All Hail the Shifter King
Title: A Ticket to Ancol Harbour, Part 1
Word Count: 2492
Note: To keep me from getting burned out on my Lords of Kensington "short story" (hahahaha) I decided to write another short focusing on Azrin's backstory (the lovable, hyper-chatting minor character in LoK).
“AARON!” Joshua Banner charged through the back door of the small house, his hulking body leaving a trail of water, mud, and a sludge-like material that smelled oddly like dog feces across the kitchen floor. “YOU ARE DEAD, YOU LITTLE SHIT!”
“I told you!” came the voice of the thin teenager who raced ahead of Joshua, sprinting up the stairs to the second floor. “I told you that if you tried to take my car again -“
“You don’t even know how to drive!” Joshua roared. “What good is a fucking car to you?!”
“It’s the principle!” Aaron yelled, now barricaded behind the safety of his bedroom door, listening to his brother as he stomped up the stairs. “You can’t take it just because you’re older! Gramps gave me the car -“ The door rattled from the impact of Joshua’s body, and Aaron jumped back, eyes darting nervously around the room. “Okay, clearly we’re both a little worked up right now,” he said in a calming voice, “so why don’t we -“
“Open the fucking door, Aaron!”
“Are you out of your tiny Neanderthal brain?” Aaron asked, incredulous. “What next, you’re going to tell me to climb into the tiger pit at the zoo? Or maybe bathe in blood and go hang out with some sharks in the -“ He took another step back as the door rattled again, and this time a long crack exploded up the length of the doorframe. “Holy shit, okay, Josh, seriously, I’m really sorry about the bucket of dog shit and I know you’re probably a little pissed off -“
“A little?! I’m going to fucking murder you!”
“Okay, okay a lot pissed off, but come on, this isn’t anywhere near as bad as some of the stuff I did before. I mean, what about that time I stuffed your pillow with raw beef, or, or hey, that time that -“
The door exploded inward, long shards of wood flying off as the frame cracked apart, and all two hundred and thirty pounds of angry, filth-covered Joshua came raging into the room. Aaron jumped on his bed and bounced onto the top of his desk, running across it and kicking aside pages of scribbled homework and a dog-eared copy of Stranger in a Strange Land before vaulting his bookcase and bolting through his doorway. He’d just made it to the top of the stairs when Joshua’s hand fell on the back of his shirt, snagging in his collar and yanking him backward - he barely had time for a yelp before he hit the hardwood floor with Joshua’s meaty hand still tangled in his clothing, his desperate twisting to free himself coming to an abrupt end when his brother’s fist landed solidly on his unprotected face.
His body went weak against his will, his head swimming as Joshua punched him in the stomach for good measure, then dropped him to the floor and stepped over him, heading for the shower with a stream of profanity trailing behind him. It wasn’t until he heard the water start that he pushed himself off the floor with a moan, gingerly touching the swath of tender, reddening skin across his cheekbone. Not bleeding, but definitely swelling enough that it would look absolutely grotesque later whether he liked it or not. Holding his face with one hand and wrapping his arm around his aching stomach, he stumbled down the stairs and into the kitchen, pulling a tray of ice from the freezer and dumping half of the cubes into a Ziploc bag. Wrapping the bag in a dishcloth, he held it to his cheek as he walked outside in his bare feet, the afternoon sun beating off his shoulders as he headed to the detached garage.
The car sat like a magnificent, hibernating creature in the dust-thick air, the sleek lines and perfect hand-painted racing stripes a glorious red and white respectively in the light that filtered through the grime-coated windows. Joshua had pulled the cloth tarp away, so Aaron set to work tugging the heavy material back into place with one hand, his face throbbing from the exertion. Once that was done, he righted the bucket he’d rigged to dump on Joshua the moment he pulled the keys from the garage lockbox - it took some effort to find the keys, too, since they’d fallen behind a dusty workbench and he thought for a heartstopping moment that Joshua still had them - and dragged out the garden hose to wash away the pool of slop that had gathered on the garage floor.
