Fire Sale (all fic must go)
I can't sign up for any challenges other than yuletide . This is for my sanity. BUT. wingsmith is trying to make sure I write something every week, as this will help with the not!crazy. So, ficlets are on offer for those who fancy something. No real fandom preference, so try your luck with anything I've written before, or any new fandom you'd like me to have a go
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Blind Faith
Jane ain't been to church any place like for a fair few years now. She don't see the occasion for it and will put in his place any man that sees it different. Bill and Charlie'd agree with her if she ever asked them, not that she would, mind you, 'cause she don't need no man's permission for not likin' that sorta thing, but supposin' she did, they'd agree. And if Bill's opinion is enough for her on some matters, well, havin' Charlie agree would just about clinch the deal.
Not that she'd ask, o'course.
And it ain't 'cause she don't feel clean enough for it, or cocksucking bullshit like that. Them whore over from that limey bastard's place like the good Reverend well enough to traipse on over it between fuckings, and it's not like they're kept clean, now, is it? Likely Jane is a lot cleaner in the eyes of the Lord, should the bastard care to look, than those dozy-headed cows.
Thing is, Jane never had no need for church, not since she was a girl and church failed her just like every other fucking thing. And who cares who's in charge, anyhows, whether it's a Reverend or a whoremonger or bent sheriff; bastards are all fucking cocksuckers out to fuck with her.
Not Bill, though, and not Charlie, either, though she'd rather bite off her own hand than say that out loud. She don't need no communion bread or watered-down wine to have faith in them, and no protection from all them other cocksuckers that don't come from her own guns. Jane ain't no little slip of a girl anymore, not like that poor waif still kept huddled in the rich widow's arms, sweet and helpless and just waiting to be fucked over, if anyone could reach her for long enough. No, Jane'll do right by her, like Bill did for her, and Charlie, though she'll never the bastard that, and will deny it if he asks.
Save Bill (and Charlie, but he ain't to hear it from her), Jane don't need nobody but herself. She ain't no little girl no more.
"I didn't see the service," Charlie says softly, later. "I wouldn't have left if I'd known, Jane, don't look at me like that. I wouldn't have left. And I didn't see the service, I wasn't there, I found out from Bullock and a bunch of bastards down Chayanne way."
Jane wants to punish him for that, for trying to excuse what he did, even though he didn't do nothing. What would he have done, anyhows, if he'd been there? Jane had been there, and she hadn't saved him. She wasn't no little girl no more, and she'd that limey bastard past her to the sweeping girl, and she'd let the coward Jack past her to Bill.
"It were a right lovely service," she said finally. "You'd'ave been proud of it, Charlie. That Reverend knows his stuff, and everyone there, paying their respects and weepin' and wailin' and carryin' on. It were right lovely."
Charlie's hand is tentative on her sleeve. "Tell me about it," he said.
And Jane takes a deep breath.
*
fin
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