Ozmic
Whiskered Writer
WIP
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Leather Bound
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Hatchet
Blunt and Sharp
Test
Ozmic
Whiskered Writer
Prologue - A Light at the End of Burnt Bridges
Step after shuffling step, Zachary Jacobson lugged what was unbroken to the back of his truck and, once he'd finished throwing everything into the truckbed, he slammed the tailgate shut. For a moment, he stared at it with a look that could almost kill, swearing under his breath as he drew his eyes away. The greyish blue orbs went to the door of the apartment building and lingered, a tinge of regret crossing them before it was replaced with a cold glare. He spat, blood and saliva, onto the walk and got into his truck without looking back, the eyes of his former landlord and his friends burning into his back.
Things had gotten out've hand fast in the wee hours of a beautiful Friday evening as, without warning, Zach was told he was to be out by the end of the week. His lease agreement had been abruptly terminated under the guise of misconduct, but the male was certain his landlord and significant other were just getting rid of him to give another druggy friend a place to crash. Admittedly, Zach had handled this in the way he handled most things, and let his anger get the best of him. When all had been said and done, the night had ended with 'casualties' on both sides. The couple's friends had left the rage-filled male with a few cuts, scrapes and a bruised ego. Zachary, however, had left two of the friends with hospital visits that he was certain he'd be talking to the cops about later.
"Stupid... fucking stupid," he snapped as he started the car and drove it into gear, screeching the tires a bit as he pulled away, beating himself up mentally to match the physical wounds. A doctor sounded like the right choice, but the male had other things in mind as he drove the familiar path to O'Toole's, a frequent drinking spot and a favorite of the man's. He laughed coldly, wondering to himself how the staff still put up with him and his cold demeanor. Then he remembered the price of drinks and snorted another laugh through his nose, crimson dripping onto his bluejeans. "Well isn't that just the extra special cherry on top?" he asked the empty car and wiped his nose with the back of a scraped hand as he pulled into a parking spot.
Getting out, he made a beeline for the entrance and walked in to a greeting of comforting bustle and business. There was music playing, some 80's rock song he didn't remember the name of, and one of the usual bartenders was flirting with a half-tanked girl that looked a bit worse for wear from the two half empty glasses in front of her. 'Lightweights,' he thought to himself and gave a wave to the 'tender before sitting down. The wiry male approached and looked him over with an almost giddy smirk. "Towel full of ice and a couple of the usual?" he asked with a sneery little grin that Zach had to fight to ignore. "Read my mind, Phil," he grunted and slipped the other a bill preemptively. "And keep 'em coming."
Step after shuffling step, Zachary Jacobson lugged what was unbroken to the back of his truck and, once he'd finished throwing everything into the truckbed, he slammed the tailgate shut. For a moment, he stared at it with a look that could almost kill, swearing under his breath as he drew his eyes away. The greyish blue orbs went to the door of the apartment building and lingered, a tinge of regret crossing them before it was replaced with a cold glare. He spat, blood and saliva, onto the walk and got into his truck without looking back, the eyes of his former landlord and his friends burning into his back.
Things had gotten out've hand fast in the wee hours of a beautiful Friday evening as, without warning, Zach was told he was to be out by the end of the week. His lease agreement had been abruptly terminated under the guise of misconduct, but the male was certain his landlord and significant other were just getting rid of him to give another druggy friend a place to crash. Admittedly, Zach had handled this in the way he handled most things, and let his anger get the best of him. When all had been said and done, the night had ended with 'casualties' on both sides. The couple's friends had left the rage-filled male with a few cuts, scrapes and a bruised ego. Zachary, however, had left two of the friends with hospital visits that he was certain he'd be talking to the cops about later.
"Stupid... fucking stupid," he snapped as he started the car and drove it into gear, screeching the tires a bit as he pulled away, beating himself up mentally to match the physical wounds. A doctor sounded like the right choice, but the male had other things in mind as he drove the familiar path to O'Toole's, a frequent drinking spot and a favorite of the man's. He laughed coldly, wondering to himself how the staff still put up with him and his cold demeanor. Then he remembered the price of drinks and snorted another laugh through his nose, crimson dripping onto his bluejeans. "Well isn't that just the extra special cherry on top?" he asked the empty car and wiped his nose with the back of a scraped hand as he pulled into a parking spot.
