given about as much notice as the chilling wind whipping through the fabric of her mourning dress.

The over hanging tent shielded the rain as she stepped under it, but the wind kept blowing; biting against her face and hands with an intensity that made her shiver. " Well... " Inhaling deeply, words died off after only the first one, and she dropped to her knees in the mixture of grass and dirt still scattered beside the grave. " At least we got to say goodbye. " That was the extent of what she could think to say to him, now. They'd said everything that needed to be out in the open during the times when he had been awake long enough to hold a conversation.

She never thought it would hurt as much as it did, watching someone she barely knew die. Then came the knowledge that the sickly, wan person lying in front of you, possibly inhaling their last breath.. was your father. Even with the abandonment, even with the wrongs he had done in his life when he had been a part of hers... he was her father.

* * * * *

The day had started off like the rest since she had been in St. Louis; as time as she crawled out of bed, there had been just enough time for a quick bath before she dressed and scooted to her father's room. As time as Arianna stepped into the room, though, she knew.. this day was different. Instead of looking tired and worn - as he had for the past couple of weeks - there was a flush of color to his cheeks, a sparkle to his jaundiced eyes, and an overall feeling of relaxation radiated from him.

He was dying.. literally dying right in front of her eyes...

A feeling gripped tightly in the base of her stomach, and it took several moments of simply staring at him to realize.. it was fear. He'd been out of her life for so long, and now that he had finally came back in.. he was going to die. Of course, she knew this before even leaving New Orleans, but being faced with the reality of it was .. chilling. " Something wrong, Ari? " The question was asked so quietly, that she almost asked him to repeat himself. Her tongue felt as if it had been glued to the roof of her mouth, and she had to pry it down before she could answer. " N-no. Everything's fine.."

Forcing a smile to back up her response, the space between her and the bed was closed in short order, and she settled carefully on the edge beside him. Reaching over and clasping one of her hands in his, Timothy smiled up at her reassuringly. " I ain't gonna see tomorrow, Ari girl.." Before she could protest, he shook his head and gave a pat to the hand he held, gently and silently asking her to let him finish. " There's no use sugar coatin' it; we both knew this day was comin'. I'm just glad I got to see you. "

Almost as if it were something you could physically feel, the tension in the room raised a couple of notches as he watched her, his expression pensive. Coughing quietly, Timothy wiped his hand across the back of his mouth before he pushed up out of the bed; ignoring her ofference for help as he stumbled a bit. " I've got some things I wantcha to have, before you leave St. Louis.. and if I don't give 'em to ya now, you won't ever see 'em. " This was said to her over his shoulder as he made his way to the wardrobe on the far side of the wall; the doors slung open with little fanfair before he began rummaging inside.

" The things in this box.. these are the only things that I have in the world that ... well... " Wincing a bit as he turned back to the bed, the box he spoke of her was cradled in both arms - almost tenderly - as he walked over to her. Without another word, the whole lot was deposited into her lap before he settled onto the bed beside her. " Ain't nothin' but some pictures and the like. You probably don't even want 'em, but it'd mean a lot to me if you'd just -- " Words were cut off sharply by a coughing fit, and before she could turn to ask if he was alright, he fell back on the bed; a hand over his mouth.

A trail of blood seeped from between his fingers - a bright crimson smear that contrasted vividly with the sudden paleness of his skin. Shoving the box onto the bed, it was left forgotten as she ran for the phone. By the time the ambulance got to the house, his breathing was labored; sharp hitching gasps echoing through the room. All Ari could do was sit beside him on the bed and hold his hand; tears streaming down her cheeks as she worked at offering him a bit of comfort. Unceremoniously shoved out of the way by a pair of paramedics, the world seemed to tip as those hitching gasps began quieting off.

He never even made it to the hospital. His final moments had been spent in the back of an ambulance; his daughter off to the side of the stretcher, still holding his hand, and a paramedic sitting at the foot of the stretcher, staring his way solemly.

* * * * *

Pushing up to her feet, one final glance was given down to the grave. The balled up tissue in her hand was lifted to brush against her cheeks to rid the moisture there she hadn't even been aware she shed, and without another word... she walked away. She had come to St. Louis with nothing but vague memories of a man that had been out of the house more than he had been in, and she was leaving with the knowledge that .. she was proud to call Timothy Paul deBurgh, father.

