- Chapter Twenty -
One Lousy Writer
Prints click-clacking on the matte onyx surface for the better part of ten minutes, without pause, she finally allowed herself a minute to sit back and stare up at the ceiling. On a relative roll with the outpouring of ideas she'd gotten from a contemplative late night shower, it was hard to look away from the monitor for more than five minutes. Maybe it was simple strain, but as the cluttered home office steadily grew darker and the screen brighter, it was beginning to effect her eyes.
Sam in particular was constantly on her about turning on a light, but at the moment her fingers were too busy flying over the keys to stretch over and flick on the desk lamp.
Speaking of the thief, the woman wondered what he was up to. Latest letter from Cuba still floating around the kitchen during the day, the last time they'd spoken he was thinking of paying Logan and Mellie a visit. The surfer would only be in town for another weekend before setting out on the circuit, and the family would be setting up the new place in Chelsea's native Auckland while he was away. If there was ever a time to stop by, this was it.
Then again, Sam often contemplated paying his son a visit; the woman hadn't exactly been keeping track, but it seemed like he followed through less than half the time. Although she could hardly blame him - in her experience it was always awkward and difficult to become a part of a pre-existing family unit. Sure Logan was open and willing to welcome a professional criminal into his life, whereas Chelsea would accept just about anything if it made her other half happy, but to take that all on while navigating parenthood...
Frankly she suspected that the wee baby Amelia was what really kept Sam around, that much was clear the first time he'd held his granddaughter. Thinking of that day still brought a tear to her eye, metaphorically speaking. Or perhaps that was just the hormones? No, it had to have been that day: Amelia's arrival into the world had changed a number of things, including the definition of family.
Ai-yah, it was still strange to think of the eldest Drake brother as someone's grandfather. Or father for that matter.
For the purposes of the story she was struggling at parts to tell, that was getting a tad ahead of things. At present she was only getting to the bit about her imprisonment and the rescue effort that was being mounted to get her back. Obviously not being present for chunks of time and hearing accounts second-hand was less than ideal, especially when the people she was counting on for information were a bunch of thieves and liars. As she imagined Chloe would point out, Nadine was probably the most honest of them all.
Shoulders only just getting around to telling the rest of her body that they were getting sore, the woman finally got the hint and pushed herself away from the desk. Tonight would definitely be spent in the arms of the heating pad. "Medical science wins this round."
Words of resignation hollow with no one to bounce them off of, she knew that speaking to herself was a bad habit. But when else would she have the opportunity to use her voice? Rather, when would the chance arise in face-to-face situations? Opting to escape to a quiet little place in the bountiful hills of Italy to recharge after her latest escapade, the entire point was solitude. After a few days of isolation in the villa, she was missing people, but pride wasn't allowing her to crumble and start bothering people when she was supposed to be on vacation. Or was rehab the more accurate term?
Either way you wanted to phrase her self-inflicted isolation, the separation wasn't so bad. This retreat had been a great excuse get in touch with her artistic side again - not that she would ever be hailed as one of the greats. Hiking for hours at a time through untamed wilderness, crawling through mud, and swimming short distances was basically what she did for a living, so it was nice getting to stay off her feet for a change. In fact, she had even braved signing up for a pottery class... which wasn't going very well.
Probably the tidiest of the three owners, the woman was only temporarily keeping her deformed sculptures on top of the filing cabinets until she made up her mind about what she was going to do with them. Most of the time she leaned on just tossing them into the bin, but it was never easy to part with the misshapen lumps. Sympathetic to hoarders on that count, that was the most likely reason why the chaotic state of the area went unmentioned.
Office shared between the three main occupants of the leisure residence, the fourth bedroom had been converted long before she had put her name to the deed. Walls an unpainted mixture of clay and sandstone, the vertical boundaries were about a foot lower than usual and curved to hug the garage. Workstation a wrapping desk wedged into the corner between oval windows, only one of the twin monitors was turned on and in use. Boxes full of old journals, faded receipts, and other account files were piled around, each clearly marked with Sullivan's handwriting. Back-ups of the back-ups. Sam's contribution to the mess was a littering of open dossiers and a couple of vintage posters.
Gaze falling to the digital clock in the bottom corner of the computer screen, the woman groaned to herself. Displaying the time to be a hair past three in the morning, she shook her head at the screen and sighed. So much for getting up early tomorrow. Worthy of paintings and poems and other masterful sonnets, the sunrises and mornings were truly breath-taking to behold, however she'd only managed to see one so far, and that was by fluke.
