(no subject)
Need to get ahold of the mun? Either AIM (a penny sun) or right here! Easiest way to get ahold of me would probably be right here, though, so post away and I'll get back to you.
Danke ^_^
Danke ^_^
(no subject)
[[There will be CANON here]]
Thunder rolls overhead, lightnin' flashin' bright, shines over what's left of th'cornfield. Ben's sprawled in the mud and it hurts, oh God oh fuck but it hurts like he'd never believed it could. Slittin' his own throat didn't even feel like this - this is a forever pain, a burnin' pain, it eats away at him and makes him wiggle like a worm on a goddamn hook in the middle of th'mud and th'rain and that's not even what hurts so bad, that's not even what eats away at him, it's th'fact that Justin's above him and he's won, he's raisin' the sickle high and it's already killed him, Ben thinks dizzily, bitin' into his shoulder and openin' his belly up to spill blue blood onto th'ground but Justin just wants t'make sure.
He's got both hands on the sickle. Raises it high.
Lightnin' flashes. Ben c'n see the tree tattoo, spreading branches.
A voice in his mind. A vision.
A dark heart dwells where twisted branches meet.
How many goddamn times? How many times had he seen it? Heard it? And only now, seein' what he never seen before, does Ben know what it means. His hands fumble for th'dagger, only one hand workin', really, but it's enough and it grabs, it holds, and th'dagger almost leaps in his hand 'cause it knows where it's goin' and Ben's up, lunging, and it's hilt-deep in Justin's chest before th'preacher-man can even blink.
A dark heart dwells where twisted branches meet. "Anointed...dagger..." he grits out, teeth clenched hard, hurts more'n anythin' he's fuckin felt in his life and he's fuckin' died, but this is it. He's winning. "Plunge...thee...deep!"
They fall together. Ben twists the knife as he falls, slams hard into th'ground with Justin underneath him and he's still twistin', even though the blood's pumpin' out like nothing livin' and Justin's face is surprised, waxy, still.
Dead.
Ben gets maybe three feet away, crawlin' on hands and knees, dagger wrapped in bloody fingers, before it's all just too damn much. He's leavin' a trail behind him, blue blood still pourin' from belly'n'shoulder and he thinks, maybe, this is really how it ends. Them killin' each other (grass changes under him but he doesn't notice, can't see much of anythin', now) and he don't know if it's that thought or the hurtin' or what but he's fallin', suddenly, fetchin' up against a tree (was there a tree there before?) and when he hits the ground it's just so fuckin' bad that he pukes, blood'n'bile spillin' down his front, makin' his head spin even more so that he thinks
oh
I'm fuckin' dying
and ain't that just one
big
fucking
joke
(were there always lights in the distance?)
Thunder rolls overhead, lightnin' flashin' bright, shines over what's left of th'cornfield. Ben's sprawled in the mud and it hurts, oh God oh fuck but it hurts like he'd never believed it could. Slittin' his own throat didn't even feel like this - this is a forever pain, a burnin' pain, it eats away at him and makes him wiggle like a worm on a goddamn hook in the middle of th'mud and th'rain and that's not even what hurts so bad, that's not even what eats away at him, it's th'fact that Justin's above him and he's won, he's raisin' the sickle high and it's already killed him, Ben thinks dizzily, bitin' into his shoulder and openin' his belly up to spill blue blood onto th'ground but Justin just wants t'make sure.
He's got both hands on the sickle. Raises it high.
Lightnin' flashes. Ben c'n see the tree tattoo, spreading branches.
A voice in his mind. A vision.
A dark heart dwells where twisted branches meet.
How many goddamn times? How many times had he seen it? Heard it? And only now, seein' what he never seen before, does Ben know what it means. His hands fumble for th'dagger, only one hand workin', really, but it's enough and it grabs, it holds, and th'dagger almost leaps in his hand 'cause it knows where it's goin' and Ben's up, lunging, and it's hilt-deep in Justin's chest before th'preacher-man can even blink.
A dark heart dwells where twisted branches meet. "Anointed...dagger..." he grits out, teeth clenched hard, hurts more'n anythin' he's fuckin felt in his life and he's fuckin' died, but this is it. He's winning. "Plunge...thee...deep!"
They fall together. Ben twists the knife as he falls, slams hard into th'ground with Justin underneath him and he's still twistin', even though the blood's pumpin' out like nothing livin' and Justin's face is surprised, waxy, still.
Dead.
Ben gets maybe three feet away, crawlin' on hands and knees, dagger wrapped in bloody fingers, before it's all just too damn much. He's leavin' a trail behind him, blue blood still pourin' from belly'n'shoulder and he thinks, maybe, this is really how it ends. Them killin' each other (grass changes under him but he doesn't notice, can't see much of anythin', now) and he don't know if it's that thought or the hurtin' or what but he's fallin', suddenly, fetchin' up against a tree (was there a tree there before?) and when he hits the ground it's just so fuckin' bad that he pukes, blood'n'bile spillin' down his front, makin' his head spin even more so that he thinks
oh
I'm fuckin' dying
and ain't that just one
big
fucking
joke
(were there always lights in the distance?)
(sounds like laughter, spilling from a bar?)
Not that it matters.
Not that much matters, anymore.
Ben thinks, with the last shreds of consciousness available to him, that he wouldn't so much mind dying, if only it didn't hurt so much.
in-bar OOM
It's been. Well, it's been a weird few weeks, far as Ben's concerned. Shit happenin' down in th'bar that had him up in his room for a good few days, waitin' for all th'weird to go away, and he's been feelin' - well. Ain't right, exactly. Like he ain't quite comfortable in his own skin, like growin' up again. And th'dreams, yeah, they're back and that's just fuckin' pissin' him right off.
They ain't so bad, yet. Come and go, sometimes real nasty, makin' him scream, sometimes just little things when he closes his eyes. Once, twice, things outta th'corners of his eye, figures. People. Sometimes he dreams in Russian and it's like goddamn English, th'way he can understand every word.
So he's tired now, and quiet, and thinkin' 'bout...other times, out here, fightin' and healin' and realizin' shit he never did wanna know about himself. Drifts away from th'forest and when he sees th'stables his feet get a little more purposeful, like, hands in his pockets, shoulders round, smoke danglin' from his lips.
Moseyin' up real slow, kinda keepin' an eye on the horses 'cause they're big with teeth and he don't really trust 'em, lookin' 'round for th'person he thinks oughtta be here.
They ain't so bad, yet. Come and go, sometimes real nasty, makin' him scream, sometimes just little things when he closes his eyes. Once, twice, things outta th'corners of his eye, figures. People. Sometimes he dreams in Russian and it's like goddamn English, th'way he can understand every word.
So he's tired now, and quiet, and thinkin' 'bout...other times, out here, fightin' and healin' and realizin' shit he never did wanna know about himself. Drifts away from th'forest and when he sees th'stables his feet get a little more purposeful, like, hands in his pockets, shoulders round, smoke danglin' from his lips.
Moseyin' up real slow, kinda keepin' an eye on the horses 'cause they're big with teeth and he don't really trust 'em, lookin' 'round for th'person he thinks oughtta be here.
(no subject)
It starts with th'dreams.
They come back, hard, makin' him wake up covered in sweat, gaspin' for air, feelin' the sick burning pain that is no legs, they get him hearin' explosions when there ain't none, they get so that every time he closes his eyes he sees the preacher-man smilin' while blood runs from the mouths of thousands of people, all of 'em takin' the razor blades and swallowin' them like lies.
He stays out of the bar, but that don't help. He drinks 'till he's staggerin' but that don't help neither, just makes it worse with th'hangover on top'a everythin' else. And that's when he thinks back to last time it got this bad, last time he was thinkin' 'bout just jumpin' in the goddamn lake and takin' a breath 'cause anythin' would be better, and that's when he remembers last time and th'door.
He don't go until night, but when he's finally in th'bar again he don't even have to go near it. The confessional door gapes open, shows the light of the church, but somehow he knows that even when he goes through and it shuts that Hack Scudder, well.
He ain't there. If he ever was.
-
He sleeps the night under th'truck they use t'haul Colussus, wakes next mornin' with the dreams still rattlin' around his brain, like they're tryin' t'tell him something. Ain't much for him to do and he wanders, mostly, 'till he sees Samson sittin' by the lead truck, watchin' the road.
He goes to him, doesn't know exactly why, sits down hard on the ground, sucks his teeth. Samson stays quiet for a good long while, but finally he looks down, says "Remember what I told you, kid."
He remembers. Told him he had t'trust someone, Lodz or him, but Ben thinks 'bout a bar and a sweet face and all them strangers he knows now what seen him in th'dark times, those he c'n put at least some trust in, who knows what he sees. In the end he hauls himself up, spits, and turns away from th'dwarf.
"I trust someone," he says, but he goes before Samson can ask 'cause he's a goddamn coward and he don't want to have t'try and explain.
-
Jonesy turns up an hour or so later, in a right state, pissed as hell and demandin' they move the cootch tent. There's complainin' from almost all but Ben, so Jonesy tosses him the states and th'sledgehammer and tells him t'get a fuckin' move on.
It's hot, hard word and he's lost callus already, from the Bar. Thinks that if, when he goes back, he's gotta keep himself busy somehow 'cause it ain't good, feelin' tired this early. He's gotta be able t'work if he ever wants t'pay off his bartab.
He's readyin' for another swing when Lila walks behind him, wolf-whistles under her breath and he scrubs a hand over his face, embarrassed 'cause he thinks he knows what this is.
"Noticed a little swagger in your walk today," she purrs, lookin' far too damn happy with herself. "Wonder why that is?"
He don't rise to it, and she continues. "Could it be...someone got his gun cleaned?"
Ben tries not to let it show, but he don't think it works, not exactly. He bends over, pickin' up the sledgehammer again, mumbles "Dunno what you're talkin' about."
He swings, hits the pin straight on, but she's still talkin'. "Don't be shy, everybody knows. No secrets 'round here."
Everyone knows, she says, and fuck. He grimaces, puts the hammer down for a moment, tells himself it ain't like he didn't know it was gonna happen but fuck he didn't want that. And now she's just rubbin' it in his face, like she wants him t'react.
"I'm tryin' t'work," he mutters, hopes it's harsh enough but she don't seem to care.
"How was she?" Without pause, "Grateful, I imagine." She sidles closer, 'till he can smell the sick-sweet perfume she uses. "Always kinda hoped I'd, ah - be the one t'pick that cherry."
And she looks down, at him, gives him th'look that say she knows exactly how he's feelin' and he takes a breath, another, knows he can't fuckin' rise to this, can't give her cause so he just says "I'm workin'," again, prayin' this time it'll work and it does, 'cause she turns to leave and he's just relaxin' when she's at his back again.
