Images of a fiery Hell and the well-earned punishment which likely await me once I get there fill my mind. I blink in a vain attempt to clear the blood from my swollen eyes so that I can see my mother’s face. Po’, sweet Maman. My broken heart clutches painfully in my chest. I din’ mean to put yet another burden on Maman’s po’ ole shoulders. A shuddering sigh rattles my whipped and battered body, but I have ta stand tall, and be a man till the end… for my Maman.
Collecting all my fading strength, I try to send her a smile to assure her I have accepted my fate and would do it again. I’d do anythin’ to protect the woman who gave me life and taught me the true value of love, honor and family. I’ve seen my Maman struggle under the overseer’s cruelty my entire life… Jes once, I wanna see her stand tall and proud, like the good Lord meant her to be. I long to see her smile… jes one more time. But I ‘spect murders don’ deserve such mercy. Not even those who murder evil over-seers.
An eerie silence falls over everyone gathered in front of the white master’s fancy big-house when the new overseer slips the hangman’s noose over my head. The rough hemp causes the whip marks on the back of my head and neck to burn like hell-fire, but I refuse to utter a sound. I won’ let ‘em know that I’m done for. My pride and defiance are all I have left. I refuse to give them the satisfaction of knowing they have broken my body and my spirit.
The ugly white man who has taken over for the dead over-seer sneers into my face as he tightens the noose painfully around my neck. A hateful act of retribution by a weak and no-account petty man who eagerly seeks to gain power at the expense of others. Yeah, dis one is cut from the same cloth as the dead man. Deep in my cold heart I know killing the old over-seer did nothing to fix the troubles facin’ my people.
If I had enough strength left in my body, I would laugh when he screams like a little girl before stumbling away to trip over his own feet when I snarl at him through my bloodied lips. Quiet sounds of amusement can be heard among the assembled slaves and I see shame flash across the white man’s craven features. But he don’ stay shamefaced for long. Once he gathers himself, the little bastard slaps me across the face and calls me every kind of cur dog and bastard in the book. My body screams out in protest when the new boss calls over a couple strong bucks to lift my battered body up onto the back of one of the old plow horses.
I don’t take my eyes off the new Boss. My broken fists clench with my desire to beat this one to death as well. Somehow, I find the strength to utter a heart-felt threat; “If’n you carry on the same way as the dead man, my ghost will come back and take care of you too, Boss.” The word boss sounds like the curse it was meant to be. I wanna throw my head back and roar my laughter when the weak-ass white boy takes a step back as though he’s afeared I’m bout to leap off this mare to beat him too.
I gots so much rage in my heart for dem dat abuse folks weaker, that I think I could easily kill every overseer in the entire Louisiana Territory, given the chance. But my moment of dealin’ rightful retribution was sadly all too brief… like a rare free moment to enjoy the beauty of a sunrise, here one moment and gone the next.
If there do be a God up ‘n heaven like my Maman believes, I wonder if he gots any mercy for a killer like me. That’s what I is now… a cold-blooded killer. The good Lord knows I would do the same thing all over agin. When I saw that filthy overseer putting his paws on my precious Maman, I lost my mind. That piece of shit don’ been beatin’ and rapin’ my po’ ole Maman since she was a young’un. In fact, it was his foul seed that grew in my Maman’s belly to make me. I chuckle weakly. It only seems fittin’ the one he brought into the world is the one who took him out.
The Master, Monsieur Deschamps, is speakin’ now. Lying bout what fine man his henchman was and how he didn’t deserve the painful death I gave him. I chuckle again. Every livin’ soul gathered here, and likely a few ghosts of some that’s done passed on, knows that to be a lie from the depths of Hell. The overseer and his master alike have no milk of human kindness or true decency in their souls. If they did, my people wouldn’t live their lives in chains, slaving to grow cotton and tobacco for some rich white man and his spoilt chil’rens. No sir-eee, all lies. What I done was wrong, but it wouldn’t been necessary if’n evil didn’t have a home on this plantation.
