Night's Omen

Prompt List

• Sweet
• Psyche
• Stupid
• Beauty Queen
• Sisters
• Speak Loud
• Wreck
• Rattlesnakes
• Storm
• Lucifer

 Cherie, Annika, Evander, and Simon all sat in a circle in the generous backyard of their "childhood" home - the last home they had all lived in together before they began to go their separate ways. It was August, and they were all in varying degrees of formal clothing. The cheap metal-and-poly-blend-fabric folding chairs they sat in were ancient and soiled and creaked with every minute movement the siblings made. Nobody said anything, and there was a dim hum in the background as several yards away, family flocked inside for the buffet-like spread that had been set up in the kitchen. The windows were all open because the air conditioning had given up the ghost that morning, but nobody wanted to relocate.

 "Whoever the fuck's plan this was to have a funeral in the dead of August when it's eleventy-billion degrees outside can suck my sweaty balls," Simon said, sitting back in his chair. It creaked, hard, and his eyebrows raised as he suspected it might actually go the way of the air conditioner for a second - but nothing happened when he gave an experimental wiggle of his hips, so he waved his hand that didn't have a glass in it and raised the one with the glass to his mouth to drink.

 "Well," Evander said, a Look on his face as he tilted his head in That Way and raised his eyebrows. "I would ask that the finale to this evening is not my brother getting sucked off by the ghost of our dead father, but you know, we can see how we feel after a few drinks."

 There was a beat of silence where the mixed expressions of them all held - Cherie, as usual, looked like she was on the verge of tears, while Annika and Evander seemed mostly blank, and Simon looked angry - and for a moment, it seemed like the words were going to hang there awkwardly in the air. Cherie, however, broke unexpectedly. She cackled loudly and slapped her thigh, causing years-old mold spores from the chair to puff up from where it had rubbed into the black of her elegant dress.

 "Oh, gross!" Annika said, pointing. "Did you see that? Dude, these chairs are fucking toxic. We're probably going to to turn into those things from The Last Of Us," she said, kicking her feet out to expertly maneuver her chair in the grass and dirt and angle it away from Cherie in a dramatic fashion. She was the only one who had changed, now sporting a coral tank and a pair of cutoffs, but she had forgotten her shoes so she still wore her patent, shiny black flats. She also didn't have any socks, but she had gone upstairs and found some frilly socks in Cherie's childhood bedroom, so those were what she was working with.

 "God I hope not, because you look fucking ridiculous," Simon said, to which she lifted her leg up to model her shoe-sock combo. "Can you imagine running around trying to bite people like that? They'd think they were getting attacked by a giant seven year old."

 "We all look ridiculous," she countered. "Cherie's the only one who looks put together, as usual. I mean, of course you look so perfect on the best day of your life," she joked. "Honestly, I don't know why I'm the only one who changed."

 "Perf -  what?" Cherie said, head snapping up in confusion. Truth be told, she was dying just like the boys were. She had a lot of hair and the curl had long since fallen out since the 10 AM service. It was piled up in a messy bun but it did nothing for her. "What do you mean by that?" She felt the itch at the back of her throat for a cigarette, but refused to smoke around so much of her family, and so she took no action. She was acutely aware of exactly where her American Spirits were, though, baking in her car. Fuck.

 "Come on, we all know you hated him," Annika said, her penchant for 'just being honest' on full display. "It's fine, you can finally admit it."

 Cherie opened her mouth to say something back, but Simon cut between them with a sharp, "Stop it," and that was that. He was no stranger to the fight plucked from thin air Annika could start, and he wasn't about to pull them apart in front of the twenty or so people inside the house.

 "I'm gonna go get another drink," Cherie said, standing abruptly. Evander stood up to go with her, but she practically bared her teeth at him. "I will bring you another," she said, and the tone of her voice was enough to cause him to plant his backside down in the dirty chair without an argument. She said something under her breath that they all heard because obviously, but nobody replied as she picked her way back through the grass in her heels.

 Cherie went into the kitchen, her anger visible in a room full of supernatural creatures, but because of the circumstances nobody assumed anything further. She looked at the ice chest that held soft drinks and beers for a moment, before she realized someone was behind her, and she smiled wryly and stepped out of the way. Instead, she went for the freezer, plucking out the bottle of Crown Royal that she knew was buried in the ice. She didn't bother with a glass, and made her exit through the living room, not making eye contact with any of the extended family and friends who had come to visit. She continued down the steps of the house and out to the street, where she began the hike to her car. Thankfully she'd parked down the road a little, precisely so that if she'd wanted to make a quiet exit she could do so.