"You get tired of Grandma," she whispers, "you come to Lila," and then she's gone, sashaying off like a peacock and Ben's back t'poundin' the stakes like he's thinkin' each one's got a beard and blue eyes.
-
He don't sleep that night, neither. Every time he gets close somethin' drags him out, hard, 'till finally he just walks it off, smokes hard, tries to ignore the crawlin' feelin' in his stomach, his back, like there's somethin' wrong just outside what he c'n see.
He's over by the cook tent when Gabe catches him, and he knows from th'moment he sees his face that somethin's wrong. Real wrong. And Gabriel, he ain't makin' sense, babblin' 'bout Ruthie sleepin' and not wakin' up and he follows him quick, just about jumps the steps into the trailer calling "Ruthie?" and praying she'll answer but he knows, he knows she won't.
She's lyin' on the bed, cold, still, blue on her lips and his heart seizes hard inside him. Gabe's crying out that she ain't breathin' and she ain't, he knows, fingers on her neck and he can't feel a goddamn pulse and this can't be happenin', ain't happenin', it's a nightmare except it isn't and she's here and dead under his hands and he don't know how to fix this.
Her hair's down, it coils in his hand. Gabe's snifflin' behind him, but Ben's just starin' at her hair, how it feels on his fingers, rememberin' soft hair before and a kitten, mewing, three days after his ma had put it in the grave.
He does know how to fix this.
He manages to get Gabe t'pick her up, and somehow they get her through Carnivale without bein' seen, stuffin' her in the Chevy. Ben closes the door, moves to the driver's side, breathin' hard 'cause a kitten's a kitten but this, this is Ruthie.
Gabe wipes tears off his face, calls out "Where're you takin' her?" and Ben don't know what to say so he don't explain.
"Just wait here, okay?" He can feel th'breath catchin in his throat, desperate, frantic, "It'll be okay." It'll be okay. It's gotta be. Can't not. Gabe's still lookin' lost so he takes precious seconds and leans towards him.
"Remember how I fixed your arm? I'll fix her.Just stay here, and don't talk to nobody, y'hear me?" Gabe nods, silent, and "I'll be back," Ben promises, turns the key and thank Christ the engine roars t'life on the first try.
He drives way out, too fast, weavin' over the road 'cause when he hits bumps and she jerks it's like she's still alive. When they hit corn he keeps goin', till he can't see a thing for the fields, then he stops and grabs her, carryin' her out and laying her down in the headlight beams.
So still, no breath, no pulse, but he can't goddamn think about that or what farm's about to go under 'cause this is Ruthie and that's all that goddamn matters so he puts his hands on her chest, bends his head, reaches out inside him t'the corn and pushes...
But Ruthie's still lyin' there, still, cold, not movin' and the corn waves tall in the night wind, and it's gotta work, it's gotta. "C'mon," he manages through the gasping breaths that aren't tears because he damn well won't let them be, "Hey, c'mon," but nothin' happens, nothin' at all and the corn rustles like laughter and he bends his head and clenches his teeth because this is. Not. Happening.
One last time, and he shakes her, hands on her shoulders, her face, "Ruthie," muttering and there's desperation in his voice but he don't even care enough t'be embarrassed, "c'mon, Ruthie, Ruthie please, please," goin' back to her chest, hands on her breast-bone, "C'mon!"
But.
There's nothin'.
There's not a goddamn' thing.
"Please," he whispers and he's cryin' now, cryin' hard and he don't even care, not a bit, "please, please, Ruthie," but she just lies there cold and still and this time, when he puts his head on her shoulder and lets the sobs come spillin' out she ain't there to touch him just right.
-
He brings her back. Feels like a dream, everythin' too slow, too dark, too quiet. He pulls the battered old Chevy in, right t'the trailer, where Gabe's standin' waitin' like a statue. He can't think of nothin' t'say but he's gotta, he's gotta, so in the end he mutters "Put'er inside," and stumbles behind the car t'prop his hand on the bumper and puke.
By th'time it's over Gabe's inside, and he moves over t'the steps, sits down hard like he ain't sure there's gonna be somethin' beneath him and lights up a smoke with shakin' fingers. It's half-gone when Gabe comes out again, most of it just ash in the wind, and he stands quick like maybe she's come to while he's been here.
But she ain't, 'course not, so he just looks down. "She in bed like I told'ya?" Gabe nods, silent. "Draw the shades?" Another nod. Ben takes a hard drag on the smoke, coughs, shakes his head and mutters "Siddown here," 'cause he's gotta be strong, for Ruthie, so he can fix this.
"Listen," he says, leanin' over the strongman, tryin' to talk like he thinks it'll be okay even though he knows it won't, "anybody comes by here, you tell 'em your momma's sleepin', and she don't wanna be waked up. Don't let nobody in 'till I tell you different. Not even Samson. Nobody."
Gabe's just lookin' at him and snifflin', and Ben's stomach turns, knows he's gotta make this stick somehow. "Can't muck this up. You do - we ain't friends no more." Gabe's cryin' gets louder and he curses in his head, changes tune.
"Hey. Don't worry, just...remember and we're Dutch." There's tears streakin' down his face and Ben pulls a faded handkerchief outta his pocket, offers it over 'cause he can't stand the sight, don't want t'see it, can't. He don't give Gabe a chance t'give it back neither, just turns and head off, for the person he knows has gotta have some goddamn answers.
-
He stands in front'a Lodz, on the steps, throws a glance at Lila that should tell her exactly what he thinks'a her, then looks back at the blindman. "I gotta talk to you," he says, "alone."
Lila protests but Lodz yells, gets her out in a goddamn hurry and Ben's left with just him and that boiled-egg eyed sumbitch but Ben needs help, goddamn it, and so that's what he says.
"What sort of help?"
"It's Ruthie." He c'n feel the panic in him, risin' hard, fast. "One of her snakes got out, and she got, got bit. She's-" and he can't say it, he can't goddamn say it.
Lodz looks confused. "She's unwell? Ill?"
But he's gotta say it, he's fuckin' gotta say it. He scrubs a hand over his face, breathes, finally spits out "She's dead."
Lodz don't say a thing, looks like he was goddamn expectin' it, so Ben just keeps goin' 'cause it's like a fuckin' flood unleashed. "And I tried t'do, what I did before, but...but nothing happened, so...so she's dead." His fingers are in fists, now, he c'n feel the energy in his body, angry, scared, lost fuckin' furious don't know what t'do but Loz just sits there, and then he says
"I'm terribly sorry."
Somethin' goes snap, inside Ben. "Now you tell me what I gotta do!" Because Lodz knows, he's always known, he's gotta help he can't fuckin' not but he's just sittin' and rockin' and smilin' like he don't know what th'fuck Ben's talkin' about.
"Me? No. I'm afraid I can't help you." And Ben's just about t'fuckin' punch him one, right across his fuckin' blind eyes when he speaks again. "But I know someone who can."
-
It's Management.
And Management's just a voice, behind the curtains in Samson's trailer, raspy and old and it tells him that if he wants t'get Ruthie back, if he wants t'heal her he needs t'give her a life. A life for a life, and when he finally stumbles out he almost feels like gettin' sick again because he doesn't understand, doesn't know, ain't his goddamn place to choose who lives an' who dies 'cause that's God's will not his but.
But he knows he ain't got a goddamn choice and it chokes him, hard.
TO BE EDITED.
-
It don't get better the next mornin' 'cause he still hasn't goddamned slept, he still don't know what th'fuck t'do and then Jonesy catches him cuttin' through th'trucks and flags him down.
"Find a hole," he mutters, "And dig down deep. Law's here lookin' for you."
Ben's almost fuckin' forgotten, with everythin', but now it comes back hard the poster, the reward, wanted for murder and he doesn't think before askin' "Where?"
"Lead truck," and then Jonesy's off again, can't look suspicious and Ben's boltin' for the nearest place he knows, deep in one'a th'trucks where the law won't go.
(Samson-Ben scene "him and me, we're alike")
-
Ben-bartender, find the drifter, thinks about killing him, can't do it I'M TIRED I'LL DO THIS LATERRRR
-
Th'graveyard's quiet, still, not a goddamn thing like the city and Ben's glad for it. Seems to long since he had proper quiet, too long since he's just been alone with the silence and he kneels in front of a tomb, breathes it into him.
He ain't afraid no more. Ain't confused, ain't lost. He knows what he's gotta do, Management told him after all, and that drunk in the bar - well, that was just makin' sure he made the right choice. And he knows he has.
A life for a life. Gotta take life to give it.
Management, whispering, you have the power, and Ben, well.
He does.
He slips a hand into his pocket, finds the switchblade he lifted off a roustine, one'a the newer ones who ain't likely to notice who it was. He fingers it, nice and slow.
Our father, who art in heaven
Hallowed be thy name
Thy kingdom come
Thy will be done
On earth as it is in Heaven
Give us this day our daily bread
And forgive us our trespasses
As you would forgive those who would trespass against us
Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil
It flicks out, sharp, bright, and his hands shake hard as he raises his head. He ain't afraid, he knows. He can't be. He's doin' the right thing, and th'right thing only.
For the kingdom
The power
And the glory are yours
For ever
And ever
It rests on his neck, just for a moment. He closes his eyes, sees Ruthie, cold in her trailer, the guard he shot, the deaths he's seen so many times in his dreams.
Amen.
He cuts.
It hurts. It hurts more than he ever thought it would and he goes backward, fallin' slow, feelin' the warmth of blood on his neck, his shirt, and it feels like he's still fallin' and then when he finally fetches up on the ground he blinks, opens his eyes for one last look at the sky, one last smile 'cause he's goddamn done it.
But his last thought before the blackness comes for him is that the sky ain't right one, and the last word on his lips is a curse because this ain't where he has to be.
But then there's nothin' but th'blood, and Ruthie's name, dyin' on his lips.
They come back, hard, makin' him wake up covered in sweat, gaspin' for air, feelin' the sick burning pain that is no legs, they get him hearin' explosions when there ain't none, they get so that every time he closes his eyes he sees the preacher-man smilin' while blood runs from the mouths of thousands of people, all of 'em takin' the razor blades and swallowin' them like lies.
He stays out of the bar, but that don't help. He drinks 'till he's staggerin' but that don't help neither, just makes it worse with th'hangover on top'a everythin' else. And that's when he thinks back to last time it got this bad, last time he was thinkin' 'bout just jumpin' in the goddamn lake and takin' a breath 'cause anythin' would be better, and that's when he remembers last time and th'door.
He don't go until night, but when he's finally in th'bar again he don't even have to go near it. The confessional door gapes open, shows the light of the church, but somehow he knows that even when he goes through and it shuts that Hack Scudder, well.
He ain't there. If he ever was.
-
He sleeps the night under th'truck they use t'haul Colussus, wakes next mornin' with the dreams still rattlin' around his brain, like they're tryin' t'tell him something. Ain't much for him to do and he wanders, mostly, 'till he sees Samson sittin' by the lead truck, watchin' the road.
