Possible trigger warnings in this chapter. Mild possible trigger for abuse, less mild one for death by vehicular accident. (Contains flashback to the day of Amber's funeral, including Mercy's death though it's not graphic or described very much.)

Also, at the end of the flashback this chapter includes Mercy's dying words, similar to the passage of Kimber's dying words at the end of the Raph and Kimber flashback. This passage will be plainly marked by being separate from the main story and in all-italics, and because it's so long AND in Mercy's words, I'm not defining the odd phrases and spellings in that portion of this chapter. There are just too many to define all of them. Instead, you can find a complete translation of that passage here, in the forums: topic/194762/153520546/1/#169848000 Honestly, it's nothing y'all haven't been reading from Mercy this whole time so I doubt anyone really will need to go for the cheat sheet, but if ya have trouble with it, just hit that link, no worries. :)

Suggested Listening: Sixx:A.M. "Goodbye My Friends," A-Ha "Crying in the rain," Elton John "Funeral for a Friend," Linkin Park "What I've Done"


50: The World We Left Behind

November 9th, around 8pm

In her last life, Amber was torn between two worlds—caught between dreams of a love she couldn't hold and a reality that couldn't hold her. Now she has that love in real life, but still her dreams get in the way…dreams of pain, sorrow, grief, and if this last one is anything to go by, death. These dreams couldn't be real—she refused to accept that they could be real!—but what if, by her denial, she was making it all worse, just as her refusal to admit there was something wrong with her tipped her from 'traumatized' straight into post-traumatic stress disorder?

Cold water dripping down her bare face, the other-worlder stared into the age-mottled slab mirror over the black-tiled trough sink—beyond the spare bathroom's mirror and the nauseating pink and black tiles surrounding her, and into the world she left behind. Drawing herself back from the brink, she instinctively dropped her eyes to the molded tile ledge over the sink, but before she could more than register the scuffed black tiles, she forced herself to look back up—to take in the face in the mirror.

Since waking up in this world, in this new and different body, she made a habit of examining it as little as possible—of stubbornly avoiding seeing how very different it is from hers. As long as she didn't see her reflection, didn't think about it, and didn't consider the many differences between her old body and this one, she could somewhat forget that she was a body-snatcher—that the eyes that stared back were the eyes of a stranger. At first, some of the differences seemed improvements—she was taller, voluptuous but a more healthy weight, and the many physical ailments and injuries that kept Amber down in her previous life were nonexistent. There was no chronic pain, no weakness and exhaustion, and more brown in her hair than grey.

Over time, though, Amber had no choice but to accept the truth…this wasn't her body, it was the body of a dead woman who had her own screwed up life and lost it in a completely horrifying way. Kimber's hair was less grey, but her eyes were harder—her ass was smaller and her rack was bigger, but her mouth was bigger and her fuse was shorter. Worst of all, the body Amber now reluctantly called her own had a rather explicit history with Raphael…sure, Amber wasn't in the body at the time of Raph and Kimber's one night stand, but the previous occupant screwed Donnie's brother. This new life was more drama-soaked than the most atrocious fanfiction Amber read in her previous life—the only real improvement was that the people around her weren't fucking everything that wouldn't complain on every available surface while using words like pussy, cock, and moist.*

"Y'okay, O'Brien?" Amber startled at the address, finally recognizing that another face had appeared in the mirror—Mercy, fresh from the shower with her hair piled up in an old tee shirt. "Ya look like ya seen a ghost." Amber sobered, turning to regard their reflection in the mirror.

"I'm seein' ghosts every day, now, Ross," Amber admitted. "Every time I see you, I see a ghost—every time I see a mirror, I see another…the only times I don't see'em is when I'm lookin' at the guys'er~ the Hardys or…" She shuddered. "…or dreamin'. Even in dreams, I'm not seein' ghosts 'cause I am the ghost there."

"Geez, way to be a downer," Mercy muttered unwinding her hair and digging through the storage bins for her comb, brush, and other weapons of mayhem. "It's a mind-fuck, yeah, but ya just gotta get used to it—if ya don't get used to it, it'll drive ya crazy an' there's nothin' you can do to change it." Tackling Donna's aggravating hair with a grumble, she tossed a sideways glance at the still ruminating brunette. "This ain't about bein' stuck in Kimber's body, is it? There's more to it than that." Amber nodded.