The box he had given her was situated in the trunk of the taxi that was taking her to the train station; settled among her bags to take back home. Home. Swallowing thickly, Ari knew that she could board that train with no regrets to leave behind. There was someone back home that she wanted to see, more than she wanted to breathe.

Everything else could wait until then.

[cajun_songbird]

February, 1941


Tom said she wasn't coming back.

God only knows what he thought now.. She had promised - promised - that she would come back to him. There was no telling what the news did to him. Inspection of the fun house only led to one conclusion. The absolute worst had happened. Splintered shards of glass everywhere, candy coated in red blood... Bullets decorating the floor as if some hair brained interior designer thought the look was noveau. There was a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach that she couldn't get rid of.

And what the fuck was the deal with Stilks? He'd gone from staying as far away from her as remotely possible, up to standing beside her, to .. touching her. The kicker was, that Pete could see him! Up until now, Tom and everyone else thought she had been losing her mind because she talked to shadows that weren't there... and all of a sudden, everyone can see him and he's touchy feely? Something was very amiss.

She threatened Tom.

The only friend she ever had that stuck around, didn't screw her over, or try to kill her, had finally crossed that line. Her personal business was her own, and no one interfered. Up until, Tom had been grouped into that category, but now? She could barely look at the man without wanting to empty a few rounds into his head. How could he do that to her? He knew how she felt about Orin, and to tell a blatant lie like that, just to get him away? The world seemed to not make sense anymore.

Everything was out of proportion. Distorted. Like looking through the bottom of a glass, and then turning it like a kaleidoscope. The feeling of utter betrayal she felt when confronted with the knowledge of what he had done.. it outweighed everything bad that had ever happened to her. Almost being raped. Beaten to near death. Shot. Stabbed. All of that paled in comparison to his one folly. Folly.. what a polite, neat term for it. Major fuck up was more like it.

Orin was gone.

She couldn't find him anywhere. Ari was starting to feel like her world had been ripped from underneath her, and no matter how much she tried to brace herself.. she just kept falling. Falling, falling.. like Alice down the rabbit hole. All she needed was for the Dormouse to pop out of a whiskey bottle, and for the Queen to burst through the doors and yell "Off with her head!" At the moment, all of it would make perfect sense. Hell, she'd even volunteer to have her head lopped off. What good was it doing her, attached to her body, anyway?

The day she buried her father, she had boarded the first train back for him. To see him, be near him... just to hear his voice. All of that had been ripped away by the acts of one very selfish, very blind person. She wanted to scream, cry, beat her fists on the ground and wail about how life had done her wrong. But above all of that, she wanted.. Orin. So much that she couldn't eat, sleep, or function like she was supposed to since she couldn't find him.

Giovanni was back.

Oh, yes, he was back, and he was upset. The news of the club's new ownership had reached him very quickly, and he wasted no time in coming to her and letting her know that he wasn't happy. Insults were many. Sarcasm was plenty. She had what he wanted, and he'd kill people to get it back. She offered the club back to him on a silver platter, but yet there were more threats. Ari wasn't naive enough to think that things would be peachy keen whenever he got back, but his level of anger was frightening.

She had even admitted to being scared of him. Why lie about it? He was a very imposing figure with less than honest ways of getting what he wanted. She knew he had killed people before, both because of vendettas, and out of spite. She wasn't "under his protection" anymore, and that was the main reason she was scared out of her wits. Any moment, she expected one of his goons to appear - or hell, even him - and pop a cap through her skull.

The entire world had gone mad.

[cajun_songbird]

February, 1941


The darkened skyline of the city was barely visible from the house she had purchased so many months ago. The only hint that she was near civilization was the faint orange-ish glow on the horizon that was produced by the neon lights of the Quarter. Here, the only sounds to disturb the pristine night were the chirps of cicadas, and the occasional hoot of an owl. The night seemed to have procured another source of light. Candles, forming a complete circle around the figure in the midst of them, flickered and struggled to maintain their grasp on life as the wind tried to assassinate them. Little did Nature know that though She may try, the flames would not be extinguished until she said they were to be; and not a moment before.

Tucking the fabric of her rather full skirt around her knees as she knelt, something was set to the ground before she tilted her face heavenwards - arms lifting in the same direction as if she were giving some sort of unseen offering. The wind suddenly flared to life, though oddly enough, those candles didn't even give the hint of flickering this time. Hair was whipped wildly across her face as she kept it averted towards the stars, and a faint smile curved the corners of her mouth. It had been so long since she had even tried this, she wasn't sure it'd even work.