Ignoring the warnin’s of punishment if’n anyone else decides to follow in my footsteps, I manage a smile for my Maman. She mouths; “This ain’t the end.” I’m wonderin’ just what she means when the Master brings his riding crop down on the shanks of the old mare, making her bolt for the barn. The rough hemp of the hangman’s noose drags me from the mare’s back, and snaps my neck afore I can take another breath. Every muscle, sinew and tendon in my beaten body writhes as death claims my mortal existence…
* * * * *
Sunrise is illuminating the bayou when I open my eyes again. I’m gawpin’ in wonderment that Hell really is a Louisiana swamp, when I feel gentle hands caress my neck and shoulders. “Easy, boy. You gots a new body… for now.” I struggle to rise on shaky limbs, but fall back to the ground in an ungainly heap when I realize I was standing on four legs and paws instead of the two legs and feet I expected. “Zeke, I is so sorry, bébé. Dis was the only way I could think to save your life.” Her gnarled fingers continue to stroke my… fur as she softly confesses what she did. “All dis All Hallows Eve magick was jes’ a floatin’ around in the air for the takin’.” I hear Maman swallow hard, and her heart rate picks up. “There’ll be a price to pay. The good Lord knows there is always a price to pay.”
I look up at Maman to see fear, joy, and uncertainty on her suffering ravaged face. At one time, she was a true beauty. Even now, the proof of her youthful perfection is there to behold. But more important than her beauty, I can see her true depth of character, the regal grace, and stately presence that sufferin’ and a life of hard labor cannot erase. In another time and place, my Maman could have been a queen. A true and wise leader of men and women. But such was not to be her fate.
Maman’s tone is sharp, yet filled with sorrow when her next words cut through my daydreams. “I worked some blood magick wid a feral wolf and blood demon. You died, Zeke, but the magick I worked don’ brought you back. It come at a cost, but was worth it to my way of thinkin’.”
I struggle to my feet again. I’m fully intending to run off into the swamp to avoid hearing the truth. I don’ wanna hear bout no blood magick and payin’ the price. Hell, I thought I was paying the price when that hangman’s noose snapped my neck and choked the very life outta my body.
“Sit your butt down, boy!” Maman never has let me get by with ignorin’ her speechifying, and looks like I still gotta heed her in my afterlife. “Zeke, for now you’ll have to take to four legs to be safe, but the day will come when you can walk proudly on two legs like the man you were born to be, hear me?” I nod my furry head and hope like hell she plans to explain things a bit a better. Suddenly, I wanna hear more about walkin’ around on two legs. I want to be the man I was meant to be.
The sexy new waitress delivers another round of shots, ripping me from my reverie. I know better than dwelling on the past, but that’s all I ever seem to do this time of the year. I chuckle derisively. “Well, dwell on the past and get piss-drunk.” I look around and frown at my surroundings. The MC’s clubhouse is raucous with the loud bass beat of the dance music, and rowdy celebrants calling out to the strippers on stage, or striving to be heard over the ruckus to speak with their fellow partiers. The obnoxious music is thrumming through my entire body and has my heightened senses bordering on overload. I begin peeling the label from my beer bottle in a vain effort to distract myself from the noise.
Most of the assholes in the place are focusing on the strippers or the possibility of an easy lay, but my thoughts are on my past, on her. The One. Old memories are weighing heavily on me tonight, just as they always do when All Hallows approaches. Damn! I hate this time of year. And yet, this year is different somehow… We are all – watchful and wary. Even more than normal. Somethin’ big is a comin’… A tense air of expectation pervades the very atmosphere and mood of the entire clubhouse. For once, I am not the only Immortal Enforcer who is dreading All Hallows Eve. I can see it in the faces of my fellow protectors, feel it in the very air we breathe. And yet, I am the only sad-sack who is wallowing in my ancient misery.
The sense of melancholy which pervades my mood is likely obvious to every Immortal in the joint, but the mundanes probably just think I am an asshole. I chuckle a bit, because they wouldn’t be too far off the mark with that assessment. I am a bit of an asshole. They call me Joker around the MC because I flirt, joke, and tease all the time. I carry on as though I haven’t a care in the world. But it’s all an act. I’m anything but open and light-hearted. My jovial façade is supposed to keep everyone at arm’s length, to keep them from looking any deeper than what I am willing to show the world. I wear my smile and my smart-ass attitude like a shield to keep everyone out of my fuckin’ business. Well, not everyone.
My brethren – my fellow Immortal Enforcers – and I, make up the Twin Ravens outlaw MC. The true role of the MC is protecting mortals from powerful rogues. Some of my brethren know my story and are more tolerant of my bullshit because of the knowledge. Still others, younger enforcers or those who have yet to know true loss and sorrow, just see me as a joke quipping, hard-drinking asshole. Honestly, I couldn’t care less what they think. They’ll learn, more n’ likely the hard way, that there’s always more goin’ on than meets the eye.
