"In death there are no accidents, no coincidences, no mishaps, and no escapes." – Bludworth
Verse I : Ouroboros : Continuation of Life and Death
Ouroboros could mean a great many things. It could mean cyclicality and primordial unity. It could mean the continuation circle of life and death. It could also mean various connoted symbols of the alchemistic study. It could mean certain significance to the human psyche. And ancient texts refer Ouroboros as a depiction of a serpent of light in the heavens. It meant something entirely different to Evangelina Babette Wei. For Eva it meant the never ending circle of her sadness. It also meant the undying cycle eradication.
It's over. We're together now. Her gold polished fingers traced the words on the tombstone. The tombstone was obsidian black and it held darkish glass green sheen and sparkled with silver and grey stones. The words were done in a pretty silver-grey letters with a slight curve at the edges of each letter. Creamy white lilies and dark indigo hibiscuses covered the freshly dug up earth. Right in the center of the tombstone was a silver lid with a star racer emblazed on the circular cap and under the silver cap was a picture of Don, smiling, actually smiling.
She shredded the lily in her hand. Each petal was torn into thousands of pieces and tossed over the new, brown earth, which had a fresh layer of grass seed. They mustn't mar the earth by letting it bleed a little. Her lips curled up in disgust as the preacher rambled on about how great and kind Don was to everyone who knew him. The ex-racer snorted beside her. What hogwash. Don would be turning in his grave. Said man probably was. The girl giggled, the giggles turned to chuckles and the chuckles turned to out right laughter.
Her laughter was strange. It was a childish laughter, but it was one of those laughs the preacher heard in the asylum. The preacher glares at the girl – Don's own daughter! How sacrilege! The preacher spoke over the girl's laughter, gripping the spine of the Bible in his spidery hands. The ex-racer next to the laughing girl bent down to the girl and whispered something in her ear quietly. The girl sobered and let the ex-racer play with her hair. The man braided the girl's frontal hair and strung it around the back of her head, like a crown.
The preacher continued his eyes on the ex-racer and the daughter. The ex-racer had weaved small hibiscus in the girl's hair, and it prettily contrasted the girls own black locks. The girl tipped her head back and let the ex-racer scratch her head and place flowers into her hair. The man smiled and kissed her temple. The girl flinched from the touch and jerked away. The preacher bent down crookedly over the Bible and loudly read a scripture. The girl narrowed her eyes and looked at the preacher. A small grin graced the girl's face, as if she knew all the preacher's secrets.
She threw flowers over the freshly upturned earth delicately. The ex-racer was behind her, standing stoic. She pressed a handful of flowers into his hands. The man looked hesitant. The girl muttered something to the older male. The man winced and tossed flowers halfheartedly over the grave. The girl smiled at the man and pressed more flowers into his hands. The man scowled at the girl and tossed them over the grave. The girl shook her finger in a no-nonsense tone and gently tossed the flowers on to the grave. The man muttered something and the girl whirled around.
Respect the dead, Rick. Because there is something called karma! What goes around comes around! Bad karma yourself to death, Rick, do what ever you want! One morning you wake up and you're all scary looking, you see if I care! The girl shouted, turning away from the man and storming off to a group of black clad women. They embraced her warmly, placing black velvet arms around her as the girl freely wept. The man winced and hesitantly began to walk over to the girl. The women brought the girl deeper in their embrace.
The women hissed at the ex-racer to go away with fluttering hands and hard eyes. The man put his hands up in the air and stalked away. They continued to soothe the girl, rubbing her back and running their fingers through her hair. The girl's old ally, the gunner, joined the girl and rubbed her back consolingly. He placed his head on her back and hugged her from behind. The man-boy's black and orange hair flattened as he gripped her tighter around the midsection of the woman-girl's body. His own tears seeped through the girl's heavy, velvet dress as he, too, mourned for Donald Wei. The nineteen-year-old girl clutched the gunner's hands to her breasts and tipped her head back.
