Whatever happened to that Irish idiot?

...was in the moods for babbies....


When Jojo sang, it was in a way that left people wondering why he'd never pursued a musical career instead of flitting between jobs and never settling on anything.  There was no faulting the 'job' he did for Kate - acting as a personal assistant and keeping her hectic life in order; but it wasn't his calling.  Jojo knew singing; knew acting; knew how to command a stage and a crowd.


But his audience was only of one.


The tiny body held in his arms was no longer in tears, just sniffling as her head rested on his shoulder, eyes heavy lidded and focusing on nothing in the living room Jojo was pacing.  The little girl had a fever and just wasn't sleeping and all the usual techniques her parents had developed just were not working in aiding her drift off into dreamland - so Jojo had scooped the little mite up, strode off downstairs humming to find some tune and song in his head as he descended the stairs.  Once in the living room, he began softly singing silly little nursery rhymes that faltered off into 'lalala's until his brain recalled a song he'd heard earlier that day on the radio.


"The roof is leaking and the wind is howling
Kids are crying 'cos the sheets are so cold
I woke this morning found my hands were frozen
I've tried to fix the fire, but you know the damn thing's too old"

He stroked his hand up and down slowly over the girl's back, singing softly to her, rocking her with gentle motions of his body, pacing around the room, feet scuffling in whispers over the carpet.  He could feel the fever in her small body, under his hands and where her head rested on the bare skin of his shoulder.  He kept his green eyes focused mainly on her, waiting for those sleepy eyes to fall closed.

"It's been months now, since we heard from our Mary,

I wonder if she ever made the coast
She and her young man, they both moved out there
But I sure hope they write, just to let us know"

There was a noise behind him - another body moving in the dark, sluggish and sleepy - and then a voice spoke out. "It's been a while since I heard you sing," Josie whispered.

Jojo turned slowly, still swaying with the baby in his arms.  Josie was framed by the faint light coming from the next room as she stood in the archway between the lounge and the dining, room the kitchen and its lights just visible beyond.  She was leaning, arms folded loosely at her chest in an attempt to keep herself warm.  With the light coming from behind her, the tiredness in her eyes was hidden in shadow, but Jojo knew it was there.  He just grinned back to her, placing a gentle kiss to the top of the baby girl's head.

"I never thought Tal would want to hear me singing, to be honest," he admitted, looking between the two major girls in his life.  Jojo could never quite pin down that moment in his life when it became Josie and only Josie; but it had overwhelmed him so completely that Jojo couldn't face letting her go.  That had been so long ago now but that feeling had never change.  If anything, it had coiled around his heart and if he ever dared to even hazard a thought of living without her, it left a physical pain in his chest.

"What're you singing to her?" she asked sleepily, a yawn breaking through mid sentence.

Jojo shrugged with the shoulder not supporting Tallulah.  "I heard it on the radio this morning, it reminded me a little of the songs I used to hear back in Ireland."  His broad accent had slipped these past few years, becoming obviously Americanized, but in the words still held that musical quality that came with the Irish accent.

The girl's name had been his idea.  Tallulah had been a name he'd adored since he was young, although he never gave an explanation as to why he liked it.  He'd convinced Josie of it because it was unique; it was beautiful; it was so very them.  She'd joked over whether or not the as-of-then unborn baby could have been a boy and what name would he have?  Jojo just shrugged, claiming he was certain it was going to be a girl.  He'd been right, of course, but still.  In truth, he just had no clue what he'd call any son of his.  There had been one point in his life where he thought he'd never be a father anyway and name were of no importance to him.

"I'm going to take her there when she's older," he confessed, still watching her closely.  She looked relaxed and content but not yet willing to fall asleep.  He kept watching how her brown eyes would fall slowly only for her to pull them open again and look at his face.  "Take her to the Giant's Causeway, maybe."  He made no mention of his own parents; Tallulah's grandparents.  They were never too happy about their son's life choices.  They'd flown out a few times to meet their granddaughter (separately, they'd divorced a year after Jojo graduated high school) and it seemed his father had at least calmed down over dictating Jojo's life for him.  They both liked their granddaughter though, so her presence meant that no one started yelling at each other.  They also liked Josie, mainly because in their heads she at least fitted the more 'ideal' woman they had wanted their son to marry.