"You know me so well, Blundie," Amber admitted sliding down the wall to sit on the cold tile floor.

"I'm yer best friend, Scotch-Bright," Mercy reminded pointing a hair-pick at Amber with a smirk. "I've got enough dirt on you to bury ya—it's my job to notice when yer fallin' an' to shove my boot up yer ass when ya won't pick yerself up. So spill it a'ready." She faltered at the almost-scowl aimed at her.

"No, Mercy," Amber contradicted sternly, "you spill it. Ever since we met up again, you've told me my family's fine, that Aaron's fine, that everything in the world we left behind is fine, but I can't believe you." Mercy flinched, her hands falling away from the damp haystack atop her head. "You've never been able to lie to me or Aaron, not without us seein' right through it…an' every time you've told me everything's fine, you've been lyin' through yer teeth." Mercy's eyes watered, downcast and focusing on the tiled sink. "I'm not angry at ya," Amber amended softening her tone. "I know ya just wanted to help—ya didn't want me worryin' about those we left behind—but I need to know what's going on, I need to know if these dreams…if they're…"

"You've been dreaming about our world?" Mercy asked softly abandoning her tools to come sit by her friend.

"Every time I fall asleep, now," Amber admitted. "Mum's fallin' apart, Da's drinkin' too much, Gran'Da's sick and pushin'em away, Aaron's…he's…" She faltered, her throat clenching at the memory of the dream she just woke from. "He's depressed, drinkin' too much, an' I think'e means'imself harm."~

Mercy's lungs caught—she turned away from her lifelong friend, drawing her knees up to her chest and winding her arms around them. When she finally found her voice again, it cracked from sorrow. "Ya deserve the truth, Amber…I just hope you can handle that truth…an' that ya can forgive me fer hidin' it."


Willis Residence, Glenville, Missouri, Saturday May 21st, 2011

If Mercy Ross had any choice in the matter, she wouldn't be here right now. She wouldn't be standing out on Ma Willis' stoop in a grey sundress, being barked at by a neurotic Chihuahua and hammering at the door for Aaron, and she certainly wouldn't be driving him back to Willsdale today…not for a funeral. Mercy's wants, unfortunately, weren't enough to change the course of history. Thus, there she was, picking up the last remaining member of their awkward trio to attend the funeral of the one they lost. Any other funeral, Mercy would have worn black; this funeral, however, was for a friend—a friend who always loved grey most of all.

Amber's funeral…Mercy choked at the thought turning watering eyes to the peeling yellow siding along the double-wide. Amber was her best friend—really, her first friend—with her gone Mercy wasn't sure how she'd manage to keep going. Amber always stood up to Mercy's mother—she always stepped in when Clarity went too far and Ellis couldn't bring himself to confront his wife. Amber always sheltered Mercy when she showed up out of the blue and scared out of her wits…the brunette never pried for details or judged her younger friend for going back to that house, time and time again like a whipped dog…just the knowledge that she had somewhere to turn made it easier for Mercy to endure her mother's worst episodes, even when Ellis couldn't bring himself to step in.

Now…now Amber was gone…Ellis was gone…their homes were gone, and Mercy and her mother were living out of a slummish hotel in Glenville. Clarity denied her daughter permission to go to the funeral—she never liked Amber, partly because the brassy half-Celt never pulled her punches when Mercy's well-being was at stake and partly because she had a habit of calling Clarity a 'sadestic shite-breened cow-fud~' right to her face. Clarity never liked Amber and forbade Mercy to attend her friend's funeral…and for the first time in her life, she deliberately went against her mother's direct orders knowing Amber wouldn't be there to protect her when she went home.

Technically, Mercy was on the run, all so she could do something she had every right to do. She waited all night until Clarity passed out drunk in their hotel room, stole Ellis' truck from the parking lot, loitered in a McDonald's parking lot until dawn, then burned rubber across town to Ma Willis' trailer court to pick up Aaron. Now, if she could just get the hopeless fluff-head to answer the door, she'd drag him to the funeral—kicking and screaming if necessary! Amber was his friend too, and by God, he could drag himself from his drunken moping long enough to say goodbye to her!

