Michael- Molossia
...
Probably straining myself again, but I really did need to start something new to help get me back into writing. I have lots of chapter WIPs but I felt they were becoming stale so I'm starting something new and hopefully I'll be able to finish the other chapters to the best of my ability and post them soon.
I think a large chunk of the people here know why I'm writing this, but if you don't, I posted a HuttMol picture with a small essay on an au idea I had, and it was very popular among HuttMol fans. I'm going to guess it's because you all found the au interesting and like HuttMol, and not because of some sadistic urge to see various countries horrifically injured by various livestock. But still, the reaction was a far more positive one than I'd been expecting and I had so much fun writing the first chapter and planning the story, so thank you all for your encouragement!
Now, as well as HuttMol, there are a couple of side pairings: AmeBel, USUK with fem!US, and OzNZ. ...Apologies to anyone who pushed for this au and is now sitting staring at the list going 'Oh for fuck's sake!'
Anyway, on with the show!
...
The soft scent of the straw and the dripping of water were obscured by the pungent smells of the animals in the stable and their sniffs and snuffles, along with the clanking of chains and the scuffling of hooves, but Michael didn't care; the sounds were familiar and comforting to him. He patted the nose of the chestnut horse in front of him in its stall, and the creature snorted in reply. The stables were dark and cool, and perfectly quiet, a welcome break from the glaring sun and loud visitors outside. Not that Michael particularly minded the daylight, he just needed time to himself every now and again.
The horses in the stable seemed fond of him, and he loved sneaking them sugar cubes and apples when no one was looking. That was probably why they were fond of him, he noted with a smile.
The horse he was petting- Lidia- stretched her neck forward to nibble his black hair, which fell flat over his forehead. He laughed and swatted a hand half-heartedly, taking a step back and causing his boots to scuffle over the concrete and straw. His calm ochre eyes- unlined and without shadow- danced and shone as he smiled. Beautiful peace.
He hadn't had much time to himself since they'd arrived at the festival, and at times he missed his home, the little farm back in Nevada where he could look after his flower beds and vegetable patch in peaceful isolation. He could hum and dig and be himself, every hint of self-consciousness gone from his mind, every worry and insecurity, if only for a while.
But he loved it here too! His brothers took him to various rodeos over the summer holidays, to compete in the events and livestock shows, as well as auction their cattle. It was a tradition and Michael had been going to those things since he was a baby.
He wanted to compete in the events too, and he would be able to in a few years. He had already made a bit of a name for himself in the breakaway roping and goat tying, though he was now too old to compete in the former. Still, he'd soon be barrel racing and bronc riding alongside his brothers, twins Alfred Jones and Matthew Williams, each with numerous titles and trophies under their belts. The things were everywhere in their house, on the mantelpiece, in the cabinet and on shelves in their rooms.
And Michael's awards would soon be joining them. Not piddly little kid's rosettes, but proper trophies too!
It was what he was born to do.
One of his earliest memories was riding an animatronic bucking bull at a fair, barely large enough to climb onto the thing by himself. He'd wanted to beat Alfred's record and he'd stuck his tongue out at the older boy, watching from the sidelines with a smile as Michael clutched the rope with pudgy fists and the ride started.
He didn't last a second.
The bull jerked to the side and he was thrown off, landing on the inflatable floor with a thump and bursting into tears, though the only injury was to his pride. Alfred had helped him up with a laugh, brushed him down and dried his tears and snot with a handkerchief.
Michael smiled as he sat on the pile of hay bales in the corner. Alfred always looked out for him, even when they were little. And Matthew, in turn, looked after the pair of them. He was the oldest by only a few hours, but was definitely the most mature of them. Alfred was too reckless for his own good. Probably why he always went ahead and entered the bull riding.
Michael shrugged as he pulled a few strands of straw out of a bale, plaiting them absent-mindedly; he thought the bull riding was the most exciting part of the rodeo! Matthew worried too much about Alfred when he competed, not that the boy cared to listen. Yes, people had been killed in the past, and Alfred himself had broken his ribs and collar bones a few times over the years, but why chicken out? The injuries just made him stronger, he claimed. His brother needed his eight seconds of thrill and Michael accepted that.
If only Matthew would too.
He hadn't told his brothers that he planned to compete in bull riding too, partly because he knew how Matthew would react, and partly because he didn't know how Alfred would. In Alfred's mind, there was one rule for himself and one rule for his little brother. But he needed to do something that would make him stand out from the rest of his family!
