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Вы здесь » NEVAH-HAVEN » THE DEAD ZONE » [07.06.2020] haven; when push comes to shove

[07.06.2020] haven; when push comes to shove

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when push comes to shove

https://i.imgur.com/XjvLK5u.gif https://i.imgur.com/j6ZhgZE.gif

Fionn O'Cailean —Alasder O'Mara
07.06.2020 • день • Хэйвен, квартира Ала

cause when push comes to shove
you taste what you're made of

Отредактировано Alasdair O’Mara (2021-11-30 09:55:17)



Fionn yawned and readjusted his glasses, trying hard not to fall asleep while driving. He had to wake up early; it was a long-ass way from New York City to Haven, a small town somewhere in the state of Maine, good seven hours of driving a crappy old car, the poor thing making all sorts of noises along the way, and Fionn had to turn the music on louder to ignore the signs of the car's devastated condition. He got used to it, more or less. It was a crappy car indeed, but also the only one he could afford after living all this time in New York while paying rent, medical bills and legal entertainment. Truth be told, his financial state still slightly improved after he launched that Patreon campaign, created to help him finance his online comics, and he was truly grateful for that, grateful to all these fans from all over the world, total strangers who sent him money and messages like "Nice job, dude, keep going". None of that would've existed if not for Al, that ginger bastard who quickly got from being a famous writer and artistic superhero to one of the best friends Fionn had ever had (although deep inside he still believed Al to be a hero, just didn't say it out loud too much). It was his support and encouragement in the first place that made Fionn finally get his shit together and turn his art into something global, and Fionn would never forget that.
Which was why Fionn found himself stuck in the middle of the road leading to the state of Maine - quite literally, since the car suddenly stopped moving altogether. Fionn puffed in frustration; the stupid vehicle started acting funny when he followed the turn onto the interstate highway, and the closer he was approaching Maine, the worse the car was acting up. Almost like a living creature showing off its bad mood or something.
- Come on! For fuck's sake, now what? - he clenched his teeth and got out of the car. Something clicked or snapped or whatever somewhere under the hood, and he decided to check it out - if he was going to get to Haven eventually, he had to take care of this somehow. He popped the hood, lifted it up, staining his fingers with dust, and stared at the car's insides with a gloomy expression on his face.
- Fuck me life... - it was like some higher powers, hell, maybe the fate itself was trying to stop him from coming to Haven for some mysterious reason, but Fionn was having none of that. He had already proved the fate that he, exactly Fionn O'Cailean, is in control of things happening in his life when he managed to gather enough strength to break the bad habit, so no bad omen could ever get in his way.
Especially when he was doing something for someone else. In this case, Fionn was doing it for Al. Al, his friend, who was becoming more and more disconnected after he'd moved back to Haven - a crazy act itself, which Fionn never understood and was quite suspicious of. Such an extreme change seemed... off, although Fionn could very well understand the need for a change, maybe for a calm and peaceful place to clear up one's mind, help with inspiration, writer's block and all that stuff, yet... the way Al was talking and acting made Fionn grew even more suspicious lately. He was sure: his friend was hiding something. His moving to Haven looked like a flight, a hasty retreat to a little hole nobody knew of. Like he wasn't seeking inspiration or peace; rather, he was hiding. But hiding from what? From who? Why did Al feel like he had to hide from Fionn, too? The thought actually hurt Fionn, who spent countless nights thinking what he could've done wrong to make his friend feel like he couldn't trust him with his worries or troubles. Hell, of all people in the world Fionn clearly wasn't the one to judge! He would never blame anyone for anything, regardless of the mistakes they made. He knew all too well what it was like, to be The Guilty, The It's-Your-Own-Fault One, and he would never, ever turn away from anyone seeking help. Oh, how much he wanted to confront Al and ask him all the questions straight in the face!.. Questions like: what's up, buddy? What's wrong, because something is clearly wrong? Are you in danger? Is someone after you? Are you in trouble with the law? The drugs? Fionn would gladly offer his assistance with whatever needed to be done, from driving to a clinic to burying dead bodies. They were together in this, because that's what friends are for, and he was going to make damn sure Al sees his point.
He finally managed to fix the car and continue his way. Fionn wasn't too good with cars, but he could do some basic first-aid. Now he just had to hope the piece of junk would last long enough to get him to the destination.
Maybe it wasn't the best idea to turn up unannounced like this, but Fionn really wanted to catch Al off guard, so he wouldn't have time to prepare and fabricate a story, which he as a writer just had to be good at. He left early in the morning, planned to drive all day non-stop and reach Haven by the evening, but with all the little things getting in the way he found himself reaching the town in late hours - so late, in fact, that ringing someone's doorbell right now would be impolite at least, but Fionn was determined to see Al as soon as possible. He doubted trespassing would bother Al much - after all, he wasn't the type of guy who would wave a gun at one's face. He was a writer, a dreamer. People like Al never hurt anybody.
Fionn parked his car and decided to walk the rest of the way. His natural exhaustion after long hours of driving quickly faded away, instead adrenaline kicked in, and suddenly Fionn wasn't tired anymore. Besides, it felt fantastically good to stretch his long limbs. His backside was already killing him for sitting for a few hours straight.
So he walked and walked and walked, searching for the right street and the right place. Haven, of course, looked nothing like New York, and getting directions was a problem, but Fionn dealt with that, too. He found the street. He found the house. He found the door. He rang the doorbell and stood there, waiting impatiently.
Only at that very moment Fionn realized that he hadn't thought of what he was going to say. How are you supposed to greet a friend who's not expecting you? Like, almost at midnight? When this friend believes you to be sleeping in your cozy New-York-bed? And instead you are at his doorstep miles away from New York??
He nervously readjusted his glasses again and stared at the doorknob with an intent gaze, waiting for it to move - a sign that the door was going to be open the following second. Finally, the click of the lock, the creak of the door hinges - and Al presented himself, looking baffled and confused - and rightfully so - but not sleepy, not really. He looked like a puzzled host who didn't expect any guests, but he surely didn't look like someone dragged out of his peaceful night sleep. Maybe he hadn't gone to bed yet. He wore some clothes - at least Fionn didn't interrupt his shower routine - and they didn't look like Al put them on in a hurry. Good. Fionn didn't interrupt anything important then.
- Um... hey, buddy, - Fionn waved his hand, smiled and opened his arms for a hug. - I do hope you're happy to see me, because I sure as hell am not sleeping in me car tonight, and I haven't seen a single motel on the way!

