Categories > Original > Drama > Pocket Change
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Pocket Change
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[09: /it burns me still softly/]
I miss you.
Chale paces his room restlessly, lips set in a frown around his cigarette. He's slouching, more hunched over than usual, one tight fist crammed into his jeans pocket. He's wearing the same shirt as three days ago, washed courtesy of Fiorel.
Fiorel. Problem number one. She's down in the bar area with Edson, preparing to become a happy married couple. Chale takes a long, hard drag, much in the manner of someone with an obstruction in their straw. He can't look Edson in the eye anymore, let alone stand by him at his wedding. Not after what he's done with Fiorel, and especially not while she wears that blasted /dress/. His stomach feels heavy at the mere thought of their betrayal. It's a knife in the back to Edson and a slap in the face to Joss.
Joss. Problem number two. Of all the people in the Inn, she's the only one he can even imagine himself confessing to, and he really wants to let her know he's sorry for abandoning her on the stairs. The thing is, he hasn't seen her since yesterday morning. He doesn't know where she is or if she's alright; all he knows is that she left with Takeo, and he hasn't been seen, either. Of course, Chale hasn't left his room since seven thirty the previous evening. He'd go out to check, but he's too afraid of seeing Edson.
Chale sighs with frustration, expelling a cloud of smoke.
I miss you.
He wishes he could at least see her, know she's okay. He doesn't even know if she's at /home/.
Chale drops himself onto the bed, snuffing is cigarette into the overflowing ashtray on his nightstand. He rakes a hand through his hair, glaring at his knees. Every time he tries to think of a solution, a fresh wave of guilt washes over him and he can hardly stand himself. With experienced flicks of the wrist, he acquires another cigarette and lights it with his silver Zippo. His initials are engraved on the body, /C.M./, courtesy of more than a few weeks of Joss' pay. He remembers being surprised that she knew his birthday at all. Even more shocking is that, instead of reprimanding him for his habit, she encouraged it.
"Joss, hon, you do know I'll be using this to smoke?"
"Yes, Chay, I know- but today's your birthday so I'm going to do whatever makes you happy. Just you wait until tomorrow."
And the next day, she had given him a long lecture on the dangers of smoking. He sat through the entire tirade with a Cuban in his grin, a present from good ol' Grady. Afterward, Chale had kissed her, dramatically and hard, laughing at the scarlet on her cheeks as she loudly complained of the tobacco taste. She was flushed and cross and the anger didn't quite reach her eyes.
He wishes he could see her.
A bang explodes beneath the floorboards, startling despite being muffled. Alarmed, Chale darts out of his room- /If I have to see him let him be alright/- and down the stairs. He's greeted by the sight of the Inn door lying in the middle of the lobby, torn off its hinges. Edson is in front of Fiorel by the bar counter, his face pale because how many times has he had to mend that door? Elysia is sitting at a far table with a tall, lanky, dark-haired and dark-eyed boy. In the doorway, interrupting the morning sun, stands an espresso-coloured man with long, silvery hair and a disgusted disposition. He's flanked by two slightly shorter men, one with freckles and a head of flaming hair, the other with no hair at all. All three men wear black three-piece suits.
Says the man in the middle, "Ollis Inn, you're being taken over."
"/What/?"
Joss stomps around Chale and off the stairs, sneering at the strangers. With her hair mussed from sleep and one hand rubbing her eye, she does not look very formidable. She's still clad in her sleepwear- a deep green flannel set, the sleeves and legs too long for her slight frame. With patterns of clouds and stars on her person, her scowl loses all intimidation.
The bald man roars with laughter.
"Listen, kid, go back to sleep and maybe we'll leave you alone. Hell, we'll even let Blondie over there escort ya back to your room, alright, Princess?"
"Who the fuck are you callin' Blondie, /Baldie/?"
