Warrior
Violent Delights: Triumph
Tommy Riordan/OC
Rating: T - As a reader if you're adverse to any strong language, themes of violence or of an adult nature then discontinue reading.
Disclaimer: All rights belong to the Gavin 'O' Connor and the cast and crew, I don't own anything but characters you've not heard of. I unfortunately do not own Mr Edward Thomas Hardy either because if I did I wouldn't be writing a fanfiction about him, that's for sure.
Warning: The story will take place during and after the movie but not all spoken lines will be accurate.
: can I burn the pieces I wrote, I don't think so ~ now there's a key where my wonderful mouth used to be :
Chapter 1: Introducing Alana Drew
'Yeah? Well you wasted my time too you little bi-'
The familiar click of the phone on the other end was harsher than usual but I still slammed mine down too just to emphasize the fact I was very, very pissed off at the womans attitude just a moment ago.
'Lana...'
'What?' I snapped and then recoiled quickly as my boss, looking fairly annoyed and now astonished hovered over my desk. Her coffee was placed calmly on my desk as she cleared her throat and took the seat opposite mine.
'Ms Jamison I didn't mean to-'
'What? Swear at a client or snap at your boss?'
I felt my stomach tie into knots and I flushed, embarassed at such a crude but truthful statement. The woman on the other end of the phone just moments ago had only called to cancel her sons AA meeting but with the day I've had already, I wasn't in the mood to play dutiful counsellor.
'Lana you're job is simple. Pick up the phones. You were demoted from desk duty and from refreshments - all you have to do is pick up the phones.'
I wasn't a people person. It was just as simple as that.
I was sarcastic, rude and my sense of humour tended to insult people - comes with being from England.
Ms Jamison stood, brushed a stray hair from her suave grey skirt-suit and picking up her coffee, went on her way after making it very clear how easy and painless my job was. It was pretty obvious that any more complaints from clients who'd been mistreated over the phone, I was walking home with an early paycheck and unemployment stamped on my forehead.
'Rough day?' Glancing over at probably the only person who I got along with in this place, Kelsie McCormack placed her designer jean cladded arse on my desk toppling over some pens.
'More like disastrous.' I rested my face in my hands ignoring the phone that was ringing non-stop beside me. Working in Alcoholics Anonymous wasn't pleasant.
People weren't calm, weren't civil most of the time and more often than not, they just wanted to go home and so dealing with people with pent up anger, frustration and a whole lotta issues wasn't new to anyone who worked in the AA offices.
But somehow, it was always too much for me.
I was the kind of person who will insult the way your hair looks just to overcome an awkward silence or the person who has never drank in their life but decides to joke about the vodka in front of someone who'd only just began the 12 steps.
Kelsie rubbed my back comfortingly and with a snort she said, 'why is it the person who hates people can't get along with people who hate themselves?'
'Because their sob stories are boring.' And see, a sarky comment like that loses me a friend.
I looked up just as Kelsie rolled her eyes. Kelsie was a therapist and sat in some of the AA meetings sometimes to overhear some of their dramatic stories and how
long they've been sober and what abuse someone went through to turn to alcohol.
And still at twenty-two years old, I've never drank enough to get drunk. Why do I work here?
Because that two bedroom house you live in all alone torments you with a three digit number every month threatening to kick you out on your arse in the street if
you don't work.
'There's a discharge this Saturday,' she said flicking through some files on my desk as I glared at the phone that was still ringing, 'wanna watch her go?'
'No,' I said quickly and giving in, I picked up the ringing device that was bound to make my ears fall off, 'Alcoholics Anonymous, Alana Drew speaking, can I help you?'
The voice on the phone was one I was hoping not to hear again, 'oh, it's you - why is it every time I call this number, you answer? My son can't go to his meeting to-'
I sighed, '-today because he's hungover from relapsing last night. So shove the illness excuse where the sun doesn't shine ma'am and I'll inform his mentor that his 12 steps are to be repeated next week when he isn't tempted by Mr Jack Daniels - thank you madam, have a lovely day.'
Hanging up the phone I took a deep breath and looked up at an annoyed Ms Jamison who was in her office doorway.
Brilliant...
~VD:T~
When I moved to Pittsburgh I didn't expect the weather being so similar to typical English weather.
Constantly overcast, damp and you feel glum just looking at the sky, can't tell the difference between Summer and Autumn and having to carry an umbrella with you whereever you go - except for me who forgot today which is why I'm soaked to the bone and can't see more than a foot away from me.
I don't live in the most expensive area but it could be worse. My apartment complex is in a quiet, suburban area where there aren't many supermarkets but there's a small array of necessary shops that get you through the week.
Fumbling around for my keys, I unlock my small silver car and sit down with a heavy sigh. I hate rain.
It's already dark outside and it's only six but today's work is over and I got away with slandering a client's mother witnessed by my boss...twice.
A thump on my window makes me jump a mile and after a quick yelp, I brace myself with one hand on my seats headrest and the other on my steering wheel.
'Jesus!'
'Can you help me?'
Because of the rain I can only make out a man... looks kinda old but doesn't look familiar. He doesn't look potentially dangerous but looks can be decieving after all.