"Michael Joshua Jones, where have you gotten off to?" came the soft, lilting voice of his brother. Matthew entered the stables and greeted Michael with a smile. Sweat dripped from his shirt and shorts, his body unused to the sweltering heat of the south, having been raised in Alberta for a large chunk of his life. A ridiculous, oversized cuddly polar bear hung from his arms, a prize won in a shooting game yesterday.
He bristled, and replied with a growl. "Here. You can see me!"
Matthew shook his head and smiled. "Come on, you can't hide in the hay all day. There's fun to be had! Alfie's competing soon."
"Huh?" Michael glanced at his watch, "there's still time."
"Yes but I want a picture with that tractor outside."
"Ain't that a little 'tacky-tourist'?"
Matthew hummed. "Maybe, but I like tractors."
Michael knew when Matthew was lying, but he decided not to argue; he needed some sunlight anyway.
"Okay, what's this really about?" he began once they were outside. Michael glanced over at rows of large pens containing a variety of livestock. People milled about, and several families had stopped to look at the animals, the children climbing the fences to get a better view. There seemed to be a sea of cowboy hats, some worn by competitors but most had been bought by tourists, including himself. His own hat lightly slapped against the back of his shirt as he walked and he reached behind him and placed it on his hair. He and his brothers went all-out with their outfits each year, revelling in 'looking the part'.
"I have a surprise for you," was all Matthew would say.
"Hmpf," Michael wasn't one for surprises, preferring a bit of order to his life, but he humoured his brother nonetheless. Maybe it was a new pair of chaps? He needed a new pair, he noted, glancing down at the worn leather chaps over his trousers, pinching his thighs uncomfortably. He had no idea how they got in such a state- it wasn't like he actually competed in roughstock events- overuse, maybe? He really liked wearing them.
"Here," he grabbed Michael's arm and led him into another building, and the boy found himself in a single large room of pens and cages displaying rabbits, gerbils and lambs, amongst other things.
"The petting zoo?" Michael raised an eyebrow, "just how old do you think I am?"
"Shush you," Matthew poked his nose and pulled him past a group of small children holding rabbits in their laps.
Matthew stopped at one pen, where a large white dog lay in soft hay, a line of tiny puppies snuggled up to her stomach.
"Yeah?" Michael looked at the puppies, then back at Matthew, brain finally clicking. "Oh…"
"Pick one," Matthew smiled, "I had a word with the owner and they'll be old enough to leave their mother by the time we're set to go home. I bought one for you."
"For me?" Michael knelt down next to the mother, stroking the dog's back. She didn't growl or bark at him, and he felt safe enough to turn his attention to the puppies. "Thank you. That's mighty kind of you to do so."
"Don't worry about it, I'm just looking out for my brother. Thought you could do with some company when Alfie and I are off at work. I'm sure it must get lonely sitting around by yourself all them evenings and weekends."
"Well I have my garden," Michael picked up one puppy, stroking its pink nose as it blinked at each touch. He liked this one. The puppy yawned and he smiled, placing it down next to its siblings, "but I wouldn't mind some company that didn't talk." Matthew laughed at that. "Can I get this one?" he added, stroking his chosen puppy.
"Of course!"
"I think I'll call you Daisy," he murmured, "yeah, that sounds good!" Daisy blinked in response.
"It's a nice name, but you'll have to leave Daisy with her brothers and go cheer on your own brother now."
"Right," Michael smiled, scrambling up, "do you think Al will win again?"
"I hope so," Matthew sighed, "or he'll just end up with a sore ass for no reason. Still, he has all those rounds ahead of him, and he has good balance…"
"I love watching him compete," Michael said with a grin as he followed his brother outside, "he looks wicked!"
Matthew glanced down. "I always have my heart in my mouth when I watch him," he confessed, "it's eight seconds of pure horror for me. I wish he wouldn't compete in that damned event."
Michael stared at his brother for a long moment, unsure of how to reply. Matthew was the best bareback bronc rider in the family, had been thrown off a fully grown horse more times than he'd been kissed. He collected fractures like they were stamps, and he no problem competing against Alfred in bronc riding, but why was it so different with a bull? They were just big horses! Michael had seen people injured badly in both bronc and bull riding; it was a risk that came with the sport, so why was one acceptable to Matthew and the other not?
