Shed Your Skin / Begin Again
::Schu's eyes look a bit dazed, and he has a gauze pad taped to the side of his neck.::
Farfarello returned. My Farfarello. Or kind of not really my Farfarello, never has been.
I should watch what I wish for.
He tracked us down. Turns out he'd been living in some backwoods area of northern Ireland and had a five-year-old son who'd gotten run over and killed by a hit-and-run driver about two weeks ago. Farf tracked the man down and killed him slowly, painfully... and rather stupidly, because he had to run from the cops over it. Getting too emotional about a hit can do that, especially when you don't have teammates watching your back. His kind-of wife Sally blew up about the whole thing, they fought, and he killed her in his rage. Once his berserk cleared, he freaked the hell out.
After years of not bothering to send so much as a word to us, he showed up at our flat looking for us to fix things for him. Brad was trying to set up a pay system for disappearing the little indiscretion with the police near Sligo, probably involving Farf doing some jobs for us. Me, I fumed... then was assigned hospitality hostess duty to our splintered and staticky bundle of rage and grief.
Sally had let him kill a little now and then but prior to the past two weeks he hadn't wallowed in mass bloody murder for quite some time. I found a slum area in London and let him go, watching his back and doing some cleanup all the while. All part of the walking-the-Farf duties I used to have. He invited me to join in with him as I sometimes did before but I refused and held my mind and self back. No way I intended to get drawn into him while he was like this or while I was angry at him.
Eventually he realized that and asked what the fuck was wrong with me. I actually went Animal Kingdom on his ass and said something about how he had been a wolf but then found a dog bitch and abandoned his pack to try to be domesticated, but when that utterly failed he came back to us to clean up his mess. More amused than annoyed, he asked me what I was, and I said I was a coyote.
He'd said that Schwarz's members had always used each other, so why should that change now? I could just vaguely hear his mind wondering whether he should rejoin us or go his own way.
He actually thought he'd share my bed, the arrogant fucker. He'd never spent the entire night in my bed before, and he sure as hell wasn't now. I told him he could sleep on the living room couch and be thankful I didn't put a rope around his neck and tie him to a post in the yard.
I woke up pressed against his morning wood, with one of his hands down the front of my silk pajama bottoms toying with me and the other under my Henley over my stomach, toying with my navel piercing. (cursed_bird, I knew the difference immediately.) I yelled, and he claimed that when he opened the door to my bedroom last night I told him to get in bed with me, as if anything I say while at least half-asleep means anything. (I read that he actually had missed me over the years.) He bit the side of my neck and said that I always liked it eventually. I told him that I may be a slut and like the stimulation, but there's no damned way I'm going to be his rebound fuck and plush toy. I refused to be used like that, and there was no way I wanted to be this close to his mind when he's even more of a mess than he used to be.
Brad came in with his gun drawn to break up our throwdown before we got to inflict more than a few bruises on each other and told me to get out for a while. I hope he schools Farf's ass.
I don't know what I hope.
Farfarello returned. My Farfarello. Or kind of not really my Farfarello, never has been.
I should watch what I wish for.
He tracked us down. Turns out he'd been living in some backwoods area of northern Ireland and had a five-year-old son who'd gotten run over and killed by a hit-and-run driver about two weeks ago. Farf tracked the man down and killed him slowly, painfully... and rather stupidly, because he had to run from the cops over it. Getting too emotional about a hit can do that, especially when you don't have teammates watching your back. His kind-of wife Sally blew up about the whole thing, they fought, and he killed her in his rage. Once his berserk cleared, he freaked the hell out.
After years of not bothering to send so much as a word to us, he showed up at our flat looking for us to fix things for him. Brad was trying to set up a pay system for disappearing the little indiscretion with the police near Sligo, probably involving Farf doing some jobs for us. Me, I fumed... then was assigned hospitality hostess duty to our splintered and staticky bundle of rage and grief.
Sally had let him kill a little now and then but prior to the past two weeks he hadn't wallowed in mass bloody murder for quite some time. I found a slum area in London and let him go, watching his back and doing some cleanup all the while. All part of the walking-the-Farf duties I used to have. He invited me to join in with him as I sometimes did before but I refused and held my mind and self back. No way I intended to get drawn into him while he was like this or while I was angry at him.
Eventually he realized that and asked what the fuck was wrong with me. I actually went Animal Kingdom on his ass and said something about how he had been a wolf but then found a dog bitch and abandoned his pack to try to be domesticated, but when that utterly failed he came back to us to clean up his mess. More amused than annoyed, he asked me what I was, and I said I was a coyote.
He'd said that Schwarz's members had always used each other, so why should that change now? I could just vaguely hear his mind wondering whether he should rejoin us or go his own way.
He actually thought he'd share my bed, the arrogant fucker. He'd never spent the entire night in my bed before, and he sure as hell wasn't now. I told him he could sleep on the living room couch and be thankful I didn't put a rope around his neck and tie him to a post in the yard.
I woke up pressed against his morning wood, with one of his hands down the front of my silk pajama bottoms toying with me and the other under my Henley over my stomach, toying with my navel piercing. (cursed_bird, I knew the difference immediately.) I yelled, and he claimed that when he opened the door to my bedroom last night I told him to get in bed with me, as if anything I say while at least half-asleep means anything. (I read that he actually had missed me over the years.) He bit the side of my neck and said that I always liked it eventually. I told him that I may be a slut and like the stimulation, but there's no damned way I'm going to be his rebound fuck and plush toy. I refused to be used like that, and there was no way I wanted to be this close to his mind when he's even more of a mess than he used to be.
Brad came in with his gun drawn to break up our throwdown before we got to inflict more than a few bruises on each other and told me to get out for a while. I hope he schools Farf's ass.
I don't know what I hope.