He couldn’t hear the water running anymore when he leaned through the kitchen door, so he decided it best to stay outside for a while in hopes of avoiding any further wrath from his brother - settling onto one of the rickety lawn chairs, he propped his elbow on his knee and rested his head against the makeshift ice pack, staring blankly at the sun-parched and weed-riddled lawn that spread out before him like a tattered, unloved blanket.
When he thought about it, he had known that his little stunt would invoke Joshua’s wrath. His brother was nothing if not violently short-tempered. With most anything else Aaron would probably have just let it slide - Joshua was constantly taking things from him, be it DVDs or his gaming consoles or even his private stash of money that he kept moving to different places in his room in an attempt to keep it hidden (and all of which his brother eventually found). But when it came to the car, a stunning blood-red 1967 Shelby Mustang, his possessiveness was borderline obsession. Maybe it was the fact that it was the one thing, the only thing, his grandfather had left him when he passed years ago. Or maybe it was the fact that the car was the only remaining physical proof that life had, in fact, been better at some point.
He could remember it if he thought on it hard enough. Life in the big house overlooking the lake they shared only with their neighbors, back when his parents were alive and Joshua was the super-cool high school brother that would sneak Aaron out of elementary school and take him to see R-rated movies, ones full of gunfights and samurais and the occasional bare breast that would leave Aaron giggling hysterically. Back then, Uncle Jagger was just the embarrassing drunkard they saw at the Coronation Week family dinners, slumping sideways in his chair, half-asleep with the reek of gin on his breath. At one point he’d been a decorated pilot, Aaron’s father claimed, brave and patriotic - he’d always had a tendency to see the best in people, Aaron’s father, even when it came to a washed up alcoholic like Uncle Jagger. Maybe that was why he’d always said that, should anything happen to him, he wanted Jagger to care for his sons.
Nobody had ever believed, of course, that anything would happen to him. Much less to him and his wife at the same time. Aaron had always thought there was something sickeningly hilarious about being put in Jagger's after his parents were killed by a drunk driver, but he’d never shared that bit of black humor.
So here he was, six years later, set to graduate from high school in just a few weeks, living under the constant threat of his brother’s fists and the stale stench of alcohol that blanketed every bit of furniture in Jagger’s creaking house. It was a tense, miserable existence, one he tried to stave off with a wild imagination and enough extracurricular activities to keep him out of the house most evenings during the week, but weekends were for cleaning up after the two slobs he lived with and left him in close proximity to them.
Sighing, he looked over at the garage. Driving couldn’t be that hard. His brother hadn’t managed to steal all of his money for months… maybe it was enough to start over? How much was enough? It wasn’t the first time he’d thought about running away, but maybe this time he -
“Looks like you’ve had a rough day,” said a quiet voice beside him. Aaron jumped, startled from his thoughts by the voice and the sound of the dilapidated gate closing - he looked up to find Joshua’s friend, Benjamin, standing next to him, his ever-present leather messenger bag slung over his shoulders, an odd contrast to his fitted t-shirt and cargo shorts.
“Oh, hey Benny,” he said, turning his attention back to the bleak and dying lawn.
“Piss Josh off again?” He dropped comfortably into the chair beside Aaron, basking for a moment in the sunlight that streamed down on the patio.
“The usual,” Aaron replied.
“Let me guess, the car?”
“Yep.”
“You show him who’s boss?”
“For about three minutes.” He heard Benjamin chuckle at this, and a smile touched his own lips.
It was easy to like Benjamin, and impossible to understand why he’d befriended a raging psychotic like Joshua. Some people would use the term “polar opposites” but in Aaron’s opinion it didn’t even come close to describing how different the two men were. Benjamin was an old soul - that in itself a phrase that Aaron had heard many times from his grandmother before she passed, and never quite understood until he spent a few minutes talking to young man. He was quiet and gentle, calm even around Joshua’s tempers, and had an aura of wisdom about him that seemed to draw from an impossible amount of experience, lifetimes, even. Though Joshua spent every minute of his time away from the house in Benjamin’s company, they never quite seemed like friends - more like teenagers in high school forced to collaborate on a project together.
With Aaron, however, Benjamin wasn’t just civil, he was friendly - something Aaron had never experienced from any of Joshua’s friends as he was growing up. Even still, after three years, he always expected Benjamin to just stop talking to him - and every time he came over, he took it upon himself to spend time chatting with Aaron, checking in, seeing how he was doing.