The only downside was that Jojo never actually married her.

Josie smiled at him, watching how he interacted with the little girl.  he was good with children.  He'd demonstrated his ability with flying colours with Kate's twins, despite his earlier difficulties dealing with the Hearst twins; but he'd been younger then.  He was older now; calmer.  He still styled his hair wildly and dressed like he'd escaped from the circus via a punk revival convention yet it was his personality that was just...softer.  Jojo remarked about it too.  When the obvious thing to do would be to go streaking, Jojo would instead settle for painting himself blue.

Okay, so perhaps the analogy didn't work right, but still, Jojo just knew inside that this role felt right.  That holding this little baby girl and singing to coax her into sleep in order for that fever to go away was just where he was supposed to end up after taking the craziest of routes just to get there.  He'd never become that singer he thought about becoming when he was a kid.  The only person in the world who mattered when it came to his singing talent now was finally drifting off to sleep; and for that Jojo couldn't help but grin like a complete idiot.

A proud idiot.  But an idiot nonetheless.

DYK

So, several reasons for this:

1) I’ve recently made a geeky, red-haired male character by the name of “Raleigh” (pronounced “rally” compared to “RAW-lay”)

2) There’s a “Did you know” on tumblr stating that men are hard-wired to fall asleep after sex.

And so my TG!Raleigh wanted to come out and play.

BTW, New!Ral is actually /older/ than TG!Ral.  But we’re going to ignore that :3

NOW ONTO THE STUFFS!!!

Raleigh had a tendency to get extra sleepy after sex.  Granted, there was a lot of physical exertion involved and that one time they tried out that position that one time had him feeling so completely drained afterwards he near enough passed out onto the sofa for about a week – but Raleigh always ended up nuzzling into the nearest part of Elliot he could reach and snoozing away the time most couples would spend cuddling.  It never ruined the moment – at least Raleigh thought it didn’t.  He’d wake up snuggled against Elliot, feeling the youngster running his fingers through soft red locks made even curlier by the sweat that had formed during their activities.  Elliot always had a happy yet lazy smile on his face which led Raleigh to believe he didn’t mind the lack of after-sex-cuddles that some partners preferred.

With the thought nagging at him for a while now, Raleigh couldn’t hold it in much longer.  They’d been together for some time now.  Raleigh was now one of Elliot’s main emergency contacts and Raleigh had even signed some document at reception stating that as a guardian adult, Elliot was allowed to stay with him on weekends and holidays or any other out-of-school times.  It certainly meant that the school didn’t fret that Elliot wasn’t in his dorm but on the official documents Raleigh was classed as a ‘parental figure’ since they couldn’t actually openly admit their relationship.  To them though, what they had needed no labelling.  They got to be together and that was all that mattered.  Still, Raleigh couldn’t help but worry about his boyfriend and how he was coping with being in a relationship so different to what he was used to.

Laying on his front on his sofa one Sunday afternoon, Raleigh watched as he brushed his fingers through the fibres of the rug his mother had brought him from Italy.  It was rare she ever brought him extravagant gifts which meant sooner or later she was going to want him to at least acknowledge the part of the family that pretty much wanted nothing to do with him all for the sake of his father.  There was a huge age difference between his parents – even bigger than what he had with Elliot – and that didn’t stop their love.  Little managed to get in the way from what he could tell.  But Elliot wasn’t his mother (thankfully; that would be pretty weird otherwise) and Raleigh was worried he wasn’t being /enough/ for him.

With a sigh, Raleigh rolled over onto his back and pushed himself up far enough that he could place his chin on the back of the sofa and look over towards the kitchen where Elliot was.  He was making a packed lunch to take on some trip or other tomorrow and Raleigh couldn’t help but find it utterly adorable.  He would have said something, were it not for the thoughts tugging in his head.  “Hey, Eli?” he began, sliding his arms around the back of the sofa and watching as the lad in question turned to look at him.  “Do you ever…you know…get annoyed?” Raleigh asked, not sure where to actually begin.

“Annoyed at what, exactly?” he asked, leaving his half prepared sandwiches to turn and focus entirely on Raleigh, a slight hint of confusion slipping over his feature.  “There are a few things that annoy me.”

