Ennis didn't like to talk much. To most people, old or young, short or tall, lady or gentleman, Ennis Del Mar was pretty much an antisocial twit. So, he had to think deeply, wine-saturated mind jerking and groaning and clanking under his thoughts, why was this man so persistent in speaking to him?
"And well, you know, you can't get beautiful sunsets without all this dust and gas and stuff and and..."
Whitey, Ennis had nicknamed him that the minute the skinny white poofy haired man? Boy? dropped down on the empty seat without a nice, polite "Please" or even an "Excuse me." Goddamned it, what were the kids coming today? Or, he thinks, squinting blearily at the poofy haired Whitey, he might be wrong. Whitey doesn't look that young. Come to think of it, god, he looked like a... Bloody hell, it must be the mind playing tricks on him. No way in hell that Whitey looks like a fizzle haired old man outta the corner of the eye.
Nonono... Ennis was drunk. Ennis, you stupid shit, you're drunk... That must be the only reason he was listening to poofy haired man-boy talking shit crap about sunsets and dust and gas and stuff... He reached out a calloused hand and snapped it around the bottle of the Budweiser. How many bottles had he gone through? About three or four, yeah? Yeah... Maybe Jack will drop by later and fetch him up to Brokeback. Yeah... But first gotta tell Alma that he's gone fishing, else she'll be worried, yeah?
"Mankind is such an interesting species." Whitey has declaimed to him now, long skinny pale horrible death-pale fingers curled around a disgusting cup. It was covered in something that is oily and goopy and slimy looking with cracks and creaks dripping all over it. Ennis reckons that cup hasn't been washed for twenty years or more. Probably last washed in 1963. He reached out, tapped Whitey's fingers wearily and somehow, somehow managed to slur out, "Hey, the' cups bloody shit dirty. You want to get sick? Quit drinkin' outta it."
Whitey laughed.
"You're a dear, Mr...?"
"Del Mar. Or..." Or, Ennis thought for a moment. Oh who cares. He's probably never going to see Whitey again. And everybody fucking knew. He'd never trusted Alma to keep her mouth shut. Probably told that new husband of hers the minute he slammed outta their pretty, warm, fake home. "Twist. Yeah, ya can call me Twist."
"Twist? Del Mar? Both are pretty names." Whitey watched him, buggy eyed and wondering. Sweet little lad, shouldn't be out too late or he's gonna be eaten by the coyotes or worse. With that shock of poofy white hair people's gonna think he's some kinda weirdo freakass thief, or some gypsy kid... Hell, everybody had troubles this few months with those travelling folk. "They are your first and second names?"
"Hell, no." Ennis shut his eyes. Bluebluebluebluebluehesmellslikeriverwater. Shit. He opened his eyes again. It didn't help the dizziness and shock of pain that bolted through his head. "I... Oh shit. Just, just call me Twist, yeah? Twist... And what's your name?"
"Albus." Whitey twitched his lips in a smile at Ennis. "Just call me Albus, yes? And oh, were you listening just now?"
Ennis stared at the man-boy. The thing can't tell that he's going home drunk? On second thoughts, he would most likely be booted out of the bar and spend the night lolling on the ground too drunk to move. Or to fight back when those things came for him. To beat him up and smash his jaw and nose in and break his dick and string him up and oh gods... Shitshitshit. No thinking about him, nonono. Hurts. Hurts so much. He ain't handsome-pretty like Jack anyway. Won't make much difference. Oh shit, he's thinking again. Think about... Albus. Yeah, Albus. Who calls their kid Albus anyway?
"No. Pretty obvious, yeah?"
For a moment, one nasty second, Ennis thought Albus/Whitey was going to eat him.
The man-boy threw him a pout and Ennis began to breathe. He didn't know that he had stopped breathing in that moment.
"Ah, that is so saddening, Mr. Twist. I had pegged you for a good listener."
"Ah yeah, yeah, so um, keep talkin' Albus. I'm here listenin'..."
"Brokeback Mountain's rivers are so pretty! I'm betting that it would be magnificent if we set the rivers on fire!"
...Whatdidhesay?
"Albus? You can't set fire to a river. And... And did you say Brokeback?"
"Yes! Brokeback Mountain. Oh, you don't know? There are loads and loads of industrial waste in the waters now! Makes them so pretty, so different from that nasty pale sickly blue. Hmm? Mr. Twist? Why are you turning so green?"
"They, what are they doing to the mountain?"
