Disclaimer - Don't own lost boys
I absolutely love these two together, so I have finally decided to give them a whirl. Not sure how well it turned out but, oh, well...
Santa Carla - 1986
The water splashes, falling down from above in singular, clear, droplets. The figures hand withdraws from skin, and he moves back, away from the small dose of light that surrounds the sleeping child.
Closed eyes flutter when a droplet runs slowly down his face, landing on his throat. A small grumble forms past rosy pink lips then, filling all around them, dissolving the silence. He rolls over, tucking the quilt all around him as he turns once again, face coming to pillow. He falls back into dreams, half open eyes closing. Small snippets of them come, images zoom, blurred and chaotic, like fingers rifling through a book, hurriedly turning pages. The figure watches it all play out like a movie in front of him, and he takes every little thing, storing it deep inside his mind. The child remains asleep, with no sense of feel that his mind is being picked and clawed at. The dreaming continues and the soft breathing hums in the air. A half formed word comes now and then, though they seem to have nothing to do with what dreams are filling the child's mind.
Those eyes remain to watch, full of a caution and slight hesitation as he peers back closely at him, eyes raking over his sleeping face. He moves slowly, then, back around the bed, looking down at him with the same look when he stops. The boy moves again, fidgeting as he twists and turns into the quilt, wrapping it around him like a fly being rolled into a web. Another small grumble comes forth, and it turns silent then, only the faint sound of material rubbing together coming from the shadows. Slowly ever so slowly, a small playful grin comes onto the figures face, and his hand reaches out, pale, cold, fingers, brushing across his warm, flushed, cheek.
Another small whisper of a grumble, and he swats his fingers away, still in the dream world. Eyes turned amused, and he moves back, looking to a pair of eyes that watch in silence. It's that grinning face, though he seems confused somehow. A shake of the head is given and he wriggles his finger at him. Oh, no. He says. You've really done it this time.
A grimace, eyes going back downwards to the sleeping child that lays there, and the nerves come back. Yes, he really has done it this time, but it was something that could not be stopped. He likes, he wants...A little sister sounds so much more appealing, but then he likes the thought of the child as a brother. Too young he knows, but the temptation had not been fought with, and possibly he would lose what he had a sense of...There were no words at what he felt, only that he liked the thought of little boy as brother. Snatched him he did, watching him before, and even interacting with him. One sided more so. With every time he saw him, he thought 'brother' once more.
He withdraws once again, leaning against the wall, eyes watching the boy sleep like he has been doing for nearly an hour. A frown can be seen on his face, as if he looks like he's in discomfort, though he somehow seems peaceful as he snoozes away, those dreams still becoming longer like dominoes.
The other grins, appearing next to him in a flash. Eyes change all demonised and viperous, and he moves, laughing quietly, maliciously as he stalks forwards.
The figures eyes turn protective and he forcefully pulls his brother back, a warning look being given when their gazes lock together. Stay away. His eyes pierce his, and the stoner does not grin or joke around. There is no hint of a subtle joke tinged in the air, or in his tone or face. His words are true, and his face is mired serious. It was a first brother thinks, as he sees his eyes say the message again. A pause, eyes turning back a sea green, though they become playful. He tilts his head for a second, questioning what his motives are. No answer, and flashing his grin, he moves away.
You really have taken it too far, Paul. He says with his eyes, glancing at him once more. He does not spare the boy a look.
He continues watching him sleep, that silence still remaining, though he knows his twisted brother is right. David is going to skin him, and then possibly throw him out into the sun. Is it worth it? A furrow of the brow, hand pausing on his pocket. He watches him shift, all cosy amongst the blankets and sheets that are curled around him. He talks quite a lot he notes, though it is incoherent most of the time. He remains unaware that he is not in his bed, in his home where he should be. He still thinks he is with his brother, in their cluttered and messy bedroom, full of comics, books, pens, and all the things they share. He has not registered the briny, salty, sea, smell, all with the smell of death, drugs, and the rolling stench of rotting pizza and Chinese. The shells twist and turn in synchronize, slowly hitting each other as the light breeze sweeps around them, though he does not slumber from this sound. A flutter of eyes comes when the water drops on his forehead again, but stir he does not.
Brother stays away, watching from the shadows with wide grin and amused eyes. No, he is not interfering. He does not like children, they get in the way, and ruin fun. But blue eyes likes children, though this one more than any other. Brother watches, waiting, but just watching with the grin and sparkle of playful eyes. He leans up against the rocky wall, eyes remaining on him, seeing what he will do. Eat him? Grin widens. No, brother tends to keep little children of the menu. He does not know, but he finds it more amusing with every second.
