Title: Storm Bringer
Rating: Not yet '..' Thought
Disclaimer: I don't own my muses, Jack and Sands are all Johnny Depp's and Remy is Marvel's. Everything else is mine.. DO NOT use the characters in the story WITHOUT permission.
The writer sits, a blank page before her, pen in hand. She hesitates a moment glancing back to her muses. "Are you guys sure about this?"
A single perfect brow arches over reflective dark sunglasses, "Sugarbutt, you are a writer aren't you?"
She nods vaguely to the figure sprawled across her couch. Casting a glance to the man in the kitchen doorway, still uncertain.
"Chere" He pushes from the frame moving to her side with feline grace, he rests a hand on her shoulder in reassurance. "I know it's been 'while, bit it's time t' start 'gain."
She closes her eyes for a moment, taking a deep steadying breath. She then looks passed him to the third man who lays on the floor humming, he gives her a small smile and nod. "It be time luv."
Finally she nods, turning her attention back to the page with a level of determination. "All right then, let's do this..."
The pale light reaches out, pushing away the shadows of the night. The world is for a moment silent, holding it's breath in anticipation. The hand of dawn creeps forward further, penetrating the light fog, forcing it to clear. Materializing almost as if by magic a single figure approaches. A crash of thunder breaks the silence and the world seems to sigh.
His movements are fluent, born of an uncanny physical awareness and confidence. This man knows himself, he has no qualms with pushing the limits of the world around him. He pauses, taking in his surroundings in the day's early light. Rich violet eyes dance in humor as he focuses on the small awakening town sprawled before him. A faint, satisfied smile dances across his lips and he advances.
A frown creases her brow as the fresh sunlight sneaks passed her curtain to caress her features. A thick groan breaches her throat and she rolls, burrowing into her blankets in a refusal to acknowledge the birth of a new day. She sighs resettling into slumber when a sudden crash of thunder rattles the window. She bolts upright, crimson locks flying wildly in a haze about her shoulders. After a moment she flops back tonelessly, glaring at the blinking digits of the the clock. Raising her hand above it a split second before it blares to life. Slapping off the alarm she swings her feet to the floor still groggy. "Cassandria! You up girl?"
Narrowed emerald hues turn to the door in annoyance. "Yeah Papa. I'm 'wake.. " her voice lowers in to a mutter, "wish I wasn'."
"Well hurry up. Storm's comin' an' we gotta get the horses stabled b'fore it breaks."
She rolls her eyes releasing a sigh of resignation. She pushes herself to her feet, grabbing the worn jeans from the foot of the bed and a shirt from the back of her chair she shrugs into them. Pausing before the mirror she combs her fingers through her hair and pulls it into a hasty ponytail. With a final, longing look toward her bed she leaves the room, heading straight away for the kitchen and coffee.
The writer pauses, her brow furrowing in confusion as she again looks to her muses. "I don't know these characters."
Her troubled gaze jumps from one to the next, "Are any of you even in this story?"
Noting the hint of growing panic in her tone Remy looks over to Sands and Jack, who rises from his position on the floor to prop himself up on his elbows. "No luv."
He tilts his head back, beaded braids jangling softly as he studies the ceiling. "Ye have t' be trustin' us. It's a story worth tellin'."
Sands nods from the couch. She looks from them to the page rubbing her temple, more than slightly unsettled by the fact that for once all three are in perfect agreement. She shakes her head as she returns the pen to the page. "All right, I trust you."
Stepping onto the porch, her second mug of coffee in hand, Cassie studies the sky with a frown. 'From that thunder clap you'd think the storm was right on top of us.' Searching the clear blue expanse she shakes her head. "Papa? You sure that was thunder?"
Though she did not hear his approach she knew he was just behind her. "Can' a'ways be trustin' y' eyes Baby Girl."
She glances back to note he is massaging his arthritic shoulder and she nods. "All right then, let's bring'em in."
The little boy, soda in hand, watches silently as the dark stranger moves steadily passed. He shudders involuntarily as a piercing violet gaze focuses on him, seeming to momentarily pin him to the wall. As that penetrating stare returns to the road ahead the boy shudders again. Wide eyes never leaving the black, duster clad back of the stranger. His only clear thought, 'Dangerous'.
Leaning back in her chair, the writer again massages her temple. "Okay the story is started"
She glances to the man kneeling at her side. "I need to stop for a moment, relax my mind."
He nods in agreement, "A'right chere, but this is one y' goin' t' 'ave t' finish."
She nods, "I know Rem, I know."
She sits at the top of the stairs, notebook on her lap, pen in hand. Remy leans against the rail behind her, legs stretched out before him as he lights a cigarette. Jack stands beside him, peering over the rail. Sands sits a few steps below her leaning back on his elbows. "Time to write again Sugarbutt."
With a sigh of resignation she puts the pen to work..
Cassie sits on the porch rail, her knees drawn up as she watches a puffy while cloud drift by. The horses stabled over an hour ago and still no storm. She shakes her head looking to her father who sits on the swing nearby. "I don't get it Papa. Where's the rain?"