He goes to him, doesn't know exactly why, sits down hard on the ground, sucks his teeth. Samson stays quiet for a good long while, but finally he looks down, says "Remember what I told you, kid."
He remembers. Told him he had t'trust someone, Lodz or him, but Ben thinks 'bout a bar and a sweet face and all them strangers he knows now what seen him in th'dark times, those he c'n put at least some trust in, who knows what he sees. In the end he hauls himself up, spits, and turns away from th'dwarf.
"I trust someone," he says, but he goes before Samson can ask 'cause he's a goddamn coward and he don't want to have t'try and explain.
-
Jonesy turns up an hour or so later, in a right state, pissed as hell and demandin' they move the cootch tent. There's complainin' from almost all but Ben, so Jonesy tosses him the states and th'sledgehammer and tells him t'get a fuckin' move on.
It's hot, hard word and he's lost callus already, from the Bar. Thinks that if, when he goes back, he's gotta keep himself busy somehow 'cause it ain't good, feelin' tired this early. He's gotta be able t'work if he ever wants t'pay off his bartab.
He's readyin' for another swing when Lila walks behind him, wolf-whistles under her breath and he scrubs a hand over his face, embarrassed 'cause he thinks he knows what this is.
"Noticed a little swagger in your walk today," she purrs, lookin' far too damn happy with herself. "Wonder why that is?"
He don't rise to it, and she continues. "Could it be...someone got his gun cleaned?"
Ben tries not to let it show, but he don't think it works, not exactly. He bends over, pickin' up the sledgehammer again, mumbles "Dunno what you're talkin' about."
He swings, hits the pin straight on, but she's still talkin'. "Don't be shy, everybody knows. No secrets 'round here."
Everyone knows, she says, and fuck. He grimaces, puts the hammer down for a moment, tells himself it ain't like he didn't know it was gonna happen but fuck he didn't want that. And now she's just rubbin' it in his face, like she wants him t'react.
"I'm tryin' t'work," he mutters, hopes it's harsh enough but she don't seem to care.
"How was she?" Without pause, "Grateful, I imagine." She sidles closer, 'till he can smell the sick-sweet perfume she uses. "Always kinda hoped I'd, ah - be the one t'pick that cherry."
And she looks down, at him, gives him th'look that say she knows exactly how he's feelin' and he takes a breath, another, knows he can't fuckin' rise to this, can't give her cause so he just says "I'm workin'," again, prayin' this time it'll work and it does, 'cause she turns to leave and he's just relaxin' when she's at his back again.
"You get tired of Grandma," she whispers, "you come to Lila," and then she's gone, sashaying off like a peacock and Ben's back t'poundin' the stakes like he's thinkin' each one's got a beard and blue eyes.
-
He don't sleep that night, neither. Every time he gets close somethin' drags him out, hard, 'till finally he just walks it off, smokes hard, tries to ignore the crawlin' feelin' in his stomach, his back, like there's somethin' wrong just outside what he c'n see.
He's over by the cook tent when Gabe catches him, and he knows from th'moment he sees his face that somethin's wrong. Real wrong. And Gabriel, he ain't makin' sense, babblin' 'bout Ruthie sleepin' and not wakin' up and he follows him quick, just about jumps the steps into the trailer calling "Ruthie?" and praying she'll answer but he knows, he knows she won't.
She's lyin' on the bed, cold, still, blue on her lips and his heart seizes hard inside him. Gabe's crying out that she ain't breathin' and she ain't, he knows, fingers on her neck and he can't feel a goddamn pulse and this can't be happenin', ain't happenin', it's a nightmare except it isn't and she's here and dead under his hands and he don't know how to fix this.
Her hair's down, it coils in his hand. Gabe's snifflin' behind him, but Ben's just starin' at her hair, how it feels on his fingers, rememberin' soft hair before and a kitten, mewing, three days after his ma had put it in the grave.
He does know how to fix this.
He manages to get Gabe t'pick her up, and somehow they get her through Carnivale without bein' seen, stuffin' her in the Chevy. Ben closes the door, moves to the driver's side, breathin' hard 'cause a kitten's a kitten but this, this is Ruthie.
Gabe wipes tears off his face, calls out "Where're you takin' her?" and Ben don't know what to say so he don't explain.
"Just wait here, okay?" He can feel th'breath catchin in his throat, desperate, frantic, "It'll be okay." It'll be okay. It's gotta be. Can't not. Gabe's still lookin' lost so he takes precious seconds and leans towards him.
"Remember how I fixed your arm? I'll fix her.Just stay here, and don't talk to nobody, y'hear me?" Gabe nods, silent, and "I'll be back," Ben promises, turns the key and thank Christ the engine roars t'life on the first try.
He drives way out, too fast, weavin' over the road 'cause when he hits bumps and she jerks it's like she's still alive. When they hit corn he keeps goin', till he can't see a thing for the fields, then he stops and grabs her, carryin' her out and laying her down in the headlight beams.
So still, no breath, no pulse, but he can't goddamn think about that or what farm's about to go under 'cause this is Ruthie and that's all that goddamn matters so he puts his hands on her chest, bends his head, reaches out inside him t'the corn and pushes...
But Ruthie's still lyin' there, still, cold, not movin' and the corn waves tall in the night wind, and it's gotta work, it's gotta. "C'mon," he manages through the gasping breaths that aren't tears because he damn well won't let them be, "Hey, c'mon," but nothin' happens, nothin' at all and the corn rustles like laughter and he bends his head and clenches his teeth because this is. Not. Happening.
One last time, and he shakes her, hands on her shoulders, her face, "Ruthie," muttering and there's desperation in his voice but he don't even care enough t'be embarrassed, "c'mon, Ruthie, Ruthie please, please," goin' back to her chest, hands on her breast-bone, "C'mon!"
But.
There's nothin'.
There's not a goddamn' thing.
"Please," he whispers and he's cryin' now, cryin' hard and he don't even care, not a bit, "please, please, Ruthie," but she just lies there cold and still and this time, when he puts his head on her shoulder and lets the sobs come spillin' out she ain't there to touch him just right.
-
He brings her back. Feels like a dream, everythin' too slow, too dark, too quiet. He pulls the battered old Chevy in, right t'the trailer, where Gabe's standin' waitin' like a statue. He can't think of nothin' t'say but he's gotta, he's gotta, so in the end he mutters "Put'er inside," and stumbles behind the car t'prop his hand on the bumper and puke.
By th'time it's over Gabe's inside, and he moves over t'the steps, sits down hard like he ain't sure there's gonna be somethin' beneath him and lights up a smoke with shakin' fingers. It's half-gone when Gabe comes out again, most of it just ash in the wind, and he stands quick like maybe she's come to while he's been here.
But she ain't, 'course not, so he just looks down. "She in bed like I told'ya?" Gabe nods, silent. "Draw the shades?" Another nod. Ben takes a hard drag on the smoke, coughs, shakes his head and mutters "Siddown here," 'cause he's gotta be strong, for Ruthie, so he can fix this.
"Listen," he says, leanin' over the strongman, tryin' to talk like he thinks it'll be okay even though he knows it won't, "anybody comes by here, you tell 'em your momma's sleepin', and she don't wanna be waked up. Don't let nobody in 'till I tell you different. Not even Samson. Nobody."
Gabe's just lookin' at him and snifflin', and Ben's stomach turns, knows he's gotta make this stick somehow. "Can't muck this up. You do - we ain't friends no more." Gabe's cryin' gets louder and he curses in his head, changes tune.
"Hey. Don't worry, just...remember and we're Dutch." There's tears streakin' down his face and Ben pulls a faded handkerchief outta his pocket, offers it over 'cause he can't stand the sight, don't want t'see it, can't. He don't give Gabe a chance t'give it back neither, just turns and head off, for the person he knows has gotta have some goddamn answers.
-
He stands in front'a Lodz, on the steps, throws a glance at Lila that should tell her exactly what he thinks'a her, then looks back at the blindman. "I gotta talk to you," he says, "alone."
Lila protests but Lodz yells, gets her out in a goddamn hurry and Ben's left with just him and that boiled-egg eyed sumbitch but Ben needs help, goddamn it, and so that's what he says.
"What sort of help?"
"It's Ruthie." He c'n feel the panic in him, risin' hard, fast. "One of her snakes got out, and she got, got bit. She's-" and he can't say it, he can't goddamn say it.
Lodz looks confused. "She's unwell? Ill?"
But he's gotta say it, he's fuckin' gotta say it. He scrubs a hand over his face, breathes, finally spits out "She's dead."
Lodz don't say a thing, looks like he was goddamn expectin' it, so Ben just keeps goin' 'cause it's like a fuckin' flood unleashed. "And I tried t'do, what I did before, but...but nothing happened, so...so she's dead." His fingers are in fists, now, he c'n feel the energy in his body, angry, scared, lost fuckin' furious don't know what t'do but Loz just sits there, and then he says
"I'm terribly sorry."
Somethin' goes snap, inside Ben. "Now you tell me what I gotta do!" Because Lodz knows, he's always known, he's gotta help he can't fuckin' not but he's just sittin' and rockin' and smilin' like he don't know what th'fuck Ben's talkin' about.
"Me? No. I'm afraid I can't help you." And Ben's just about t'fuckin' punch him one, right across his fuckin' blind eyes when he speaks again. "But I know someone who can."
-
It's Management.
And Management's just a voice, behind the curtains in Samson's trailer, raspy and old and it tells him that if he wants t'get Ruthie back, if he wants t'heal her he needs t'give her a life. A life for a life, and when he finally stumbles out he almost feels like gettin' sick again because he doesn't understand, doesn't know, ain't his goddamn place to choose who lives an' who dies 'cause that's God's will not his but.
But he knows he ain't got a goddamn choice and it chokes him, hard.
TO BE EDITED.
-
It don't get better the next mornin' 'cause he still hasn't goddamned slept, he still don't know what th'fuck t'do and then Jonesy catches him cuttin' through th'trucks and flags him down.
"Find a hole," he mutters, "And dig down deep. Law's here lookin' for you."
Ben's almost fuckin' forgotten, with everythin', but now it comes back hard the poster, the reward, wanted for murder and he doesn't think before askin' "Where?"
"Lead truck," and then Jonesy's off again, can't look suspicious and Ben's boltin' for the nearest place he knows, deep in one'a th'trucks where the law won't go.
(Samson-Ben scene "him and me, we're alike")
-
Ben-bartender, find the drifter, thinks about killing him, can't do it I'M TIRED I'LL DO THIS LATERRRR
-
Th'graveyard's quiet, still, not a goddamn thing like the city and Ben's glad for it. Seems to long since he had proper quiet, too long since he's just been alone with the silence and he kneels in front of a tomb, breathes it into him.