Baldie's grin slides off like water down a wall, replaced by a teeth-bearing frown. He stomps forward and sends his fist at her. "Okay, brat, you asked-"
Joss spins out of the way and shoves the heel of her hand up into his face, breaking his nose. He hollers and stumbles backward, clutching at his injury. Hands on her hips, she glares down at him.
"I am dead stressed and all too eager to take it out on someone, bub. Wanna be my outlet?"
The regulars of the Inn are torn between concerned and entertained. Joss can see Elysia stifle a noise of amusement. Beside her, she recognizes Ivan, worry plain on his features.
What's he-
Red grabs her around the neck, having darted behind her with surprising agility. Baldie grins through the blood dribbling onto his chin, and throws a giant fist; she cringes for the impact. Instead, Chale's fist reaches Baldie's face first, sending him lumbering into the wall. He walks toward the already bloody man, flashing Joss a cigarette-punctured smirk. She sticks her tongue out at him. Then she gives Red's foot a mighty stomp, leaping out of arm's reach.
By the bar, Edson calls, "so you guys'll mind the furniture, then?"
Chale and Joss, standing back-to-back, give him a laugh. She says, "sure thing."
Baldie growls, charging forward. Chale sticks his foot in the burly man's already abused face and gives him a hard shove backward, following through with his own lunge forward. He takes hold of the man's shiny head and slams it into the ground, easily knocking the man out.
Turning, Chale watches as Joss takes on the redhead, who doesn't look much older than her. Their battle is a flurry of dodges, sidesteps and the occasional hit. Her opponent has the advantage of proper training, he can tell; Joss fights more instinctively, as opposed to Red's smooth, planned motions. Chale begins to worry, but Joss turns the tables in her favor with a twirl of a dodge and a blow to the back of Red's knee. He crumples, and she takes the opportunity to immobilize him by twisting his arm behind his back and kneeling on him, digging her toes in the bend between his thighs and his calves. The two are panting. Joss is wearing her customary determination face, completely focused on the task at hand, her wide eyes narrowed and shining. Chale feels a surge of pride.
And then /click BANG/; Red's head is gushing, well, red. Joss leaps to her feet, blood spattered over her front, mouth agape. All eyes are trained on the doorway, where the forgotten man-in-the-middle holds a smoking pistol.
"He was losing, and I have no use for losers," he says, in a deep, drawling voice. He uses his thumb to cock his weapon, pointing the barrel at Joss. "You, on the other hand..."
Chale moves forward, but the black-haired stranger from the corner beats him to the punch, placing himself between Joss and a potential bullet.
"Ivan," she protests, but he shakes his head.
"I haven't seen you for the longest time, and I'm not about to allow this thug to spoil any chance for reconciliation."
The silver-headed man smirks, his face devoid of mirth. "A charming sentiment, Torkel, but-"
"You're so fucking /noisy/!"
There's another BANG and the man drops to the ground, spurts of scarlet in his wake. At the foot of the stairs stands Takeo, clad in only black jeans, his hair slightly less rumpled than Joss'. His face is contorted into an expression of disgruntled annoyance, and he returns his gun to the holster on his ankle. Chale doesn't like how Takeo's narrowed eyes take in Joss, but the coffee slits fall upon Edson.
"Who the fuck was that?"
"/That/," says a pixie-like blonde woman who steps into the Inn, "was my /boyfriend/."
Chale is confused as Joss, Ivan, Elysia, Edson, and Fiorel wear identical expressions of surprise at the small woman's entrance. Takeo, however, merely raises a brow in recognition.
"Ah. The youngest Pavelle."
"Now it's just Pavelle?" She frowns, deep blue eyes locked onto Takeo's. "Or have you pushed my name from memory? It's /Taryn/, Takeo, and nice to see you, too."
Chale is more lost than ever, so he looks to Joss for guidance. There are spots of blood on her chin, and she's bruising near one of her eyes but, for the most part, she looks fine. He realizes that he's gotten his wish: he gets to see her- but the bodies in front of her and the stricken expression on her face make him feel like a monster for ever making the wish in the first place.