As her arms lowered, so did the gust of wind, until there was nothing left but a rather small breeze sweeping over the lands; winter's bite seemingly showing no effect the woman in her thin dress and bare feet. A sheet of paper was produced, and without a pause, it was stretched out to the nearest candle. As it caught the flame and began smoldering into little more than ash, it was only released when the fire reached her fingertips. The gnarled, smutty vestiges of paper caught what wind was left and drifted off to God knows where. It knew what it's destination was, even if the one setting it free didn't.

Without giving a second glance towards the scattering ash, her attention was diverted to the box resting amid the high grass at her feet. It had been nearly two weeks since Timothy had given it to her, and not once had the lid been opened. In the protective circle - here in the wilderness that she had spent her childhood - it seemed to be the idyllic time to see what was inside. Giving a shove to the sleeves of her dress, she knelt back down onto the ground, and reached carefully for the object; fingers trailing over the smooth wood almost reverently. What ever was inside, had been her father's, and with certain things brought to light recently, she felt privileged to be allowed inside.

The hoot of an owl close by had her head shooting up, just as she was opening the box, and a smile as old as Eve appeared. "Sir Owl, impart your wisdom upon the things inside," was whispered quietly as her gaze dropped back down, and without hesitation, the lid was opened. The first thing Ari noticed was the musty smell emitting from the interior; as if it hadn't been opened in a very long time. The wood of the box was smooth - almost like silk - which indicated it had been taken care of, but the memories inside were left forgotten. Photographs were scattered inside, various other pictures crafted by a child's hand, and a few other objects rattled about as she lifted it to her lap.

One of the photographs was removed carefully; a finger sliding carefully over the images embossed on the paper. The very young image of Gisselle and Timothy smiled back up at her - the small swell that was her mother's stomach drawing her attention. Setting that one back in the box, a handful of photos were taken up as she rocked back to sit on her heels; each picture studied intently. The memories some of the images brought back were painful - but for the most part, there was a content air around Ari. Family pictures were plentiful; photographic progression from the swell of her mother's pregnant stomach up to an eight year old Arianna. The outline of the house she grew up in was prominent in most of the pictures, and a feeling of homesickness hit her. It had been so long since she'd set foot near that place...

With a sigh, that handful was set down before she reached in for another; the expression on her face turning flat with the next series of photos. The gentlemen fanned out around her father had been forgotten during the passage of time, but suddenly every moment of that time came back to hit her like a sledgehammer. Mickey.. Ralph... Davey.. Only a few of the names came to mind as she gave a once over to each of the men; a certain figure off to the side gaining her attention quite easily. He looked so familiar.. but she couldn't place him... Brows furrowed as she thought; her chin tucking down towards her chest as if to help the brain process.

Setting the picture beside her on the semi-damp grass, she decided to come back to that one later as another photo was removed, and this time, tears welled up in her eyes. It was a picture of two small, very young girls, standing side by side. Neither one looked like they wanted to stand still for the picture, but the smaller of the two was smiling brightly towards the camera. As if she knew this was her moment in time to be remembered, later on. Ari's mouth formed a small O as the name of the girl came to mind, and all she could do was simply stare at the picture. She had been about.. seven when it had been taken, and Lily had been about five. The two had been forced to play together while their fathers 'took care of business' inside the house. Ari was always upset that she couldn't be a part of what was going on, and her frustrations were usually taken out on the little girl.

There was no violence - no, Ari hadn't developed that streak yet - but she had always been bossy. We have to play this, because I said so. We have to do this, because I'm older. And Lily never complained. She'd just smile that sweet smile of hers and happily go along with whatever Ari wanted. Ari had never told the girl that she was her only friend. She didn't have very many growing up - if any - and regardless of that pouting and whining when Timothy said it was 'time to go to town', she always looked forward to seeing Lily.

Ari never knew what happened to her. Timothy had left town, and that had been the end of her visits to the girl's house. Gisselle didn't allow her to go anywhere near that place. "A bad man lives there, Ari. You stay as far away from there as you can, ya hear?" Of course she heard, and of course she obeyed. A mad Gisselle deBurgh was something you did not want. Still holding onto the photo of her and Lilly, she reached down to pick up the other picture to study it; brows still furrowed in concentration.