A really fun fluke that involved a German guitarist and several shots of some top-shelf liquor...
On the note of top-shelf booze, the athletic creature attempting to flex a number of creative muscles decided that a drink would be in order. Sitting up and stretching with a short yawn that went unheeded, the woman rolled her neck across the tops of her shoulders, hoping that her favorite masseuse would be in the office tomorrow. Theoretically she'd be fine with just about anyone with a degree, yet Edgardo had magic hands that could just make it all wash away.
"I wonder if they'd notice I'd broken into the Snow Queen..." Mumbling to herself, she had to ponder if either Sullivan or Sam would be bothered by not by her selection but by opening the luxury vodka without them. Her money may have been paying for the upkeep, but for all intents and purposes she still felt like a stranger renting out one of the rooms.
But screw feeling guilty about it - Sullivan was currently in Brazil catching up with an old friend, and who knew where Drake had ended up. Yeah, he'd said he was thinking about seeing some family, but for all anyone knew he could have been stumbling through some port city on the way to lord knows where. Odds were that the better question was when she'd receive a call asking for yet another loan to bail him out of prison. Again.
Pft, "loan", that was a cute way to put it.
Hallways a complex labyrinth of honeycombs the further away one got from the front door, even while half-asleep the dead ends and loop around the laundry room were easy traps to fall into. Alive with windows, the spruced corridors were kept simple with vases recovered from history and the occasional tapestry. Potted flowers dotted the way here and there, the exact breed of fauna changing depending on season and the moods of the two that cared about the decor.
Mirror displaying a bedraggled reflection when the woman passed between the kitchen and the alternate bathroom, she ignored it. Scratching absently at the tangled mess piled at the back of her head, some part of her was aware that it was time for a bath, however she was more interested in getting a drink. Thinking back on it now, it was almost strange that there had once been a time when taking a shower had been her idea of a good Friday night. Or was the preference more morose than peculiar?
Good stuff in the kitchen or the bar in the living room, the best liquor was always kept in the pantry next to Sullivan's room. As the person responsible for converting the narrow storage space into a vault for the most precious of flammables, it was only fair. Besides, the sailor was the least likely to abuse the treasure trove...
Lights turned off when he pulled up the loosely cobbled driveway, the man maneuvered his bike around a dingy blue SUV in order to park in the back. Large enough for two full sized vehicles and a motorcycle to fit comfortably, part of the garage was left open for patch jobs of various natures. What was new was a bike rack, complete with three different bicycles.
Was she trying to tell them something?
Dim and barely bright enough to show the path to the side door into the villa, the automatic motion sensing light was dying. Not a problem, as there should have been a spare bulb among the tools.
Following both memory and what little light was available, he found his way inside without incident. Key slipping into the lock with the normal amount of jangling, if anyone was even in there were only so many reasons to keep it down. A loaded specialized Colt M 1911 was really all the incentive the man needed to be mindful of getting the jump on his flatmate, yet on some level the woman wielding the handgun was just as frightening, if not more so. Especially when she was drunk and angry, and in his experience it was safer to assume that she had had at least one drink before bed.
Unfair to say that she had a problem, he just wasn't in much of a mood to fight. Cutting it close to the wire, seeing Logan off following a sleepless night "relocating" antiquities had been draining enough. Forget the bender a few nights before that. Modest as the affair had been, he just wanted a warm bed to crash in. Preferably there would have been a plate in the oven and a warm body waiting, however no one had any idea he was going to be popping in. And anyways, it would have been too greedy to expect more than one of those things.
Tempted to peek around to see if anyone else was home, he figured that snooping around was an open invitation to get his face blown off. Unzipping the protective leather jacket as he walked down the hallways, it caught his notice that the office door had been left ajar. Blinding in comparison to the low hall lights that had been left on, he realized that the computer hadn't been properly turned off.
Either someone was definitely there, or there had been a break in. Going with the former, he cautiously opened the door and let out a sigh of relief when he saw that the room was empty. He could handle a burglar, just not the irony.
Mouse bringing the screen back to life when he moved it to save whatever was there so the tower could be powered down, he let out a laugh tinged with bitterness when he saw that someone had been writing down their adventures. He'd said in the past that they could make good bank for telling their stories to the masses, but he never thought that anyone had ever taken the suggestion seriously. Curious to read what all had been recorded, he paused just long enough to remove his coat.