“About me,” Raleigh responded simply, waving a hand when Elliot frowned.  “I don’t mean ‘Do I annoy you’ which will eventually lead to ‘Are you going to leave me’ although I wonder…” he trailed off, glancing down at the floor spanning out between them.  God, he hoped it didn’t start looking like an ocean in his mind.  “I mean about me falling asleep.”

“On the sofa?” Elliot asked, still unsure just what the heck Raleigh was going on about.  “You’ve been doing that long before I met you that I doubt you’ll ever kick the habit,” he replied with a small smile, despite how his eyebrows still had that little crease in the middle giving away his confusion.  “I think it’s cute and at least you’re getting some sleep.  You work too hard sometimes and I worry you don’t eat enough when you have a deadline.”

Raleigh chuckled, pressing his lips into the backs of his hands.  Elliot was just too sweet for his own good.  “After sex.”

And there was that blush, rising like an opening poppy in the sunlight, gracing Elliot’s cheeks in a way that sent tingles racing through Raleigh’s body.  Mention sex casually and sometimes Elliot could turn into such the blushing bride.  “Well…you do…uhm…put a lot of effort in…” Elliot mumbled, glancing down at his shoes while shuffling his feet.

“But does it annoy you?  I know some people like cuddling up together after sex and for some people it’s a must-have otherwise the relationship is just doomed.  I try to and I want to but once I’m just wrapped up with you all I want to do is fall asleep like that.”  He ruffled the hair at the back of his neck.  “I like falling asleep with you,” he admitted.

Seeming to have grappled with his internal embarrassment demons, Elliot picked his head up and headed over to where Raleigh was, reaching out to slide his hands over Raleigh’s shoulders and squeezing them in a comforting way.  “That…Is not one of the things about you that annoy me,” he said honestly.  A bright smile lit up his face and he leaned in to press his lips softly against Raleigh’s.  “To be honest with you, I’ve fallen asleep a few times myself only I’ve woken up before you; unless, you know, we were going to sleep anyway.”

Grinning into the kiss, Raleigh leaned in for another once Elliot was done talking, sliding his hands around his waist and pulling him closer until all that was in their way was the back of the sofa.  One hand fell lower than the other, smoothing over Elliot’s rear and giving it a generous squeeze.  “I’m glad,” he said, grinning now like a fool only for it to slip away when his mind registered everything his young lover had said.  “Wait – so what does annoy you then?”

You're not in Telara anymore.

I got bored and have been playing World of Warcraft waaaaaay too much.

This would have been another JojoxJosie AU but I felt that I had a character who suited the role of Worgen much better :D

Cali, I hope I wrote Marshall right.  The story fit better from his P.O.V.

Lichmaw is the name of my Worgen Hunter but I gave it to Marshall's pet Worg. This is the story!Lichmaw I don't actually have a Worg as a pet.  I like my Devilsaur but I didn't think that Marshall could keep one of those without it eating everyone.

ALL THE STUFF THAT IS WORLD OF WARCRAFT BELONGS TO BLIZZARD.

Lt. Barclay, Vincent and Lichmaw, however, belong to me.

Marshall is Cali's.

P.S. Alex was eaten by Trolls.  Just thought ya'll should know.

They were not native. One day a band of them turned up just outside a small settlement where they menaced travellers, ate the livestock and generally made a nuisance of themselves to the point where they were viciously dangerous. No one wanted to travel there anymore. One day though, a wandering hero came through and the little band was gone. Stories rose up in their place and whispers of a city hidden behind the giant, towering wall where they were wiping out the humans one by one was carried on the tongues of travellers. Then one day there came news of that wall having been shattered and those things that had been little more than stories and nightmares came to life.