Getting out, he made a beeline for the entrance and walked in to a greeting of comforting bustle and business. There was music playing, some 80's rock song he didn't remember the name of, and one of the usual bartenders was flirting with a half-tanked girl that looked a bit worse for wear from the two half empty glasses in front of her. 'Lightweights,' he thought to himself and gave a wave to the 'tender before sitting down. The wiry male approached and looked him over with an almost giddy smirk. "Towel full of ice and a couple of the usual?" he asked with a sneery little grin that Zach had to fight to ignore. "Read my mind, Phil," he grunted and slipped the other a bill preemptively. "And keep 'em coming."
Hatchet
Blunt and Sharp
Fidgety only sort of covered the condition Imogen was in at that point in the evening, but other than that she felt she was managing pretty well. There were almost a dozen people in her immediate proximity and more than that if she moved in any direction. Luckily they had claimed a table as far from the ‘dance floor’—the five feet of cleared space in front of the sound system—which spared her a little bit of that mixing.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Tonya asked her for the ninth or tenth time and for the ninth or tenth time, Imogen just smiled at her and nodded. “Do you want another drink?”
Although only two thirds through her very non-alcoholic soda, Imogen agreed to this and took the opportunity to watch Tonya’s backside sway with her careful slide between tables and bodies that spared her contact with them. The little hum of personal pleasure pressed out the invading sensations for a few moments; such heartbeats were the only way she could tolerate these environments anymore.
Unfortunately, the next patron to slide into her range was one carrying physical pain and a burn of rage. Imogen wrapped her arms around her belly as the soda churned with a sudden flood of reactive acid, though she didn’t feel likely to vomit. Of course the man had made a beeline for the same less-occupied area of the pub that Imogen preferred. Phil’s familiar jibes with him wouldn’t normally be what she would listen in on, but the patron’s condition was pulling at her nerves in a most distracting manner. It was bad enough that she just about missed Tonya’s return and her perceptive lover noticed. “You okay?”
Unable to help a small laugh, Imogen took both drinks from her, set them on the table and dragged the woman close for a kiss. Warmth and humming affection rushed under her skin, soothing her bruised nerves, steadied the race of her heart and erased the sensation of torn flesh. When there was nothing but herself around her bones, Imogen let go and answered, “I am now.”
It took Tonya a couple seconds more to sit back in her sit, and she made sure to scoot the remaining couple inches till her thigh was against Imogen’s. Tonya’s body heat and personal senses were far more pleasant to focus on than the hurting man and intoxicated personages, but she was there for a reason that didn’t only have to do with time spent with her lover. Resting her head on Tonya’s shoulder, Imogen let her eyes fall half shut and turned her senses out again.
There were two other shifters in the pub, and by the repeated flick of their eyes from Tonya to the door, they were expecting someone else and they were keeping an eye on her until that someone arrived. They were nervous, their hands rarely stopped moving, Imogen was channeling their fidgets, and their skin was prickling with anticipation. Between her and them were humans and some of them had noticed the quiet tension. The wary flesh at the back of the neck was tingling, the woman had a clench in her gut that was preventing her from enjoying her drinks with her girl friends. They were ignorant, knocking back whiskey, loud. They had a buzz in their brain that threatened to snare Imogen if she wasn’t careful, it wouldn’t have been unpleasant, but it certainly wouldn’t have been useful. She could hear and feel heartbeats both. She could smell everything, alcohol, citrus, musty beer, body odor, perfumes, blood, sweat, shampoo, laundry detergent, dust—
Nails raked down her arm and Imogen flinched against Tonya, who held her steady while she muddled back into her own senses, but she couldn’t stop the firing of chemicals and nerves. Happily, Tonya didn’t ask her again if she was okay.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Tonya asked her for the ninth or tenth time and for the ninth or tenth time, Imogen just smiled at her and nodded. “Do you want another drink?”