Pocket Change
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[09: /it burns me still softly/]
I miss you.
Chale paces his room restlessly, lips set in a frown around his cigarette. He's slouching, more hunched over than usual, one tight fist crammed into his jeans pocket. He's wearing the same shirt as three days ago, washed courtesy of Fiorel.
Fiorel. Problem number one. She's down in the bar area with Edson, preparing to become a happy married couple. Chale takes a long, hard drag, much in the manner of someone with an obstruction in their straw. He can't look Edson in the eye anymore, let alone stand by him at his wedding. Not after what he's done with Fiorel, and especially not while she wears that blasted /dress/. His stomach feels heavy at the mere thought of their betrayal. It's a knife in the back to Edson and a slap in the face to Joss.
Joss. Problem number two. Of all the people in the Inn, she's the only one he can even imagine himself confessing to, and he really wants to let her know he's sorry for abandoning her on the stairs. The thing is, he hasn't seen her since yesterday morning. He doesn't know where she is or if she's alright; all he knows is that she left with Takeo, and he hasn't been seen, either. Of course, Chale hasn't left his room since seven thirty the previous evening. He'd go out to check, but he's too afraid of seeing Edson.
Chale sighs with frustration, expelling a cloud of smoke.
I miss you.
He wishes he could at least see her, know she's okay. He doesn't even know if she's at /home/.
Chale drops himself onto the bed, snuffing is cigarette into the overflowing ashtray on his nightstand. He rakes a hand through his hair, glaring at his knees. Every time he tries to think of a solution, a fresh wave of guilt washes over him and he can hardly stand himself. With experienced flicks of the wrist, he acquires another cigarette and lights it with his silver Zippo. His initials are engraved on the body, /C.M./, courtesy of more than a few weeks of Joss' pay. He remembers being surprised that she knew his birthday at all. Even more shocking is that, instead of reprimanding him for his habit, she encouraged it.
"Joss, hon, you do know I'll be using this to smoke?"
"Yes, Chay, I know- but today's your birthday so I'm going to do whatever makes you happy. Just you wait until tomorrow."
And the next day, she had given him a long lecture on the dangers of smoking. He sat through the entire tirade with a Cuban in his grin, a present from good ol' Grady. Afterward, Chale had kissed her, dramatically and hard, laughing at the scarlet on her cheeks as she loudly complained of the tobacco taste. She was flushed and cross and the anger didn't quite reach her eyes.
He wishes he could see her.
A bang explodes beneath the floorboards, startling despite being muffled. Alarmed, Chale darts out of his room- /If I have to see him let him be alright/- and down the stairs. He's greeted by the sight of the Inn door lying in the middle of the lobby, torn off its hinges. Edson is in front of Fiorel by the bar counter, his face pale because how many times has he had to mend that door? Elysia is sitting at a far table with a tall, lanky, dark-haired and dark-eyed boy. In the doorway, interrupting the morning sun, stands an espresso-coloured man with long, silvery hair and a disgusted disposition. He's flanked by two slightly shorter men, one with freckles and a head of flaming hair, the other with no hair at all. All three men wear black three-piece suits.
Says the man in the middle, "Ollis Inn, you're being taken over."
"/What/?"
Joss stomps around Chale and off the stairs, sneering at the strangers. With her hair mussed from sleep and one hand rubbing her eye, she does not look very formidable. She's still clad in her sleepwear- a deep green flannel set, the sleeves and legs too long for her slight frame. With patterns of clouds and stars on her person, her scowl loses all intimidation.
The bald man roars with laughter.
"Listen, kid, go back to sleep and maybe we'll leave you alone. Hell, we'll even let Blondie over there escort ya back to your room, alright, Princess?"
"Who the fuck are you callin' Blondie, /Baldie/?"