"Still," Matthew continued with a shrug, "he knows what he's doing, and he's a grown man now, so…"
"But I'll be in the goat tying tomorrow!" Michael continued hurriedly, "will you and Al be watching?"
"Of course!"
…
The outdoor arena was packed with spectators cheering and talking. The place stank of body odour and fast food, but Michael didn't mind so much; he loved the atmosphere of the rodeo, and had a clear view of the arena floor from his seat near the front.
He took another bite of his hotdog and turned to Matthew, sat upright next to him, hands clutching the back of the plastic seat in front of him, popcorn abandoned on his lap. Michael just rolled his eyes at the sight; Matt was like this every year! As they'd searched for seats, they'd been joined by Alfred's long distance girlfriend, the beautiful 'ice queen' Natalya, as Matthew had jokingly dubbed her.
Four years ago, Matthew had signed his twin up for a penpal programme in a desperate attempt to improve Alfred's geography and after he'd been paired with a girl in Minsk, they'd gotten talking. They both needed somewhere to talk outside their families, and didn't have much in the way of close friends, and there was plenty for them to discuss with each other, given that their lives were wildly different and they wanted to know about those lives. Even though his geography was still poor, the exchange had been a definite success in Alfred's eyes.
They flew to each other's homes as often as they could, but time and money were always an issue. They were busy with their jobs, and those jobs didn't pay enough to spend on airline tickets every weekend, or even every month. But they managed somehow.
Natalya wasn't big on rodeo, or people and animals in general. She didn't like large, rowdy crowds either, but she would travel halfway across the world to watch her cowboy compete. It was a yearly tradition for the pair of them.
Michael wasn't quite sure what to make of Natalya. They rarely spoke, but the girl was civil enough, if not the most friendly of people. How she fell for loud, cheery Alfie was a mystery in itself. Alfred adored her and Matthew didn't mind her either, so the youngest brother wouldn't say a word against Natalya. She was harsh, he'd noted, but so was he at times, and he'd been intimidated by her when they'd first met.
She was odd, Michael had decided, like his brother, but at the same time, so unlike Alfred. She usually had a new factoid to tell him on her visits, the same way other friends of the family saved up little souvenirs for him, and Michael was deeply cynical of her various superstitions, not that he'd ever tell her to her face.
"I still cannot see the appeal of the thing," she was confessing to Matthew now, "Alfred has tried explaining before but…" Natalya shook her head.
"Not your thing then?" Matthew turned his head and smiled, "oh well. It's nice you still come out to support Alfie."
"I like watching him on the bulls and horses… the way he moves on them… it's arousing."
Matthew and Michael pulled faces.
"I like watching him make a tit of himself," Matthew replied, shuddering slightly, "hard to be graceful when you're falling ass over head."
"I've noticed," Natalya replied with a smile.
Michael looked at the contender in the bucking chute in interest. It wasn't his brother, but he still wondered how they would fare. He tried to imagine himself in their place.
Something ice cold poked him in the stomach and he jumped.
"Here," Matthew hissed when Michael's head snapped up, pressing a beer into his little brother's hand. "Don't tell anyone."
"Thanks," Michael replied with a grin, pulling the tab and taking a long slug of his first ever beer, and nearly throwing up. "What the fuck!?" It tasted vile! Was beer supposed to be so bitter? And that aftertaste!
"Don't like it then?" Matthew smiled.
"No! Tastes like shit!"
"Glad you think that, cause you're not getting another one til you're 21."
"Good," Michael, despite himself, took another- cautious- sip.
The event started and the bull burst out of the bucking chute, jumping and spinning in tight circles, furiously trying to throw off its rider.
And it succeeded.
The contestant barely held on for the eight seconds before they fell to the floor with a rather painful thud. They soon scrambled up and were through the exit chute whilst rodeo clowns distracted the bull. Michael tore his eyes away and looked at his brother.
"...Not sure how that lot in Queensland will recover from such a scandal," he was telling Natalya, who was trying her best to look like she gave a fuck, "and one of their major stars too..." he trailed off as he realised he'd lost his audience.
"What's this?" asked Michael.
"Oh some big drugs thing down in the Australian rodeo," Matthew waved a hand, "not important."
"Matt, I'm twelve, I can talk about drugs with you."