Then, as if a bolt of lightning had struck her, her head shot up. She remembered the man now, as clear as day. He had been Lily's father; a person that Ari had never particularly care for. He always seemed so .. mean and cold. Except to Lily. It was all smiles and love when it came to Lily..... Bloody hell, why did he look so familiar - other than her memory of who he was - and what the hell was his name?! Just as quickly as recognition had hit, the name came to her out of no where....

...... Michael.

[cajun_songbird]

[ Live play ]


Orin The Jest: It was raining in New Orleans. The wet patter of heavy fat drops echoed through the otherwise nearly silent carnival grounds. The dark drops rolled off the hat and fell toward the sand-dirt pathway. A gloved hand lifted to pull the veil of his mask from his nose and mouth, eyes narrowing at the silent standing structures. The place looked even more decrepit and devoid of life than it ever had, even when it was inhabited it's ever captive owner. It seemed devoid of that spark of old life it had, had when Orin dwelled behind the black and white candy-striped doubled doors. What the hell he was doing here... he wasn't exactly sure. Searching for something perhaps. One can only be curious about another person who's been living in your body for the past however-so-many years. He'd asked Ari all he thought he could get away with asking without seeming too interested or eager to bring it up. There was only so much he was willing to risk if he was to bring up Orin, which he hated to do. He hated the son-of-a-bitch and they'd only crossed paths on various and sporadic occasions. What the hell kind of place was this? What the hell kind of person lived here? Existed here... whatever it was. He had to admit (only to himself) the thought of what kind of person was unnerving... even to him. God only knows what had possessed Ari's fascination with Bizzaro the Insane. Selling this place would bring money but only for the worth of the land this skeleton sat on. Every second that passed as he stared at it (and it seemed to stare back grudgingly) torching it started to sound real nice. Wouldn't be hard...

Lessons Iearned: Of all the nights for it to be raining, it just had to be this one. It was a force of habit to park her car the mile or so away as she usually did, and walk to the Carnival grounds. Unfortunately for her, she didn't bring a hat, so Ari was starting to look like a drowned gutter rat. Or, rather, she had bypassed the starting and gone straight to drowning. Shoulders hunched beneath the flimsy fabric of her jacket; it did little in regard to the weather. Why am I here? The question kept pounding through her head, only there wasn't an actual answer. Just a hope, a prayer, and a fervent wish. With the Quarter gearing up for Mardi Gras ? which was starting up in a week or so ? the noise had been too much. It was quiet out here; always was. The talks with Michael always left her curious, if not dazzled in the sense of why he was asking those things from her. About Orin, no less. It wasn't a fascination with Orin, it wasn't a wonderment of what was going through that head of his. What did she see in him? It was more of a question of what she didn't see in him. Tucking her chin down towards her chest, the coat was pulled even more firmly around her as the entry way came up. Ducking the wire seemed second nature, as did wandering up that path. It was slow in coming to realize she wasn't alone in her wandering towards the Carnival, but there wasn't any hope that it was who she wanted.

Orin The Jest: He'd removed one of the black gloves from a grim and austere looking hand, as white as ivory. It was held out beneath the moonlight (what of it could reach through the clumpy cloud cover). He rotated it around and dim emeralds roamed it's surface as if he could hardly come to grips that it was his hand. It wasn't. And the flicker of that red light which had so long gone unspoken of itself on the outer wall of the funhouse, let him know it. The angry color strobed the white flesh until those sharp eyes were raised at it with a glare. That's it ... this place had to go. Maybe then he'd be rid of the insanity. he'd be rid of this demon. he could talk some sense into Ari. Sense which had been chased away from her... That's what Tim would want him to do. At least that's what he kept telling himself. His glance turned back down to his hand white as sin. He could remember bits and pieces of how it happened...but not the end. One second you're lying in the grass having a happy bleed to death... and the next- you're in someone's house. Dying in a- his foot scuffed the gravel as he whirled around to face the path he'd taken. well...actually...he faced his newly arrived company. The hand was quickly pulled back and tucked into it's glove. "...following me?"