Marshall was huddled in a barn, the air thick and heavy around him. He clutched at his bow tightly and kept his ears attuned to the eerie sounds going on around him. His father and the rest of the men from the village had set out to defend their town from a gang of Gnolls that had migrated from Redridge. His father had left him two very important things; his musket and Lichmaw a black Worg he’d tamed in his youth in Silverpine Forest. The people in the town seemed to fear Lichmaw and Marshall often heard them whispering as he walked with his father and the wolf; stories of evil and curses and many claimed that were it not for his father’s standing in the village they would kill the Worg lest he kill them in their sleep. Marshall didn’t believe that the wolf was evil. He was old, his muzzle greying and he was blind in one eye and he kept Marshall warm on cold winter nights. The musket, however, seemed less important to Marshall. He had always preferred his bow to the use of a gun. Any passing Dwarf always seemed to find it funny how he didn’t like using such a weapon, but they were easily led onto a different topic whenever he brought up Ironforge. One Dwarf even tried to enlighten him on pick-up lines (“I like your hair, I think you’re pretty, here’s a drink. Are you ready now?”) but Marshall told him that he just wasn’t interested in seeing anyone right now. That had been well over four months ago and now Marshall was wishing he could just hang out in his family’s inn like he had always done instead of listening to the sounds of silence that seeped through what was left of his town.

The Gnolls had turned out to be controlled by a group of Forsaken who were using them as little more than a distraction so that they could slip into the town without the stronger townsfolk hinder their operation. The mayor (who conveniently hadn’t been in the Gnoll-raiding party) had sent urgent word to Stormwind for help, but whether their one rather old and worn Gryphon would make the trip was debateable.

And so Marshall hid in the barn; Marshall leaving his father’s musket in the Inn and Lichmaw faithfully following him. The large wolf was now sat opposite him, watching him with grey eyes as if waiting for him to command him to do something. While contemplating just what he should do there was a howl on the wind and Lichmaw’s ears perked. His nose went high and he sniffed at the air a few times before howling back. Marshall could feel his skin crawling at the frightening sound of the howls that answered back soon followed by the sound of fighting; swords meet swords, the bang of gunshot and the crackle of an ice spell as it froze its target. Clutching his bow tighter, Marshall nodded to the Worg and slowly stood up, preparing an arrow to shoot straight at the first intruder to his place of safety. As the sounds died down and no one entered, he was left wondering to the outcome of the battle. Slipping closer to the large wooden doors, Marshall listened out for voices. It was common knowledge that the Forsaken had taken up the Horde Orc tongue, but they could still use the Common from when they had once been human. What he could hear in the voices he could make out between the scuffles was voices with a growling undertone before an unmistakably human voice responded.

“Are there any survivors?”

There was a loud sniff followed by a gruff “They’re hiding,” in reply.

Lichmaw bumped his cold, wet nose against Marshall’s hand as if encouraging him to make the leap into going outside. Pulling the barn door slightly open, Marshall peered out to see a three figures standing just on the other side. One was human, clad in shining armour while the other two were wolves taken upright form. Their arms were long and ended with claws and their feet were large paws. Marshall tore his eyes away from them to glance at Lichmaw then back at the two strangers again. They were completely wolf-like, from the long furred snout to the glowing eyes. One had orange while the one closest to Marshall had bright, golden yellow eyes that glowed even brighter. It sniffed the air again and one of those eyes moved to catch him just in the corner of its vision. Marshall had never seen a wolf smile, but this one that stood on two legs had the edges of its mouth curling upwards into a smile, flashing razor sharp fangs.

“Found one,” came that growling voice from before, rising up from the throat of the one looking at Marshall.

“Ah, good work!” replied the human, turning to Marshall and reaching up to remove his helm. “I am Lieutenant Barclay of the Stormwind City Guard. We received word of the Forsaken attack. Would you kindly show me to the one in charge please?”

Marshall could barely keep his eyes from the strange wolf-men to pay much attention to the Lieutenant. They were like wolves but wore clothes and armour. While the Lieutenant wore the Stormwind tabard these two wore a tabard Marshall had never seen before.

“Don’t get many Worgen in these parts, huh?” spoke Barclay, motioning to his two companions. “Come on lad, just tell me who’s in charge.”

So these were Worgen? These were the creature that lurked in shadows and curses, were the stuff of dark childhood tales. Nothing Marshall could have ever imagined would have ever compared to what stood before him now.

Seeing that he was being ignored, Lieutenant Barclay rolled his eyes and turned to the first Worgen. “Keep an eye on him, will you? Alex and I will search the rest of the town for survivors with the others. I’ll send out a scouting party to see if anymore of the undead scum are still lurking in the nearby forest.”

The yellowed eyed Worgen nodded and watched as his companions moved away. Once they were out of earshot he ducked down and reached out a clawed hand to the spot just behind Marshall’s legs. “Hey there.”