"Yes, but-"
"There he is," Natalya pointed to the bucking chute, where Alfred was carefully climbing onto a particularly angry-looking bull.
"Oh I wish he'd wear his damned helmet," Matthew stared disdainfully at the cowboy hat on his twin's head, identical to his own one. Michael, on the other hand, thought the hat made him look professional, and rather cool. It went well with his tasselled chaps and glittering boots.
His eyes scanned the crowd and he waved enthusiastically when he saw his brothers, a large grin plastered on his face. He blew a kiss to Natalya- who discretely caught it- and turned his attention to securing a grip on the bull rope. A competitor was only allowed to hold on with one hand, and the other couldn't touch the bull, rope or their own body throughout the whole thing.
"He's going to break something this year, I can feel it," Matthew despaired, and Michael was inclined to agree. Still, he looked so large and solid, especially in his protective vest, that injury almost seemed out of the question.
"And here we have reigning champion Alfred Franklin Jones," the commentator boomed from their box, "hoping to defend his title and walk away with yet another award. Can he do it? We'll soon find out."
A horn sounded and the bull burst out of the chute.
Michael had experienced these eight seconds time and time before, always on the edge of his seat with pulsing excitement and awe. He loved watching Alfred dance across the arena on a bull, balancing himself with grace and dexterity that was almost inhuman. It was an art, he believed.
But today, he didn't get the chance to watch his brother win.
As the bull began to throw itself in circles, it was immediately clear that something was terribly wrong.
"He's losing control," Matthew gasped a split second before Alfred was thrown from the bull and hit the ground in a spray of dirt. He quickly scrambled up as rodeo clowns stood between him and the bull, desperately trying to distract it. He started jogging over to the exit chute, trying to get away from the thing as quickly as possible, an expression of complete disbelief on his downtrodden face. Michael couldn't help that pang of disappointment in his chest; not the best start, he said to himself, and it would be hard to recover from that calamity of a round.
The crowd around him gasped and cried out as the bull broke away and charged, soon catching up with the horror-stricken young man trying to escape. A single movement, and the creature had kicked Alfred in the back. A sickening crack resounded across the small stadium.
"No!" Michael was on his feet now as his beer can crashed to the floor and soaked his boots, unable to aid his brother as the man hit the ground again, but this time there was no getting up afterwards. Alfred was motionless as the rodeo clowns once again tried to put distance between him and the bull.
"Alfred!"
Somewhere in the confusion, he saw Matthew ring for an ambulance. He may have shouted orders at his younger brother, but Michael didn't hear them.
All he could do was stare down at his brother's still body, just nineteen years old.
...
This was shiter than I thought it would be.
Now, I have to admit I've been on the lookout for a new HuttMol au to write for a while. I have 'Just Kids' and will finish that, of course, but there are certain… issues the characters face in that that alters the way I write them. That being said, they also have a range of problems and issues to overcome in this story, but different ones thus they will react differently, hopefully more in-character.
After the geographical disaster that is Only One to Stand By Me, I told myself I wouldn't set another story in America, but here I am! I'll try to research to the best of my abilities and not have the characters speaking British or Hiberno English which might actually be tricky for me. Still, if you see me doing that, feel free to send a review saying 'oy Paddy what are you talking about?' Tbh, I'm tempted to do that to get people to comment, in a similar way to how some people hug pillows and pretend they're hugging people. ...I've never done that I swear.
To make things easier for me in terms of research, all Rodeos and festivals etc. mentioned in this are entirely fictitious, based on real events and places, but fictitious nonetheless.
I /have/ researched the best I can though, and you'll have to forgive me if I got anything wrong. As I mentioned earlier, I live in a country where Rodeo is illegal in a continent that generally restricts Rodeo events, so I've never been to one and the only personal experience I have is with those animatronic bulls at fairs (which I am rather good at, if I do say so myself… still never getting on a real bull though) and some youtube videos I watched of rodeo contestants getting injured. Which is freaking grim and I wouldn't recommend watching.
Now, I just want to add- and correct me if I'm wrong- that there's no conclusive proof that safety helmets protect bullriders, and it certainly didn't make a difference to poor Alfred in the end. Nevertheless, please wear safety helmets when given one, for anything really.
And to anyone wondering any Molossia isn't acting like a little bag of dicks, he's younger in this chapter than he is in canon, and more innocent. And he does have a nice side in canon. But he'll be back to his angry, complex self in the next chapter.