 She listened to locusts screaming in the trees as she leaned against the trunk of her black Dodge, the sweating bottle of Crown next to her with a moderate dent in it. Cigarette smoke lingered beneath her nose as she held the cigarette at her mouth, not to her lips just yet. She was listening intently to the locusts, mentally divorced from reality as the whiskey did its job, when a voice behind her caused her to jump and drop the cigarette on the ground.

 "Fuck!" she said, immediately identifying whether it was friend or foe. "William," she sighed, annoyance at her own jumpy reaction washing over her face. She knelt down to pick up the cigarette, blowing on the end of it before she took a drag.

 "Ugh," he said, but it wasn't at the habit - William had his own vices, so he wasn't about to bother Cherie with hers. "You put everything you find on the ground in your mouth, missy?" he asked, but he held an arm out to pull her into a half hug.

 "If I did, I'd probably have a much more interesting time," she said fondly. "Hello, William. Glad you could make it." She stepped away from him so that she could finish smoking, but she held the bottle out to him and he obliged.

 "Yeah, I didn't think I was going to be able to, truth be told," he admitted. He took a swig, the temperature of the whiskey cooler than he'd expected given how damp the bottle was. "Why are you out here? I looked for you all inside, but Simon said you were taking a break. Also, he had this weird like, checkered pattern on the back of his suit?"

 "Ohhhh, the chairs," she said, tilting her head back and groaning. William chuckled as she flicked the cigarette down the street and scrubbed her face, trying to compose her thoughts. "Yeah, I put myself in time out. Annika is... being her usual pleasant self," she admitted.

 "She always has been able to get under your skin," he acknowledged. He leaned on the car next to her. "What'd she say now?" He looked down at her, waiting for whatever new drama Annika had conjured up now. It was always something with her.

 "She said that I looked 'so perfect' on the 'best day of my life' and then when I asked what she meant by that, she said, 'we all know you hated him'. Like who the fuck says that, out loud?" She hadn't been worked up when she'd started talking, but as she explained the situation she began to raise her voice, and her nose grew red as her eyes became watery. "Like what does that mean? What he fuck does that mean? Sorry I didn't have the best relationship with the guy who cheated on my mom and then brought a whole ass new sibling home? Dude, that shit fucked me up as a kid. Do you know, heh, do you know - " she continued, rummaging in her handbag that had been on the trunk of the car to locate another cigarette, which she screwed into her lips and lit, taking a short drag that gave William no space to interrupt. "Do you know that I had to go to therapy over that? Yeah, they said it did some moral injury to my psyche. My fucking psyche. Oh my god, why is she like this!"

 "Ohhhh boy," William said, brows raised as he realized he'd hit a vein with his simple question. "Well," he started, trying to think of the right thing to say. "Don't you think it would take a fucked up person to say something like that?" he asked.

 Cherie drew in a breath to speak but didn't say anything. That made sense, actually, as much as she didn't want to admit it. She sighed, shakily - fortunately she hadn't gone into full sobs, but she was crying, and she didn't know if it was sadness or anger or both.

 "You all got a number done on you," he said gently. "You daddy was no friend of mine, Cherie. But he was your daddy, and that's why you don't hear me talk poorly about him. But he was not a good man. He may not have beat y'all, and he always kept you clothed and fed, but the people who came here largely are here because of y'all, not him."

 "Yeah, I guess," she said. She looked at him, lip quivering. "What if we're all really fucked up, actually?"

 William sighed. "Cherie, I have known you since you were a kit. You may have trust issues, but I have seen fucked up once or thrice on my time around this world doing what I do, and I promise, you lot are not it. Those three shored their emotions up tighter than a noose, you just didn't, that's all. There's no damage because you let yourself feel feelings," he said gently. "Also, you said 'fuck' at least seven times since we've been standing here, and you never curse so I think maybe the day and the alcohol are getting the better of you."

 Cherie sighed. "Maybe," she said. Then she made a face and nodded. "Probably, yeah," she laughed. "I really did say fuck a lot, huh?"

 "Yes you did. It's one of the ways I know you're not sober. You're usually a one-curse a day girl. But when you start drinkin' and smokin', this little filthy mouth comes right out."

 "Yeah," she agreed. "You know what's funny?"

 "What's that?" he asked.

 Cherie looked him dead in his eyes. "I get it from my daddy," she said, mimicking his accent.

 "Alright, well, clearly you feel better since you got jokes now," he said, reaching out to jab her in the side. "Come on, let's walk back up. I saw a few cars go by, maybe the house is less crowded now. And less hot, lord Jesus why did your A/C break today of all days?"

 "God hated dad too, I guess," she offered, linking arms with him as they began walking back up the street to the house.