Just, cry, Jordan. It's okay. I've got you. I'm not letting go, not yet. She murmured softly. She turned around and let gunner wrap his arms around her neck and weep softly into the conjunction of her neck and shoulder. The twenty-one year old clutched the girl's arms tightly, his tears staining her pretty dress. The girl didn't seem to mind as she gently stroked his bi-colored locks, resting her head on the gunner's. Her free left hand gently rubbed his back, whilst her eyes, dry of all tears, stayed lock on the obsidian tombstone. She licked her lips and continued to soothe the sobbing twenty-one-year old gunner. The ex-racer, rightfully chastened, walked over to the two and gently embraced the woman-child from behind.
Come on, Eva, Jordan. The celebration will start without the daughter and the gunner. The twenty-six year-old stated, amused. The girl pried the gunner's hands off her chest and kissed each one. The gunner clapped his hands on the girl's shoulders and kissed her cheek. He explained that he had a previous engagement, and that he was sorry that he couldn't stay longer. The girl rubbed her eyes, tiredly, returned the gunner's kiss and rested her head on his shoulder for mere seconds. She smiled at the gunner once last time and turned her back to him. The gunner sighed and kneaded his temple. He shot her one last, hopeful smile and ran out of the graveyard. The girl looked up at the ex-racer, balefully, and motioned for him to follow her.
Come on, Rick, we can't be late! The girl mocked him, skipping out of the graveyard. The ex-racer looked at the girl, dubiously, sighed and jogged to catch up to the girl. He linked his hand through the woman's. She looked up and smiled at him warmly, the earlier spat forgotten. The party was extravagant, with wine, and rich food – all of which came from the daughter's own pocket. She was, after all, a famous racer, even more famous that the man that stands beside her. All eyes turn to the racers, which caused the girl to stop laughing and glared reproachfully at the man beside her. The man is as confused as the girl, as he helplessly shrugged at her, and left her side to gather two flutes of wine. The ex-racer walked back over to the woman and curled the girl's fingers around the tall glass of wine. The woman looked up at him, very confused.
Wha? Rick, you know I'm not old enough to drink. I can use a gun, smoke, drive a car and vote, but not drink! The girl protested. The man let out a rather throaty chuckle, looked bemusedly at the girl and took a sip. The girl looked at the wine as if it was a dead raccoon, or rabbit, or road kill, even. The ex-racer shook his head, and physically lifted the glass up to the girl's lips. The girl smiled deprecatingly at the man and shook her head. Rick, just because I am sad doesn't mean I'm going to get drunk! She objected, pushing the wineglass back towards the ex-racer. The ex-racer sighed and bent down to push the wine glass back into the woman's hands.
I won't tell if you don't. He whispered, as if he was in on some sort conspiracy. The girl looked at the wine, unsure and wary, but she lifted the glass to her lips and took a sip. The wine was spiced, warm and sent a tingling shudder down the girl's spine. It was pleasing and made the woman feel a little bit better. She took another sip and placed the butt end of the glass on the flat web of flesh of her palm. The ex-racer sent a brilliant grin at her, and clapped his pinkies together, as congratulations. The girl looked at him balefully and dipped her finger into the glass of wine, flicking the red drops in the ex-racer's face. The ex-racer looked surprised and the girl smiled, mischievously. The girl's face morphed into a much serious one, and traced the lip of the glass.
This is all I am drinking, Rick. I do have school tomorrow. She told the ex-racer, scratching at the glass now, looking up at the man's face. The ex-racer nodded serenely, a little sadly, and raised his glass a bit. The woman returned the gesture and flicked the glass with her finger. The ex-racer finished his glass and placed it on the bypassing waitress. The waitress winked at him, in which the ex-racer responded with a raised eyebrow. The younger racer looked at the older man, bemused. The girl shook her head and continued to sip at her spiced wine. But the girl was confused, as this was The Rick Thunderbolt, the winner of the preliminary races.
Rick, the woman began, pensively, are all men as intelligent like you? I mean, the woman corrected herself, averting the ex-racer's gaze, do all men have some intelligence around members of the opposite sex? The man laughed lowly, grabbed another flute of wine and took a small sip. He then bent his head, so that his lips were hovering above the woman's ears. The girl tapped her foot, not unnerved by the racer's sudden closeness. The woman merely took a sip, moved her eyes so they were staring at an iris. The man straightened up, miffed and hurt, and gave her a dominating, almost indifferent look before he jerked his eyesight back to the waitress.
