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    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura


    The First Annual Scortoni BQ BBQ.
    #21
    He’d spotted her long before she comes their way. Not so subtle his blue eyes had followed her each and every move, at least as far as was possible from his place near Brennen. Though he is a social creature, he never had been a good at parties and this amount of people around to socialize with. Especially not after these past few months.

    Ice had welcomed him back, but at what cost? It is no secret that Brynmor is not yet himself, but little by little he is doing better. All thanks to Ice, and the people that work there. Yet another reason for him to wander off into the mass of people. He needs help to keep him grounded. And that means no straying off to cause havoc. Who knows what will happen once he does get intoxicated? Brynmor’s biggest fear is for his demons to come back when he is lest able to fight them.

    Fuck. What is he even doing here? He is no part of the family, and he barely knows anybody around. Except for those he knew from Ice, of course. So that is basically Brennen, Nihlus and a couple of other familiar faces he can count on one single hand. Not a lot at all. He politely greets everyone that whose gaze meets his. The first real smile – well after greeting Brennen – is when Nihlus appears. ”How have you been?” he asks the tall male as they shake hands. Their greeting is less exuberant, but that’s probably only because of his own stiffy attitude. Clearly someone – he – had to loosen up a little.

    But perhaps later was a better time. For only a short moment he had focussed on the barbeque – which was a pretty good excuse to not have to socialize too much, if you’d ask him – and when he looks up he finds himself staring into Xiah’s grey eyes. No relaxing allowed now.

    They’d only vaguely met, but he does remember how she had turned her back on him. It was her good right to leave Ice and make a living on her own, but that hadn’t made the conversation any more fun. Brynmor had asked her to stay, because the company is part of her and her family. But it simply hadn’t been Brynmor’s place to offer her a position. That, she should’ve asked another.

    He listens to her rant, obviously already intoxicated on some level. Unlike Brennen, he does not know her father. He’d only found a position at Ice after Errant had redrawn from his position as head. Does not mean Brynmor does not know of him. Any other time he would’ve looked forward to meeting the man, but not in this state. The terrors of his down period clearly still affected him.

    ”Xiah.” Voice more cut off than he’d meant to sound. Forcing a smile out he tucks his hands in the pockets of his dress pants, nodding his head lightly at her. ”How has Chamber Corp been to you? You look good.” There was no way for him to deny that. She looks more a live now, than the day she left Ice. Maybe it had been a good decision after all.




    Forgive me this rubbish. I clearly don't know how to do mass threads XD
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    #22
    Leilan, only grilling because Hestoni had left the scene temporarily, saved the most darkened burgers from turning black without adding a new meat pile to the barbecue - no need to work your ass off in this heat when your dad was around to do it for you - and turned back to the one who had invited him. "Sure!" With a broad grin, he joined the group, recognizing Cagney as one of Brennen's (son, grandson, nephew, he didn't really follow), but perhaps he had to re-introduce himself in the mass of people. "Leilan. So, you guys found something fun to do yet?" he asks. Another girl added herself to the group of now four young people about to be intoxicated; she passed along vodka - good stuff actually - and shot glasses. Pah, like they needed those. Still, the evening had barely started, so perhaps it was a good idea to just be civil about it for starters and drink from the tiny glasses like the adults did.

    His sister, Volcan (mother would endlessly show pictures of family after all when he was around to see them) had dressed up a bit too openly for his taste, but perhaps she was here just to make a mess of most the guys' heads (if they weren't related - like Cagney for instance). The vodka girl turned out to be his cousin Xiah, by Errant. The black-and-silver haired young man had never seen his uncle, just heard of him. A magician, or something like that, so it wasn't a surprise that a whole vodka bottle had previously fitted inside Xiah's clutch. She was off already though, so he downed his glass and refilled Cagney and Volcan while they had to wait for the girl (if she was going to return any time soon that was).