Lichmaw came forwards until he could sniff at the Worgen’s outstretched hand. Marshall watched in sheer amazement as the scene unfolded before him. “I thought Worgen only existed in stories,” he said finally.

The Worgen laughed, looking up at him from where he was crouched. “So you can speak!” Despite the teeth that appeared whenever he smiled he didn’t smile in a deadly way. It was a human smile in the face of an animal and yet they seemed to fit. Pushing up into a standing position again the Worgen towered over Marshall and he had to tilt his head back to look up at his face. “I’m Vincent,” he said, holding out his hand. “Don’t worry, I don’t bite.” He paused, that smile becoming a cheeky grin. “Much…Unless you want me to.”

Marshall reached out and those giant claws slipped so gently around his smaller hand. “Marshall, and this is Lichmaw.”

-

It had been three weeks since the attack on his town. Lieutenant Barclay had ordered a few soldiers to stand guard and the town was slowly rebuilding itself after burying their dead. Marshall’s father had been one of the victims of the Gnoll attack. His body had been returned to him mangled and ripped to the point where he was almost unrecognizable. With his death meant that Marshall was now the owner of the Delicate Court Inn. In the guard that had come there had been a total of six Worgen including Vincent and all had left except for him. While he had been crucial in saving the town the citizens didn’t like having him staying in their little village and were refusing to go anywhere near the inn where he was staying. It was Marshall’s first time running the place without help and he had only one guest. For that he was a little bit thankful and a little bit annoyed. If he was to keep the place open then he needed more than a lone Worgen. As it turned out Vincent wasn’t a guardsman for Stormwind but a citizen of the fallen city of Gilneas and a wanderer. He didn’t speak much and kept mainly to himself but one evening when Marshall was sat at the first in the common room and wondering if he was going to get any customers the large black shape joined him, choosing to sit on the floor with Lichmaw while gently running his claws through the Worg’s shaggy fur. It was there that he learned that some of the tales of places his father claimed to have visited were true.

“It’s true that there are mammoths in Northrend,” Vincent said when Marshall had said his father boasted about skinning one. “Their leather doesn’t sell for much though.” The fire glinted in his eyes and off his teeth whenever he smiled and Marshall found himself transfixed on the wolf-man. “When Gilneas was attacked by the feral Worgen and then the Forsaken I didn’t feel like there was much need to stay there so I’ve just sort of wandered,” he explained in a way that made it seem his was telling his story to Lichmaw’s fur instead of Marshall since he kept those bright yellow eyes fixed on the Worg.

On another night Vincent explained why he felt close to Lichmaw (other than on some beast level due to them both being “wolves”). “There’s a lot of black Worgs in the forests outside Gilneas. Now and again one would slip through the wall and his hide would end up on the market. I always wanted to see a live one that wasn’t trying to kill me.”

By week four Marshall was starting to wonder just why Vincent had decided to stick around in such a small town. He had slowly won over a few of the citizens by helping them with odd jobs and such (fetching things, killing beasts that were bothering them, etc) and Marshall was finally glad to have customers again but when the travelling kind came and went and Vincent remained he was curious as to why. Leaving the barmaid who had finally agreed to come back to work to watch the few customers they had milling about inside Marshall ventured out back to where Vincent was sitting bathed in half-moonlight while re-stringing Marshall’s bow. During the times he wasn’t making himself useful to the town he had been teaching Marshall how to make better use of his bow.

The sound of Vincent sniffing at the air was the way Marshall knew he had been found and he didn’t bother to mask his approach. “Hey, can I ask you something?” he asked once he was at the side of the bench where Vincent was sat. When the Worgen gave a snort in response he ploughed on ahead. “How come you’re still here? We’ve got guards set up now and everyone else you came with has gone.” He licked at his lips, watching as Vincent methodically worked without saying much, amazed at how those powerful claws could do such delicate work. “Not that I don’t mind having you around,” he added hastily. “I was just curious, that was all.”

Vincent chuckled, lifting the bow up and pulling on it a few times. “I have decided that…I want to stay and protect someone very important.”