He ain't afraid no more. Ain't confused, ain't lost. He knows what he's gotta do, Management told him after all, and that drunk in the bar - well, that was just makin' sure he made the right choice. And he knows he has.
A life for a life. Gotta take life to give it.
Management, whispering, you have the power, and Ben, well.
He does.
He slips a hand into his pocket, finds the switchblade he lifted off a roustine, one'a the newer ones who ain't likely to notice who it was. He fingers it, nice and slow.
Our father, who art in heaven
Hallowed be thy name
Thy kingdom come
Thy will be done
On earth as it is in Heaven
Give us this day our daily bread
And forgive us our trespasses
As you would forgive those who would trespass against us
Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil
It flicks out, sharp, bright, and his hands shake hard as he raises his head. He ain't afraid, he knows. He can't be. He's doin' the right thing, and th'right thing only.
For the kingdom
The power
And the glory are yours
For ever
And ever
It rests on his neck, just for a moment. He closes his eyes, sees Ruthie, cold in her trailer, the guard he shot, the deaths he's seen so many times in his dreams.
Amen.
He cuts.
It hurts. It hurts more than he ever thought it would and he goes backward, fallin' slow, feelin' the warmth of blood on his neck, his shirt, and it feels like he's still fallin' and then when he finally fetches up on the ground he blinks, opens his eyes for one last look at the sky, one last smile 'cause he's goddamn done it.
But his last thought before the blackness comes for him is that the sky ain't right one, and the last word on his lips is a curse because this ain't where he has to be.
But then there's nothin' but th'blood, and Ruthie's name, dyin' on his lips.
(no subject)
[ooc: Immediately following this]
Ben don't bother looking back when he stumbles out of the bar, up the stairs to his room, 'cause he don't goddamn wanna see that girl again, th'one who fuckin' pistol-whipped him with a good-goddamn-shotgun then acted like he'd somehow done her wrong. He feels angry, fuckin' furious, feels like he shouldn't'a gone down, feels like that sorta thing shouldn't happen here and when he finally slams his way into his room, he's worked up a right head of steam.
He goes to the bathroom first, flicks the light on and holds onto the sink, staring at himself at the mirror. It's not as bad as it felt, he thinks, touches the red mark on his jaw, his cheekbone, it don't even hurt that bad under his fingers. And the blood's gone from his mouth, and that's okay, and now the anger's being replaced by somethin' like shame 'cause it's startin' t'look like she didn't even hit him that hard.
Hard enough to lose a couple teeth, though, and he braces himself, runs his tongue 'round the inside of his mouth, probing for the empty spaces he knows are there 'cause he felt at least one shatter, spat one onto the bar-floor so there's gotta be a hole, somewhere, and his tongue moves faster and then he gapes his jaw and goes in with his fingers, frantic as he counts and checks and doublechecks but in the end it don't come to nothin', 'cause.
'cause he's not missing a goddamn thing. Not a single fuckin' tooth out of place, no fragments washin' around his gums. No blood, neither, and nothin' to even bleed, no cuts, no nothin'. And then he passes his hands over his cheek again, up the jawbone, 'roud where the cold metal of the barrel slammed in and it should hurt like fuck, it should be bruising, it should be swelling but there's just plain pale skin, little dirty from the gun, stubbly 'round his jaw.
Not a goddamn thing to show what happened.
He barely has to think before he goes sprintin' down the stairs, stops just before the bar so he can scan the area, hopesprays he ain't gonna see what he thinks he's gonna see and for once somethin' answers him 'cause there ain't a single dead thing, ain't a one person screamin' bloody murder, nothin' like that. He goes back to his room, quieter, and when he does he sits by the window and runs fingers over the place where there should be a mark and isn't.
No one dead, no one hurt. Didn't have to take no life to fix this.
He hardly notices his fingers on the windowsill, tracin' letters, over and over and over.
taravataravataravataravataravatara...
Ben don't bother looking back when he stumbles out of the bar, up the stairs to his room, 'cause he don't goddamn wanna see that girl again, th'one who fuckin' pistol-whipped him with a good-goddamn-shotgun then acted like he'd somehow done her wrong. He feels angry, fuckin' furious, feels like he shouldn't'a gone down, feels like that sorta thing shouldn't happen here and when he finally slams his way into his room, he's worked up a right head of steam.
He goes to the bathroom first, flicks the light on and holds onto the sink, staring at himself at the mirror. It's not as bad as it felt, he thinks, touches the red mark on his jaw, his cheekbone, it don't even hurt that bad under his fingers. And the blood's gone from his mouth, and that's okay, and now the anger's being replaced by somethin' like shame 'cause it's startin' t'look like she didn't even hit him that hard.
Hard enough to lose a couple teeth, though, and he braces himself, runs his tongue 'round the inside of his mouth, probing for the empty spaces he knows are there 'cause he felt at least one shatter, spat one onto the bar-floor so there's gotta be a hole, somewhere, and his tongue moves faster and then he gapes his jaw and goes in with his fingers, frantic as he counts and checks and doublechecks but in the end it don't come to nothin', 'cause.
'cause he's not missing a goddamn thing. Not a single fuckin' tooth out of place, no fragments washin' around his gums. No blood, neither, and nothin' to even bleed, no cuts, no nothin'. And then he passes his hands over his cheek again, up the jawbone, 'roud where the cold metal of the barrel slammed in and it should hurt like fuck, it should be bruising, it should be swelling but there's just plain pale skin, little dirty from the gun, stubbly 'round his jaw.
Not a goddamn thing to show what happened.
He barely has to think before he goes sprintin' down the stairs, stops just before the bar so he can scan the area, hopesprays he ain't gonna see what he thinks he's gonna see and for once somethin' answers him 'cause there ain't a single dead thing, ain't a one person screamin' bloody murder, nothin' like that. He goes back to his room, quieter, and when he does he sits by the window and runs fingers over the place where there should be a mark and isn't.
No one dead, no one hurt. Didn't have to take no life to fix this.
He hardly notices his fingers on the windowsill, tracin' letters, over and over and over.
taravataravataravataravataravatara...
(no subject)
[OoC: Most dialogue/imagery taken from Carnivale 1x11 "The Day of the Dead"]
The body of Christ.
The body of Christ.
The body of Christ.
The body of Christ.
Ben is in a church. There are stained-glass windows and the preacher is offering communion. His voice fills the church as he says, The body of Christ.
The body of Christ, the congretation echoes. The next person in line kneels, and the preacher places a razor blade into his mouth. The body of Christ.
The body of Christ, the congretation echoes. The next person in line kneels, and the preacher places a razor blade into his mouth. The body of Christ.
The body of Christ.
The man walks away, past Ben. His eyes do not see. He chews methodically, and rivulets of blood run down his chin.
The body of Christ.
The body of Christ.
A woman, this time. Ben hears her teeth on the metal, sees the dullness in her eyes. All of these people seem the same, dull, single-purposed. Sleepwalkers.
It is Ben's turn in the line.
The body of Christ. The preacher smiles. Standing next to him, a woman looks disapproving.
The body of Christ.
The preacher's fingers bring the blade to Ben's mouth. His smile is warm, inviting. Comforting. Behind him, the people watch expressionlessly.
Ben's hand shoots out. It holds the preacher's wrist, hard. The preacher's expression turns ugly but Ben, still half-kneeling, grits his teeth and says "No. It ain't."
The people come alive with whispers and murmurs. The woman next to the preacher looks dismayed, but does not move to help him. He locks eyes with Ben, face shining with sweat as he struggles to lift his hand past Ben's grasp. But Ben does not let go. He holds tight, and then
he wakes up.
For a moment he don't know where he is, caught in the dream, thinks maybe he's at Milliways 'cause he's in a bed but his room don't smell like this, perfume'n'spices. Then last night comes crashin' back, hard, and he lifts the sheet to confirm his nakedness.
He don't curse, not out loud, but in his head he's screamin'. He don't know why he let that happen. Was weak, cowardly, and now he's sinned and worse still everyone's gonna know about it, 'cause there ain't no secrets here. He's gotta get out, he knows, and he pulls himself to his feet and finds his clothes, scrambles into the overalls fast as he can.
But it ain't fast enough. He's got his back t'the door when Ruthie comes in, tucks his shirt in and don't look at her when he asks "What time is it?"
She walks up behind him, sounds happy when she says "Almost sundown. You slept clean through the day."
She sounds like she's waitin' for him t'say somethin' so he turns, keeps his eyes fixed down as he mutters "I gotta go." And it ain't such an excuse, Jonesy's gonna kill him if'n he misses work again. But she don't let him just get out and go, no, she has to reach out t'him and say "No y'don't."
He flinches away from her touch 'cause goddamn but they had enough'a that last night, she don't need t'try and keep him like a prize, says "Leave me alone," takes a breath, mutters "I shouldn't be in here." This ain't right, none of this is right. "I shoulda never come in here."
She makes a noise, under her breath, sets her chin like a stubborn mule. "You were bone-tired. You were babblin' about them dreams." She breaks off as he scrubs a hand over his face, like he's tryin' t'wash away the sin, then tries again. "Things just happened."
But she don't understand, just like last night and he can feel anger comin' up hot'n'hard so that his voice is harsh, "It's a sin!" holdin' his hands like fists at his sides.
But she just draws herself up, voice ice-cold. "Nobody tells me what to do in my bed. Includin' the Lord." And then she brings up a hand, tries t'hold his shoulder and he jerks out of her grasp, hard.
"Don't touch me," he snaps, and it's loud'n'harsh and he sees her fall back but he don't want to see no more, hates that he feels this way hates that she goddamn made him feel this way and when he slams through the door he half-expects t'see the bar but there's just Carnivale and not for the first time he wants to curse this whole damn place.
-
And it's later. And he's in a bar, but it ain't Milliways, it's some fuckin' nameless thing in the heart of this shit-hole town, and he ain't drunk yet but he's thinkin' about gettin' there soon.
Glass clinks and he looks up, sees a man standin' there, one'a the villagers. He's got a bottle, and two glasses, puts 'em down on the table and waves the bottle. He's smilin'. "You here for the fiesta, senor?"
Ben don't know the word. "Fiesta?"
The man waves the bottle at the plaza outside, fuckin' fulla people, music, laughter, dancin', stuff Ben don't want no part in. "Si, el Dia de los Muertos. Una gran celebracion." He picks up the glasses, starts t'pour whatever it is the bottle's holdin' and Ben still don't understand, exactly, but some'a the words sound the same so he hazards a guess.
"What're they celebratin'?"
The man lowers his voice, leans in. "The return of the souls."
Ben don't exactly get that, but then the man's passin' him a glass, says "To la muerte," and that just don't sound right. The man smiles again, secretive, and says "We raise our glass to her."
