Ahoi, there! I'm bacccck!
Ok, so before we even start, there's a few things I wanna say. First off, thank you so much for reading Stars, it really made me proud, to not only have finished a project, but having so many hits and reviews on it. It blew me away! Thank you, thank you! And if you haven't read Stars, I suggest you go and do so, right la! (No, it's not necessary to have read it to understand this one, but it's always a good thing to know the history!)
So. My second point is super simple. I did not feel like creating a whole new cast of characters right before I started writing, so I have decided to basically use the Sons of Anarchy Charming chapter characters, with French names. So Filip "Chibs" Telfort will become Philippe Lefort, Jax Teller becomes Jacques Tellier, and so on. Shouldn't be so hard to figure out. There will be some made up faces, but the main SOA Marseille Charter is just the Charming Charter with changed names. Not the same club in history, just the same likenesses.
Ok, that's it. On with the show!
Oh, no wait! I've decided to do something similar to 30 chaps in 30 days, but different. There will be two "seasons" to the story, each with fifteen chapters, posted over the course of two months. So Season one in June, season two in July. That's one update every two days! I own my own characters, Kurt Sutter owns the rest!
She was disoriented as she woke up in strange arms. The morning was gray and lazy, she brushed her dirty blond hair off her face, reached to look at the boxy alarm clock on the nightstand, seven twelve. Her feet were tangled in his, his arm locked around her torso, thanks, dude, she now had a kink in her back from not sleeping straight.
He had a grunt as she shoved him off, when she sat on the edge of the narrow bed, and looked out the window into Washington Lake, it came back to her. Seattle. The late night phone call, the haste to catch a flight, all the while knowing she was crying wolf again. The responsibilities that weren't even hers anymore, had they ever been hers in the first place. This childish, girlish bedroom that was never hers and that she now hated with a passion. She stood, one hand gripped on the holey knitted blanket that she tossed around her back like a vest, she pulled it closer, she was tall for a girl, her mom always said so, she was almost as tall as her father. So the blanket was not long enough to wrap all around, her legs were bare as she pushed the double door leading to the tiny private balcony open, the breeze hit her in the face, sending her hair flying wildly around her head. It was raining, rain was so depressing.
She stayed there until she heard a motorcycle downstairs, just one, it made her smile, the door stayed open as she hurried inside, she tossed the blanket on the bed, peeled her shirt off and foraged her bag for a bra and some panties, she kicked the guy in the ass as she hopped into her skinny jeans.
-Hey. Hey! Get the fuck out.
-Fuck off.
-Fuck you, then!
She looked for a shirt, a decent one, but she could not find, so she just grabbed her leather jacket and her helmet from the high back chair that was in the room, tossed the jacket on and pulled her hair out of the collar, she zipped as she reached the kitchen.
God this was depressing. She hated coming here.
-Ra-inh, Hu-et.
There was an episode of the Simpsons, most possibly her favorite, where Bart and Lisa shelter this homeless heroin junkie names Hettie, and Hettie made a description about her father's face after he got shot in the face. A puzzle that you need to move the pieces around to solve. Her birth mother's face looked something like that. An outside to match her insides.
Everett could not hide the disdain that rose to her face for the shell of a woman sitting in front of her, it was so early in the morning, and she was already wasting it away with a packet of coke. She bites the inside of her lips to keep quiet, before violently shoving the wheelchair away, it falls sideways, the petite woman in it hoots and hollers as she falls and tumbles, screams at the top of her lungs when she sees Everett grabbing the cocaine and dumping it in the sink, runs the water over, before starting to over turn the kitchen, screaming louder with her throaty and gravelly voice.
-I'm done! I'm done busting my fucking ass to send you junkie bitch to rehab! Where's it? Huh? Where's the rest?
She found a few pills in the bread box that she heeled with her bare foot before throwing some water on top, on the floor, tossed plates to the ground over it, in her search for more drugs.
'Hu-et! Hu-et!" the woman kept on screaming, along with some other unintelligible bullshit Everett wasn't even hearing, she went into the living room, found two more baggies of cocaine, one under the coffee table, the other in the battery compartment of the TV clicker. They were flushed down the sink too, before she went to rip the main bedroom to shreds, using her knife to rip cushions. She just had enough. She found heroin in the bedroom and a crack pipe in the bathroom, she was screeching at the top of her lung, until someone caught her. She tried to fight off, but this guy knew her like a brother, he avoided her elbows flying back rather easily.