I squirm uncomfortably and drain my beer. This is a dangerous time of the year, because the veil between the realms is always thinnest on All Hallows Eve. And despite my annual All Hallows pity party, I will do my job and help keep the mortal realm safe. It’s what we do and I am proud to be a part of this group. This rag-tag band of Immortal Enforcers are closer to me than anyone has been since shortly after the end of The War.
That thought brings a dry chuckle to my lips. Many wars have come and gone since the war between the North and the South, but my southern roots are showing tonight. To everyone from the Deep South, especially round New Orleans where I am from, the American Civil War will always be known as The War.
I absently reach up and tug on my earlobe in a futile attempt to lessen the almost painful irritation caused by the loathsome music blasting from the club’s sound system, as I survey the crowd and the clubhouse with a jaundiced eye. My expression is likely marred by a belligerent sneer, as I glare balefully at all the over the top Halloween decorations displayed throughout the public part of the clubhouse. Even the waitresses and dancers working the club in their barely-there, sexy-as-hell costumes do nothing to improve my mood.
Mortals and their blithe disregard for the seriousness and ever present danger of this time of year always irritates and confounds me. I wonder why Tara allows the glittery bats, caldrons, and jack o’ lanterns to decorate her domain. But considering where and who we are, it does make an odd, ironic sense. The modern retail dream version of Halloween and the stark reality of the power this place possesses and defends, especially during All Hallows Eve, is truly a surreal juxtaposition of dreamlike fantasy and nightmarish reality. I look around at the humans in the club tonight and snort my disbelief. These mundanes are fucking clueless.
Irritating techno music begins to pound through the clubhouse as a new trio of strippers hit the small stages to begin flaunting their money-making assets. Any other time of the year, I’d be watching them. Enjoying the sex magick such places create, but not tonight. Tonight, the dancers flaunting their bodies as they incite lust and carnal longing in their audience for profit doesn’t even remotely appeal to me. Another tug on my ear lobe does nothing to sooth my irritation and my thoughts turn increasingly negative.
Gods, I hate this shit! I need another fuckin’ shot.
I warily watch a group of weekend wannabes while they harass a waitress in another section. I’ve just about decided I need to step in help out the pretty little human waitress when I realize I won’t be needed. I can’t help but smile when Rage, the club’s VP, casually strides over and sets those assholes straight. I’m chuckling over the power that man expertly wields when it comes to looking out for club business. He may be human, but that male has got his shit together. This place, this influx of raw magick from the thinning veil should have this joint on Def Con lock down protocols, but my fellow paranorms have got it under control.
Shaking my head, I realize it is truly amazing what a man, or rather wolf, can force himself to get used to. But hells bells, it just ain’t natural for my kind to surround ourselves with so many “others” and humans in one enclosed space. The noise, the odors… it can all be a bit overwhelming. I snort my frustration at my own folly because I know I’m suffering due to my own bad choices, and inability to just let the stupid past go. If I had a lick of sense, I’d get the hell out of here to seek my personal oblivion in some semblance of privacy and safety. But I’m too damn hard-headed for that, or maybe I just need to feel like I am part of something… anything… besides my own misery.
Yeah, maybe. Who the hell knows why I do the stupid shit I do? But it’s damn hard to be around so many beating hearts, especially when it’s been a while since my last feeding. My lip involuntarily curls up in a sneer at my dumbass habit of ignoring my very real needs for blood and sex until the last possible moment. I hate that side of myself, and always put off taking blood till I’m nearly desperate. I can’t help but shake my head ruefully. Sometimes, I’m a truly dumb sumbitch and put that shit off way too long, endangering me and any mortals stupid enough to be around a loose cannon like myself.
I raise my beer bottle to my mouth, only to realize it’s empty, again. With a wicked spate of foul language, I set the empty on the table top before dragging my hands over my shorn head. Making a mental note that it’s time to shave again. I haven’t let my hair grow out like since…
Gods! my fuckin’ head is all over the place tonight. Get your shit together, Joker!