There's somethin' about him sends shivers through Ben's spine, and only when the man looks down does he realize that he's been holdin' the glass too long. Clinks it against t'other, slowly, watches the man's face. He don't drink yet and neither does the man, puttin' his glass down.
"Does she scare you?"
The question catches Ben off guard, and it's one he don't want to answer. Everyone's scared of death, he thinks, it's just human. And he - he's scared of life, sometimes, the life he gives, the death he takes away but that ain't what the man's lookin' for so he settles for "I seen people die," raises the glass slow and drinks it down in one long swallow.
It burns hot through his throat and he puts it back down, gets up, melts into the crowd 'cause he feels like somethin' just happened and he don't know what.
-
And it's later again, and he's at the Templar church, th'one Samson thought mighta had answers and didn't. It's quiet, people prayin' silent at the altar or sittin' in the pews, and he wonders what he's doin' here, what sorta absolution he's tryin' t'find.
He turns, thinkin' he might leave but then the confessional catches his gaze. Ain't never confessed before but he's got sin weighin' heavy on his mind and it's a lot like his body's movin' without his mind, goes t'the door'n'pulls it open, steps inside.
There's a man behind the screen, takes a breath and says "Kneel, my son." The voice sounds like somethin' Ben's heard before and he kneels without thinkin' bout it, folds his hands, waits for the preacher-man t'speak again.
"How long has it been since your last confession?" The words are clipped, sharp, like he's angry. Or sad. Ben hesitates.
Finally mumbles, "I - I never done this before," feels stupid, feels like some little child but he goddamn needs t'do this, needs to admit what he done.
The preacher speaks again. "Do you wish to confess your sins that they may be forgiven?"
The words fall outta Ben's mouth, too fast t'stop them. "By you?"
There's a long sigh on the other side. "In the eyes of the Lord."
And that's, that's what Ben wants, sure enough. He knows he's done bad things and could be, maybe, all that's happenin is punishment for what he done. And he needs it t'stop, thinks this might be the only way it will, but he knows. He knows. "You - y'can't make it right."
He takes a breath and then it's like lettin' out a cork, words comin' to his mouth too fast, too easy, like he's been waitin' forever for this and maybe he has. "I killed a man." His voice is hollow.
(the guard with his gun, aiming at Ben, Ben ducking running tackling him down, pinning him with the weight of the chains, pulling the trigger and seeing the guard's head snap back into the ground as his skull opened like a flower)
"And I done impure things, with a woman I weren't married to."
(Ruthie's hands on his face, his shoulders, his chest, lower, his own hands on her breasts, wrinkles of skin, something perfect and frightening about how she guided him to where she needed him to go and how good it felt, stars behind his eyes, a beautiful sin)
"I lied."
(how many times had he brushed off the dreams, how many times had he leaned away from questions he didn't want to answer)
"I stole."
(robbing the bank, cash that had been taken all too soon, the times he'd tucked food into his bag, money into his pockets, even dipped a hand into purses when people brushed by)
It was too much, all of it, felt like his sins were takin' up all the goddamn air so that there weren't none left for him to breathe. He paused, felt the words on the back of his tongue but he weren't gonna say them, not never, he couldn't. Could never admit to it, but then.
But then the preacher was speakin' again,"Go on," and it felt like pressure in his head, all buildin' up too much too much, too much he knows, too much he's seen, and he scrubs a hand over his face like he's tryin' t'shove the words back in but they fall out anyway, soft. "I let her die," he says, and tastes bitter dust, coppery blood in his mouth 'cause he goddamn did, watched her die when he could have saved her.
But then.
Then the preacher shifts on his seat, voice calm, like he ain't sayin' nothin' of consequence, "Your mother chose to die." and suddenly Ben's world is flippin', shiftin' like he's had too much t'drink and nothin' makes sense 'cause he can't know that.
His voice don't sound right, strange in his ears, when he asks "Who are you?" He don't know what he's expecting, neither, but then, through the mesh separatin' them the preacher turns to show his face.
And it's Scudder.
Ben's seen that face a goddamn thousand times, runnin', laughin', cryin', covered in blood. Gaspin' in the mines, fightin' for his life in the godforsaken trenches and it's Scudder. It's his goddamn pa.
He don't even think before reachin' out and rippin' the door open, but it ain't New Mexico outside.
(no subject)
[ooc: Spoilers for Carnivale episode 1x10. Most dialogue and imagery taken from said episode. Whitetext.]
After he talks with Kate, Ben sleeps through half the night, dreams but he knows they're dreams and he don't care so that he wakes up more rested than he's been in months. Goes down t'the bar, eats, gets a coffee, goes outside and wanders the woods a bit. There's what looks like rabbits but they ain't, they're just plain weird, so after the third one leaps at him he goes for th'lake instead. Feels - okay, for once, comfortable, like everythin's gonna be okay.
He sits under a tree, whittlin' a piece of wood down, not really lookin' t'make anythin' (which is good 'cause it don't look like nothin') when he nicks his thumb with the blade. Ain't bad, just makes him hiss, but when he sees the bright drops on the blade, sees it smeared on his arm taravataravataravataravatarav it's like a fuckin' fist to the head, makes him jerk forwards with th'memories, war and blood and bodies and corn and scythes and he wants t'scream with it all.
It's gone as soon as it come but it's enough and he stumbles back to his room breathin' hard, ragin' somewhere inside of him 'cause it was supposed to be goddamn over! It was supposed to be okay, now that he'd talked it out! But it weren't okay, not no more and for the next two days he don't even go down t'the bar, don't sleep 'cause every time he does there's blood and screamin' and things he sees he don't want to.
When he sees Ruthie lyin' out like death he goes down for just a moment, long enough to grab a bottle of booze. He downs more'n he ever should, and when even that don't make the visions stop flickering across his eyelids when he blinks he takes the bottle by the neck, and stumbles out his door 'cause if Milliways ain't helpin' Carnivale can't make it worse.
-
He finishes the bottle, but it don't help none. He shows up for work and Jonesy tells 'im t'get th'hell out and he does, hides behind the cootch tent and drives his head into the posts t'the rhythm. He's even more lost than he was in fuckin' Milliways, 'cause at least there it was far away but now it's goddamn happening.
Carnivale goes dark for th'night and he don't know what t'do so he wanders, stumblin' through the night. Libby's takin' a bath in the main area but th'water goes cold and she gets out shiverin', leaves the water there while she goes for towels or somesuch. Ben remembers cold water arching down at Milliways, keepin' his eyes open, and figures it can't hurt t'try so he peels off t'his underthings, lowers himself in and it's cold as fuck but every nerve is awake, now.
Ain't so awake later, when everythin's numb and he c'n feel himself shakin', but can't get th'energy to get out, or open his eyes, 'cause all there is is coldcoldcold inside and out, cold in his mind, his heart, and he don't barely notice the hands comin' round him, pickin' him up like a baby and takin' him down t'Ruthie's trailer.
He's only half awake when she strips him, towels him down, and he tries t'fight but he ain't got strength to. She gets Gabe t'lift him into bed and that's when he really struggles 'cause he ain't sleepin', ain't givin' this a chance t'get worse.
"You need some shuteye," she tells him, soft'n'low sounds like Kate, for a moment, but he tries to sit, eyes half-shut 'cause he can't seem t'keep them open.
"No," he mutters, "No, I can't, can't sleep."
"Nonsense," she says, hands firm on him, tuckin' him down. "When's the last time you slept in a bed?"
She don't understand, and it hurts. She ain't gettin' it, and he's gotta make her understand so he hauls in a breath, burnin' in his lungs, "I can't take them dreams no more."
But she ain't listenin', runnin' her hands through his hair instead. "Poor thing," she murmurs. "You are just plumb tuckered out. You can't even think straight."
He's still tryin' t'sit up, but he can tell right now it's a losin' battle. He tries one more time, "You don't know." Harsh, words gettin' dragged out of him, hard. "You don't know what I see."
It don't work. "Honey, everyone has bad dreams, it's the times we live in. It's hard to be happy."
"No," he tries, but she talks right over him.
"And it's hard to feel safe." Her hands are movin' over him, pressin' him down, smooth skin and he can feel the heat on him, feel the cold deep in his bones now. His breathin's hard, now, gaspin' like he's already in dreams 'cause he can't seem t'get enough air. "He'll come back. He'll always come back." He chokes, takes another breath, tries again. "They're tryin' t'chase me, and I'm runnin', an' I can't stop runnin'."
He half goes down, grinds the heel of his palm into his head like he c'n just shove right through and take th'bad stuff out, barely register's Ruthie's hand on his hair, her voice, "Poor baby."
But she ain't got it, not yet. She's actin' like he's a child, like he's Gabe. "No - it's always Scudder. Always, yeah, even before I met him he was in my dreams. They're tryin' t'kill me. Every time I close my eyes." He can see on her face, when he can see it, when it ain't goin' fuzzy, that she's understandin' now, and then there's a flash behind his eyes of tattoos snakes blood and he pinches the bridge of his nose, hard, pulls air in like he's fuckin' drownin' on dry land."Every time it's gettin' worse, Ruthie. Somethin' bad's gonna happen."
He can't hardly see her, now, but he hears her breathin' and he feels an arm wrap around him, pull him in close, and her voice is hard when she says "You listen t'me, Ben Hawkins. You are safe with me. I'll take care of you, I won't let anything hurt you."
And she sounds, somehow, like Kate, and she's pressin' his head into her chest and the tears start comin' so that he can't stop them, sobs tearing out of his chest, hard and dry and she holds him, touches him, and then-
-then her hands are slower, over his body, and her head comes down and his tilts up and they're kissin', and she's over him touchin' him showin' him how and it feels right, feels good, and he's cryin' little gasping sobs but oh, god it feels so good.
-
He is running. He is in the cornfield and he is running, and there is thunder and rain and behind him there is a man with a crown of thorns and a birch-tree tattoo. Chasing. He chases and Ben runs, runs because he has a scythe in his hand and Ben can feel the fear bubbling up inside of him, choking him.
And then the man is front of him and the world seems to slow. Ben whirls, bolting the other direction, but behind him the man follows and he cannot run fast enough. He looks over his shoulder and the breath rasps in his throat, choking him so that he falls, hard, but then
Henry Scudder, snarling, picks himself up shouts HE'S MINE
he wakes up. And Ruthie is screaming something at Lodz, an' Lodz - Lodz is in the trailer, somehow, but Ruthie's shovin' him out and Ben feels his eyelids flutter shut again 'cause he don't seem t'have th'strength t'keep them open.
After he talks with Kate, Ben sleeps through half the night, dreams but he knows they're dreams and he don't care so that he wakes up more rested than he's been in months. Goes down t'the bar, eats, gets a coffee, goes outside and wanders the woods a bit. There's what looks like rabbits but they ain't, they're just plain weird, so after the third one leaps at him he goes for th'lake instead. Feels - okay, for once, comfortable, like everythin's gonna be okay.