The stoner looks towards him for a fraction of a second, knowing grinning brother is much meaner that he is. He says stay away. He likes to hurt, get all the thrill and pleasure when giving pain, even to him if he wants. Yes, grinning brother wouldn't care to hurt little boy. Grinning brother just smiles and plays, liking the pain he gives. The grin stays when Paul's eyes flash, and he shakes his head.
A flash, a warning look again, and grinning brother melts further into the shadows, wriggling his finger once more with that sickly smile smeared.
Paul likes the Froggy boy. Very much.
The whispers are a jumble, all hushed and static. They rise, then fall, all in different patterns, though he is starting to come around. His forehead is wet, though it is not the heat. No, he is actually cold, and mouth parts as he licks his dry lips slightly, feeling how cold they are against his tongue. He is still swimming out of his dreams, slowly moving upwards with hands reaching out. He feels weak, unable to open his eyes and see what is going on up above.
A sounds like bells clinking together, the sort on a Christmas tree, travel to his ears, and he feels his fingers move, twitch ever so slightly. They run across soft fabric, yet sticky all over, and a pause comes. The whispers become silent for a second, and he becomes calm, relaxed as he listens for another sound. No more hums come, though footsteps, ever so faint move around him. Alan? he thinks. The water hits his head again, and a groan comes forth. The sounds start up, and a small holler, with it a laugh, travels around him. Something like material tears, slowly shredding and ripping, and Edgar frowns. Something is wrong, he knows. He feels it is wrong. It's too cold, wet, and he feels not safe and comfortable. Is he dreaming? Where is Alan?
The bells of chimes come again, and he faintly hears a deep, southern, voice speaking. Jesus...food...It fades, a song taking over, and he makes out the sounds of beating drums, rising, hard and fierce, then rapidly dropping. The tearing comes again, the laugh mixing and swimming around, and he hears the hushed voices start up once more.
Slowly ever so slowly, he opens his eyes. A blink forms, and he looks upwards, at white, cream, and yellow netting's, all lapped and spilling onto each other in different lengths. Water seeps through them, landing in single droplets on his forehead. This is not his room. Eyes move, and he tells himself to remain calm. They turn to the left, and land on a cabinet, peeling and splintering all down and along it. His eyes look at the top of it, taking in little ornaments, shiny, crystal jewellery, and old candles burned down. The wax covers the spaces on top of the cabinet, all red and hard like play dough. Edgar shakes his head slightly, still groggy, and now confused, though the fear has yet to come.
A whoosh of air is heard, and his hair blows slightly, a small strand spilling onto his face. Edgar freezes, eyes moving around slowly. In front of him are more curtains, thinly pinned and draped together. He sees flickers of orange and light swirls of smoke in the air from behind the nettings. Candles are everywhere, wax dripping down the sticks, and there are tin containers placed around, orange glows radiating from the top of them, giving the place a dim light. It's silent, but there is one thing Edgar knows. He is not at home, with his brother, and he feels...unsafe. Edgar has been kidnapped!
A swallow comes when he hears feet moving, though he sees nothing. A shadow forms across the wall, rising upwards inch by inch, second by second, but he sees no person to claim it. It disappears as soon as it comes, and slowly Edgar feels the rapid beat if his heart pick up dramatically. The twisting and hitting of the shells come once more, and burying his fear that has attacked him, Edgar sits up, pushing away the fousty and dusty sheets off himself. They are scattered into a ball, thrown to the end of the bed. He is still wearing his dinosaur pj's, which makes a deep red comes onto his face. So much for looking fearless. Edgar is bricking fear, but most of all he is cold, hungry, and deeply confused.
A laugh comes from above him and, instantly, he turns defensive, all muscles becoming tense. Heart thunders in his chest and he jumps off the filthy bed, eyes moving around with a caution and fear. His cold, almost blue feet, move across the ground, and a deep shudder runs through him from the cold in the air. Arms cross, and his eyes move around, taking in more candles, surf boards lined up in the corner of the - Edgar frowns. He doesn't know what it is, only that it's not a house. It's not where he should be. It's cold, near dark, and his eyes take things in, hurriedly as they move around. Glass bottles filled with sand, beads, and liquids are lined up on a small table, lurking between them, small white, blackish candles, alight. Feathers, shells, and pieces of wood hang from strings, slowly turning and twisting from the breeze that hits them. There are boxes of Chinese cartons scattered around, others places, pizza boxes, with the grubby, rotting, food hanging out. A curl up of the lip is given, disgust visible in his eyes, and a small faint laugh is heard, though to quiet for him to hear. Orange glowing eyes watch him for the shadows, curves of lips, and then hesitation in ones eyes. Grinning brother watches with that rising of amusement, though Paul seems stuck as he watches.