“Well, the Gods do admire tenacity,” Benjamin observed, one of his usual frashe.
“Wish They admired it enough to get me out of here,” Aaron muttered before he realized what he was saying - a common trait, really - and with a wince he glanced sidelong at Benjamin with an apologetic expression. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m a bit cranky.”
“Mmm,” Benjamin mused, watching him seriously for a moment before tilting his face up to the sun again. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you down before.”
“I try not to be.”
“Just hard to keep smiling, today?”
“Hard to keep smiling every day,” Aaron corrected, then sighed and shook his head. “Sorry,” he said again. “You can just ignore me, I’m -“
“Would you take an out, if you were given it?”
Aaron blinked, not sure if he’d heard Benjamin correctly.
“What?”
“I’m not going to be coming by anymore after today,” Benjamin told him, reaching into his bag and removing a letter-sized yellow envelope. “My dealings with Joshua are done.”
“Dealings?” Aaron asked, confused.
“I was supposed to give him this,” Benjamin continued, gesturing at Aaron with the envelope and either oblivious to or completely ignoring his questioning stare, “but I don’t believe he deserves it.”
“It is money?” Aaron asked. “Because if it is, he owes me like six hundred bucks easy.”
“Aaron…”
“Not to mention all the stuff of mine he broke. Last month he busted my Playstation, and that was the second one in the last six months! Those things are like five hundred bucks, seriously, what a pain in -“
“Aaron,” Benjamin repeated, this time with enough emphasis to make the younger man fall silent. “I’m not joking.”
“Yeah, I get that, but it’s hard for me to take it seriously when you’re being all secretive and shit about it,” Aaron told him. “Like, you want me to be impressed, or awed, or whatever it is you want, how about you tell me what’s in the envelope or something, and then -“
“A plane ticket. With your name on it.”
“- maybe we can get somewhere with the… wait, what?”
“It’s a return ticket to Ancol Harbour.”
“Dude, it’s like, a whole lot of degrees below freezing there,” Aaron said, making a face. “Who goes on a vacation to -“
“It’s not a vacation,” Benjamin interrupted patiently. “It’s your ‘out’.”
“My out?”
“Yes.”
“But you just said you were supposed to give it to Josh. So is it more like a second-hand out because he did something to piss you off or -“
“I didn’t decide to give it to Joshua. I only decided that he doesn’t deserve it.”
“But you’re friends,” Aaron said, trying to make sense of the conversation.
“Joshua’s not my friend,” Benjamin corrected.
“Huh? Since when?”
“Since always.” Benjamin tilted his head, studying Aaron’s confused face. “I don’t see why this is such a shock. You’ve obviously known for a while.”
“Well, yeah, but I didn’t expect you to just come out and say it.” Aaron stared down at his bare feet, thinking. “So, what, you’re like a drug dealer or something?” Benjamin barked out a laugh at this, collapsing back in his chair.
“Gods above, Aaron, no,” he chuckled.
“Then what? I mean, if it’s really bad don’t tell me, like if he’s killed someone or something… I mean if you have that’s just cool and all because I don’t have to live with you, but like, I’ve kind of always been worried that one day Josh would just…” The envelope dropped into his lap and he trailed off, staring at it, before he finally picked it up and flipped open the unsealed tab. Inside was a small stack of papers paperclipped together - on the top was a confirmation notice from WestAir for a flight in his name. He rubbed his fingers over the letters, half-expecting them to vanish, and then looked up at Benjamin. “You’re serious about this?” he asked quietly.
“You’ll find I’m serious about most things I do,” Benjamin told him.
“Okay, but… what have I done to deserve this?” he asked, waving the envelope. Benjamin smiled at this, pushing himself out of his chair and securing the messenger bag comfortably across his body.
“I suppose we’ll have to find out,” he said simply, and gave Aaron’s shoulder a squeeze before he turned to head back toward the gate. “Your flight leaves tonight,” he called over his shoulder. “I’d pack subtly, if I were you. I’ll pick you up at the eatery down the street at eight o’clock sharp.” He prodded the gate with the toe of his runner, shoving it open, and as quickly and quietly as he appeared, he was gone.
