The Town That Never Sleeps
WHO(?): Raivis (?) and Peter
WHERE(?): Quiet Mound, a sleepy little town outside of Liberty, in the foothills of the _____ mountains in____, _____.
WHEN(?): Friday October 8 to Sunday, October 10 (?)
WHAT(?): It was meant to be an escape. The truth however, cannot stay hidden in the fog.
It was the fifteenth time hearing that song.
The fifteenth time they had heard a man belt the line 'Don't go around tonight, well it's bound to take your life' and Raivis could take no more of the radio station from Hell with its one hit wonder and the perpetual static. The rental car refused to give them anything else. The local stations were, apparently, adamant on haunting, mis-fortunate melodies seemingly designed to drive any potential tourist back the way they'd come and if that was how they wanted to play (which was a horrific economic tactic for such a small town), then the damn thing would just have to be shut off mid-warble. He couldn't understand how Peter was perfectly content despite such a maddening development, it made him marvel at the sheer force of will his partner possessed to be able to shut out almost anything unfavorable. Driving from the airport had been normal enough. Pleasant enough. There had been at least three points on the dial that crooned to them on their long, endless drive toward the mountains. Love ballads, happy songs. Classical piano concertos during which Peter got bored and demanded it be changed, talking loudly, always talking.
He'd loved the sound of his husband's voice chattering over the increasingly stilted music, he really had.
Too much. Far too much.
Three hours in a pressure controlled cabin thousands of feet off the ground and the close contact made him twitch. He'd wanted to rest his head on Peter's shoulder but couldn't- an old woman who looked startlingly similar to his vecmate had been beside them, watching. He wanted so much more than the prerequisite kiss 'hello' when they'd met up outside of Raivis's apartment. Wanted more than anything to be alone with the man he'd married. Even if they would only fall asleep with their limbs a tangled mess, everything perfectly innocent, he could be contented. That's what he told himself. That's what had to true.
Not what the world wanted for them, he guessed. When they weren't strapped to their seats in a crowded plane they were strapped to their seats in a lonely car on a lonely road that served to amplify Raivis's sense of isolation and desperation. He'd tried to listen to Peter reading off the brochures or attempt to tell him about something involving being unnecessarily nice to Russians, but focusing too much on that made his hands spasm around the wheel. It was while attempting to tune 'stop working for that eejit' out that he'd abruptly realized they'd listened to 'there's a bad moon on the rise' more than any sane man ever should have and there he was now, full circle, back to figuring out how to calm down with the radio no longer an option. The GPS's automated voice program had never been one since they'd shut it off the moment they got in the rental.
Raivis smiled at Peter, he kept conversation when he could. But their journey out to the Smoky Wood Resort was steadily, insidiously grating. Being trapped with Peter, although in some ways frustrating, was wonderful. Being trapped with himself, however, made Raivis want to cry. Or, preferably, speed twenty miles over the posted limit because no one was watching.
And oh, he would have if the fog hadn't started to roll in. Evening had begun to descend, each kilometer they passed was made further into denser whiteness. A miasma of swirling mist thickening and thickening until they had slowed to a crawl and Raivis, finally seeing the faint outline of a sign declaring 'Welcome to Qu...M...' decided to honor his vecmate's advice and pray.
"Peter?"
The windows he rolled up entirely. The fog lights jammed on. "I..." He didn't want to say it, but- "...think we might have to take a detour... I-it's getting late and the fog's- it's really bad."
WHERE(?): Quiet Mound, a sleepy little town outside of Liberty, in the foothills of the _____ mountains in____, _____.
WHEN(?): Friday October 8 to Sunday, October 10 (?)
WHAT(?): It was meant to be an escape. The truth however, cannot stay hidden in the fog.
It was the fifteenth time hearing that song.
The fifteenth time they had heard a man belt the line 'Don't go around tonight, well it's bound to take your life' and Raivis could take no more of the radio station from Hell with its one hit wonder and the perpetual static. The rental car refused to give them anything else. The local stations were, apparently, adamant on haunting, mis-fortunate melodies seemingly designed to drive any potential tourist back the way they'd come and if that was how they wanted to play (which was a horrific economic tactic for such a small town), then the damn thing would just have to be shut off mid-warble. He couldn't understand how Peter was perfectly content despite such a maddening development, it made him marvel at the sheer force of will his partner possessed to be able to shut out almost anything unfavorable. Driving from the airport had been normal enough. Pleasant enough. There had been at least three points on the dial that crooned to them on their long, endless drive toward the mountains. Love ballads, happy songs. Classical piano concertos during which Peter got bored and demanded it be changed, talking loudly, always talking.
He'd loved the sound of his husband's voice chattering over the increasingly stilted music, he really had.
Too much. Far too much.
Three hours in a pressure controlled cabin thousands of feet off the ground and the close contact made him twitch. He'd wanted to rest his head on Peter's shoulder but couldn't- an old woman who looked startlingly similar to his vecmate had been beside them, watching. He wanted so much more than the prerequisite kiss 'hello' when they'd met up outside of Raivis's apartment. Wanted more than anything to be alone with the man he'd married. Even if they would only fall asleep with their limbs a tangled mess, everything perfectly innocent, he could be contented. That's what he told himself. That's what had to true.
Not what the world wanted for them, he guessed. When they weren't strapped to their seats in a crowded plane they were strapped to their seats in a lonely car on a lonely road that served to amplify Raivis's sense of isolation and desperation. He'd tried to listen to Peter reading off the brochures or attempt to tell him about something involving being unnecessarily nice to Russians, but focusing too much on that made his hands spasm around the wheel. It was while attempting to tune 'stop working for that eejit' out that he'd abruptly realized they'd listened to 'there's a bad moon on the rise' more than any sane man ever should have and there he was now, full circle, back to figuring out how to calm down with the radio no longer an option. The GPS's automated voice program had never been one since they'd shut it off the moment they got in the rental.
Raivis smiled at Peter, he kept conversation when he could. But their journey out to the Smoky Wood Resort was steadily, insidiously grating. Being trapped with Peter, although in some ways frustrating, was wonderful. Being trapped with himself, however, made Raivis want to cry. Or, preferably, speed twenty miles over the posted limit because no one was watching.
And oh, he would have if the fog hadn't started to roll in. Evening had begun to descend, each kilometer they passed was made further into denser whiteness. A miasma of swirling mist thickening and thickening until they had slowed to a crawl and Raivis, finally seeing the faint outline of a sign declaring 'Welcome to Qu...M...' decided to honor his vecmate's advice and pray.
"Peter?"
The windows he rolled up entirely. The fog lights jammed on. "I..." He didn't want to say it, but- "...think we might have to take a detour... I-it's getting late and the fog's- it's really bad."