'Probably not.' I mutter under my breath and skidding to the passengers chair, I wind down the window about an inch, 'why?'
The man looks utterly soaked and he's breathing hard as if he's been running. 'My car broke down.'
Resisting the urge to roll my eyes, I look at him blankly, 'if that's not a serial killer line I don't know what is. Phone a pick-up. Goodnight.' Just as I was about to sidle back to the drivers side, I hear a small chuckle and the man bends down so he's eye level with me.
Bright blue eyes embedded in wrinkling, withered skin stares into my brown eyes and it's like he's looking into my soul - I totally knew he was a creep.
'I'm Patrick. I think I know you - do you work for AA?' He gestures to the building behind him and I nod slowly.
'Yeah, but I don't know you.'
By his expression I could tell I was bothering him, he just wanted some help and I'm keeping him out in the rain accusing him of being a serial killer.
'Can I borrow your cell-phone? Or... are you from America?'
'No and no.' I say slowly and I look at him sheepishly, 'I don't mean to be rude but there are plenty of other people around.' Lie. 'And I don't have a mobile on me right now.' Another lie. 'I'm also in a rush.' And another.
'I can tell I'm obviously bothering you,' he said and backed away from my car, 'I'll just ask inside, I'm sure once I say what excellent service one of their workers provide for a fellow client, they'll be more than happy to oblige to help me. I'll tell them...' He peers into my car to catch a glimpse of my name-tag... Fuck! 'Alana Drew has a way with people.'
I glare at him... clever, sarcastic twat.
Huffing and cursing under my breath, I turn around in my seat and scamper through my handbag in the backseat pulling out my mobile. 'Cover it, if it gets...'
Before I can finish my sentence he hauls the door open and without giving me much time to move over, he plops his backside into my passengers seat and shuts the door shaking his head leaving droplets all over my dashboard.
'Excuse me Patrick.' I'm stunned at this old mans audacity and hesitate for a moment before I give him my phone.
'Your phone would have gotten damaged out there,' his smile is friendly and I can't help but feel a little bad at the way I treated him. He dials a number on my phone and listens carefully.
'Tommy? I know you said not to call... I know. I'm in a spot of trouble. My car broke down...'
I sit there awkwardly staring out into the rain as I hear someone on the other side of the phone sound not too happy at all that this man is calling him. Should've called car pick-up.
At least they're paid to be nice to you.
I glance at him as he rubs his forehead, this guy seems to be giving him a hard time whoever Tommy is.
'Can you just borrow the car in the garage and pick me up outside AA? Keys are in the drawer... It was your mothers.' This was obviously the wrong thing for the old guy to say because even I heard the click of the phone on the other end.
This Patrick doesn't show any fault though in his front - he sits calmly and hands me back my phone, 'my son is coming to pick me up.'
I sit there for a moment expecting him to get out but he doesn't. I'm not used to being in this kind of position, I've usually intimidated whoever I've encountered by now to have them turning to someone more pleasant to talk to.
'Do you mind if I wait in here?' He finally asks obviously not getting out even if I said no considering his intruding entrance into my car. And life. And credit on my mobile.
I wave a hand at him and force a smile, 'obviously not.'
'Are you from England?' He asks after a moment and I nod my head not really interested in a conversation. I want this man gone - I don't care if he threatens me by walking into his meetings to tell his mentor and my boss all about my lack of civilisation.
I've done my good deed for the week - now old man, bugger off.
Of course I didn't say any of that. I have manners.
'How long is your son gonna be?' Patrick shrugs, 'I don't live far but he'll probably be as long as he can.'
Nice kid, I thought with a roll of my eyes. A few minutes go by in silence and it's welcomed by me but clearly not by him. He's obviously used to conversation considering he keeps opening his mouth to say something and then shutting it again.
He doesn't look tall or lanky. He looks like he could've been quite athletic at an early age. Obviously an alcoholic or he wouldn't be here. I'll have to check his file tomorrow at work or something.
His eyes, although startling are tired. He looks mentally exhausted.
Just then headlights appear in my rearview mirror and although I can't see the person inside, Patrick takes his cue to leave. 'Nice to meet you Miss Drew and thank you.'
Although our meeting was met on impolite terms, his thank you is genuine and so is my 'no problem' that I say to him before he shuts the door of my car.
Just as I'm about to pull away, I look up into my mirror to catch eyes with the driver of the car and his grey eyes meet mine in a kind of secret communication. He's obviously wondering who I am.
I can't tell much of what he looks like but his eyes are beautiful - his face hidden by a shadow because of the dark outside and the overhead streetlight doesn't give much away.
He also looks really cramped in that car he's driving, his broad muscles clear to see in his shoulders as his sillouhette almost shrouds the whole interior of the car.
Hmm, I'll definitely be searching the Patricks in our system tomorrow.
From ElloHarley(me!): Whaddaya think so far?
I know his car doesn't break down in the movie but sue me, okay? Some events are gonna change.
If there are any grammatical errors, I apologize, I haven't got a proof-reader except for myself and sometimes I might overlook something. Alright, so, thanks for checking out the first chapter.
Song: Virgin State of Mind by K's Choice