Word Count: 2492
Note: To keep me from getting burned out on my Lords of Kensington "short story" (hahahaha) I decided to write another short focusing on Azrin's backstory (the lovable, hyper-chatting minor character in LoK).
“AARON!” Joshua Banner charged through the back door of the small house, his hulking body leaving a trail of water, mud, and a sludge-like material that smelled oddly like dog feces across the kitchen floor. “YOU ARE DEAD, YOU LITTLE SHIT!”
“I told you!” came the voice of the thin teenager who raced ahead of Joshua, sprinting up the stairs to the second floor. “I told you that if you tried to take my car again -“
“You don’t even know how to drive!” Joshua roared. “What good is a fucking car to you?!”
“It’s the principle!” Aaron yelled, now barricaded behind the safety of his bedroom door, listening to his brother as he stomped up the stairs. “You can’t take it just because you’re older! Gramps gave me the car -“ The door rattled from the impact of Joshua’s body, and Aaron jumped back, eyes darting nervously around the room. “Okay, clearly we’re both a little worked up right now,” he said in a calming voice, “so why don’t we -“
“Open the fucking door, Aaron!”
“Are you out of your tiny Neanderthal brain?” Aaron asked, incredulous. “What next, you’re going to tell me to climb into the tiger pit at the zoo? Or maybe bathe in blood and go hang out with some sharks in the -“ He took another step back as the door rattled again, and this time a long crack exploded up the length of the doorframe. “Holy shit, okay, Josh, seriously, I’m really sorry about the bucket of dog shit and I know you’re probably a little pissed off -“
“A little?! I’m going to fucking murder you!”
“Okay, okay a lot pissed off, but come on, this isn’t anywhere near as bad as some of the stuff I did before. I mean, what about that time I stuffed your pillow with raw beef, or, or hey, that time that -“
The door exploded inward, long shards of wood flying off as the frame cracked apart, and all two hundred and thirty pounds of angry, filth-covered Joshua came raging into the room. Aaron jumped on his bed and bounced onto the top of his desk, running across it and kicking aside pages of scribbled homework and a dog-eared copy of Stranger in a Strange Land before vaulting his bookcase and bolting through his doorway. He’d just made it to the top of the stairs when Joshua’s hand fell on the back of his shirt, snagging in his collar and yanking him backward - he barely had time for a yelp before he hit the hardwood floor with Joshua’s meaty hand still tangled in his clothing, his desperate twisting to free himself coming to an abrupt end when his brother’s fist landed solidly on his unprotected face.
His body went weak against his will, his head swimming as Joshua punched him in the stomach for good measure, then dropped him to the floor and stepped over him, heading for the shower with a stream of profanity trailing behind him. It wasn’t until he heard the water start that he pushed himself off the floor with a moan, gingerly touching the swath of tender, reddening skin across his cheekbone. Not bleeding, but definitely swelling enough that it would look absolutely grotesque later whether he liked it or not. Holding his face with one hand and wrapping his arm around his aching stomach, he stumbled down the stairs and into the kitchen, pulling a tray of ice from the freezer and dumping half of the cubes into a Ziploc bag. Wrapping the bag in a dishcloth, he held it to his cheek as he walked outside in his bare feet, the afternoon sun beating off his shoulders as he headed to the detached garage.
The car sat like a magnificent, hibernating creature in the dust-thick air, the sleek lines and perfect hand-painted racing stripes a glorious red and white respectively in the light that filtered through the grime-coated windows. Joshua had pulled the cloth tarp away, so Aaron set to work tugging the heavy material back into place with one hand, his face throbbing from the exertion. Once that was done, he righted the bucket he’d rigged to dump on Joshua the moment he pulled the keys from the garage lockbox - it took some effort to find the keys, too, since they’d fallen behind a dusty workbench and he thought for a heartstopping moment that Joshua still had them - and dragged out the garden hose to wash away the pool of slop that had gathered on the garage floor.
He couldn’t hear the water running anymore when he leaned through the kitchen door, so he decided it best to stay outside for a while in hopes of avoiding any further wrath from his brother - settling onto one of the rickety lawn chairs, he propped his elbow on his knee and rested his head against the makeshift ice pack, staring blankly at the sun-parched and weed-riddled lawn that spread out before him like a tattered, unloved blanket.