Although only two thirds through her very non-alcoholic soda, Imogen agreed to this and took the opportunity to watch Tonya’s backside sway with her careful slide between tables and bodies that spared her contact with them. The little hum of personal pleasure pressed out the invading sensations for a few moments; such heartbeats were the only way she could tolerate these environments anymore.
Unfortunately, the next patron to slide into her range was one carrying physical pain and a burn of rage. Imogen wrapped her arms around her belly as the soda churned with a sudden flood of reactive acid, though she didn’t feel likely to vomit. Of course the man had made a beeline for the same less-occupied area of the pub that Imogen preferred. Phil’s familiar jibes with him wouldn’t normally be what she would listen in on, but the patron’s condition was pulling at her nerves in a most distracting manner. It was bad enough that she just about missed Tonya’s return and her perceptive lover noticed. “You okay?”
Unable to help a small laugh, Imogen took both drinks from her, set them on the table and dragged the woman close for a kiss. Warmth and humming affection rushed under her skin, soothing her bruised nerves, steadied the race of her heart and erased the sensation of torn flesh. When there was nothing but herself around her bones, Imogen let go and answered, “I am now.”
It took Tonya a couple seconds more to sit back in her sit, and she made sure to scoot the remaining couple inches till her thigh was against Imogen’s. Tonya’s body heat and personal senses were far more pleasant to focus on than the hurting man and intoxicated personages, but she was there for a reason that didn’t only have to do with time spent with her lover. Resting her head on Tonya’s shoulder, Imogen let her eyes fall half shut and turned her senses out again.
There were two other shifters in the pub, and by the repeated flick of their eyes from Tonya to the door, they were expecting someone else and they were keeping an eye on her until that someone arrived. They were nervous, their hands rarely stopped moving, Imogen was channeling their fidgets, and their skin was prickling with anticipation. Between her and them were humans and some of them had noticed the quiet tension. The wary flesh at the back of the neck was tingling, the woman had a clench in her gut that was preventing her from enjoying her drinks with her girl friends. They were ignorant, knocking back whiskey, loud. They had a buzz in their brain that threatened to snare Imogen if she wasn’t careful, it wouldn’t have been unpleasant, but it certainly wouldn’t have been useful. She could hear and feel heartbeats both. She could smell everything, alcohol, citrus, musty beer, body odor, perfumes, blood, sweat, shampoo, laundry detergent, dust—
Nails raked down her arm and Imogen flinched against Tonya, who held her steady while she muddled back into her own senses, but she couldn’t stop the firing of chemicals and nerves. Happily, Tonya didn’t ask her again if she was okay.
Ozmic
Whiskered Writer
The shot of bourbon came first, burning all the way down in that joyfully cheap way. It tasted like battery acid and was just distracting enough to numb some of the pain as he dabbed his wounds with the icy cloth, then held the cold thing onto the swelling under his left eye. The feeling of anything on the split skin there was horrid, but the coolness was refreshing at the same time.
Chasing the shot with his first beer of a planned many, he leaned back in the creaking wooden chair and let his eyes close for a second, his mind going back to earlier events and replaying them again and again. Rage bubbled up in his chest at first, but it was soon replaced with a self-loathing guilt that was rotten to the core. Though he thought this every time, he reminded himself that he had to get a hold of his anger and outbursts. It had just been another fight this time, but next it could be worse. Hell, he was lucky this time that one of them didn't have a gun. "Buncha' fucking addicts," he grumbled into his beer before draining it.
A voice snapped him out've his thoughts and he turned slightly, looking for the owner out've the corner of his eyes. When he happened upon two ladies sharing a private moment, however, he averted his gaze and got up, heading toward the bar with the bloodied rag in one hand and empties in the other. Setting them down, he waved over to Phil. "Another round at my table over there," he said bluntly with a stiff nod. "I'm gonna' use the can and try to clean up a bit."