Edgar isn't sure if he is even in Santa Carla, though he smells the salty air. He stumbles a few times, feet hitting into cabinets, crates, and other things. The fountain is where he finds himself at, and hugging himself tighter, he looks around again, a sense of being watched filling him. Holding the shiver back, he looks down into the fountain. It's not full of water, but pieces of junk; silver plates, gold cups, and other shiny, yet old and brassy things. The air is frightfully cold as he stands there, and panic begins to bubble inside.
Edgar remains still there for some minutes, frightened, cold, and hungry, but most of all scared. He wants Alan. Wants to be back in his room, with Alan there, and Edgar does not know how he is in a strange place, and how he has been brought there, only that he could possibly be in danger.
''I'd take him back if I were you.'' His voice holds a grin to it, despite it not being on his face this time. He turns away from watching him and looks at Paul. ''Or explain to David why you grabbed a kid from out of his home'' A small laugh comes, all teasing and viperous. ''If he stays, you know what will happen''
There comes no answer and he stops as he goes to light up a joint. Marko cocks his head, grin slipping onto his face as he looks at Paul, eyes turning to excitement.
''Too late'' He turns away, thumb coming to mouth as he walks out of the shadows then, that grin still plastered across his lips. As Paul follows behind, footsteps much more louder than Marko's, Edgar tenses. He remains still, eyes becoming hard and defensive as he still stares downwards. Hiding all the hesitation, Paul begins to bounce forwards, Marko staying by the battered couch, grin shining, eyes watching. A smell assaults him, not from the air, and Edgar swallows, crinkle of nose coming.
It happens all in a blur then. Paul is knocked to the ground, things become smashed, and Marko ducks when something goes flying towards him. Edgar is now on the other side of the cave, hands grabbing things, face hard and defensive. There is no fear displayed, though it's there, and it makes no difference at the surprise he has at finding it was two teenagers. He throws something else at the one on the floor, and eyes burn alight. Feeling stunned, Paul bounces back up, hands upwards, small smile being flashed.
''Move another step'' Edgar's voice is tinted with a threat, and he thanks that his voice doesn't shake. ''You'll get it poodle''
A laugh is given, and Paul moves forwards, movements all bouncy. He picks the chair up, holding onto it tight, despite its heavy weight. A pause comes, feet stopping for a second. Edgar glares darkly, locking eyes with him, daring him to move again. He holds it high up, ready to hit him across the head with it if he has to. Marko watches in silence, and Edgar shoots him a look, before looking back at Paul who still remains in the spot he is in. That grin is across his lips, and hands are still held up, though his eyes are full of a laughter now.
''Come on, Froggy.'' Paul leans forwards, eyes shining. ''Play nice''
It's his turn to pause, and Edgar scrutinises him in silence, that un-trusting, cautious look filling his eyes once more. He looks at him closely, cold eyes raking over him, and his arms go down after a few seconds. Realisation comes, and a harsher look is given, with it confusion. Now he knows who the poodle is, now he recognises him. How could he not remember the bouncy, idiotic, teenager that always came into the comic store, pulling on Edgar's hair, teasing him, and loitering around for a good hour, irritating him to no end. Yes, Edgar couldn't forget someone like him, as he tried to ban him from the comic store, but the kangaroo always came back, bouncing and just smiling. He also suspected him to be a vampire, but never really looked into it, for no vampire would be so irritating and childish as the poodle. Still, Edgar knows he could be in a sticky position now.
As Edgar watches him in deep thought, all with that suspicious gaze, Paul slowly moves forwards, eyes laughing, smile stuck in place. The chair is whacked across his head in a flash when Edgar blink and finds him standing in front of him, face leaning close to his. It didn't do much, but it was a fall to the ground, and that was good enough for Edgar. The pieces of wood were scattered all over the floor, small splinters covering the poodle. With no fear, but a suspicious look, Edgar scrambles back when the other moves, shaking his head at him in a scolding way.
Paul looks at him from the floor after a few seconds. ''Honestly, Froggy, you need to chill out.'' A grin slips. ''If I get up, are you going to hit me with something else?''