He sits under a tree, whittlin' a piece of wood down, not really lookin' t'make anythin' (which is good 'cause it don't look like nothin') when he nicks his thumb with the blade. Ain't bad, just makes him hiss, but when he sees the bright drops on the blade, sees it smeared on his arm taravataravataravataravatarav it's like a fuckin' fist to the head, makes him jerk forwards with th'memories, war and blood and bodies and corn and scythes and he wants t'scream with it all.
It's gone as soon as it come but it's enough and he stumbles back to his room breathin' hard, ragin' somewhere inside of him 'cause it was supposed to be goddamn over! It was supposed to be okay, now that he'd talked it out! But it weren't okay, not no more and for the next two days he don't even go down t'the bar, don't sleep 'cause every time he does there's blood and screamin' and things he sees he don't want to.
When he sees Ruthie lyin' out like death he goes down for just a moment, long enough to grab a bottle of booze. He downs more'n he ever should, and when even that don't make the visions stop flickering across his eyelids when he blinks he takes the bottle by the neck, and stumbles out his door 'cause if Milliways ain't helpin' Carnivale can't make it worse.
-
He finishes the bottle, but it don't help none. He shows up for work and Jonesy tells 'im t'get th'hell out and he does, hides behind the cootch tent and drives his head into the posts t'the rhythm. He's even more lost than he was in fuckin' Milliways, 'cause at least there it was far away but now it's goddamn happening.
Carnivale goes dark for th'night and he don't know what t'do so he wanders, stumblin' through the night. Libby's takin' a bath in the main area but th'water goes cold and she gets out shiverin', leaves the water there while she goes for towels or somesuch. Ben remembers cold water arching down at Milliways, keepin' his eyes open, and figures it can't hurt t'try so he peels off t'his underthings, lowers himself in and it's cold as fuck but every nerve is awake, now.
Ain't so awake later, when everythin's numb and he c'n feel himself shakin', but can't get th'energy to get out, or open his eyes, 'cause all there is is coldcoldcold inside and out, cold in his mind, his heart, and he don't barely notice the hands comin' round him, pickin' him up like a baby and takin' him down t'Ruthie's trailer.
He's only half awake when she strips him, towels him down, and he tries t'fight but he ain't got strength to. She gets Gabe t'lift him into bed and that's when he really struggles 'cause he ain't sleepin', ain't givin' this a chance t'get worse.
"You need some shuteye," she tells him, soft'n'low sounds like Kate, for a moment, but he tries to sit, eyes half-shut 'cause he can't seem t'keep them open.
"No," he mutters, "No, I can't, can't sleep."
"Nonsense," she says, hands firm on him, tuckin' him down. "When's the last time you slept in a bed?"
She don't understand, and it hurts. She ain't gettin' it, and he's gotta make her understand so he hauls in a breath, burnin' in his lungs, "I can't take them dreams no more."
But she ain't listenin', runnin' her hands through his hair instead. "Poor thing," she murmurs. "You are just plumb tuckered out. You can't even think straight."
He's still tryin' t'sit up, but he can tell right now it's a losin' battle. He tries one more time, "You don't know." Harsh, words gettin' dragged out of him, hard. "You don't know what I see."
It don't work. "Honey, everyone has bad dreams, it's the times we live in. It's hard to be happy."
"No," he tries, but she talks right over him.
"And it's hard to feel safe." Her hands are movin' over him, pressin' him down, smooth skin and he can feel the heat on him, feel the cold deep in his bones now. His breathin's hard, now, gaspin' like he's already in dreams 'cause he can't seem t'get enough air. "He'll come back. He'll always come back." He chokes, takes another breath, tries again. "They're tryin' t'chase me, and I'm runnin', an' I can't stop runnin'."
He half goes down, grinds the heel of his palm into his head like he c'n just shove right through and take th'bad stuff out, barely register's Ruthie's hand on his hair, her voice, "Poor baby."
But she ain't got it, not yet. She's actin' like he's a child, like he's Gabe. "No - it's always Scudder. Always, yeah, even before I met him he was in my dreams. They're tryin' t'kill me. Every time I close my eyes." He can see on her face, when he can see it, when it ain't goin' fuzzy, that she's understandin' now, and then there's a flash behind his eyes of tattoos snakes blood and he pinches the bridge of his nose, hard, pulls air in like he's fuckin' drownin' on dry land."Every time it's gettin' worse, Ruthie. Somethin' bad's gonna happen."
He can't hardly see her, now, but he hears her breathin' and he feels an arm wrap around him, pull him in close, and her voice is hard when she says "You listen t'me, Ben Hawkins. You are safe with me. I'll take care of you, I won't let anything hurt you."
And she sounds, somehow, like Kate, and she's pressin' his head into her chest and the tears start comin' so that he can't stop them, sobs tearing out of his chest, hard and dry and she holds him, touches him, and then-
-then her hands are slower, over his body, and her head comes down and his tilts up and they're kissin', and she's over him touchin' him showin' him how and it feels right, feels good, and he's cryin' little gasping sobs but oh, god it feels so good.
-
He is running. He is in the cornfield and he is running, and there is thunder and rain and behind him there is a man with a crown of thorns and a birch-tree tattoo. Chasing. He chases and Ben runs, runs because he has a scythe in his hand and Ben can feel the fear bubbling up inside of him, choking him.
And then the man is front of him and the world seems to slow. Ben whirls, bolting the other direction, but behind him the man follows and he cannot run fast enough. He looks over his shoulder and the breath rasps in his throat, choking him so that he falls, hard, but then
Henry Scudder, snarling, picks himself up shouts HE'S MINE
he wakes up. And Ruthie is screaming something at Lodz, an' Lodz - Lodz is in the trailer, somehow, but Ruthie's shovin' him out and Ben feels his eyelids flutter shut again 'cause he don't seem t'have th'strength t'keep them open.
(no subject)
[ooc: spoilers for episode 1x04. Most dialogue and imagery belongs to the show. Some whitetext at the end.]
The rousties ain't happy. They're talkin' bout how they're headed to Texas, place called Babylon and the stories fly hard. Ben don't listen, much, and then Lodz is sayin' he wants to show him somethin', somethin' to do with Scudder, and even though he hates that boiled egg-eyed sumbitch he listens to 'em, gets a truck and drives 'em out into the dusty foothills where there's shit-all.
Finally he asks how much longer, 'cause he don't wanna be out here longer'n he has to, but all Lodz gives him is some crypic shit 'bout unique opportunities. And damn if Ben ain't goddamn sick of Lodz bein' like that so he slams on the brakes and tells him that if he don't put up right now, he's goin' right back.
But that's when Lodz smiles all weird, says dear me, it's far too late for that and that's when Ben looks in the side mirror and sees the dust comin'.
Black blizzard, dust storm and it's comin' fast, too fast. He says aw, hell, rolls his window up and leans back in the seat as the truck rocks, first gusts of wind slamming into it and makin' the world go brown with the dust.
Have to wait this bastard out,, Ben says, shakin' his head a bit 'cause damn but he should have seen that comin'. Lodz smiles in that weird way he has and says in my experience, darkness often yields the brightest light but Ben don't know what the hells that's supposed to mean so he ignores it.
That's swell, Lodz, he says, leans back and scrunches his knees up, tries to get comfortable. Me, I'm gonna get some shuteye right about now.
Lodz chuckles, a bit, but he resolutely screws his eyes shut and listens to the shhing of the wind, lets it pick him up and hurl him down into sleep.
~
When he finally wakes the storm's still ragin', and it takes him a second to remember everything. Takes him another second 'fore he realizes what's wrong, that Lodz is gone and he shakes his head, mutters loony sumbitch and thinks for a moment about leavin' him to rot.
But he's blind and he's a headliner and Samson'll kill him if he comes back without the old man, so he finds an oily rag under one of the seats, presses it to his face, and opens the door.
The storm screams all around him. He can barely see, squinting through a haze of dust, rag's barely helpin' and it's in his lungs, his eyes, his nose, coating him. He stumbles sideways as the wind hits him, hard and screaming, and as lightning flashes he almost trips over the body of a lamb.
That's good, though, he thinks vaguely, means a barn or somethin' nearby and that's when he sees the outline of the house, stumbles over and clings to the corner. He feels his way along, rag doin' nothing now and he's choking on the dust, can't hardly breathe when he finds the doorhandle and flings himself into the house.
Lodz is there. He's sittin' in a chair and he's got a fire going and Ben feels rage all buildin' up in him, nice and slow 'cause he's spittin' dirt 'cause of Lodz and he don't even have the decency to explain.
What the hell is goin' on, he asks, still shakin' from trying to push through the winds, hating the taste of dust on his tongue. Lodz just smiles and says welcome and that's when Ben loses it.
He paces like a goddamn wild thing, hands all fisted and voice high and he says brought me out here for what, huh? Kicks a chair over, feels it splinter under his feet and there's a moment of triumph for that before the rage comes back and he says nothing! I almost got dead out there!
Lodz doesn't react, just shrugs and You were not in any real danger. I think we both know that. Somehow that's worse'n if he'd shouted back and Ben wants to slug him right then and there.
I damn near died, he says, but he's calming, a bit, anger's no good 'cause he ain't gonna hit a blind man. Lodz is saying somethin' that he ain't really paying attention to, then this storm. It's what they call a black blizzard, no?
That's the name they give it, Ben says, cautious-like 'cause he don't know where Lodz is goin' with this.
The topsoil of ten thousand farms, much like your own. Lodz is gettin' all poetical now but that ain't what makes Ben's shoulders hunch, it's the thought of his farm, all dry dust 'n dead crops and his ma, choking, dying. Lend me your hand, boy, Lodz says and maybe Ben ain't quiet thinkin' 'cause he offers it.
Lodz holds it, and for a moment Ben can hear his ma. Coughing, choking, gasping stay away, you filth as she writhed and seized. Then Lodz is leaning in close and he says real soft into Ben's ear it killed your mother.
Ben pulls back, a bit, 'cause Lodz couldn't know that was what he was thinkin' but somehow he did. What's it to you, he says, and Lodz leans close again, growls low she drowned in it.
Now Ben's tryin' to pull away, hard but Lodz got a grip like goddamn steel and he can't. Frantic, angryscared he says you shut the hell up! and Lodz says, low in his throat, alone.
You shut it, Ben says, tries to breathe, tries to pull away, or I swear to God I'll shut it for you. Finally he's loose, pulls outta Lodz's grip and paces, back and forth, heart goin' like a fuckin' jackhammer and Lodz is growling now, sounds like a bear (like the bear he dreams), of course you survived it.