Finally, the door creaked open—the face behind it, however, was not Aaron but the youngest of his four younger sisters, Tracey Willis. "Hey, Kiddo," Mercy greeted the sleep-rumpled blonde co-ed through the screen door. Already the familiar stench of cheap alcohol, unwashed bodies, and old vomit curled her nose hairs. "Yer brother up?" Tracey shook her head, shooting a dirty glare at the unseen sofa pushed up against the front windows. Aaron still had a room at home, but Amber always slept on that lumpy old sofa when she and Aaron came to visit his family…now it seemed the grieving man claimed it as his own.

"Still passed out," Tracey grumbled. "He puked on'imself, too. Told the dumbass to stop drinkin' but'e didn't listen. At least he didn't ralph on his duffle bag." Just wonderful, Mercy considered with a silent snarl. Knowing Aaron lately, he wouldn't wake up unless someone threw him bodily into a freezing shower. At least the water would wash off the puke.


The open road, just outside Glenville

"I'm not goin' through that again, Willis," Mercy growled clenching the steering wheel in a white-knuckle grip. The horrors she saw in the Willis' house would stick with her for the rest of her life—heck, they might even haunt her after she died! "So help me, if I ever, and I do mean ever have to see your naked ass again, I'm'onna jam a shovel up it an' break it off!"

"Shut up, Ross," Aaron groused into the two litre of Mtn Dew she grabbed him. "No one told ya to come in the bathroom while I was showerin'."

"I heard a crash!" Mercy spat back at him, tempted to perform a sudden 'brake check' on him. "Fer all I knew, yer drunk ass was drownin' in there! God a'mighty, ya never wear clothes at home, inside or out, so how the hell's yer ass so fuckin' white?! It's practically fluorescent!"

"Fine, next time ya wanna ogle my ass, I'll put on some pants, happy?!" Maybe, both considered as they traded insults and threats, if they focused on being pissed at each other, they wouldn't notice who wasn't there to bullshit along with them.


Willsdale Cemetery, noon

The moment Mercy and Aaron stepped foot in the cemetery, they knew the funeral would be a disaster. All around the still-open grave and draped pine casket, Amber's family gathered in various states of disarray. Douglas O'Brien—Amber's acerbic father—slumped against a tree at a distance, reeking of booze even more strongly than Aaron had that morning. Glen Devon, Amber's mutton-chopped Scot expat grandfather, refused to meet anyone's eyes, instead glaring silently across the cemetery where a news reporter filmed a piece about the town's recent struggles. Ginny O'Brien sobbed and wailed at the top of her lungs, clinging to a tall, lean, white-haired man Mercy and Aaron recognized as Amber's Uncle Bart. Bart Devon glanced around for assistance, cringing awkwardly at his older sister's clinging and crying, but the redness around his dove grey eyes was proof he'd done his share of crying lately. The family was broken, pushing one another away instead of growing closer to weather their loss…Amber would be heartbroken.

The pastor—a member of Ginny's church, the very church whose members habitually harassed Amber in life—said a few brief and solemn words. All through the ceremony, Ginny wept bitterly and Douglas grumbled under his breath, shooting her disgusted glares. When Amber's casket began its descent into her grave, Mercy's hand shot out for Aaron's, latching on for comfort; perhaps he needed some himself, because he didn't shrug her off, instead squeezing her hand tightly. Her throat burned from holding back her tears, but she wouldn't let herself cry—Amber always hated seeing her cry, and for her friends to cry at her funeral would have broken her heart. "It's alright," Aaron muttered to Mercy with another squeeze of her hand. "When this is all over, we'll do it right—she won't be there, but we'll hold'er a wake fit for a queen."

"She wasn't Irish, Willis," Mercy mumbled.

"No, but I am," he countered seriously, "at least by part. O'Brien always said she wanted people to be happy at her funeral—to celebrate her rather than mourn her, and that's exactly what a wake is—celebrating life instead of mourning death." Mercy thought it over a moment, contemplating the gravestone solemnly.