    He looks around the garden with an estimating glance, wondering what everyone is up to - and who to pull a prank on, of course. His mother had forbidden him a certain room, so perhaps that was one to start with.
    Two things I know I can make: pretty kids, and people mad.
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    #23

    The invitation almost didn’t find him up in Alaska.

    For the first time ever, Larry the mailman had to take the entire route he was actually supposed to take. Usually, he just scooted past the street to the next because there was never any mail to deliver. It was strange. The guy didn’t even receive jury duty summons or postcards or junk mail. It was like the whole damn world forgot that he existed. Or maybe it just didn’t care. It was kind of sad. Anyway, the guy’s house was set so far back on the gravel road that you couldn’t see it. It was perpetually in the shadow of the icy mountains, no matter what time of day it was, the sun never seemed to shine down on his vast acreage. It was dark and spooky now, real murdery vibe. Real Man versus Wild bullshit that got most wannabes killed out here. Larry figured this guy knew what he was doing. It was still unnerving. He considered just slamming on the gas and high-tailing it out of there, singular-piece-of-mail-be-damned, but he had more integrity than that. He slowed the truck down just long enough to pull open the rusted mailbox door (breaking it off in the process, oops) and shoved the expensive monogrammed letter in. Phew, that’s over with he thought, easing away from the nonexistent curb. He even chuckled to himself for being such a loser before. Poor guy probably just needed a friend.

    One carefully aimed shot blew out his side mirror.

    ~

    Crito pulled up to his sister’s house in the oldest station wagon to still run on American soil. He’d had it ferried to the island when they ran out of road on the mainland – he couldn’t go anywhere without his trusted steed. She groaned and sputtered as he came to a stop and killed the engine. He patted the dashboard in sympathy, because he felt how she sounded. Just seeing the amount of cars parked around the house (and some in the yard, left crooked and haphazard in their stillness - women drivers, he shakes his head) gives him a sinking feeling in his gut.

    He walks up the path and meets the door with rising trepidation, his hand hovering in mid-knock. Already, he can picture the chaos that lingers just behind it. He can see all of his relatives (most of them Scorch’s kids, and their kids, and so on) and their penchant for drama and exuberance driving him insane already. He can even hear it: the loud voices, the hearty laughter, a deep, driving bass beat from somewhere behind the house. It makes him miss the silent bliss of the dark mountain back home, the home he’s only just left to come here. Here, where the bodies will be close and the air warm just like the childhood he’d run away from many years ago.

    The heavy door flies open before he can make a movement either way. And then he’s ushered in, a drink shoved in his hand, and many introductions and reintroductions happen that pass in a blur. The house is magnificent in its opulence and wealth, but Crito is too busy trying to learn all the names of Scorch’s prolific brood to pay greater attention to it. Damn that woman has been busy. He meets some of his nieces and nephews and their children, his great-nieces and great-nephews? He’s not sure. The dynamics get tangled and sometimes he doesn’t know where the blood connection begins and ends – or if there even is one in the first place. It isn’t because of this confusion that he avoids pointed, appreciative glances of the women. He’s never been a connoisseur of fineness or romantically inclined. More importantly, none of them are Lagertha.

    Eventually, he finds his sister.

    “Scorch,” Crito says quietly, coming up beside her. She looks busy. He doesn’t want to bother her in the midst of a million people filtering in and out of the house, and her trying to keep track of them and their level of fun. But it’s been a long time since the twins have seen each other. Too long, probably, and that’s on him. Crito rakes an age-spotted hand through his thick, peppered hair as he regards his sister. Without thought, he hands her his yet-untouched third glass of gin and tonic. Like him, it’s simple and reliable. It’s probably not as exotic a drink as she’s used to but the night is early for both of them. There will be time for heavier drinking later; he’s already looking forward to it. A crooked grin creases his face. “Feels like I’ve lived a whole long life and died since the last time I saw you.”

     

    C R I T O

    brother of the tundra



    @[Scorch]
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