Baldie's grin slides off like water down a wall, replaced by a teeth-bearing frown. He stomps forward and sends his fist at her. "Okay, brat, you asked-"
Joss spins out of the way and shoves the heel of her hand up into his face, breaking his nose. He hollers and stumbles backward, clutching at his injury. Hands on her hips, she glares down at him.
"I am dead stressed and all too eager to take it out on someone, bub. Wanna be my outlet?"
The regulars of the Inn are torn between concerned and entertained. Joss can see Elysia stifle a noise of amusement. Beside her, she recognizes Ivan, worry plain on his features.
What's he-
Red grabs her around the neck, having darted behind her with surprising agility. Baldie grins through the blood dribbling onto his chin, and throws a giant fist; she cringes for the impact. Instead, Chale's fist reaches Baldie's face first, sending him lumbering into the wall. He walks toward the already bloody man, flashing Joss a cigarette-punctured smirk. She sticks her tongue out at him. Then she gives Red's foot a mighty stomp, leaping out of arm's reach.
By the bar, Edson calls, "so you guys'll mind the furniture, then?"
Chale and Joss, standing back-to-back, give him a laugh. She says, "sure thing."
Baldie growls, charging forward. Chale sticks his foot in the burly man's already abused face and gives him a hard shove backward, following through with his own lunge forward. He takes hold of the man's shiny head and slams it into the ground, easily knocking the man out.
Turning, Chale watches as Joss takes on the redhead, who doesn't look much older than her. Their battle is a flurry of dodges, sidesteps and the occasional hit. Her opponent has the advantage of proper training, he can tell; Joss fights more instinctively, as opposed to Red's smooth, planned motions. Chale begins to worry, but Joss turns the tables in her favor with a twirl of a dodge and a blow to the back of Red's knee. He crumples, and she takes the opportunity to immobilize him by twisting his arm behind his back and kneeling on him, digging her toes in the bend between his thighs and his calves. The two are panting. Joss is wearing her customary determination face, completely focused on the task at hand, her wide eyes narrowed and shining. Chale feels a surge of pride.
And then /click BANG/; Red's head is gushing, well, red. Joss leaps to her feet, blood spattered over her front, mouth agape. All eyes are trained on the doorway, where the forgotten man-in-the-middle holds a smoking pistol.
"He was losing, and I have no use for losers," he says, in a deep, drawling voice. He uses his thumb to cock his weapon, pointing the barrel at Joss. "You, on the other hand..."
Chale moves forward, but the black-haired stranger from the corner beats him to the punch, placing himself between Joss and a potential bullet.
"Ivan," she protests, but he shakes his head.
"I haven't seen you for the longest time, and I'm not about to allow this thug to spoil any chance for reconciliation."
The silver-headed man smirks, his face devoid of mirth. "A charming sentiment, Torkel, but-"
"You're so fucking /noisy/!"
There's another BANG and the man drops to the ground, spurts of scarlet in his wake. At the foot of the stairs stands Takeo, clad in only black jeans, his hair slightly less rumpled than Joss'. His face is contorted into an expression of disgruntled annoyance, and he returns his gun to the holster on his ankle. Chale doesn't like how Takeo's narrowed eyes take in Joss, but the coffee slits fall upon Edson.
"Who the fuck was that?"
"/That/," says a pixie-like blonde woman who steps into the Inn, "was my /boyfriend/."
Chale is confused as Joss, Ivan, Elysia, Edson, and Fiorel wear identical expressions of surprise at the small woman's entrance. Takeo, however, merely raises a brow in recognition.
"Ah. The youngest Pavelle."
"Now it's just Pavelle?" She frowns, deep blue eyes locked onto Takeo's. "Or have you pushed my name from memory? It's /Taryn/, Takeo, and nice to see you, too."
Chale is more lost than ever, so he looks to Joss for guidance. There are spots of blood on her chin, and she's bruising near one of her eyes but, for the most part, she looks fine. He realizes that he's gotten his wish: he gets to see her- but the bodies in front of her and the stricken expression on her face make him feel like a monster for ever making the wish in the first place.
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