Whitey looked at him. Then he smiled. And steepled his fingers.
Ennis hated it when people did that.
"They're tearing it down. Razing the forests. Sending smoke to the sickly pale sky and making it healthy and sweet smelling. Shredding it. They're clearing land for something, but that doesn't matter... Mr. Twist? Mr. Twist? Where are you going?"
Ennis had stumbled out of the pub. He can move. Bloody miracle. Wait, they're burnin' the mountain, they - nonononowherejackgonnago - can't be doing that. No. He, he's going to stop them. Alma, he gotta tell Alma and Alma and Jenny first, he going to the Mountain to fish with Jack, except, except. Alma and Alma, haha, funny. Ennis made a joke, he made a joke. Haha, no-one's laughing, why ain't they not laughing, ah shit. The world's dancing with him, gripping his hand in icy fingers and dancing and waltzing, and oh god, was that a hat?
Wait a minute, men don't dance with men, yeah, cannot dance with men, especially especially men with black cowboy hats and blue shirts and and... He only dances with Jack, dammit, no wait he danced with Alma, yeah, one before. Wait wait, go back to the topic, he gonna go up the Mountain, yeah? Save Jack, else he'll be lost, godsdamned, and he's so drunk, so drunk, oh Jackjackjackjack…
Dull, angry, stinky air burned into his nose. Ennis gasped and rubbed at his watering eyes. What the hell was that? Fuckin' gas farts... He reached out with a blurry hand, the stinky, furious horrible smell forcing him to whimper and drag his blathering foolish self from the fairies. Then he felt slim fingers, colder than steel and slimier than ooze-y goopy oil wrap around his outstretched hand and jerk him upright with much more strength than a poofy white haired man-boy could possibly have.
"Mr. Twist, Mr. Twist," He hears Albus coo softly, gently, tenderly into his ear and he feels warm oily smokey air tumble across his ear. "Look up now, look up." And he feels the skinny oily fingers press themselves casually against his chin and push him up up up until he was staring face to face at Albus. Oh hell. His eyes.
All the dirt and dust and shit, the forest fire smogs and gas farts and coyote screams, Ennis saw steel-grey factories wastes and he saw softly glowing nuclear piles. He saw half-dead malformed children of the nuclear wastes, he saw a gull tip and fall and sink without a fight into a black shiny sea, he saw smog covering a pale pretty sky and he saw a river go up in brilliant flames.
"Let go of me."
"But Mr. Twist -"
"I can get home myself, ya take care of yerself." He tries to free himself from this creature, Albus. He can't call him Whitey anymore, it ain't the creature's real name. He pulls his calloused hand out of Albus' slimy cold hand and endeavours to stagger straight. He feels titters and sneers and cold, angry glares staring at him and Albus. Fuckin' bigoted arseholes. "I'm okay. Ya go and take care of yerself. See ya around."
That poofy white haired creature, Albus, he can take care of himself. Oh yes, he can. Matter of fact, Ennis pities any fool who tries to play funny with Albus. He tries to stand straight, found out that he failed horribly at that and tried all over again. He hears laughter and amusement and smirks from the people who are walking carefully around him. Oh yes, news travels fast in this horrible town. Then he feels long slimy fingers place themselves firmly around his shoulder.
"You are being immensely foolish, Mr. Twist. I will carry you home... Where is your home? Ah, yes... There."
And somehow, Ennis has no bloody idea how Albus does it, his little door flickers into view before his eyes. Oily smokey air drifts past his ear as he felt Albus half-drag, half-support him up the little steps. He suspects that if he draws in a deep lungful of Albus' expelled breath, he will probably die with blackened shrivelled lungs within a few minutes. Ennis stands straight. He has enough of being coddled. And he didn't want to stay another minute with this thing.
"Albus, ya go home. I'm at the doorstep, I can handle it -"
"Mr. Twist..."
"What...?"
"Please smoke more. It makes the atmosphere prettier and nicer to smell."
"... Albus, good night."
"Good night, Mr. Twist! Can we do this more often?"
"No." No way in fuck is he going to meet Albus with his own free will again. He was way too strange for Ennis. "Bye Albus."
"Bye, Mr. Twist!" The last Ennis saw of Albus was him waving frantically on his trailer steps before he slammed the door shut.
The next day, he found out that the steel of the steps where Albus had stood on had rusted through. Well. The man-boy sure left his mark on Ennis. His head still fuckin' hurt from all that beer and drinking.
And it is done. Please R&R.