Yeah, intelligence, we ape-men have. You just have to look under all the hormones. The ex-racer replied. Or, we just think of the woman we love or have a crush on. The man finished blithely. The woman nodded, as if she understood and finished the last millimeters of her wine. She grabbed another flute and placed the other on a tray from a bypassing waiter. The ex-racer raised an eyebrow skeptically at the youngling of a woman before shrugging his shoulders, as if saying: it's your hole you're digging, have fun. The woman sniffed, chagrined, and took a sip.
I won't tell if you won't! She mocked. The ex-racer kneaded his forehead and gripped the woman's elbow, gently. He waved towards the porch and the woman nodded. The two racers sat down. And they talked of trivial things, of school, hospital visits, the fact that one day the daughter would own Wei Enterprise and the fact that she was finishing her last year of school, as she had to make up four years. They talked about the race of Oban, Don's death, the fact that Maya wasn't resurrected. A comforting silence enveloped the two. They talked about the racer's love life, or more likely her lack of one. The ex-racer chuckled at the face that she threatened a boy that she would run him over with the Aero 3 if he asked her out.
Goodnight, Rick. Though I doubt it will be. The daughter deadpanned. The girl thanked the gods that she had planned the party at the house she and the boys and the racer shared. She smiled brilliantly up at the man and he smiled back. But…yet, something was unsaid by the two, something that hadn't been addressed, yet. Something left unsaid for nearly four years. It was the ex-racer that made the first move as it was he who gently placed a smooth cheekbone against hers. His lips were the ones who kissed and caressed the side of the woman's face. Perhaps it was the wine, finally rebelling against the daughter's mind, or maybe it was that carnal desire that clawed upwards, that she returned his affections.
The ex-racer's lips trailed over the curve of her cheek and kissed the tuck of the edge of her lip. The woman racer gently clasped the older man's jaw in her hands, propelling him – permitting – him to kiss her. Lips came crashing down upon the younger woman's, possessing her. She thanked the gods and goddess that everyone had gone home. The youngling woman moved her hands to tuck her hands above the man's ears. Black haired veiled the woman's face. The ex-racer pressed the black-haired woman up against the door of her bedroom. The ex-racer's lips were surprisingly soft, and the woman relished in that, even as her hand sought for the doorknob. The door gave way and the two stumbled in. The older racer kicked the door closed and continued to push the woman towards her bed.
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The worst kinds of nightmares were the ones that would come true. And that was the case for her. Gods and goddess from every religion she hoped it was some sort of sick and twisted trick or jest that the other men of the house had thought up. But she knew it wasn't a nightmare, just by the way his sweet smelling breath tickled the back of her neck, and the two piles of neatly deposited piles of clothes by the edge of her bed. And not to mention the warm body slithered up beside her and the tanned face buried in her hair. The red tattoos on the torso and arms really didn't compensate for much either, as she hoped it was the Chinese mechanic or even the military boy who left the party early for a rendezvous.
Maybe if she splashed water on her face, maybe which would help. She swung her legs over the bedside and walked to the small bedroom. But it was hard to ignore the pain between her legs, as it burned. The knob was twisted all the way to the far side of the cold protuberance. The coldness shocked the woman awake, and nullified the pain. She cupped water in her hands and splashed her face with the below zero water. She didn't give a damn that she didn't feel her fingers or even her palm. She pounded the water into her face, and it alerted her. With a wail that she didn't wake up, alone, clothed and warm the woman placed her head in her hands. She thought her pain and impertinence would end, it was over, maybe he could remember. She could lie to him, tell him he slept with the waitress he was eyeing.