"Then I think she'd like that," she finally answered. "Just the two of us and Amber, just like old times." Even as she spoke, though, the blonde knew there was a very real possibility such a thing would never happen—the blonde did, in fact, steal her step-father's truck and go on the run to attend this funeral—and her mother was entirely unreasonable. She always feared going back to Clarity Ross, but now she feared for her life as well as her safety.

The first clod of dirt dropped into the grave set off a horrific chain reaction. Ginny, distraught, fell to her knees in the muddy grass, letting out a pained cry. "M—My baby—she died on'er knees!"~ she wailed, shaking with her tears. "She died beggin' fer mercy—fer fergiveness—her whole life she strayed an' when she wiz—was called Home, all she could do was pray fer mercy!"~ At Mercy's side, Aaron snarled and tensed to lunge for Ginny but Mercy latched onto his hand tighter, anchoring him at her side; he shot her a furious glare but she just shook her head, denim blue eyes pleading and watering. "Please, fergive'er—forgive'er for dyin' on'er knees instead of livin' on'em! Live on yer knees—live a Godly life so you don't die out of God's graces!"~

"Shut yer damn mouth, Gin!" Douglas barked at her, working himself up into a rage. "Amber never did anythin' wrong—if anyone screwed up here, it's you!"

"Both'a ye shut yer fookin' gobs!" Glen bellowed at his daughter and her husband. "Yer a' yer daughter's funeral—cannae ye e'en once be civil wit' each other?! Cannae ye once make'er proud'a ye?!" In the distance, Mercy noticed the reporter startle and turn to them, the camera man panning and zooming in on the fiasco. If she was caught on camera at Amber's funeral and her mother saw that video…she ducked nervously behind Aaron, carefully keeping her face turned from the reporters. To her dismay, though, he broke free and stormed over to Ginny and Douglas.

"I've had it with ya!" Aaron shouted at the still-kneeling older woman. "Yer the reason Amber never stuck around on the weekends! Yer the reason she was so scared'a bein' around here an' leavin'er home—you an' yer church cronies!"

"Tha's rich comin' from you, Willis!" Ginny fired back, bottle green eyes sharp with censure. "You blame me for her struggles, but you're the reason she's dead!" Glen and Douglas both shouted at her—Aaron's face paled, his expression as pained as though the older woman tore his guts out—still she continued, intent on tearing him down a few notches. "You were there—you could have protected'er, but you let my daughter die! You should've watched'er, you should've—should've stopped'er!" Mercy scowled; this had gone on far enough. Screw her mother finding out she was at Amber's funeral—Amber always had her back in life, and like hell was Mercy going to let her down in death!

"Amber made her own choices, y'old hag!" she snapped at Ginny. "Aaron did everything he could to protect her, especially from you! He's not at fault for this, that's all on you!" Snatching Aaron's rumpled black shirt by the collar, she stormed off toward the half-filled grave, hauling him behind her protesting and sputtering; behind them, Amber's surviving family continued to lash out at one another, flinging hurtful words left and right. Upon reaching the gravestone, Mercy reached out to brush her fingertips over the mottled grey granite. "Fer the record, Scotch-Bright," she murmured to her lost friend as Aaron deflated beside her. "I'm sorry…I'm sorry I went back to Mom an' left you in Glenville, an' that I wasn't there with ya when this all happened. I love ya an' I won't forget ya." She glanced pleadingly up at Aaron; his lips a hard line, he sighed through his nose and laid his own meaty hand on the stone marker.

"I'm sorry too, O'Brien," he confessed quietly. "I miss ya…an' I…" Off-kilter blue eyes watering, he choked, but forced himself to finish his piece. "I love you, you crazy woman…I really love you, an' I won't forget you." He dug through his pocket, retrieved an old, weathered piece of jewelry—a simple silver ring bearing a single triangular piece of warm brown amber—and gently set it at the base of the stone. "Sorry I never got this to ya," he added, his voice cracking. "I've…had it since—since we graduated…just never found a way to tell ya…it's not much, but you always liked silver…and I always liked…liked amber."