Leaving another fiver as a tip, the large man turned and made way to the bathrooms in the back, eyeing a couple of nervous looking guys that weren't exactly being quiet about their little private party, but at the same time looked as if they were a loud noise away from shitting their pants. Shaking his head, he passed and then did a double take, eyeing the far male and heading towards him. "Well shit, Mike, had I know you were here I would'a taken my drink outside to my car," he said with a faux-glare, then gave a half smile to show that he was just shooting him some shit.
Truth be told, Zach didn't really know the other outside of the bar, but they'd drank enough times at the joint to get acquainted with the usual bar-talk that folks shared when they didn't have much else to talk about. The other looked up for a second like he'd been tazed, then relaxed when he saw the beaten male's face. "Shit, Zach, I hardly recognized you with all that shit on your face. Who'd you piss off now?" he other asked with a smirk, setting down his drink.
"Oh, just a bunch of dumb junkies that wanted my wallet," he lied, running a finger gingerly over his swollen eyebrow. "I'd like to say, 'you should see the other guy', but it's pretty clear they got some good enough knocks in on me before I hit the road." Looking back to the bathrooms, he shrugged. "Speaking of, I'ma go clean up before I scare off everybody around here even more than I usually do." Giving a nod and a smirk, he started heading away. "Nice to see ya' again, Mike."
Closing the bathroom door behind him, Zach took no time in looking himself over in the mirror to assess the damage. The surprise wasn't exactly a pleasant one, but nothing looked like it was too messed up to need a doctor. Maybe some stitches for a couple of the cuts, but it was nothing he hadn't ignored before and he wasn't about to head to the hospital at this time of night. As he cleaned up what he could, he got to wondering just what had scared Mike and his drinking buddy so bad, using the various scenarios he could come up with as a distraction to help ignore the feel of gritty paper towels on his wounds.
Chasing the shot with his first beer of a planned many, he leaned back in the creaking wooden chair and let his eyes close for a second, his mind going back to earlier events and replaying them again and again. Rage bubbled up in his chest at first, but it was soon replaced with a self-loathing guilt that was rotten to the core. Though he thought this every time, he reminded himself that he had to get a hold of his anger and outbursts. It had just been another fight this time, but next it could be worse. Hell, he was lucky this time that one of them didn't have a gun. "Buncha' fucking addicts," he grumbled into his beer before draining it.
A voice snapped him out've his thoughts and he turned slightly, looking for the owner out've the corner of his eyes. When he happened upon two ladies sharing a private moment, however, he averted his gaze and got up, heading toward the bar with the bloodied rag in one hand and empties in the other. Setting them down, he waved over to Phil. "Another round at my table over there," he said bluntly with a stiff nod. "I'm gonna' use the can and try to clean up a bit."
Leaving another fiver as a tip, the large man turned and made way to the bathrooms in the back, eyeing a couple of nervous looking guys that weren't exactly being quiet about their little private party, but at the same time looked as if they were a loud noise away from shitting their pants. Shaking his head, he passed and then did a double take, eyeing the far male and heading towards him. "Well shit, Mike, had I know you were here I would'a taken my drink outside to my car," he said with a faux-glare, then gave a half smile to show that he was just shooting him some shit.
Truth be told, Zach didn't really know the other outside of the bar, but they'd drank enough times at the joint to get acquainted with the usual bar-talk that folks shared when they didn't have much else to talk about. The other looked up for a second like he'd been tazed, then relaxed when he saw the beaten male's face. "Shit, Zach, I hardly recognized you with all that shit on your face. Who'd you piss off now?" he other asked with a smirk, setting down his drink.
"Oh, just a bunch of dumb junkies that wanted my wallet," he lied, running a finger gingerly over his swollen eyebrow. "I'd like to say, 'you should see the other guy', but it's pretty clear they got some good enough knocks in on me before I hit the road." Looking back to the bathrooms, he shrugged. "Speaking of, I'ma go clean up before I scare off everybody around here even more than I usually do." Giving a nod and a smirk, he started heading away. "Nice to see ya' again, Mike."