Lessons Iearned: His thought pattern had lovely irony. For how many months was it, that he had helped chase away what sense she thought she had, and now he wanted to save her? Everyone was always trying to save her, without asking .. her input. Mere thought it best that Timothy left. Liza thought it best that she get rid of her baby. Gio thought it best to get rid of everybody that looked her way. Tom thought it best that Orin left. Sensing a pattern here? And now, it was dear old Michael's turn. A shame that he had to be the last in line. Using the sleeve of her jacket to wipe away the rain from her face, eyes half squinted in the gloom to try and make out his figure. "Perhaps. Trying to see how the other half lives?" returned caustically, her head tilting to the side as she paused a few feet away from him.

Orin The Jest: He watched her after that question. She hadn't expected an answer, he knew that. Just like he had expected something like that from her. Some sort of comment to let him know he was guilty of doing her this great wrong. For a moment he thought it best to not speak, then he opted for being snide. "If you can call it living. What about you?" he asked in that "attack" mode he pulled whenever something made him uncomfortable between the two of them. "...think you'll find him here again?" Battle mode. How else could he deal with it. She was always going to be looking for him. She as always going to keep returning to this looney bin. Even if he did burn it down...he could see her paying homage to it like some sort of grave. Still... seeing it all in flames on the horizon still sounded good to him. He hated this place and this was really only his second visit.

Lessons Iearned: Of course she didn't expect an answer. It was a routine that was becoming a bit too 'regular' for her tastes. She asked questions, he avoided them. Sarcasm was traded. If she hadn't know what she did, it might've been amusing but at the moment, the only thing Ari was finding funny was the fact that they were in this situation. It was that macabre type of humour that only someone who understood misery and failure, could appreciate. "He is here," was said as her eyes left him to travel over the land. He may have wanted to burn it down, but it'd happen over her dead body. She had all night with nothing to do, and he didn't have all day. "But I can always hope that he gets out." Smiling rather vacantly, steps picked up as she moved to bypass him, and wander over towards the carousel. Another bit of irony for you, there.

Orin The Jest: He was never one who was used to the sting of words. How much can a five year old say that can break your heart when you're her world? Little girls grow up though ...and boy had Ari grown up. She grew into a tongue that was a knife. If "he is here" hadn't been enough of a slap ...her implying that she was keeping the miserable loon a prisoner or something. "You think he wants to come back? Don't you think he would have by now?" Every inch she bypassed him was another raise of the temper meter. A gloved hand shot out to roughly turn her to face him and hold her there. "You think I keep him "in"? ..You think the fucked up son-of-a-bitch ever gave a damn about anything other than his playing cards?" Eyes were fierce with hatred for this other entity. "Where was he the night you got this?" A forceful but not a violent tilt of her head in order to point out the scar on her throat.

Lessons Iearned: If her words stung, it was simply because the truth hurt? Ari hadn't grown into anything; she merely turned into what she had to be, to survive. That's what it was all about, anyway, wasn't it? Survival of the fittest and all that bullshit. Instead of trying to yank her arm away from him when it was grabbed, the heels of her shoes slid a bit in the muddy sludge the land had turned into with the ran as she came to the halt he wanted her to. "What I think is that he does want to come back, but he's being forced down like some kind of fucking bad memory that you don't want to deal with." The odd science behind why Michael was in the forefront and Orin was in the backseat was still hazy but like Mike said. She was a smart girl, at times. She knew some of how Orin was; some of the things he couldn't handle. The way he had made her promise to come back to him .. nobody could tell her that he didn't want to be there with her. Call it a self-inflated ego, or just call it common perception. When her chin was lifted to expose the still slightly puckered ? though finally starting to fade away ? mark on her throat, teeth gritted together in an effort not to spit out some smart ass remark. Let's see how he liked the truth of it. "Because he couldn't be there, that's why. Because he was in a fucking ditch that I had to put him in AFTER somebody plugged him 12 times." Still not jerking away, one of her hands lifted enough to wrap firmly around the wrist of the hand holding her head. "Let me shoot you that many times and see how well you can get up."

Orin The Jest: A pause as he glared down at her. Funny... he had Orin's features, his face, and his hair but you could tell at a glance it wasn't him. Different people held themselves differently but with Michael... it was even in his eyes. You might have said they could have been brothers but not even twins. I guess it shows different Souls inhabit the body differently. But besides that, Ari, at the moment was pushing all the wrong buttons, or maybe all the right ones...depending on the response she was looking for. Anger was boiling but it wasn't enough to spill over. He gave her a light but rough backward shove while releasing her wrist back to her. She might as well have shot him twelve times. Fine... if she was going to go that route. Fine. If she thought some sob story of something she shared with ole-whack-de-loon was going to move him.... Silence. "You don't even hold a gun right."