Mercy's eyes welled up in sorrow, dismayed by his long-overdue confession—fate could be cruel, but she never thought it cruel enough to make him hold his tongue until Amber was out of his reach. She always wondered if Aaron cared for Amber more than he let on, but with every year that went by without any sign of a relationship between them, she wondered more if she was mistaken. Now, the truth was out…he did love her, and that love made the loss even harder to accept.

"Let's get out'a here, Ross," he suggested quietly. "This is just gonna get worse." Mercy nodded and turned to lead the way back to the truck to the sound of the fighting family behind them. As they reached the parking lot, she turned back to Aaron, sobering at the lines of saltwater trailing down his face and into his scruffy russet beard. "It's rainin'," he stated without emphasis. She blinked, confused, and searched the skies—they were clear and blue, not a raindrop to be seen. Amber always hated rain… "It's rainin'," Aaron insisted not meeting her eyes. "She wouldn't want anyone cryin' over her, so it's rainin'." Her heart clenched, realizing the truth of the statement, and she reached up to brush a few 'raindrops' from her own cheeks.

"You call this rain," she mumbled climbing into the driver's seat. "I call it a downpour…but as O'Brien always said 'This rainy day, too, will pass.'" Aaron nodded, settling back against the smelly seat of the truck as she started up the car. Already he was dreading getting home. His trailer was mostly shielded by the grove of Black Locust trees between Amber's home and his, but there was a lot of work to be done…worst of all, though, only a splintered stand of trees away lurked the ruins of his best friend's home. How could he recover from her loss when every day, he'd be reminded of it? The answer was one he knew he wouldn't find anytime soon.


Outside the truck's rolled down windows, the hilly back-roads of rural Willsdale flew past in a blur. Inside the cab, salty rain poured unchecked down Mercy's already shiny cheeks. She was alone again…after so long of having both Amber and Aaron at her back, she was completely alone and going back to her broken home all over again. Aaron's trailer was mostly livable and he offered her his couch but she declined. Her mother was already going to kill her—she didn't need to add gallivanting around with a man to her list of sins.

Always with the fear—always dreading what her mother would do, always stuck hiding normal behaviors behind lies and bitten lips only to pay for crimes she never committed… She choked, her chest tight, and she shook her head at the thought. So many years ago, she finally got a taste of freedom. She finally escaped her abusive home and lived on her own for a few precious years—she even got to work toward an agricultural degree and hold a part-time job! Then she got overwhelmed, she panicked, and against everyone's pleas, she ran back to the very home she was running from to start with. Sure enough, her mother was livid…Mercy still carried scars from her first day back home, both mental and physical.

Amber was dead…her savior, her protector, her sister from another mister…Amber was gone, dead, and would never be there to protect her from her own flesh and blood again. Ellis was gone, too—he never really did much to reign in Clarity's destructive behavior but at least he tried…Mercy no longer had anyone in her corner, no one but herself. Even after apologizing on Amber's grave—apologizing for having ever gone back to her mother in the first place—here she was doing the very same thing all over again.

That settled it, she decided as she haphazardly swerved around a corner, changing course entirely. She wouldn't go back to her mother this time—she would break that cycle! Amber always begged her to break it, always tried to help her realize she had the power to stop what was being done to her, but Mercy always caved and went back anyway. Her mother was living in Glenville, now—she just needed to stay away from Glenville, maybe she could camp out on her stepfather's old ranch until she could find a better shelter. Tears blurring her vision, foot nearly grinding the gas pedal into the floor, she focused on her destination—an open corral gate at the end of the road and the empty pasture beyond it.

All her life, she struggled to break free from her mother's abuse; now, she would break that cycle or die trying.


All my life, I struggled an' fought for ev'ry moment of peace; that I only found that peace in death is the bitt'rest sort'a irony. Almost as ironic is that I died on the way home from the fun'ral of a friend. I almost feel like someone should'a been blarin' Elton John when the truck spun out'a control.**

I'm not gonna make excuses fer what happened—I know I was bein' reckless. If I'd been drivin' the speed limit, I would'a seen that bloody chicken in the road in time to brake. If I'd pulled over 'til my eyes were dry, I would'a seen that there was no shoulder to swerve onto, just a deep drainage ditch on either side. At the time, though, I di'n't really care…I was hurt, scared, an' distraught, an' I let those emotions take control'a me just as I always did.