The pain in her stomach was excruciating, even as she griped her stomach. She kneaded her forehead with her fingers and thought of her disgrace. What would her mother and father say to her? She could hear them lecturing her: of all the men…Eva! He was like a brother or even a father figure to you! That would be her father. Eva, that is not the way a proper star racer would conduct herself…it's the same as sleeping with the enemy, and he's older than you, too! Both psychically and mentally drained, the woman stumbled back to her bed and crawled back under the covers…this could wait for later. Maybe this was a dream, maybe everything was a daydream…maybe she was still at the funeral, mourning over her father.
Gods…what a fool I am! When she awoke hours later, she found him staring at her, ashamed of himself and worried for her. He just sat there, staring at her, for an hour it seemed. He made the movement that he was going to get up, to leave, and perhaps pretend nothing happened at all. Though this is what the younger racer desired, she knew – to her own displeasure – that it was both very wrong and very stupid. What if something happened, something slipped, something of the worst degree happened. She grabbed his arm, and sat up and dug her nails firmly into the man's arm. Blood burbled from the crescent shaped scars, but the woman relented until the man sat down.
This is foolish…pretending that this never happened at all. She began crisply, This is our error and we must fix it! And without further ado the woman jumped from the bed and gathered her clothes and disappeared into the bathroom. The ex-racer smiled to himself, and to the girl in the bathroom. Now he knew why he liked her. With a grunt, he stood up and scooped his clothes up in his arms. It was still early and the other inhabitants were still asleep, he could bathe in his own shower and later talk to her.
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She absolutely hated it when he treated her like a child, though she was nineteen. And he still did, even now, as the young woman was spread on the floor, notebooks spread in front of her, and a large, heavy history book in front of her. He was perched on the couch, not watching the newest episode of CSI: Miami, his eyes locked on her spread body, writing in a large, three ringed binder, bulging with lined papers. She looked up at him, annoyed and stuck her tongue out at him, before stooping over to finish the last of her thesis.
You're going to hurt the baby. The ex-racer said mildly, flicking the channel to a soap opera. The girl glared at him balefully before throwing her pen at him and clocking him in the ear. He yipped and glared back at her, distastefully and dropped the pen on the floor, next to the younger racer. The two mechanics and the gunner looked at them, not the least bit worried. The girl was too cumbersome and melancholy to physically get up to "whip" the older man. And the man was too worried about her heath to do anything drastic, other than a good tickle or two. The two made faces at each other before turning back to their previous engagements.
Though both racers were glad to have found solace in each other, they still worried about the world around them. A man in his mid-twenties and a woman in her late teens married….dating…together. The girls at teen's school mocking her, calling her a harlot, and men at the bars and taverns or even around the Wei Enterprise congratulating him for "laying claim" to such a pretty "chick". Even the priest seemed disgusted by the fact the two were having a child out of wedlock, and was repulsed by the idea of marrying them. His exact words were I will not marry two sinners meant for eternal damnation. Prejudice was all around them, and those certain people couldn't understand. But it was one quote that would always haunt them.
And for young Evangelina Babette Wei-Thunderbolt Ouroboros meant the never ending cycle of her sadness, it meant the never ending cycle of eradication. And for now it also meant the beginning of her never ending happiness. But still one quote, her mother told her that when she was younger, always haunted her, and it haunted Rick Michael Thunderbolt, too.
When two people love each other, there can never be a happy ending…
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Fin…
For all you die-hard Rick x Eva fans…I have always been one of you. I was just never "converted"...until now! XD I've honestly liked the couple from the beginning for obvious reasons (hint, hint, nudge, nudge, wink, wink…watch the first two episodes…), but I've been too lazy to write one down…this one was actually floating around in my files. I found this sucker when I was doing some "spring cleaning" two days ago…I revamped it, rewrote it and TA-freaking-DA here is the final draft. Don't know if this is "teen" enough for "T" or not "mature" enough for "M". The only reason why I wrote this was because…come on…catty young rebellious teenager and a cool calm collected man is HOT! Not to mention the name Eva Thunderbolt is just plain sexy….
Special outcry to: Ms. Witch: YOU ROCK! YOU ROCK! YOU ROCK! 8D 8D Kudos for you for writing the first Rick x Eva fiction EVER! WHOOOOOOO-HOOOOOOOOO!