Ben's breath catches, hard, and the storm rages and it's loud too loud too goddamn loud and Lodz is still speaking growling saying
The ceaseless howling, too loud too loud
the high pitched shriek of wind, too loud too loud too loud
the sound of her death, too loud TOO LOUD and it is too much too loud too MUCH and Ben screams without knowing that he is screaming and he is screaming make it stop!
you filth! stay away!
stop
you're marked by the beast, boy!
it
touched her and made her to walk
NOW
the magician, reversed - you have a great talent or ability
and it stops.
Ben realizes he ain't hearin' it at the same time Lodz breathes out hard, laughs, says open the door. Hardly believing, Ben does so, and the sky is blue and cloudless and there ain't no dust, no black blizzard, just the crumpled shape of the lamb in the distance.
You did that, Lodz says, and Ben still lookin', still disbelievin' 'cause it can't be true, says no.
And the storm
it's been wasted, unfulfilled - a gift you've hidden from others
ERUPTS once more and Ben screams, screams and screams and the dust goes down his throat and covers him coats him embraces him and he lurches back tryin' to shut the door-
The rousties ain't happy. They're talkin' bout how they're headed to Texas, place called Babylon and the stories fly hard. Ben don't listen, much, and then Lodz is sayin' he wants to show him somethin', somethin' to do with Scudder, and even though he hates that boiled egg-eyed sumbitch he listens to 'em, gets a truck and drives 'em out into the dusty foothills where there's shit-all.
Finally he asks how much longer, 'cause he don't wanna be out here longer'n he has to, but all Lodz gives him is some crypic shit 'bout unique opportunities. And damn if Ben ain't goddamn sick of Lodz bein' like that so he slams on the brakes and tells him that if he don't put up right now, he's goin' right back.
But that's when Lodz smiles all weird, says dear me, it's far too late for that and that's when Ben looks in the side mirror and sees the dust comin'.
Black blizzard, dust storm and it's comin' fast, too fast. He says aw, hell, rolls his window up and leans back in the seat as the truck rocks, first gusts of wind slamming into it and makin' the world go brown with the dust.
Have to wait this bastard out,, Ben says, shakin' his head a bit 'cause damn but he should have seen that comin'. Lodz smiles in that weird way he has and says in my experience, darkness often yields the brightest light but Ben don't know what the hells that's supposed to mean so he ignores it.
That's swell, Lodz, he says, leans back and scrunches his knees up, tries to get comfortable. Me, I'm gonna get some shuteye right about now.
Lodz chuckles, a bit, but he resolutely screws his eyes shut and listens to the shhing of the wind, lets it pick him up and hurl him down into sleep.
~
When he finally wakes the storm's still ragin', and it takes him a second to remember everything. Takes him another second 'fore he realizes what's wrong, that Lodz is gone and he shakes his head, mutters loony sumbitch and thinks for a moment about leavin' him to rot.
But he's blind and he's a headliner and Samson'll kill him if he comes back without the old man, so he finds an oily rag under one of the seats, presses it to his face, and opens the door.
The storm screams all around him. He can barely see, squinting through a haze of dust, rag's barely helpin' and it's in his lungs, his eyes, his nose, coating him. He stumbles sideways as the wind hits him, hard and screaming, and as lightning flashes he almost trips over the body of a lamb.
That's good, though, he thinks vaguely, means a barn or somethin' nearby and that's when he sees the outline of the house, stumbles over and clings to the corner. He feels his way along, rag doin' nothing now and he's choking on the dust, can't hardly breathe when he finds the doorhandle and flings himself into the house.
Lodz is there. He's sittin' in a chair and he's got a fire going and Ben feels rage all buildin' up in him, nice and slow 'cause he's spittin' dirt 'cause of Lodz and he don't even have the decency to explain.
What the hell is goin' on, he asks, still shakin' from trying to push through the winds, hating the taste of dust on his tongue. Lodz just smiles and says welcome and that's when Ben loses it.
He paces like a goddamn wild thing, hands all fisted and voice high and he says brought me out here for what, huh? Kicks a chair over, feels it splinter under his feet and there's a moment of triumph for that before the rage comes back and he says nothing! I almost got dead out there!
Lodz doesn't react, just shrugs and You were not in any real danger. I think we both know that. Somehow that's worse'n if he'd shouted back and Ben wants to slug him right then and there.
I damn near died, he says, but he's calming, a bit, anger's no good 'cause he ain't gonna hit a blind man. Lodz is saying somethin' that he ain't really paying attention to, then this storm. It's what they call a black blizzard, no?
That's the name they give it, Ben says, cautious-like 'cause he don't know where Lodz is goin' with this.
The topsoil of ten thousand farms, much like your own. Lodz is gettin' all poetical now but that ain't what makes Ben's shoulders hunch, it's the thought of his farm, all dry dust 'n dead crops and his ma, choking, dying. Lend me your hand, boy, Lodz says and maybe Ben ain't quiet thinkin' 'cause he offers it.
Lodz holds it, and for a moment Ben can hear his ma. Coughing, choking, gasping stay away, you filth as she writhed and seized. Then Lodz is leaning in close and he says real soft into Ben's ear it killed your mother.
Ben pulls back, a bit, 'cause Lodz couldn't know that was what he was thinkin' but somehow he did. What's it to you, he says, and Lodz leans close again, growls low she drowned in it.
Now Ben's tryin' to pull away, hard but Lodz got a grip like goddamn steel and he can't. Frantic, angryscared he says you shut the hell up! and Lodz says, low in his throat, alone.
You shut it, Ben says, tries to breathe, tries to pull away, or I swear to God I'll shut it for you. Finally he's loose, pulls outta Lodz's grip and paces, back and forth, heart goin' like a fuckin' jackhammer and Lodz is growling now, sounds like a bear (like the bear he dreams), of course you survived it.
Ben's breath catches, hard, and the storm rages and it's loud too loud too goddamn loud and Lodz is still speaking growling saying
The ceaseless howling, too loud too loud
the high pitched shriek of wind, too loud too loud too loud
the sound of her death, too loud TOO LOUD and it is too much too loud too MUCH and Ben screams without knowing that he is screaming and he is screaming make it stop!
you filth! stay away!
stop
you're marked by the beast, boy!
it
touched her and made her to walk
NOW
the magician, reversed - you have a great talent or ability
and it stops.
Ben realizes he ain't hearin' it at the same time Lodz breathes out hard, laughs, says open the door. Hardly believing, Ben does so, and the sky is blue and cloudless and there ain't no dust, no black blizzard, just the crumpled shape of the lamb in the distance.
You did that, Lodz says, and Ben still lookin', still disbelievin' 'cause it can't be true, says no.
And the storm
it's been wasted, unfulfilled - a gift you've hidden from others
ERUPTS once more and Ben screams, screams and screams and the dust goes down his throat and covers him coats him embraces him and he lurches back tryin' to shut the door-
(no subject)
[ooc: spoilers for episode Carnivale episode 1x03. Dialogue and imagery property of the show]
They pass through a town called Tipton, few days later, and a mob of people storm Ben 'cause word's gotten around of the girl he done touched and made to walk. In the truck back to Carnivale, Jonesy talkin' bout how he's never seen a thing like that, he feels sick 'cause he knows this ain't gonna be kept low.
And sure enough Samson wants to set him up as a healer, take the people for all the cash they got and Ben wants to say no but he needs money, needs it bad and he'll get a cut of what comes in. So he pretends to heal Ruthie and they go wild and he goes and smokes behind the tent and hates himself a little.
But it's not more'n a day or so later that he's findin' a woman, a woman he saw in his dreams and she's tellin' him that she knows the truth. She knew Hack Scudder and she knows what he can do and she tells him, right before her son comes and throws him out, that there's a price. He's gotta take life to give it and Ben remembers the corn withering, dyin' as the girl ran to her house.
She comes to the show that night 'cause she's dyin' too, like the corn, witherin' with the dust pneumonia and he wants to heal her, goddamn wants 'cause she knows things he's gotta know but she tells him no! and she dies, right there in his arms, and Samson's yellin' at him for almost givin' up the game 'cause Samson don't know what Ben can do.
And that's Tipton, where they're gone the next day, runnin' from the law sure to be hot on their tails.
They pass through a town called Tipton, few days later, and a mob of people storm Ben 'cause word's gotten around of the girl he done touched and made to walk. In the truck back to Carnivale, Jonesy talkin' bout how he's never seen a thing like that, he feels sick 'cause he knows this ain't gonna be kept low.
And sure enough Samson wants to set him up as a healer, take the people for all the cash they got and Ben wants to say no but he needs money, needs it bad and he'll get a cut of what comes in. So he pretends to heal Ruthie and they go wild and he goes and smokes behind the tent and hates himself a little.
But it's not more'n a day or so later that he's findin' a woman, a woman he saw in his dreams and she's tellin' him that she knows the truth. She knew Hack Scudder and she knows what he can do and she tells him, right before her son comes and throws him out, that there's a price. He's gotta take life to give it and Ben remembers the corn withering, dyin' as the girl ran to her house.
She comes to the show that night 'cause she's dyin' too, like the corn, witherin' with the dust pneumonia and he wants to heal her, goddamn wants 'cause she knows things he's gotta know but she tells him no! and she dies, right there in his arms, and Samson's yellin' at him for almost givin' up the game 'cause Samson don't know what Ben can do.
And that's Tipton, where they're gone the next day, runnin' from the law sure to be hot on their tails.
(no subject)
[ooc: Millitimed to four days before Christmas. Spoilers for episodes 1x02. Most dialogue and imagery property of Carnivale.]
Could be Ben's been spendin' a little more time in his room, maybe, likes it up there where there's less people'n noise. But he can't stay up there forever and he comes down today, shoulders hunched, hands all deep in his pockets and he bellies up to the bar, asks for a coffee.
She gets it for him and he takes it, turns around, makes like he's gonna go settle in a booth 'cept then he sees it.
His door is there, half open, dry smell like dust and dirt floating through and the coffee mug smashes on the ground as Ben takes two big steps, half runnin, and then.
Then he's back, and Ruthie's starin' at him like maybe she thinks Gabe hit him a little too hard but Ben's just lookin' at the sky and the trailers like he ain't never seen 'em in his life.
~
She says something quiet, later, 'bout how he ain't bruisin' or walkin' stiff from the beating and he don't say nothing, just shrugs his shirt down from where she'd walked her fingers over his ribs to check for breaks. After a moment he holds out the photograph, the one from the baggage trailer, asks if she knows him who it is.
Old Hack Scudder's sweetie, she says, after a minute. Says what was her name? Flora.
And then Ben don't say anything past the lump in his throat, and for a moment he ain't even thinkin' 'bout Milliways and all the shit what's happened to him 'cause that confirms it.