When he thought about it, he had known that his little stunt would invoke Joshua’s wrath. His brother was nothing if not violently short-tempered. With most anything else Aaron would probably have just let it slide - Joshua was constantly taking things from him, be it DVDs or his gaming consoles or even his private stash of money that he kept moving to different places in his room in an attempt to keep it hidden (and all of which his brother eventually found). But when it came to the car, a stunning blood-red 1967 Shelby Mustang, his possessiveness was borderline obsession. Maybe it was the fact that it was the one thing, the only thing, his grandfather had left him when he passed years ago. Or maybe it was the fact that the car was the only remaining physical proof that life had, in fact, been better at some point.
He could remember it if he thought on it hard enough. Life in the big house overlooking the lake they shared only with their neighbors, back when his parents were alive and Joshua was the super-cool high school brother that would sneak Aaron out of elementary school and take him to see R-rated movies, ones full of gunfights and samurais and the occasional bare breast that would leave Aaron giggling hysterically. Back then, Uncle Jagger was just the embarrassing drunkard they saw at the Coronation Week family dinners, slumping sideways in his chair, half-asleep with the reek of gin on his breath. At one point he’d been a decorated pilot, Aaron’s father claimed, brave and patriotic - he’d always had a tendency to see the best in people, Aaron’s father, even when it came to a washed up alcoholic like Uncle Jagger. Maybe that was why he’d always said that, should anything happen to him, he wanted Jagger to care for his sons.
Nobody had ever believed, of course, that anything would happen to him. Much less to him and his wife at the same time. Aaron had always thought there was something sickeningly hilarious about being put in Jagger's after his parents were killed by a drunk driver, but he’d never shared that bit of black humor.
So here he was, six years later, set to graduate from high school in just a few weeks, living under the constant threat of his brother’s fists and the stale stench of alcohol that blanketed every bit of furniture in Jagger’s creaking house. It was a tense, miserable existence, one he tried to stave off with a wild imagination and enough extracurricular activities to keep him out of the house most evenings during the week, but weekends were for cleaning up after the two slobs he lived with and left him in close proximity to them.
Sighing, he looked over at the garage. Driving couldn’t be that hard. His brother hadn’t managed to steal all of his money for months… maybe it was enough to start over? How much was enough? It wasn’t the first time he’d thought about running away, but maybe this time he -
“Looks like you’ve had a rough day,” said a quiet voice beside him. Aaron jumped, startled from his thoughts by the voice and the sound of the dilapidated gate closing - he looked up to find Joshua’s friend, Benjamin, standing next to him, his ever-present leather messenger bag slung over his shoulders, an odd contrast to his fitted t-shirt and cargo shorts.
“Oh, hey Benny,” he said, turning his attention back to the bleak and dying lawn.
“Piss Josh off again?” He dropped comfortably into the chair beside Aaron, basking for a moment in the sunlight that streamed down on the patio.
“The usual,” Aaron replied.
“Let me guess, the car?”
“Yep.”
“You show him who’s boss?”
“For about three minutes.” He heard Benjamin chuckle at this, and a smile touched his own lips.
It was easy to like Benjamin, and impossible to understand why he’d befriended a raging psychotic like Joshua. Some people would use the term “polar opposites” but in Aaron’s opinion it didn’t even come close to describing how different the two men were. Benjamin was an old soul - that in itself a phrase that Aaron had heard many times from his grandmother before she passed, and never quite understood until he spent a few minutes talking to young man. He was quiet and gentle, calm even around Joshua’s tempers, and had an aura of wisdom about him that seemed to draw from an impossible amount of experience, lifetimes, even. Though Joshua spent every minute of his time away from the house in Benjamin’s company, they never quite seemed like friends - more like teenagers in high school forced to collaborate on a project together.
With Aaron, however, Benjamin wasn’t just civil, he was friendly - something Aaron had never experienced from any of Joshua’s friends as he was growing up. Even still, after three years, he always expected Benjamin to just stop talking to him - and every time he came over, he took it upon himself to spend time chatting with Aaron, checking in, seeing how he was doing.
