THE WRECKAGE [open]

[hound2]

Sometimes he had to let go of things. Sometimes it was supposed to be easier that way. He’d learn to move on, would he not? There was a supposed to in here somewhere—he was supposed to move on. Morgan had a hard time letting go. It showed through in nearly everything that was going on in his world. Little things. He still ate raisin bran and unfrosted corn flakes in the morning for breakfast because his grandfather had done it. Around his neck, on the same chain it always had been, hung Kit’s Saint Christopher medal. He drove his father’s truck, and he hadn’t touched the presets on the radio—it didn’t matter that they were all static and polka stations up here. He wouldn’t change them.

A creature of habit and a creature stuck in the past. He doesn’t… he doesn’t know. There are a lot of things he doesn’t know any more. Morgan shudders to think that he’s lost touch with himself. He has his family now, at least. The family that’s… well, the grown up kind of family. He has Casi, who has Valentine. He has Casper and Evan too. Its’ something he can get… he can get used to.

Yet he burns for the life he’s always known. He misses his horse. He misses the neurotic Australian shepherd he left behind because he’d thought the creature would harass Casper too much… the baby too. Morgan burns for the wide open spaces, the smell of fresh hay, the corn, the recently churned up earth… everything. There was so much sky out there. There… was less sky here. He ached for sky, more than anything. It’s what drives him out to the meadows. Evan sits beside him, digging at her collar. Farm dogs don’t wear collars. Evan is back to being on her six foot leash, and she too is stir crazy because of it.

Morgan parks out in the middle of a free field. He needs to be able to see it on all sides of him. The four wheel drive truck doesn’t even struggle. Evan bounds into the grass that brushes her belly, a grin painted across her long face. Morgan hops down, ragged yellow tennis ball in hand and lobs it as far as he can. Without a second thought the spaniel propels herself after it, barking merrily. He doesn’t have to think too hard about it, simply dropping the tailgate of his truck and climbing up to sit and wait, watching the dog sprint back and forth in search of her ball.

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ATTIRE click CREDIT sam ! of Confronting the Faceless. Don't remove the credit or I will find you. LYRICS young – hollywood undead NOTES open Morgan post is open!WORD COUNT 429

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[MCKENNA FAY ZIMMERMAN]

if we make it through the weekend

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we can make it through the year

While she wasn't out partying or getting herself wasted, Kenna liked spending time alone in the meadows. The tranquility and silence that it provided gave her a reprieve from everything, from her busy, party life and basically getting so fucked that she could barely perceive dreams from reality. You could say that the girl was sober for the time being, recovering from a hangover. She had partied hard the last few nights, and she had woke up today feeling like complete shit. She had puked, endured agonizing headaches, and as she sat in the grass of the meadow looking blankly into the blue sky above her, Kenna could feel another wave of nausea coming. Maybe partying hard hadn't been such a good idea, but then again, as much as she thought about it being a bad thing, old habits had a tendency to die hard on her. The mermaid was already planning the next bash she could crash herself at.

She had been zoning out, staring out into space when something thunked the top of her brunette head almost cheekily, bouncing off and disappearing into the foliage. Kenna blinked, too dazed to even rage or yell out in pain, but the stupor eventually subsided and she screeched. "What in the name of fuck!"

[/i] snarled the young woman angrily, outraged at the pain. Rubbing her head, she rose, looking for the whatever that had bounced off her head. Her grey eyes darted around like a lizard's, and she soon found out the object that had hit her. It was a tennis ball. Shooting looks of daggers at it, as though that would intimidate it into submission, she raised her arm to give the ball one mighty heave when the loud bark of a dog stopped her.

The warm brown eyes of a spaniel greeted her happily, its tail wagging eagerly. Kenna could see that it was dying for her to throw the ball, and she hesitated. Her hardened features crumbled to be replaced by a soft look, one that she usually reserved for animals and a few lucky people. "Well, aren't you excited." she said grudgingly, her tone less harsh. The more she looked at the happy dog, the more Kenna could feel herself melting, as much as she wanted to cut down the dog and curse it into hell. She rolled the ball in her hand, unsure of what to do before shrugging. Rearing her arm back, she threw the rugged ball with a loud groan into the sky and watched the dog tear after it. A rare smile spread across her lips at the simple sight, only to disintegrate and be replaced with an ugly look of outrage. Oh Kenna.

"Whichever fucker that threw the ball," she roared, her voice booming through the meadow. "is going to fucking pay."


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[hound2]

Morgan knows what it’s like to kill yourself over and over and over again. He’d done it. Hell, he’d done it night in and night out. There was something appealing about simply letting yourself overdose, get pushed over the edge. His body would recover… he would always recover. Morgan realized that he wouldn’t be eradicated so easily quite a long while ago. That alone was something that made life more interesting… for that, he had Casidhe to thank. For his immortality, for life, and for love. So he’d become a smoosh, who was there to blame him? That was what happened when he fell in love like this… for good.

But his mind was free to drift where he kicked back in the bed of his truck. It’s always been one of his favorite place, no matter where it’s parked. The sky still looks mostly the same here and there, though here… well, here lacked the things that he burned for so badly. It didn’t matter that this place wasn’t so wild. Yes, he could drift. When he hears the thunk of his most recent throw, he assumes that he’s hit a tree. Moments later, the sound of pain registers to him—“Well shit.” They’re low words, mumbled under his breath, but the man realizes that he’s probably in trouble as he finally gets to his feet.

At least Evan is friendly. The short spaniel has already gone looking for a scratch behind the ears from her new companion, and her face remains lit up. She rips off after the girl gives it a good toss, a bat out of hell. She’s got a long lope, her ears splaying to either side of her face. Yes, it’s what a sort of sheer happiness looks like—welcome to the life of a well-loved spaniel. Morgan can’t help but flinch as he hears the disgruntled voice. He rakes a hand through his hair, putting his feet to the ground. Well… shit.

He hops from the back with practiced, cowboy’s grace. “Sorry about that ‘n, miss. Didn’t see y’out there.” The words come with a soft shine of his still purple eyes. Yeah, there’s red in her aura… raging over the simple party foul. Morgan doesn’t bother worrying, but he feels an apologetic tug as he studies the young woman. With practiced grace he moves across the meadow, moving to meet both the girl and his dog. This… could end badly, and now was when he worried.

ATTIRE click CREDIT sam ! of Confronting the Faceless. Don't remove the credit or I will find you. LYRICS young – hollywood undead NOTES gah WORD COUNT 410-ish

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