-Evie. Stop. You know the bitch ain't worth it. Come on.
She stopped fighting, wiped her nose and huffed, brushed her tangled hair back, no idea how Kenny Winston had managed his way up here, but she would not fight him, he was much bigger than her. She sucker her teeth, caught her breath, before hurling the wheelchair towards the living room, where it broke the TV and coffee table both.
-I fuckin' hate you. Dad should have murdered you when he had the chance. Don't ever call me again. Cause I'll come, and I'll finish what he started. You fucking waste of space.
Kenny pulled and shoved her towards the lobby, went to grab her backpack as she put her boots and brought her downstairs, and onto his motorcycle that had belonged to his father, as he was driving, she checked her phone. Yup, she had totally drunk-dialed then texted Kenny at one in the morning, at her drunkest point, and begged to be taken back home.
She leaned against his back. They'd hadn't grown up together, but every summer, Kenny and his sister would visit for a week, until about six years ago. When they had all gotten too old for that sleepover shit. And he was her best friend.
After half an hour, Kenny stopped at a cafe out of the city, a little diner like the ones you see on TV, held the door for her, let her pick a table, she looked rough.
-How many hours did you sleep since you got here?
-Less than ten
-You're slipping.
-I hate it here, you know it.
-Where do you want to be?
She shrugged, anywhere but here. The big, fat waitress come to serve them coffee with a jovial smile, listed the specials before handing them menus and walking away, they both giggled after looking at one another. Kenny leaned towards her over the steaming hot coffees, and whispered dramatically.
-Evie, do you think she's onto us?
-You're not supposed to use our real names!
-Shit! I mean, Bonnie! Do you think she's onto us?
-I don't know, Clyde! Perhaps we should just keep on trucking!
-But if we leave right now, th...
-They'll really be onto us! Stop whisperin'!
It felt good to laugh so hard, she hadn't in a while. As brief as were the six months she had lived in Charming, she had always felt more at home with the people there than anywhere else. Kenny gives her a long hard look over his coffee cup, before having a sigh of contempt.
-I see the ring is gone. Dan gone with it?
She rubs her fingers against her left palm, before setting her grey eyes on her fingers where a ring sat for two years, she had a small smile. Kenny will probably say "I tol' you SO!", as always.
-I'm dad. Not built for normal.
-You're an international fugitive's daughter, you're not built for normal!
-Easy, international... I'm pretty sure they forgot about him. It's been sixteen years.
-Oh, no. No one's forgotten the bloodbath he left behind. But worry not, sister, as his tales are still told.
-Shut up!
-Seriously. Dan?
-Fuck Dan. He was a fucking square and a drag. And the sex wasn't even that good.
-So now what?
-I'm going back to France. Fuck her, I'm done with the bullshit.
-You should have been done fifteen years ago. So, you're going back to work?
Everett raised en eyebrow as he opened the menu and peered at what he could order, he knew damn well the answer to that, her previous declarations had been nothing short of an atomic bomb in the Sons of Anarchy's little universe.
-Really, Kenny?
-What?
She shook her head and scoffed at his innocent question, if she could reach across the table and slap him, she would.
-No I'm not going back to work, you fucking dimwit. I'd rather become that slag then go back to being a god damn accountant.
-So what are you gonna do?
She cocked her head and smiled, looking at the patches on his kutte, he'd been wearing them proudly for over ten years, now. He looked down, pretended to dust them off, one day she would hurt him. He was too goofy for his own good.
-You wanna hear it for yourself?
-I'd like to hear if it's true.
He sustained her gaze for a long moment, before she took her first sip of coffee, the waitress came over to take their order, not that Everett cared.
-I'm going to become the first ever woman to be a full patch member of the Sons of Anarchy, Kenny. No matter what it takes.
The waitress that had just reached their table swiftly turned back around to leave them along, it made Kenny laugh, he drowned it in his coffee.
-Well it's about fucking time, if you ask me, Everett.