Her attention returns to the sky, "Even the news is saying we got a major storm coming, but I don't think I've ever seen a day so beautiful."
He chuckles quietly, "Y' jus' don' 'member when y' were little Baby Girl. Livin' up in th' city, you've f'gotten th' wild storms out here. They sneak up on y'."
She smiles coming off the rail, "Well, I'm going into town." Her tone turns playfully mocking, "I'll get a book to get me through this doozy of a storm we're havin'."
Steering the jeep into Willow Peak Creak she is shocked to find the streets empty. True, she's only been back six months after almost ten years, but this is boarding on ridiculous. Parking the jeep she looks up the empty street, suppressing a shudder, 'It's like a ghost town.'
Shaking off the feeling she open the door, gravel crunching beneath her feet as she makes her way toward the town's single diner. The pleasant jingle of the bells over the door break the silence in the small establishment. She stops, tucking a stray hair behind her ear as she looks around perplexed. "Collin?"
With a growing concern she moves slowly through the stillness. "Collin?"
She pushes open the kitchen door, casting about a quick glance her frown deepens. Releasing the door she steps forward, letting it swing behind her as she turns off the glowing, red hot burner, she murmurs to herself, "What the hell?"
Standing at the top of the steps her father scratches at his thinning scalp. He shakes his head beginning to turn when movement along the road draws his attention. Stepping from the porch he raises a hand to block some of the sun's glare, his brow rises as he calls out. "Hey Mister!"
The dark clad figure pauses at the end of the drive. A gaze the old man can feel even from the distance separating them sending chills down his spine. Clearing his throat he straightens, "Ain' nothin' tha' way fer miles an' there's a storm comin'. Why don' y' come on up t' th' house t' wait'er out?"
The writer shudders with a sudden chill, setting the pen aside she shakes her head, "I don't think I like this story. Who is that guy?"
She looks to the top of Sand's dark head. Receiving no answer from the trio she turns looking to Remy and Jack. "Where are all the people? This story isn't making sense."
Jack offers her a faint smile, while Remy closes his eyes to avoid her gaze. "Ye're just goin' to have t' write it luv."
She focuses on Jack, the sad note to his voice setting her more on edge. "Why? What if I don't want to?"
He shakes his head in response, "Y have to luv.. Ye have to.. "
Stepping back out of the diner she nervously tugs a loose strand of hair. 'No cars, no bikes, no people.. What the hell is going on in this town?' Starting the jeep she pulls into the road, glancing towards the freeway. That's when she sees it, the largest, ugliest, blackest boiling cloud she have ever witnessed in her twenty-five years.
Slamming her foot on the gas she jerks the wheel for home, away from that cloud that looks to touch the ground, devouring everything in it's path. Her heart thundering in her throat she speeds through town, ignoring the stop signs, ignoring the two traffic lights. Her gaze constantly drawn to the rearview mirror. She watches in growing terror as the thing overtakes the small town.
She jerks the wheel, sending the jeep from the road to tear across the lawn. Panting as if she had not driven but ran the entire way, she leaps from the still running automobile. "Papa!"
She shoves open the door, tripping over her own feet in her haste. Strong hands catch her shoulders.
The writer pauses, pen hovering just above the page as she looks to the trio. She swallows realizing they had moved. All three hover close, attention rapt on the page. With a deep breath she continues, letting the black ink spill across the sheet.
Her breath catches, wide emerald hues taking in the man before her until she reaches his face. 'Oh my God.. I can't see his face.' The thought skitters across her panicked mind even as she meets his gaze. "Who the hell are you?"
His voice is cool and calm, inviting as a crystal clear lake, "It is time"
She trembles and yet cannot pull away, "Time for what?"
There is a not of humor to his next words, "Time for you to be written."
"W-What the hell?" The writer stares stunned at the page. Sands whispers breathlessly in her ear, "Keep writing."
"What do you mean? Who are you?" She jerks away, flinching as thunder rolls outside announcing that the storm is upon them. "I am the writer's tool, the Storm Bringer, and you are to be written."
She shakes her head not understanding as she back away. A deafening crash of thunder causing the very foundation of the house to shake sounds around her. She closes her eyes tightly as vertigo overtakes. Suddenly, all is silent.
"This is a joke.." She drops the pen, staring at it in disbelief. Remy massages her shoulder gently, "She's your character chere. Now y' have t' write her."
Rereading the story the writer glares at them, "You wanted me to write this so I would have a new character?"
They nod, speaking in unison, "You have to write.. Or the fictives die."
Picking up the pen, her personal writing pen, she twirls it in her hand. Noting for the first time in years the violet engraving on the black surface, 'Storm Bringer', she mutters to herself as she turns to a fresh page, "My tool..."
Kind of two stories in one in this chapter.. A writer and her muses and the story she's being forced to write.. Well.. the character she being forced to bring to life even though she doesn't necessarily want to...
Yes.. The writer is me.. and No.. I'm not really sure I want to write this character but dear Jack, Remy, and Sands are insisting..
So I am...
The Demented Ferret