Edgar grumbles, eyes moving around. ''I've been kidnapped by a lunatic.'' His eyes move to Paul's laughing face. ''Why the hell am I here?''
Paul moves back towards him. ''I wanted to play, Froggy.''
''Pl...play.'' A shake of the head comes. ''You're fucking mad.''
He was blocked when he went to make a move to leave. His eyes moved over the other, distaste coming. ''Who's this? Goldilocks?''
''He's no one'' Paul pulls him back, getting a push from Edgar. ''You wouldn't want to play with him. He's not nice.''
''Crazy. Fucking crazy... '' Edgar moves back. ''You fucking kidnapped me from my home.''
''Er, yeah.'' Paul shrugged, bouncing from side to side. ''Oh, come on Froggy...I know you like me. Everyone likes me.''
''There's a problem though.'' His voice held a tinge of sadness to it, though his eyes were still laughing. ''You can't stay.'' Edgar mouth shuts for a minute, and he looks at Paul, a different look altogether slowly coming.
''Well, thank fucking god'' His voice is sarcastic, mixed with a coldness. ''I should get you done for this shit.''
Paul pouted, eyes putting on a fake hurt look. A curl up of the lip came from Edgar in response. No, he didn't hate Paul. He just found him to be the biggest idiotic asshole there ever was, but Edgar didn't like his other friend, Goldilocks, who was staring at him with an odd look. It made Edgar lose attention on Paul, and become wary of curly. His smile was completely out of place, and eyes were shining with a look that made Edgar cold all over. No, Edgar didn't like the short one, but he wasn't fully grasping why the fuck Paul had snatched him from his home, and had brought him to some, cold, damp, place.
The locked eyes broke when an arm comes around Edgar. He looks away from grinning face and, with irritation, knocks Paul's arms off. ''Jesus!'' Edgar moved away from him. ''You're fucking nuts, buddy.'' All he got given was a smile with a pout, which only made him shake his head again, eyes still cold and holding that surprise. What the fuck was he doing, in the middle of the night talking with some crack head? Who had also kidnapped him, claiming he wanted to play, and Edgar really didn't like the sound of fucking that. His friend, bit by bit, made that discomfort rise, and the wariness increase. Though he had been snatched by a crazy guy from out of his bedroom, Edgar was more intent on wondering why, because the shit that came out of the stoners mouth sure as hell wasn't fooling him. What he mostly knew was that he should have run along time ago, the opportunity when he was on the floor, but the curiosity made him stay back. It wasn't everyday you was snatched from within your home by a crazy dude who liked to sing, and bounce around like a kangaroo. And Edgar didn't really see him as any threat, it was the one other one he didn't like.
''Yeah.'' Edgar moves away some more, repeatedly shaking his head. ''I'm definitely getting your ass done.''
A laugh came, all bouncy. Paul skips towards him, shit eating grin coming. ''Oh, come on. Don't be like that. No hard feelings about anything, little dude?
''Little...'' Edgar glowered, arm crossing. ''No hard feelings. You snatched me from my home, you fuck head.'' Edgar glared some more, starting to get pissed and scared with the way Paul's friend, Dopey, was looking at him. ''And you can take me back now, or I'll whack another chair across your head.'' His voice was laced with a deep threat, and true as well.
''Alright. Alright.'' Giving a wink to a still grinning Marko, or as Edgar liked to call him, Dopey, Paul grabbed his arm, leading him out of the cave. ''You're not that fun, Frog.'' Paul grinned down at him when he struggled against his grasp. ''Or is it because you haven't got Froggy number two with you?''
''Get the hell off me.'' Edgar forcefully yanks his arm away, a dark looking. ''You're going to go down one day, Pal.''
A laugh, that laugh that Edgar has heard for weeks now. ''It was only some fun, Eddie boy.''
Edgar just glared. ''One day you lunatic''
Okay, I'm not sure how well this came out, I mean Edgar in this. I was really trying to visualise him actually being in that position and his reactions at being kidnapped, but I'm not sure if I got Edgar...right. I mean it wasn't a sick piece or anything, so I had no need to make Edgar all really scared and stuff, If I am making sense? :/ Geez, I'm not making much sense here at all.
Was Edgar in character here, and would you see him to be like that in a situation like that? I was thinking of doing a follow up to this, starting right from the end of this, and then doing a few beginning parts. A trilogy let's say :D But I'm not sure how well I did Edgar with Paul. Poodle is fairly easy to right to me, but it's Edgar I have problems with.
Thank you all who read and reviewed.