Beating myself up isn’t helping, so I decide to anesthetize myself with more hooch. Intending to find that sexy new waitress, I look up to find that Tank, the burly Immortal bouncer assigned to the new girls’ section, is watching me speculatively. Knowing I’m on that wise old fucker’s radar makes me anxious, so I give the empty beer bottle a spin on the table top, like I ain’t got a care in the world. Tank and me both know it’s pure-dee bullshit.
Tank is a bear shifter and a damned good male. I’m proud to call him friend, but I can do without his all-seeing gaze on me tonight. That ancient árktos, Greek bear shifter, never misses a thing. He always knows when something is wrong with one of his brothers, and we don’t call him Fuckin’ Dr. Phil for nuthin’. The male has a way of making us all talk about shit we’d rather leave buried.
I toss him chin, and deliberately seek out the new waitress for another beer and a couple of shots… Maybe a little something extra? “Where dat pretty lil’ dawlin’ gots off to now?” I mumble, a bit drunkenly. I’m chagrined to hear the Cajun patois in my words. But it always comes out when I’m doing some serious drinking or pissed off. Tonight, I am both.
Thoughts of the sexy new waitress quickly stir my thirst for blood and my animal need for sex. The gal in question is young, and seems genuinely nice. After watching her serve drinks to these rowdy jackasses tonight, I’ve realized she is also so very sweet, and so very innocent. Hell, I can smell the fuckin’ innocence on that petit joli. Virginal… untasted, in more ways than one. I feel my fangs elongate and I growl my frustration at my lack of control this time of the year. This year is the worst yet, and I hate myself for lettin’ my brethren down this way. I better get my shit under control. We have real enemies to watch out for instead of my making my fellow enforcers watch me for signs that I’m gonna go rogue cuz I can’t deal with my past.
Don’t be a pussy, you asshole. Git your act together or Wrath will put you down like a rabid dog. Reminding myself of the thin line I’ve been walkin’ lately quells my animal lust and my unnatural lust for blood – somewhat. But I seriously can’t stop watching the new waitress. All the supes in the joint are drawn to her, maybe because it’s her first night slinging drinks here at the MC clubhouse, or maybe it’s something else. Who knows? But there’s no doubt that watching the sexy lil’ gal is entertainin’ as hell. Apparently, in honor of Halloween approaching, she’s dressed up like some kid playin’ Cowboys and Indians. Tight tank top that shows off the luscious tits, short cut-offs, and cowboy boots. The clothes and boots seem natural for her, so I’m guessing she’s a country gal. But the kid’s cowboy hat, perched on her head at a jaunty angle and tied under her chin so it will stay in place while she works her ass off in the club, and the toy six-shooters on her hips, are purely for show. A cute costume on a cute kid.
Lickin’ my lips in anticipation, I can’t help but think she’d certainly be a tasty morsel. I’d like to bury myself balls deep in that tight, wet pussy, while I sink my fangs in her neck. I tease the sharp tip of a fang with my tongue, even while I remind myself she’s not for me. Giving my head a shake to clear the fog of lust, I remind myself that the sexy new waitress is an uninitiated mundane, and therefore, she’s completely off limits.
“Yeah, off limits,” I remind myself out loud. But I can still savor her scent and flirt shamelessly with her as she does her job. Mostly, I just wanna watch those pretty tits as they try to push their way out of her tight tank top. I know she’s an innocent, but she also knows sex sells. While she ain’t really offering anything but a look at them purty titties, I can’t help but think of doing more than looking. Thoughts of burying my face between those huge breasts, sinking my fangs into that tender flesh to feed on her virginal blood makes my cock hard, and awakens my demon side. My eyes are probably glowing red, revealing my want… my need, for blood and sex.
Reflexively, I close my eyes for a moment to get the sign of the devil under control. After a moment or two, I look down at the beer bottle and play with what’s left of the label. My innate survival instincts are kicking in without conscious thought. Blood don’t tolerate us revealing our true selves to the mundanes, not even here at the MC with all the witchy magick that makes our customers forget what goes on here. Outing what we are to the humans is just askin’ for it.
Merde! I gotta get these lustful feelings outta my head before I lose my shit. Those are dangerous thoughts. Allowing myself to think about that girl’s blood and body will only lead to me doing something incredibly stupid that will cause me to end up very dead. Really dead. The permanent kind. Not the fake kind I endured back in 1789, when my Maman worked some mojo on me to save me from the hangman’s noose for killing that sadistic overseer.