Closing the bathroom door behind him, Zach took no time in looking himself over in the mirror to assess the damage. The surprise wasn't exactly a pleasant one, but nothing looked like it was too messed up to need a doctor. Maybe some stitches for a couple of the cuts, but it was nothing he hadn't ignored before and he wasn't about to head to the hospital at this time of night. As he cleaned up what he could, he got to wondering just what had scared Mike and his drinking buddy so bad, using the various scenarios he could come up with as a distraction to help ignore the feel of gritty paper towels on his wounds.
Hatchet
Blunt and Sharp
Finding her own glass with her own hand was a challenge, fighting around sympathetic inebriation and layers of muddled vision. The cold perspiration of the glass was almost painful, but it helped and Imogen got the rim to her lips without spilling. Not fizzing soda, but flat, icy water washed over her dry throat and she could have groaned in relief. She hadn’t even thought she’d need something so simple and stabilizing, but Tonya had.
Somewhere during her sense wandering, the injured man had left, so only the regular dull throbbing of other nerves was pulling at her attention. Feeling mostly herself and only a bit tipsy, Imogen leaned over and kissed Tonya’s cheek. “Thank you,” she murmured and felt the thrilled hum of her senses.
“Any time,” her low voice was lower but casual. “Did you find out what you needed?”
Smiling, Imogen rested her head on Tonya’s shoulder again. “They’re afraid of you.”
“I could have told you that and spared you the discomfort.” Imogen didn’t argue and didn’t enlighten her lover further. “Do we need to stay for the rest of it?” Imogen shook her head and straightened up. Her head swam and she swayed a little, but she managed to get upright without assistance. Laughing a little, Tonya put her hands on Imogen’s shoulders and turned her towards the exit. This spared her the difficulty of managing herself when warding off a swarm of sensations took so much focus.
Before they made it to the door, another man walked in and his cold sobriety was an effective knock in the skull. Imogen caught her breath and felt Tonya’s grip on her shoulders tighten as she drew close to her back. “Hello, Marshall,” Tonya’s voice was cool and her breath was hot by Imogen’s ear.
Shifters ran a higher temperature than average humans, not out of a normal range, yet even when they weren’t attracted to each other, two shifters confronting face to face brought a spike. Imogen felt woozy in the sudden flush, and sweat beaded along her hairline, masking Tonya’s scent just as intended. Shifters also didn’t leave their lovers in harms way. Tonya had no fear of Marshall or what he could do and she showed it plainly. “Your boys are waiting. Anxiously.”
She gestured to the bar and Imogen watched Marshall, scenting them as he did, feeding back to him his own information. Anger, confusion, uncertainty, but not quite fear. Pain in his left knee, something still heeling, not bad enough to limp, but a weak spot if struck. It would be interesting to find out what caused that.
Somewhere during her sense wandering, the injured man had left, so only the regular dull throbbing of other nerves was pulling at her attention. Feeling mostly herself and only a bit tipsy, Imogen leaned over and kissed Tonya’s cheek. “Thank you,” she murmured and felt the thrilled hum of her senses.
“Any time,” her low voice was lower but casual. “Did you find out what you needed?”
Smiling, Imogen rested her head on Tonya’s shoulder again. “They’re afraid of you.”
“I could have told you that and spared you the discomfort.” Imogen didn’t argue and didn’t enlighten her lover further. “Do we need to stay for the rest of it?” Imogen shook her head and straightened up. Her head swam and she swayed a little, but she managed to get upright without assistance. Laughing a little, Tonya put her hands on Imogen’s shoulders and turned her towards the exit. This spared her the difficulty of managing herself when warding off a swarm of sensations took so much focus.
Before they made it to the door, another man walked in and his cold sobriety was an effective knock in the skull. Imogen caught her breath and felt Tonya’s grip on her shoulders tighten as she drew close to her back. “Hello, Marshall,” Tonya’s voice was cool and her breath was hot by Imogen’s ear.
Shifters ran a higher temperature than average humans, not out of a normal range, yet even when they weren’t attracted to each other, two shifters confronting face to face brought a spike. Imogen felt woozy in the sudden flush, and sweat beaded along her hairline, masking Tonya’s scent just as intended. Shifters also didn’t leave their lovers in harms way. Tonya had no fear of Marshall or what he could do and she showed it plainly. “Your boys are waiting. Anxiously.”