It's never easy livin' with an abusive parent, but when ya factor in other troubles—in my case, Bipolar—it can be e'en worse. Emotions were always my weakness—I drowned in'em, was swept away by every one, an' I couldn't handle much stress. Perhaps…nah, e'en if Ma was worried 'bout me 'cause'a my unstable emotions, she had no excuse—ain't nothin' can excuse hurtin' yer own kid, not the way she hurt me.

I always wan'ed to break free of'er—always wished I was strong enough ta fight back, ta make'er ree'lize jus' how badly she was screwin' me up—most of all, I wan'ed to get past'er treatment, to heal the scars she left on me an' fine'ly b'come the person I should be. Now, I'm dead…i's too late ta change my past, too late to decide my future…I have no future. If I had a future, I'm sure I'd do everythin' diff'rently—I wouldn' let Ma rule me like she did, I'd finally let myself hate'er fer all I'm worth instead of fearin'er retaliation. Maybe...maybe I'd even find love - real love, not the kind that hurts, the kind that heals. O'Brien always tol' me real love heals rather'n hurts, but I've never seen such a thing. Whether it's real or not, I'd'a loved ta've seen it someday...an' fuck me runnin, I'd deserve it, too!

It took death ta convince me I deserve to live a life free'a fear…if I was still alive, the irony alone'd kill me.


November 9th, The Lair, back in the spare bathroom

"It was over almost instantly," Mercy croaked staring through Donna's bent knees. "I'm lucky in that, at least, because I didn't feel any pain. I don't know anything past the accident, obviously, but your family…Aaron…" She shook her head, tearing up anew. "I didn't know how to tell ya…as much as you've been hurting, I couldn't stand seein' it get worse…an' knowin' all'a that, it would'a gotten worse."

Amber slumped back against the tile wall, struggling to process what she heard. It couldn't be possible—it was entirely impossible! Her…her dreams…they were true. Through the deafening static buzzing through her brain, she registered a familiar sound—Mercy's lungs seized and wheezed in half-smothered tears. "I'm s-sorry!" the blonde whimpered diving into her friend's side as she always had years back. "I'm sorry—fer—fer hidin' that—i'was kill—killin' m-me—b-but—" She fell silent at the pair of arms hauling her closer—Amber held her like she'd never let go.

"I fergive ya," Amber rasped into Mercy's messy blonde hair. "I un'erstahnd—I'm not angry wit'ya…I'm sorry, Merse—sorry fer—fer puttin' ya in tha' position—fer givin' up like I did…" A hoarse, choking cry ripped from her lungs and she buried her streaming eyes in Mercy's hair. How could anyone apologize enough? How could she ever apologize enough for completely giving up on her life, for leaving her best friends to fight their demons without her?

Outside the bathroom door, a tall, lanky eavesdropper stumbled back to the very wall the two women leaned on and slid down to the floor in a heap. Donatello could hear Amber and Mercy's conversation—and the tears and apologies that followed—with devastating clarity, and what it told him was heartbreaking.

Those 'freaky dreams' Amber told him about—dreams of her loved ones suffering and falling apart—they weren't entirely fictional after all. If they were as true as he suspected, even worse, things back home were only getting worse…but what could be done about it? The dead don't rise again—there was nothing they could do to help their loved ones, not with world dividing them!

No. He steeled his nerves, his eyes narrowing in determination. 'Nothing' was unacceptable—if Baxter Stockman could open a wormhole and if an alien warmonger could bring his battleship in from another dimension, there had to be a way to get the two women home! There absolutely had to be a way, and he wouldn't rest until he found it!

The sound of the door opening startled him; glancing up, his eyes met Mercy's still watery denim blues. She seemed unsurprised to find him there, and he suspected she knew he heard every word. The genius stood, carefully unfolding himself and hazarded a supportive hand on her shoulder. "Raph's in his room," he said softly, glancing pointedly down the hallway to the open doorway that once led to the Hashi and the Barracks. "Go on—I've got this." The blonde gave a defeated nod; eyes to the floor, she slumped away to find her other half.