Kept busy by the very 'meh' twenty or so finished chapters, the man didn't realize that yet another tenet had returned. Two of the three oval windows faced the driveway as it turned up into the garage, yet by that time the story had its reader that engrossed in the action. Or rather, the lack thereof.
Sunrise still flirting with the rosy hues of the dawn, the inky midnight had been chased away by crooked fingers of vibrant apricot. Stones lent a dusky violet shade and grass glowing lush emerald beneath the dew, the breathtaking serenity of the front garden was lost on the drunk. Air only doing so much to sober the tall man up as he drove the canopied lane, the stench of spilled beer soaking into musty cotton proceeded his actual arrival. His keys scratched the fresh paint on the back door when he stumbled inside.
Instead of going left towards, well, pretty much everything in the villa, the drunk shambled straight for the laundry room to deposit a knapsack of dirty wash. Only other doors nearby leading to either the closet or the third bedroom, he was disappointed to discover that the jewel-toned California King was empty. Aware of who should have been lurking somewhere in the residence, being so early in the morning there were only so many places the woman could have been hiding. Hands thrust out to steady himself, he used the tips of his fingers to follow the wall passed the patio and dinning room until it gave away.
Late night snacks weren't unheard of, so the kitchen was as likely a place as any, but he hadn't noticed any kind of illumination coming from the archway. No, he just had the feeling that he wouldn't find anything entertaining in there, so he kept on his path.
Tv wasting electricity and killing braincells at the same time, the flat screen had been left on some old monochrome movie, something in Italian. Technically they had a package that included English programs, but that was more to show off how lavishly they were living. As if the living room itself failed to deliver that message.
"Miss me?" Battling with his center of gravity, the buzzed drunk struggled to stand up straight. He felt as if his presence spoke for itself, yet he still announced his arrival to the woman curled up on the coach to prevent a repeat of the incident with Charlie.
Answered by a snore as she tossed around on the couch, he shook his head with the faintest hint of a leer. So much for making half an effort to appear presentable to his partner. Really, they hadn't seen each other in a little over a month, so it was quite the letdown to be reunited in such a fashion, although... Coming over from a pub crawl after deciding against the whole goodbye scene Logan would have wanted, it was probably for the best that she was passed out. History dictated one of two scenarios playing out otherwise, and he wasn't in much of a mood for 'option b'.
Leaving well enough alone, he settled on taking whatever medicine had knocked her on her ass. Smart money was not on pills but potions - she had a terrible gag reflex that made swallowing quite the struggle. Mumbling incoherently when the man finally succeeded in tearing the clear bottle of vodka from the crook of her elbow, the woman hugged herself tight.
Serves her right.
Despite being unable to forgive her for breaking into the Snow Queen without him, the traitorous heart within betrayed his petty grudge. Under the impression that she might have been cold, he remembered discarding his coat on the hook by the side door; compensating for real coverage, he slid out of his shirt and placed it over her torso. Royal navy with a slightly darker indigo thread woven through, the light coming from the television shifted the colors from pitch to electric snow.
White wife beater underneath the shirt stained with sweat and beer, it probably smelled as attractive as the drunkard wearing it. Whatever, it wasn't like there was anyone around he had to impress. All the same, it was a good thing she was out of it and there were no other witnesses around, because he had a reputation to uphold.
Occupying the cushion previously hogged by her pedicured feet, after maybe fifteen minutes of drinking the vodka and having no way of changing the channel - who knew where she had lost the remote? - the man began to search around for a way to entertain himself. Aside from the obvious (and perverted), he didn't see too many options. Glancing around at the end table by his elbow, his blurry eyes caught sight of a pen and a notepad on the top, and underneath a bag from one of the local stores.
Easier to grab, he opted first for the ink and paper.
Dragon doodle too big for one square to contain, the picture ended up taking several: face taking five blocks for the snout and horned crests where there ought to have been ears, the body had taken another three. Then he'd gotten bored with the concept and started on some birds. Lacking a place to put his slender Chinese dragon, he realized that there was plenty of room to keep the illustration, and even better, keep it as a single solid image. Laying the flexible ivory tiles out across the steady logs that were the woman's calves and thighs, it dawned on the drunk that he had a means of getting revenge for the solo binge.
Ankle already home to some real artistry, the man ran the pen over the top of her foot to test how ticklish it would be. Chances were high that he could have covered her entire body before she woke up, but it seemed prudent to test that theory out first. Recalling a time long ago when he had just been a wayward boy with a sharpie and a little brother to torment, the drunk knew exactly how to begin his masterpiece.
Well, that could have gone better.