I reach down to rearrange my engorged cock to a less constricting position. Day-um, that purty lil’ waitress is an abso-fuckin’-lutely gorgeous woman with those flashing sapphire blue eyes, wispy black hair and voluptuous figure. Any man, Immortal or not, could easily lose himself between those lusciously big tits, round hips, and bodacious ass. I sigh softly, knowing pursuing the girl would be folly of the worst kind.
Too fuckin’ bad for me and every other swingin’ dick here at the MC that the big Viking already has his sights set on her. That thought makes my eyes automatically seek out the male. And it’s pretty fucking easy to find him. Wrath, a massive Norse demi-god, is hanging out in the back near the pool tables. But his attention isn’t on a game or even the strippers. Nope. Wrath is watching the new waitress, and I can’t help but smirk.
“He’s got it even worse ‘n me for dat gal.” I hear my slave roots in my speech and shake my head to clear it. Mayhap, I have already had enough to drink? It takes a hella lot of booze to make any Immortal drunk, but I’ve been hitting Tara’s hard stuff about four hours already. Yep, I’m probably well on my way to gettin’ drunker ‘n a skunk. That’s not smart, considering how reckless I get this time of the year, but it ain’t stopping me from looking for the waitress to order more alcohol. “Heh, heh, never said I was smart, now did I?”
Before I can catch the new waitress’s eye, Tara, my fellow enforcer and the club’s master barkeep shows up with a fresh beer and three shots of the rum I prefer on her tray. I look up appreciatively at the sexy little badass vampire. “Merci, mon ami.” I flash her my wolf-like grin, which makes a whole lotta women want to drop their panties and all their inhibitions. Tara just raises an amused eyebrow at me. A move which clearly tells me she still isn’t impressed with my avoir beaucoup de beauté. Oh well, her loss if she don’ fancy my charmin’ ways, I tell myself with all the fake bluster I can dredge up. Despite my tendency to flirt shamelessly with Tara, I’d never really pursue anything with the sexy vampire witch. She’s my friend, one of the best I got. And friends don’ fuck friends, if they’s smart.
“Stow it Blood-Wolf. Your charm doesn’t work on me, and you know it.” I can hear the amusement in her voice. I should be relieved my bullshit attempt at flirting didn’t piss the gal off, but I just shrug a shoulder as though to say; “Okay.” She smirks playfully at me, and I am reminded once again that the little badass enforcer has a fun side. An aspect of her personality she doesn’t allow too many people to see. I count myself lucky to be one of her friends.
But her mood quickly turns serious. “You planning on getting pissed-ass drunk and staying that way for the next four days, Joker?”
I nod wordlessly and look down at the shots she’s lining up in front of me. I reflexively lick my lips, anticipating the sting of the high proof rum. Honestly, I’m not sure why my know it all friend is even asking questions when she already knows the fuckin’ answers. I’ve been with the Twin Ravens since 1921 and this is not new behavior for me. Every year around All Hallows Eve I go a bit crazy and truly earn my nickname. Every fucking year I swim in the hooch for days on end, and then emerge on the other side, to pretend I didn’t just spend nearly a full week suspended in an alcoholic haze trying to run from my past.
In a rare tender move, Tara reaches down and cups my face with a wry smile on her lips. “I’m so tired of watching you do this to yourself year after year.” Her tone turns harsh when she says; “We have our hands full this time of year because the veil between the realms is so damned thin, and every Immortal with a fucking World Domination Complex wants to take over the mortal realm. We have work to do, Joker. We need you at fighting strength.” I murmur something about never lettin’ the MC down, but I can tell Tara is genuinely worried. “Zeke, you are better than this.”
I inwardly flinch at her use of my real name. I’ve been known as Joker since I joined this MC nearly a century ago. “It breaks my heart, brother, to watch you do this to yourself every All Hallows over some long dead mortal female who was just too stupid or scared to accept the gift she’d been given the day she met you.” She smiles sadly and says; “Brother, you gotta let this go. Let her go. She’s been worm food for over a century. Move on with your life.”
I reach up, intending to yank her hand from my face, but instead I clasp her fine boned wrist in my massive paw that passes for a hand. Instead of the smart-assed retort I had planned to let loose, the unvarnished truth comes spilling from my lips. “My pretty lil’ vampire sister, she was The One. My fated. I’m sure of it. Just moving on with my life ain’t even an option.” I quickly drain the shot glasses with an appreciative hiss at the burn, and welcome the fog of the alcoholic haze.