The sight in the bathroom tore out Donnie's heart. Unlike Mercy, Amber wasn't actively crying—she slumped against the wall, staring blankly ahead, expressionless and visibly numb. Shock…that had to be what was going on. She didn't even notice him kneeling before her until he reached out for both of her shoulders, urging her into his arms. Sure enough, though, she latched on in desperation, her lungs starting to heave again with suppressed sobs.

"Shhh," he murmured carding his fingers through her loosened hair and rubbing her back. "It's alright…we'll figure this out, we'll find a way to fix this. Just leave it to me, alright?" Even as he whispered promises and she nodded in mute acceptance, he wasn't sure he could keep those promises. He was a genius but getting her home would require a miracle…and failure was not an option.


NOTES

* Yes, I seriously went there. There are very few things that can make me completely give up on a story, fan or otherwise - describing a character in minute detail all at once, canon characters behaving in very non-canon ways, characters engaging in illegal and dangerous behavior 'just for lolz,' etc - and this is a big one. Pussy, cock, and moist always make my brain want to vomit...and brains are incapable of vomiting so they also make it HURT. I know I'm not the only one bothered by those words, so please, spare your readers' brains the nausea and pain and find other words that aren't quite so cringe-tastic?

** A quick recap for Aaron Willis' family - Reagan "Ma" Willis is a single mother who had Aaron and over time adopted four younger daughters from the foster care system. Oldest to youngest they are Nancy, Lynn, Annie, and Tracey, whom you saw in this chapter. There is no father figure in the picture ever since Ron Willis - Aaron's stepfather - died. This lack of remarriage is actually a good thing considering Ma Willis' horrible taste in men. Ma Willis lives in Glenville and manages a cafe. Now, that said, I want to point something out in case no one's noticed it yet...Although I've not based any characters in ANY story on ME, I've based a total of THREE characters on my hubby Cold in various amounts of detail and focusing on various aspects of him. Those characters are Aaron and Daron in this story and Thomas in my "Elementals" stories. Though those three are heavily based on Cold, they're not an exact depiction and not meant to be. You can see an accurate depiction of the real Cold (and, unfortunately, the real Ghost, be warned,) by reading the completely ridiculous sidestory "Blocked." For the curious and those who just want to rot their brains, here's a link. Don't say I didn't warn ya.

s/12645072/1/A-New-Lease-on-Life-Sidestory-Blocked

#Funeral for a Friend/Love Lies Bleeding - this passage, Mercy's sarcastic dying words, references "Funeral for a Friend," the instrumental intro to Elton John's song "Love Lies Bleeding." That instrumental is good SL for Mercy's final moments.

WORDS

~ Guys'er – Guys or

~ Mum's fallin' apart, Da's drinkin' too much, Gran'Da's sick and pushin'em away, Aaron's…he's…He's depressed, drinkin' too much, an' I think'e means'imself harm. – Mom's falling apart, (emotionally) Dad's drinking too much, Grand'Dad's sick and pushing them away, Aaron's...he's...he's depressed, drinking too much, and I think he means himself harm. (specifically, Amber thinks he's becoming suicidal in his depression.)

~ Sadestic shite-breened cow fud– this is a long-ass and incredibly Scotched compound insult well into the realm of absurdity. Sadestic – sadistic. Shite-breened – shit-brained. Cow – supposedly an incredibly offensive insult when aimed at a woman. Fud – can be used as a euphemism for vagina OR as a way of calling someone a 'dickhead' or a 'cunt.' Either way, we can assume Amber first spouted this when she was beyond pissed—see chapter where Raph scared Mercy—then upon realizing how much it pissed off Clarity, decided to start using it even when she wasn't ready to blow her stack on her.