She gestured to the bar and Imogen watched Marshall, scenting them as he did, feeding back to him his own information. Anger, confusion, uncertainty, but not quite fear. Pain in his left knee, something still heeling, not bad enough to limp, but a weak spot if struck. It would be interesting to find out what caused that.
Ozmic
Whiskered Writer
Stepping out of the bathroom, Zach let the door shut behind him and gave a sigh. He didn't look all that much better than he had, but at least he wasn't openly bleeding anymore and looked a bit more like a person again instead of a beaten up bum. His chest still flared with every breath, though, reminding him of his injuries just fine and making his thoughts return ever slightly to what had happened.
Sitting down in his seat and downing the shot that was there, he turned and caught a glimpse of something a little strange. A hang up at the door between a guy he didn't know that well and the two women from earlier. Raising a brow, he turned just enough to watch them from his peripheral vision, swigging at his beer to help cool off the bourbon's burn again.
The other male looked past the ladies toward Mike and the other guy. They must've been the 'boys' the gal was talking about. 'You think ya' know a guy...,' he thought, glancing to Mike and shaking his head, sure this was just another mess or some type of drug deal. 'Don't need involved in more of that shit'. He smirked and finished the beer, getting up and heading for the door. As he did, he looked over to Phil and pointed at the table of his again, wordlessly telling the other he was going out for a smoke and keep rolling with the booze.
"S'cuse me, ladies," he said plainly, brushing around them and out the door, pack of cigarettes in hand and one already in his mouth. They were lacking a filter, just the way he liked 'em, and smelled strong even before they were lit. Another bad habit, he knew, but at least they were a constant along with the booze. Something that his luck couldn't really slap out from his hands like a bully to some poor sap. He chuckled icily at the thought and let the door swing shut behind him.
Heading to the back alley, he lit up and went right into thinking about the future. Not much money saved up, sure, but his job in scrapping could pull in enough to survive. He just had to find another place and fast. As much as he loved his truck, it wasn't exactly the nicest place to sleep, and rentals weren't exactly popping up all over town for somebody that looked like a dirtbag and had some shitty past-references. "Mother fucker!" he snapped, kicking at a dumpster and only making himself angrier as his toe connected with the inside of his steel toed boot and flared with pain.
Sitting down in his seat and downing the shot that was there, he turned and caught a glimpse of something a little strange. A hang up at the door between a guy he didn't know that well and the two women from earlier. Raising a brow, he turned just enough to watch them from his peripheral vision, swigging at his beer to help cool off the bourbon's burn again.
The other male looked past the ladies toward Mike and the other guy. They must've been the 'boys' the gal was talking about. 'You think ya' know a guy...,' he thought, glancing to Mike and shaking his head, sure this was just another mess or some type of drug deal. 'Don't need involved in more of that shit'. He smirked and finished the beer, getting up and heading for the door. As he did, he looked over to Phil and pointed at the table of his again, wordlessly telling the other he was going out for a smoke and keep rolling with the booze.
"S'cuse me, ladies," he said plainly, brushing around them and out the door, pack of cigarettes in hand and one already in his mouth. They were lacking a filter, just the way he liked 'em, and smelled strong even before they were lit. Another bad habit, he knew, but at least they were a constant along with the booze. Something that his luck couldn't really slap out from his hands like a bully to some poor sap. He chuckled icily at the thought and let the door swing shut behind him.
Heading to the back alley, he lit up and went right into thinking about the future. Not much money saved up, sure, but his job in scrapping could pull in enough to survive. He just had to find another place and fast. As much as he loved his truck, it wasn't exactly the nicest place to sleep, and rentals weren't exactly popping up all over town for somebody that looked like a dirtbag and had some shitty past-references. "Mother fucker!" he snapped, kicking at a dumpster and only making himself angrier as his toe connected with the inside of his steel toed boot and flared with pain.