Lessons Iearned: It wasn't a sob story for pity. It was simply the truth. When he released her arm so roughly - followed by the light shove - it didn't take much for her to lose her footing again. After all, she had just slipped, and that was when being pulled to a stop. In a moment of absolute, stunning grace, she fell to the ground, rear first. Hands were planted on either side of her in the muck to help prop herself up, but she didn't make a move to stand. No, his last little comment -- oddly enough -- struck a nerve. "Want to find out?" was bit out, tears of nothing more than remorse filling her eyes. The way things were going, she wasn't ever going to see Orin again, and in that moment, she damned Michael to hell for the second ( if not more? ) time. "I don't care if all he cares about are those stupid cards that don't make sense, because I love him." A hand slipping in the mud, a sound of frustration was made before she slapped her hands down more firmly. Under other circumstances, you'd think she was patting out mud pies.

Orin The Jest: He hadn't meant to put her on the ground but as long as she was down there he might as well make it look like he had. He felt better about it with her down there, but it was only because he felt worse. She'll accept the nut-job who could do no better than put a hole in his head...but reject him. This whole fucking place made no sense. Did he want to find out? "Try it... we'll exchange a few and see which one of us walks away..." Tear her apart. She'll give in if you intimidate her enough. She'll back down... she'll- "Love him?" Disbelief.he honestly hadn't heard her right because he was too busy threatening her.

Lessons Iearned: If this night got any better, she'd go toss herself into the nearest lake. Not only had she been soaked to the core because of some stupid idea to walk there, but now she semi - looked like a mud monster. A rueful glance was given down to the white - or what had been white - shirt now half brown / half black with mud, and a curse left her. Something along the lines of `'motherfuckdamnitalltohellinafuckinghandbasket'. She was creative. "If I had a gun on me, I'd sure as hell try, you .. you... " For someone that had been inventive a moment ago, she was coming up at a loss for what to call him. Tears were clogging her throat, her hands felt icky with the squishy mud, and she .. wanted.. a.. cigarette. "And yes, love him. I didn't stutter." Heave - ho -lift, and she was using the ground as leverage to push herself up to her feet at last. A bit dirty, a bit weepy, but none the worse for wear.

Orin The Jest: "You're nuts." Gun drawn from somewhere within that coat of his. It was brandished clear out in the open, held at arms length and aimed for her head. Can't have 'er bub. What are you gonna do now? Pause like that. Taking your time like this. "..I should be so generous to do this favor for you." He muttered with a snide growl which was deep, it was just enough to cover the voice he couldn't find for the words. Difficult. Had aiming a gun at someone's head ever been so fucking trying? He'd never seen her cry... but something was telling him neither had anybody else... put her out of her misery. Add one more to the list. Might as well... what's stopping you?

Lessons Iearned: They'd done this before in another life... Except it had been Orin pointing the gun at her. Couldn't remember the details right offhand; she was too busy staring at the gun leveled at her. Using the back of her hand to wipe beneath one of her eyes, she was almost oblivious to the fact that she was further enhancing the Mud Pie Ari persona. "I very well might be," agreement met his words almost solemnly, her voice coming out more choked than she cared for it to be. "And if you want to," still spoken in that voice that didn't seem quite like her as she walked forward towards him, ".. go ahead, because I'd rather not be here, if he's not going to be here either." De'ja vu. It was so strong at the moment. Walking right on up to him until the gun barrel was less than an inch from her head, she only stopped then; eyes that were still a bit watery staring blankly - almost dead like already - at him.

Orin The Jest: The gun in his hand was a quaking mess...that is until her brow was there to steady it for him. He wouldn't look her in the eye. His eyes, his focus was where the barrel of the gun met with her forehead. He didn't want to... he didn't want to take either... but he really didn't want to take this one. She wanted him here that fucking much... Fuck her. Fuck him. Fuck the both of them... "One night," was all he found himself saying. His gaze remained pinpointed at that spot where the gun's mouth nestled against her. "Just promise me one night." He didn't want questions. He didn't want long answers, he didn't want explanations. He wanted a yes. "Yes or no." He couldn't have pulled the trigger now even if he thought he could...but it was more likely that he'd get a yes if he kept it there. "Yes or no!" Impatient aren't we? The question was a hard one to ask... the less he had to dwell in it's open window the better.