Marshall could feel his eyes widening in surprise and tried not to say anything stupid. “R-Really?” There didn’t seem to be anyone in the town that Vincent had grown close to in the time he had spent there. In fact the only person Vincent spent the most time with was him. “That’s really nice.” He stared at Vincent, unsure of himself or what to say. Vincent was a truly amazing piece of work but he carried the weight of ‘curse’ on his shoulders. Even Vincent admitted that it was a curse that had been inflicted upon him when he had been just a boy. He had said that there are very few Worgen out there who are ‘in control’ and many are simply feral creatures forced to spend their lives as little more than beasts. It was Night Elves that had come to the aid of the curse inflicted Gilneans to try and offer them some form of hope. Whatever that hope had been Vincent hadn’t told him. Marshall supposed it was merely remaining ‘human’ while in such a form. For there to be someone, especially in his town, to see past ‘cursed beast’ and actually see Vincent beside himself was completely improbable. It must have been one of the people he’d helped who managed touched a place inside him that made him want to stay. “And it’s really nice having your around.” While Marshall did feel a little bit jealous that Vincent had someone he was glad he wasn’t losing the Worgen’s company. Without Vincent, Marshall doubted he would have been able to handle his father’s death.

There had even been that one night he’d buried himself in that warm, black fur and cried his eyes out when the sense of loss finally sunk in completely. Vincent had held him so tenderly and hadn’t said a word. There had been nothing but a gentle rumble deep within his chest. Standing next to him now, Marshall just wanted to curl his fingers into that fur again, to smell the moonlight, grass and wild that clung to that soft fur.

Vincent lowered the bow and looked straight at Marshall, a small smile curling his lips upwards. “It’s you, stupid,” he said plainly. Lowering the long bow to the ground he stood up and moved to face Marshall completely. “I want to show you something but you have to promise not to tell anyone otherwise they’ll make me do it all the time and that’s just not who I am.”

Swallowing at the lump in his throat Marshall nodded, still taken aback by the fact that it was him – he was the person that Vincent thought was important – that Vincent was staying for. “I won’t tell anyone.”

Vincent grunted, reaching up with his huge right paw and scratch the back of his neck, ruffling the long, shaggy mane he had sticking out the back of his shirt. “People in the big cities know we can do this but I’m glad out here you still think we’re stuck like this. Not glad that I’m stuck like this, but it’s who I am now. Until there’s a full cure, I don’t believe in a half-cure.”

Not having a clue what the Worgen was talking about, Marshall watched and listened in stunned silence as a strange mist enveloped Vincent and the shadow within the churning grey clouds changed and shifted. When the dust and mist cleared away there stood a human in the clothes the Worgen had been wearing. His hair was shaggy and black and his eyes were…his eyes were that bright golden yellow that Marshall remembered seeing when he had slipped from the gloom of the barn. Vincent was just a few years older than himself and bore a few scars here and there on his face, neck and arms. In the grin he could see that smile that graced the face of a wolf. “You…You can change back into a human?” he choked out.

Vincent frowned, glancing down and away. “It’s not permanent and if I do anything like get into a fight or Darkflight then I instantly change back, but yeah, I don’t have to stay in that form.” He shifted uneasily on his feet, shuffling them on the ground. “But because this isn’t permanent and I’ve spent so long just being a Worgen I don’t really see myself as a human anymore so I don’t like it being thrust upon me. I want people to accept us and not just because we’re accepted in the Alliance again, but really accept us as more than those monsters that are out there. It’s not like I’m Legion or anything…”

Carefully, Marshall moved in closer, reaching out to take Vincent’s hand in his own, feeling the difference in weight compared to how it felt to have those big claws hold him. “So does this mean this is my secret?” he asked.

Vincent tilted his head to the side in a very wolf-like manner and Marshall was expecting his ears to perk. “Yeah,” he nodded and closed his fingers around Marshall’s hand, stepping even closer until they were almost chest-to-chest. Marshall was now a touch taller than Vincent meaning he no longer had to crane his head back to look into those glowing eyes. Their smiles matched and then suddenly Vincent leaned in and kissed him. Marshall wasn’t even surprised when he found himself kissing him back. The simple brush of lips melted into tongues and teeth (Vincent had a bad habit of nibbling on Marshall’s tongue and lower lip) and it was the best kiss Marshall had ever experienced.