She talks about Scudder, a bit, says he was a rummy and sounds wistful, gets a picture to show him and Ben's blood runs cold 'cause he thinks he knows that face When she trails off Ben looks up her, looks at the girl's picture, shrugs a bit and says she's my ma. And then Ruthie's sayin' how that's downright queer but Ben's gettin up to leave because he's puttin' things together in his head and he don't want to stay there no more when he gets a thought, turns and says this - this Scudder, you think he might've been in the war?
Could've been, Ruthie says, real quiet-like and she's not lookin' at him, she's lookin' at the past. Lots of crazy men in the war.
Crazy as mud-bugs on a griddle, she says, and Ben slips out, past Gabriel sittin' on the steps, back to the scuffed dirt under the truck where his blanket is but he knows he ain't gonna be sleepin' because the last thing he wants, last thing he wants is to dream.
'cause now he knows one of the faces, and he knows he's seen Hack Scudder.
Could be Ben's been spendin' a little more time in his room, maybe, likes it up there where there's less people'n noise. But he can't stay up there forever and he comes down today, shoulders hunched, hands all deep in his pockets and he bellies up to the bar, asks for a coffee.
She gets it for him and he takes it, turns around, makes like he's gonna go settle in a booth 'cept then he sees it.
His door is there, half open, dry smell like dust and dirt floating through and the coffee mug smashes on the ground as Ben takes two big steps, half runnin, and then.
Then he's back, and Ruthie's starin' at him like maybe she thinks Gabe hit him a little too hard but Ben's just lookin' at the sky and the trailers like he ain't never seen 'em in his life.
~
She says something quiet, later, 'bout how he ain't bruisin' or walkin' stiff from the beating and he don't say nothing, just shrugs his shirt down from where she'd walked her fingers over his ribs to check for breaks. After a moment he holds out the photograph, the one from the baggage trailer, asks if she knows him who it is.
Old Hack Scudder's sweetie, she says, after a minute. Says what was her name? Flora.
And then Ben don't say anything past the lump in his throat, and for a moment he ain't even thinkin' 'bout Milliways and all the shit what's happened to him 'cause that confirms it.
She talks about Scudder, a bit, says he was a rummy and sounds wistful, gets a picture to show him and Ben's blood runs cold 'cause he thinks he knows that face When she trails off Ben looks up her, looks at the girl's picture, shrugs a bit and says she's my ma. And then Ruthie's sayin' how that's downright queer but Ben's gettin up to leave because he's puttin' things together in his head and he don't want to stay there no more when he gets a thought, turns and says this - this Scudder, you think he might've been in the war?
Could've been, Ruthie says, real quiet-like and she's not lookin' at him, she's lookin' at the past. Lots of crazy men in the war.
Crazy as mud-bugs on a griddle, she says, and Ben slips out, past Gabriel sittin' on the steps, back to the scuffed dirt under the truck where his blanket is but he knows he ain't gonna be sleepin' because the last thing he wants, last thing he wants is to dream.
'cause now he knows one of the faces, and he knows he's seen Hack Scudder.
(no subject)
[All dialogue and imagry taken from Carnivale season 1 epsiode 2 "After The Ball Is Over"]
A rifle cocks. Shells spill to the ground, tumbling waterfalls of brass ch-chink ch-chink
click
a soldier moves through a battlefield, bareheaded, cowering through smoke (air tastesmells like cordite, blood, popcorn) bends over a dead body lifts the helmet puts it on. Breathes.
Explosions. Shrapnel. A man in uniform crouching, stalking, waiting. Scents the air. The soldier in the dead man's helmet in the crumbling trenches walks forward (feet crunchslip in blood, bone, dropped ice-creams).
They see the man. He writhes. He is missing an arm and both legs and makes no noise but s h a k e s to the rhythm of the pounding cannonfire.
They cock their weapons, together cl-click cl-click but the man is dead. He writhes because someone is shaking his body. They move closer from either side and they still have not seen each other but they must o they must.
And then there is a bear. Massive, snarling, paws and gaping mouth are covered in blood, gore as it stands up shaking its chains the man in the dead man's helmet sees the red cloth scraps fluttering from its body and the cap on its head with the letters he cannot read and as it strikes out roaring (sounds like bombs, screaming men, laughing children) he knows he knows what he does not want to know-
---
Ben wakes up, breathing hard.
"Oh shi-," he says, choking a little on the words, "Shit." Dreams are gettin' bad, not like they ever been anything like good but now it seems he can't close his eyes without seeing 'em. He can feel his heart beating doubletime and he breathes deep, spittin' out the air like it tastes bad until he hears footsteps.
He looks up, thinks maybe it's Jonesy or another roustie comin' back late drunk but it's not, it's a figure he don't recognize 'till she gets closer and then his heart seizes up a little. It's Apollonia and she's shuffling towards him like her feet don't work right which makes sense because he thinks, dazed in the back of his mind even as he's standing up and backing away a step or two isn't she supposed to be a vegetable?
But then she's reaching out for him and he don't quite know what he's doing when he reaches out too and takes her hand. She's cold, real cold and kinda stiff-like but that don't matter because she's taking a breath like it's the first in her life and looking at him and he can't look away when she says "You're the one."
A rifle cocks. Shells spill to the ground, tumbling waterfalls of brass ch-chink ch-chink
click
a soldier moves through a battlefield, bareheaded, cowering through smoke (air tastesmells like cordite, blood, popcorn) bends over a dead body lifts the helmet puts it on. Breathes.
Explosions. Shrapnel. A man in uniform crouching, stalking, waiting. Scents the air. The soldier in the dead man's helmet in the crumbling trenches walks forward (feet crunchslip in blood, bone, dropped ice-creams).
They see the man. He writhes. He is missing an arm and both legs and makes no noise but s h a k e s to the rhythm of the pounding cannonfire.
They cock their weapons, together cl-click cl-click but the man is dead. He writhes because someone is shaking his body. They move closer from either side and they still have not seen each other but they must o they must.
And then there is a bear. Massive, snarling, paws and gaping mouth are covered in blood, gore as it stands up shaking its chains the man in the dead man's helmet sees the red cloth scraps fluttering from its body and the cap on its head with the letters he cannot read and as it strikes out roaring (sounds like bombs, screaming men, laughing children) he knows he knows what he does not want to know-
---
Ben wakes up, breathing hard.
"Oh shi-," he says, choking a little on the words, "Shit." Dreams are gettin' bad, not like they ever been anything like good but now it seems he can't close his eyes without seeing 'em. He can feel his heart beating doubletime and he breathes deep, spittin' out the air like it tastes bad until he hears footsteps.
He looks up, thinks maybe it's Jonesy or another roustie comin' back late drunk but it's not, it's a figure he don't recognize 'till she gets closer and then his heart seizes up a little. It's Apollonia and she's shuffling towards him like her feet don't work right which makes sense because he thinks, dazed in the back of his mind even as he's standing up and backing away a step or two isn't she supposed to be a vegetable?
But then she's reaching out for him and he don't quite know what he's doing when he reaches out too and takes her hand. She's cold, real cold and kinda stiff-like but that don't matter because she's taking a breath like it's the first in her life and looking at him and he can't look away when she says "You're the one."
They stand there for a moment, locked together and then Sofie breaks the stillness of the air screaming "MAMA!" and she goes down hard in his arms like she been shot. Sofie's yelling "MAMA, MAMA!" at the top of her lungs running towards him and he holds Apollonia tight says "Over here! Sofie, she's over here!" but instead of being thankful she's looking at him like he's poison.
"What the hell are you doing?" She's screaming, panicked, slides to a halt next to him and shoves him away frantically, desperate. "Get away from her! Get your hands off her! Don't touch her!" and goddamnit if she hasn't woked the whole fuckin' place because here's Jonsey at the head of a ragtag band of rousties and carnies both, givin' orders. "Get back," he says, limpin' forward, "Everybondy stay back."
Ben don't have a chance to move before the retarded strongman - what's his name? Gabriel - grabs him and hurls him away, hard. Jonesy's talkin' to Sofie in the background, askin' her about her ma but when Ben makes to get up Gabe hits him again, a hard right to his jaw and he goes down.
Two of the rousties, he don't know their names yet pick him up, hold him tight. He gasps a little against the pain because goddamn Gabriel hits hard but then Jonesy's in his face, askin him what the hell happened. He looks past Jonesy, sees Sofie and she's lookin' at him like he done killed her ma himself. "What'd you do to her?" she asks and her voice breaks.
Ben feels guilt twist in his stomach but he didn't do nothing, he didn't, and he knows it. "I was sleepin'," he says, "I woke up. She walked over to me."
But that was the wrong thing to say 'cause now Sofie's lookin' angrier then he's seen before. "She can't walk! She can't even move, everybody know that!"
"I didn't do nothing to her, Sofie," Ben says, still struggling against the two thugs holdin' him, "You gotta believe me, I didn't do-" and then Gabe sinks his left fist into Ben's ribs and his breath comes out of him, hard. It takes him a minute to get it back but when he does he's struggling again, hard. "Let me go, goddamnit," he says, and then Gabe's at him again, pounding his ribs like a slab of meat 'till all he can do is gasp for air.
He barely hears Samson shouting "Let the boy go!" but he hears Ruthie saying "Gabriel, stop," and wrestling him away like he weren't more'n a child. Jonesy's trying to keep everyone quiet but he's angry enough that it ain't workin, and he's not listening as Samson says "I said, let him go."
Jonesy shakes his head, says "Boss, we got a real problem here. Needs some sortin' out," and Ben braces himself for the next punch. But instead Samson's glaring him down, saying "We don't have no sortin' out to do. The kid didn't do nothing wrong. Cut him loose."
There's a long pause where Ben thinks maybe Jonesy's not gonna listen to the dwarf, but finally he turns to the rousties and jerks his head. Ben pulls himself free, still panting, and stumbles a step or two away. Fuck he hurts, but he ain't gonna let them see that and not for the first time he wonders why the fuck he didn't just stay in goddamn Milfay.
Soon enough they're cartin' Apollonia away, back to the trailer, and Samson's givin' orders again. Tells 'em that they're packin' it in the morning, heading south. There's grumbles at this but Samson don't listen and soon enough everyone's headin' back off to their beds.
Ben's heading off himself when Ruthie comes up behind him in her kimono and asks him if he's okay. "I'm fine," he says, spits out 'cause it was her son doin' the beating but she don't listen and grabs his arm instead, sayin' "Let me take a gander," like she's not even hearing the bitter in his voice.
She puts a hand over his face where Gabe got it the first time, makes a noise like a mother hen and says "We gotta get somethin' on that jaw. C'mon."
Without waiting for an answer she moves away and Ben turns back to where his blankets are, under the truck. He don't get more'n a foot though before he hears her voice, "I said come on," and in the end he figures maybe it'll be easier to go with her then put up with her tryin' to drag him. So he follows her to her trailer, lets her open the door only when he steps through-
when he steps through it ain't her trailer anymore.