Lessons Iearned: For a brief moment - while he was having the mental debate with himself - Ari wondered what it'd be like to die. To just close your eyes, and never have to wake up. Was there really a Heaven or a Hell? A God and a Devil? Or was it just a blank void of blackness. Of nothingness. The more she thought on it, the more she realized that she was living in that nothingness. So it didn't matter. If he wanted to shoot, he could. If he wanted her dead, all he ha-- "What?" One night... what was he talking about? Snap out of it, Ari. The second rather impatient question of yes or no made her jump; the cool feel of the metal pressing just a bit closer to home with the movement. Fuck it. Fuck him. "..yes." The word was barely audible. "Yes," replied in an even more firm of tone, though at the moment, she could've been agreeing to her own execution and not have known it.

Orin The Jest: The gloved hand opened as if her answer had released him from holding her hostage. The gun fell heavy like lead only to imprint itself sloppily in the soppy mud. He looked down on her finally then. One night it was then. That's all he needed. That's all that was left for him here besides a little unfinished business. A dark liquid threatened to spill from his eyes. He closed them. It fell warm like liquid back metal tracing it's pattern slowly downward in the wake of it's path. The blood was like black ink in the low light and overhang of the clouds. The thick liquid made it's Harlequin pattern against the stark white line of each cheekbone. The knit in his brow left him and the emeralds re-focused on her. " ...." What a sight to wake up on. Not only was it raining but here before him was Mad Mud Pie Ari herself. He had the distinct feeling he'd just been talking to her. ...what the hell had he just said. Holy fries Batman... was she crying? He was hoping against hope he hadn't lapsed into some nutsoid comment he had no conscious control over. Open mouth insert foot-kind. "... Ari? ... why are you crying?" And why've you been rolling around in the mud. One question at a time. Who knows...maybe he was lucky and this was some kinda kinky sex role play. He tucked a hand behind his back and crossed his fingers.

Lessons Iearned: God only knows what she had just agreed to. One night. Then again, she didn't want to know. Yes, Mad Mud Pie Ari looked like something that had crawled out of the Black Lagoon at the moment; hair stringy and plastered to her head, mud streaking every available body part, as well as the majority of her clothes... When the gun dropped to the ground, her eyes followed it as if it was moving in slow motion. Her name.... his brow was unknitting, but hers was in the process of knitting when she finally comprehended someone was saying her name. Glancing up with a startled movement, the realization that it wasn't just someone.... Muddy or not, crying or not, wanted or not, her next movement couldn't have been stopped with a net, a tranquilizer dart, and a bullet, all put together. The rather short distance was closed in a matter of nanoseconds as she threw her arms around his neck and began sobbing like a little kid that had just found out there really was a Santa Claus, after having been told he never existed.

Orin The Jest: Blink. With the unexpected lunge he was jarred down slightly due to their distinct height differences. Arms flailed slightly with his obliviousness to everything and it only took another nanosecond on his part to enfold his arms around her. He pulled her in with a tug, not remembering right away the circumstances of their being apart... but just the feeling that they had....for quite a while. When you wake up it's seldom you remember what you dreamed last... it can take a few moments or even an hour before it dawns on you. Right now, holding Ari was the most important thing he'd ever done. He'd never held her while she cried, hell.. he'd never seen he cry let alone sob. He didn't understand at the moment...but then again it didn't matter. True...they were both covered in mud now as a result of the Mud Pie Ari/ Wack-de-loon reunion. That meant that they'd just have to get out of these dirty clothes later right? He liked his way of thinking.

<font color="#95542E" size="1">[ May 31, 2006 01:11 AM: Message edited by: vintage faith ]</font>

[cajun_songbird]

<center>

They say the Queen of Hearts,
don't play fair,
they say she cheats at will.
The stakes are high,
and though you try,
you can't quite fit the bill.
Of all the cards,
close to her heart,
the King's not the one you'd think.
The Joker smiling and beguiling
can cause her heart to sink.
From Deuce to Ace,
the cards are dealt.
One wrong move,
a bullet's felt.
The Queen wants to murder time,
the Hatter says it's two days wrong.
Off with their heads,
in a loud tone of voice,
is always her same old song</center>

( poem copyright of the mun )