-

They were considered the ‘Odd Couple’ and there were some travellers that came to his inn specifically to see if the rumours were true. Vincent’s secret eventually got out to the rest of the town when more Worgen started passing through and were shifting forms in sight and sometimes he was caught off guard. One morning had been rather eventful when one of the barmaid’s daughter had spotted Vincent in his human form leaving Marshall’s bedroom one morning and then proceeded to try and find Vincent the Worgen to inform him that Marshall had been cheating on him with a human and Vincent had to explain to her that Vincent the Worgen and the man she had seen were the same person. Eventually he gave in and just showed her. When the weather grew cooler and the fire wasn’t warm enough and many of the inns patrons were either drunk or sleeping Marshall would curl into Vincent’s black fur and breathe in the scents he gave off. Sometimes, Marshall would stand on his tip toes and reach up and pull Vincent’s head down where he could plant a kiss to the feathery soft fur on the top of his muzzle and then Vincent would lick his face in return.

Whatever the stories and fables he had heard growing up in Delicate Court Inn many seemed to paint the strange wolf-men as monsters and nightmares but now, in a small town on the Eastern Kingdoms there was one of those cursed men living and contributing as a functioning member of society. Children went to sleep with thoughts of him in their heads and he would fight off the horrors with a loud roar and a swipe of his claws. People no longer saw Lichmaw as a violent beast but as a loveable old Worg who lived with a human and a man who had been a beast but became a lover.

Marshall wouldn’t ever have it any other way.

Mrs. Avery

Please answer the phone. For the love of whatever higher power shone down on the ants created in their image please answer the phone. A click and a whirr and the chimes of the ringing chorus drawl through the line as loud as thunder in the receiver pressed flush against his ear to the point where it hurts at the piercings curling the edge of his lob push at the flesh of his skull. Knuckles are white as the grip on the sleek black phone tightens and he’s praying that the phone will stop ringing and a voice will fill the line. Praying like he’s dying inside, pieces falling away with every consecutive ring to slip to the floor and wash away in the puddles forming at his feet. It’s raining. Hard and heavy against the top of the little telephone booth and no amount of huddling under the formed plastic is going to shield him from the downpour. It’s raining hard and heavy with drums of thunder roaring in the distance and that phone keeps on ringing.

“Please…” he begs aloud. Just answer, it’s not too hard. Just pick up. The rain is soaking through his shirt and down his back. Through his hair and down his face like tears; like tears that swim before his eyes threatening to fall like the rain to mix to the point where it’s indiscernible which is which – teardrop or raindrop. People are rushing past, cowering under the umbrellas and ignoring the lone figure because in their own personal worlds they’re home and dry and not out in the rain and the life of another person is null and void. What does one teenager matter in the grand scheme of things? Teenagers these days didn’t even use public telephones.

But there one was, clutching the communications device like it was his only lifeline – his one true connection to the person on the other end of the line. The person he was desperate to contact and all he was getting was the sound of ringing.

And then a click and his breath stops and the blood in his ears deafen the sound of rain. “Hello!”

He laughs, heart thudding louder than it had ever done before as if it were trying to force push its way out of his chest. He curls his free hand against his chest, pushing his ribs to keep that ravenous heart from breaking free. “Joey…” he breathed. Tears met rain on his pale face and his lips are turning blue in the cold. “It’s me.”

“You’ve reached my answering machine which means I’m not able to pick up right now. Leave me a message and I’ll call you back as soon as I can.”

His head fell forwards to press his forehead against the cool metal of the public phone. There was only ever going to be one answer because there wasn’t going to be someone there to pick up anymore. He choked back a sob, that pitiful laugh sounding like broken chords and creaking floorboards. There’s a beep and silence. A stretching silence that last forever in his mind but only a few brief seconds to the rest of the world. Then the dial tone purrs into his ear. Reaching up with a shaky hand he pushed the bar down. Hand limp and fingers splayed over the surface he takes a few moments to breathe before pushing in the number all over again.

Ringing, and then the same cheerful voice repeats. “You’ve reached my answering machine…”

It will always do that now. He had his chance and let it slip through his fingers. The plane went down and no one survived. He never even really said goodbye. The answering machine will just fill up with messages like his boots were filling up with water.

“…Leave me a message and I’ll call you back as soon as I can.”