~M—My baby—she died on'er knees! She died beggin' fer mercy—fer fergiveness—her whole life she strayed an' when she wiz—was called Home, all she could do was pray fer mercy! - M-My baby - she died on her knees! She died begging for mercy - for forgiveness - her whole life she strayed and when she wiz (relapse) - WAS called Home all she could do was pray for mercy! - This passage is rife with Religious references that may not make sense to those living in other countries or outside what's known as 'The Bible Belt' of the US, so I'll explain as briefly as possible. By emphasizing that Amber died on her knees, Ginny is insinuating that Amber was praying when she died, and that is, indeed, true. The next insinuation, that she died praying for mercy and forgiveness, is NOT true - her dying pleas were for the safety of her loved ones as shown in the scene of her death. 'Strayed' is a common term used in the local churches to indicate someone has been living their lives according to their own terms instead of according to the terms of the church, and compares the person to a lamb who has wandered away from the flock and found themselves in danger. Sometimes this 'straying' is genuinely a bad thing - the person has gotten involved in crime or drugs, or they've become violently abusive - but, unfortunately, in many churches you would be declared 'straying from the word' for harmless actions. Though they're not the same in all churches, some will consider you straying for such actions as befriending a homosexual, living with a roommate, taking birth control even for medical reasons, or even getting married if you don't plan to have children. IN THIS CASE Ginny has been convinced that Mercy's a lesbian and has worried Amber will become a lesbian too since they were living together and Amber wouldn't go to Ginny's church with her. The next phrase, "called Home," is a reference to dying - specifically to the dying person's soul being sent up to heaven for divine judgement and presumably INTO Heaven to await the Rapture. In cases like Amber's, their religious comrades often believe that in order for the deceased person to make it into Heaven, they must atone for their sins, and if not, pray for mercy and forgiveness even on their deathbed.

~Please, fergive'er—forgive'er for dyin' on'er knees instead of livin' on'em! Live on yer knees—live a Godly life so you don't die out of God's graces! - ...in case ya haven't figured it out yet, Ginny O'Brien's a bit of a spazz and she's trying WAY too hard to get the approval of her church-going neighbors. Words: 'Please, forgive her - forgive her for dying on her knees instead of living on them! (IE, dying praying for forgiveness as opposed to spending her life praying for forgiveness) Live a Godly life (according to what the church agrees is moral) so you don't die out of God's graces!' One last blip on this section: I'm NOT promoting any religion here, merely portraying the sort I unfortunately see every day. Cold and I actually got pulled over in the grocery store the other day by some complete stranger wanting to take us to his church and convert us...because Cold said "Crap" in public. Seriously. W...T...F...

~Both'a yeshut yer fookin' gobs! – Both of you, shut your fucking mouths!

~Yer a' yer dawter's funeral—cannae ye e'en once be civil wit' each other?! Cannae ye once make'er proud'a ye?! – You're at your daughter's funeral—can't you even once be civil with each other?! Can't you once make her proud of you?!

~ Yer the reason Amber never stuck around on the weekends! Yer the reason she was so scared'a bein' around here an' leavin'er home—you an' yer church cronies! - 'You're the reason Amber always left town on the weekends! You're the reason she was so uncomfortable being in town and leaving her home - you and your church cronies!' Crony/ pl, Cronies is a term meaning 'a close friend or companion' but slang usage often has the word used to indicate that the person it's describing is immoral or ill-behaved. In this case, Aaron's basically saying that Ginny's church-going friends aren't half as moral and admirable as they pretend to be.

~ Tha's – Scotched 'that's.'

~ Y'old– You old

~ I'was– It was

~ I fergive ya. I un'erstahnd—I'm not angry wit'ya…I'm sorry, Merse—sorry fer—fer puttin' ya in tha' position—fer givin' up like I did. – I forgive you. I understand—I'm not angry with you…I'm sorry, Merse—sorry for—for putting you in that position—for giving up like I did.

Again, full translation of "Mercy's dying words" can be found HERE, along with the full translation and discussion of "Kimber's dying words." - topic/194762/153520546/1/#169848000

GENERAL RULES

Adding 'e, 'is, 'imself to the end of a word – means he, his, or himself.

Adding 'er or 'erself to the end of a word – means her or herself

Adding 'em, 'emselves, or'eir to the end of a word – means them, themselves, or their

Adding 'a to the end of a word– means of, have, or to, depending on the rest of the sentence. You can generally figure out which one with little difficulty just by considering which word the 'a is added to and the rest of the phrase.

Words ending with –in'– This word ends with –ing but has been shortened to portray accent.

With Casey/Raph: Da / words beginning with d-– Generally, non-Bay Casey pronounces th- words as d- instead. Specific examples include da – the and dere – there.