Style what one might refer to as overly descriptive, somehow the author had managed to drone on for hours while covering the same exact territory with little forward movement in the growth of the characters. Plot development dragged on as well, but at least there it was easier to see progression. Information boiled down beyond basics, it felt like the woman had been insecure in her work to the point that she was spoon-feeding anyone that might bother reading the story. The man was fairly certain that wasn't her intention, but that was how it looked from his perspective.
Characterization starting out alright, it felt like at times the author had began to lose sight of the players. For example, Bai surely had more going on than just glasses, sex, and a job in business. The stuff brushing her cocaine addiction was a decent start, but that would likely never get touched upon without dragging desire into the mix. Perhaps in some twisted way it was just difficult for the woman to bring up her family, but she herself seemed to be questionably underdeveloped on paper. And what was up with tweaking with the timeline so much? An argument could be made that she was just slowly building on the character, but at this point forever was seeming like a theme.
To be fair, there was a tiny bit of improvement along the way, and maybe things could still be salvageable if she was willing to own up to her mistakes. If anyone ever read this tale hopefully they had the stuff to stick it out, but having sat through it up until this point, he could hardly blame someone for bailing.
Maybe if a certain someone had shown up as more then a brief name drop...
Finished critiquing the amateur storytelling in all its mediocre struggle, the man made sure to save the document before exiting the program. On the computer for so long that he had honestly forgotten what his original plan had been, he shut the tower and monitor down. Once coming in to find a video of an Asian schoolgirl tied up in a chair with one in each hand and a powerhouse in her bum, in hindsight it would have been better if he had just found more porn.
Ravenous after reading into the morning, the first guy to come home that morning opted to grab a snack before finding an open bed. Yeah, the main owners of the villa liked to stake their claim upon certain rooms, but seeing as they weren't the only ones with a set of keys, tough tits. The woman that bought her way on to the deed pretty much had made the third bedroom her own, however if the other two were full up, he had no qualms about grabbing some shuteye in her chambers. In some weird way, he was even hoping that that might be the case - she had the softest coral fleece and Sherpa blanket you could ever want.
Kitchen the next room over, thankfully it wasn't too far of a walk from the comfort of the office chair. Mind envisioning a glass of milk to wash down a fresh plate of warm buttery toast, instead the man settled for a cup of calcium-enriched orange juice and a couple slices of cold pizza. Delivery, stuffed crust, topped with mushrooms and olives. Far from the best combination, the meal involved the least amount of effort to prepare.
Nibbling on his food and contemplating about whether or not he should pop the pizza into the microwave really quick, he glanced around the rest of the room. Refrigerator owning the wall beside the single archway, the opposite and adjoining boundaries were made of 80% counter and cupboard. The other twenty was oven, sink, and dishwasher. Cheap and easy to move, the card table in the far corner took up most of the remaining space; a second bag was left on the porous surface, revealing an open bottle of medicine for stomach pains, sour candies, and the wrapper of a chocolate bar.
Did the woman stop to think that maybe her stomach was rebelling against all the crap she'd been eating?
Second bedroom only a hop, skip, and a bathroom away from the food prep station, once the last of the crumbs had vanished he decided to crash there. He'd say hello to the author later on in the day once he was rested and had had a hot shower - it had been a long day, and frankly he was beat. If by some chance the elder Drake happened to wander this way and needed lodging, the other man could just bunk with the woman. From the sounds of things, it wouldn't be the first time.
"If the stories were to be believed."
Periwinkle the favored color, five polished toes came crashing into the man's rib before his groggy brain could even comprehend what had happened. Kicking out in her sleep, he had to remind himself that she wasn't in control of her body and shouldn't be blamed for her actions. Keyword being shouldn't, as payment for opening the vodka by herself, the drunk had scribbled a number of things on the available skin of her legs and hand.
Restitution for the assault would bear mulling over.
As would adequate amends for waking him up after he had dozed off. Ask the man when it had happened, and he couldn't so much as guess at the exact moment he drifted off, only that he had been jerked out of sleep by a sudden and sneaky strike. On top of hogging the covers for warmth as much as for what she called "separation for modesty", the woman was infamous for random fits of violence. Auditions for fight club, he'd tease her. Apparently there was a new season coming up that she felt the need to train for.
Limbs on the cusp between a wooden death and hollow numbness, lids growing heavier with each passing second, the man didn't fight it. Giving in to the wear of the liquor and the pangs behind his red eyes that yearned for nothing less than rest, he shrugged the attack off and settled in.