“Well, the Gods do admire tenacity,” Benjamin observed, one of his usual frashe.
“Wish They admired it enough to get me out of here,” Aaron muttered before he realized what he was saying - a common trait, really - and with a wince he glanced sidelong at Benjamin with an apologetic expression. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m a bit cranky.”
“Mmm,” Benjamin mused, watching him seriously for a moment before tilting his face up to the sun again. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you down before.”
“I try not to be.”
“Just hard to keep smiling, today?”
“Hard to keep smiling every day,” Aaron corrected, then sighed and shook his head. “Sorry,” he said again. “You can just ignore me, I’m -“
“Would you take an out, if you were given it?”
Aaron blinked, not sure if he’d heard Benjamin correctly.
“What?”
“I’m not going to be coming by anymore after today,” Benjamin told him, reaching into his bag and removing a letter-sized yellow envelope. “My dealings with Joshua are done.”
“Dealings?” Aaron asked, confused.
“I was supposed to give him this,” Benjamin continued, gesturing at Aaron with the envelope and either oblivious to or completely ignoring his questioning stare, “but I don’t believe he deserves it.”
“It is money?” Aaron asked. “Because if it is, he owes me like six hundred bucks easy.”
“Aaron…”
“Not to mention all the stuff of mine he broke. Last month he busted my Playstation, and that was the second one in the last six months! Those things are like five hundred bucks, seriously, what a pain in -“
“Aaron,” Benjamin repeated, this time with enough emphasis to make the younger man fall silent. “I’m not joking.”
“Yeah, I get that, but it’s hard for me to take it seriously when you’re being all secretive and shit about it,” Aaron told him. “Like, you want me to be impressed, or awed, or whatever it is you want, how about you tell me what’s in the envelope or something, and then -“
“A plane ticket. With your name on it.”
“- maybe we can get somewhere with the… wait, what?”
“It’s a return ticket to Ancol Harbour.”
“Dude, it’s like, a whole lot of degrees below freezing there,” Aaron said, making a face. “Who goes on a vacation to -“
“It’s not a vacation,” Benjamin interrupted patiently. “It’s your ‘out’.”
“My out?”
“Yes.”
“But you just said you were supposed to give it to Josh. So is it more like a second-hand out because he did something to piss you off or -“
“I didn’t decide to give it to Joshua. I only decided that he doesn’t deserve it.”
“But you’re friends,” Aaron said, trying to make sense of the conversation.
“Joshua’s not my friend,” Benjamin corrected.
“Huh? Since when?”
“Since always.” Benjamin tilted his head, studying Aaron’s confused face. “I don’t see why this is such a shock. You’ve obviously known for a while.”
“Well, yeah, but I didn’t expect you to just come out and say it.” Aaron stared down at his bare feet, thinking. “So, what, you’re like a drug dealer or something?” Benjamin barked out a laugh at this, collapsing back in his chair.
“Gods above, Aaron, no,” he chuckled.
“Then what? I mean, if it’s really bad don’t tell me, like if he’s killed someone or something… I mean if you have that’s just cool and all because I don’t have to live with you, but like, I’ve kind of always been worried that one day Josh would just…” The envelope dropped into his lap and he trailed off, staring at it, before he finally picked it up and flipped open the unsealed tab. Inside was a small stack of papers paperclipped together - on the top was a confirmation notice from WestAir for a flight in his name. He rubbed his fingers over the letters, half-expecting them to vanish, and then looked up at Benjamin. “You’re serious about this?” he asked quietly.
“You’ll find I’m serious about most things I do,” Benjamin told him.
“Okay, but… what have I done to deserve this?” he asked, waving the envelope. Benjamin smiled at this, pushing himself out of his chair and securing the messenger bag comfortably across his body.
“I suppose we’ll have to find out,” he said simply, and gave Aaron’s shoulder a squeeze before he turned to head back toward the gate. “Your flight leaves tonight,” he called over his shoulder. “I’d pack subtly, if I were you. I’ll pick you up at the eatery down the street at eight o’clock sharp.” He prodded the gate with the toe of his runner, shoving it open, and as quickly and quietly as he appeared, he was gone.