Tara silently assesses me with wise eyes and eventually nods. “Yeah, she probably was the one or else your wolf and demon souls would have dragged your human thinking from the woman long ago.” She smiles sadly and commiserates; “You aren’t the first to lose your fated, Joker.” I flinch because I know she’s speaking from experience. “And unfortunately, you won’t be the last. As bad as that sucks ass, you can still find a measure of happiness.”
She casts a dark look at the empty shot glasses she had just set before me. “You won’t find peace in a bottle of my 190 proof rum.” Despite the seriousness of her words and the moment, I can still hear the pride in her voice over the Immortal strength hooch she distills for her brethren, boosting the alcohol content with a bit of magic.
I only nod. What the fuck can I say to that? I know I am being a pansy-ass. It’s the same thing every fucking year. Summer ends, and I turn into a woe-is-me asshole who spends his time getting drunk and wallowing in regrets and what-ifs. This is so not who I am meant to be. Not who I ever thought I would become. But it’s my reality… for now.
Tara nods. Obviously, she knows I’m not gonna pull myself up by my boot straps tonight; probably not any night in the immediate future. Her thumb caresses my full bottom lip, and I can feel the pressure against my extended fang. Obviously, the sexy lil’ vamp can feel it, too. “You need to feed, my brother,” she says in a gently chiding tone. I can see the genuine concern in my friend’s gaze. For those of us who need blood to survive, going without can have dangerous consequences. “Go feed and fuck a live woman. Forget about the dead human girl.” Her words carry no judgment, just honest advice. After a heartbeat, she smirks playfully at me and says; “Do it before I tell Blood you volunteered to patrol the trick or treaters this year.”
I groan loudly at the thought. Only the lowest ranking members or assholes who broke one of Blood’s few rules get stuck with trick or treat duty on Halloween. It’s certainly not a task I would willingly volunteer for. Tara’s expression and tone are once again serious when she says; “Go upstairs, Joker. Feed. Fuck. Sleep.” Her matter of fact tone makes me smirk. Tara is a witch who was turned into a vamp against her will a long time ago. She’s well aware of my needs, and makes no bones about the importance of meeting those needs. She casts a quick glance toward the stairs that lead to the private floors of the MC. “Glory is off tonight, but she’s in her room.”
I shrug. It’s really very solid advice, and not something I am averse to doing. I like Glory. A lot, in fact. She’s an Immortal, I just ain’t sure what kind. She hangs around the MC masquerading as a human club girl, but it’s plain as the big-assed nose on my ugly face that she’s hiding out from someone, and has the Twin Ravens’ protection. Glory is a beautiful and willing female, whose powerful blood keeps my demon side satisfied for weeks at a time. But she’s not who I want tonight. No, tonight I am hankerin’ for a certain female from my past. A raven-haired vixen in a cowboy get up struts by and distracts me. But then again, that new waitress just might do in her stead. She smells almost as sweet as my own lost love.
I guess I must have been caught casting my eye at the waitress in question or the vamp was reading my thoughts, because Tara laughs heartily before rebuking me like a foolish youth. “You aren’t that stupid, wolf-boy. Not even approaching Samhain.” Tara gifts me with another chaste caress on my cheek causing me to drag my eyes back to her lovely face. Her gentle smile softens her warning… but not much. The message is still plain. “I know you saw Wrath watching that one.” I nod. “Zeke, I know you are hurting right now, brother, but you really don’t wanna end up on his bad side. That beast never, ever, forgets.”
I suppress an involuntary shudder when I think about Wrath when he’s really fired up. That male came by his name honestly. He is the very embodiment of wrath. I’m about to nod my agreement, and make my way upstairs to find Glory when a couple of my brethren, Writhe and Coyote, sit at my table, and ask Tara for a round of beers. These fools might provide enough distraction to keep me out of trouble for a bit. I chuckle my wry amusement as I watch my idiot friends jostle for room on the padded bench seat like a set of squabbling, filthy mouthed children.
Maybe. Maybe not. It’s also just as likely they will help me find some even more serious trouble to get into. My truly stupid side chides in; What the fuck? Why not hang with the brothers? So, like the dumbass I am, I just greet them with a shit-eatin’ grin. I settle in to listen to their lies and stupid stories just to pass the time.
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