WHY DO I ALWAYS WRITE JOJOSIE AND IT MAKES MY CRY!!????

Flowers for a Ghost

“She’s leaving today, are you not in the least a bit concerned?”

Jojo looked up from the comic he had his nose buried so deep within he was near enough spelunking. He looked to the young man standing in the doorway in a manner that made it seem like the space had been created just for him. The door existed because he needed to stand within its vacancy; such was the mannerisms of one Tetsu Nomura, the man who treated the vast population of the world as if they were nothing but mere dirt beneath his feet. What did Morgan really see, beyond the luscious pout and perfectly styled hair?

Oh, great, now he was mentally insulting his best friend all because he was trying not to think about anything. Hey, look, Superman is fretting over Louis Lane again and…argh…”Fuck it.” The universe hated him.

“You’ve had every chance, you know, to play the white knight instead of a moron in tinfoil,” Tetsu stated, examining his nails as if the subject matter was nothing but trivial. “And now she’s going to get on that plane and leave you – forever, and all you’re doing is reading comic books and sulking like one of those…sparkly vampires loving girls with the….urgh…I feel dirty just talking about them.” He dropped his hands to his sides and stalked into the room, slamming the door shut as he went. He came to the foot of Jojo’s bed, reached over and ripped the comic book from Jojo’s hands. “Go. Now. Otherwise I’m going to have to put up with you moping about and I can’t have that, it ruins my image. I do not want to take care of a baby, Jojo, it interferes with my sex life and I do not appreciate anything coming between me and sex, except an amazing outfit.”

“I’m enjoying how you’re making my turmoil all about you,” Jojo retorted, making a grab for his comic only for Testu to swing it out of reach. If he wanted to retrieve Superman he was going to have to actually get off the bed – and put on some pants. “My suffering always feels lessened when I know you can take it all in an ego-centric manner.”

“See, you need her, Jojo. You used big words.” Testu just grinned at him. “If you’re still in here in ten minutes I’m shaving off my finest work – and by that I mean your beloved mohawk.” He spun on his heels and left, taking Superman with him, clutched within finely manicured nails. He left Jojo alone, with no Superman and no…

No Her.

Swinging his legs out from under the duvet, he grabbed the nearest pair of jeans, tugged on the closest pair of converse and made for the door, grabbing a coat as he did so. By now she’d be arriving at the airport, so he was relying entirely on delays and overly attentive customs officers. He also had to detour through the library to beg, plead and sell his soul to Jamie just to get the guy to drive him to the airport. He’d always been meaning to take the time to learn how to drive, but it involved too much paperwork for Jojo.

She wasn’t outside the terminal when they pulled up. Going at a sprint, Jojo scanned every person in the crowds to just find her face. People yelled at him when he bumped them to get past, and he nearly tripped over a few bags caught under his feet several times. He had to buy a ticket to some place just to get past the security. He didn’t appreciate them making him remove all the metal in his ears, and he clutched the rings and studs in his right hand while he charged through all the businessmen and holiday-goers just to find one person among the sea of faces.

And then there she was, taking those first few steps beyond the boarding gate and out of his life. Jojo screamed, pulling from singing and screaming into a microphone to push it all into the name he had given her. “JOEY!” Please turn around, for the love of whatever greater power that shines down on humanity, please turn around.

It was like that sunset people always claimed to be beautiful but whenever he was awake to see it there was nothing so spectacular about it which led him to believe it was a ‘you had to be there’ thing people had. But this was like those descriptions, like the sun climbing into the sky and bathing the world below with warmth and light. Her brown hair, curled in waves tumbling over her shoulders. Big brown eyes, with eyebrows arching over them drawing together in confusion. Then the realization dawning on her face, lighting up her features. Her place in the queue forgotten, she slipped away and sped up in order to crash into him in a mess of arms and bodies.

Jojo pulled her close, wrapping his arms tight around her and burying his face into her hair. Eyes closed tight against the tears that were threatening to bubble up from inside him. “Joey…” He hadn’t seen her off, hadn’t even acknowledged she was going to leave him. So used to having her around that Jojo had never ventured the thought of her not being there until it was that she was no longer there, and he couldn’t live with that. She clung to him, crying into his chest. “Don’t go. Don’t ever go.”