[nick]Fionn O'Cailean[/nick][status]the survivor[/status][icon]https://i.imgur.com/M20wrbY.jpg[/icon][sign]https://i.imgur.com/NG3CkZC.gif  https://i.imgur.com/Vy53JfV.gif[/sign][lzname]<lzname><a href="https://nevah.ru/viewtopic.php?id=412#p29901">Фионн Клэр О'Кайлен</a>, 27</lzname> <plashka>человек</plashka>[/lzname][]Хэйвен; неунывающий стойкий оловянный солдатик, который любит свою жизнь и людей в ней. Приехал из самого Нью-Йорк-Сити, чтобы помочь <a href="https://nevah.ru/profile.php?id=20">другу</a>.[/]



A lot has changed ever since the troubles decided to come back.

A lot.

Suddenly, Al found himself right in the middle of something he could not fully understand, but also unable to escape. Trapped. Stuck like a fly that ended up flying right into a spider's trap. No way out, just a painful and terrifying inevitability of death.

He was well aware of them, of course, as it was his own grandfather who was the previous carrier of this family curse. However, even in his worst nightmares, Alasdair could have never imagined that it is going to be him who is going to end up with the unfortunate pleasure of carrying on this weird family legacy.

The town was changing too. Alasdair could feel it down in his bones. Mostly in the way people acted - more and more often he noticed that strangers on the street looked at him with an odd spark in their eyes as if they were expecting something horrible to happen right that second. His workplace was becoming different too. This bar has always been a place of refuge for the locals, a place where they can come and forget about their issues for a while. Back in the days before the troubles, Al had to listen to patrons complain about their life, their jobs, and their families and significant others. Usual human stuff - who is one hundred percent happy with their life?

However these days, it was harder and harder to figure out what was bothering their patrons. It felt like they were all hiding something, that they were all drowning in secrets.

He was changing too. It was hard to meet new people when the first thing he had to be on the lookout for was the too-familiar fog of imminent death around his new acquaintances. He saw it everywhere he went almost every single day. Death was a permanent presence in the town now. Too many freak accidents. Too many unexplainable deaths. Too many secrets.

Just too much of everything.

Alasdair felt that he was slowly crumbling underneath the weight of it all. It was hard to deal with even for him - a person who always looked at the bright side of things, who always tried to make bad things seem better. Al was an optimist through and through, no matter what.

Until this curse that is.

Harper was the last straw. Seeing the fog of death around her, knowing that there was nothing he could do… It was too much. Al pushed through for her sake, he followed their plan and by some miracle or a freak accident of the universe, it worked. She was back, she was here. Alive, in his arms, shaken to the core, but alive. Alive. Alive.

Still, her death and subsequent resurrection were a step too far down the path he really didn’t want to follow. So, who is it going to be next? Who is going to be the next person engulfed in the cold and dark fog of death? His parents? Maybe another relative? One of his friends? That was the only thing he could think about now. Sooner or later, he’s bound to see another death creeping behind someone dear to him. The favour he had to use to bring Harper back was a one-time thing - the next time it happens (and Al was more than sure it will eventually), he is going to be completely powerless. No way to escape, no way to cheat fate now.

He decided that it was finally time to use all those vacation days the bar owner has been nagging him about. Alasdair knew that he was no good right now anyway - looking disheveled and feeling empty inside. No one wants a bartender who is too overwhelmed with his own issues to help others.

It was late when he heard that knock on his front door. It was dark in the living room - the only thing providing any light was a small table lamp with a lightbulb so old that it barely had any life in it left. Al couldn’t really tell how long he had been sitting in this semi-darkness completely lost in his own thoughts, drowning in imagining every horrible possibility awaiting him around the corner. A slight silhouette of his dog curled up next to him was the only real reminder that he was in fact not the only living thing left on this planet. From time to time Mars would look up at him, as usual perfectly sending his owner’s desperation and misery.

For a few moments, Al wrested with a desire not to open the door. He wasn’t excepting anyone and really, if you show up at someone’s door at night, you probably have bad news. Or you are bad news. Or both. Either way, as they say, nothing good comes after two, even if it wasn’t two am yet. It’s more about the principle.

And yet, Al couldn’t just pretend he wasn’t home. You can’t hide from the world forever, so he finally got up from the couch, stopping for a second to scratch behind his dog’s ear.

- Alright, let’s see how much trouble are we in now, - he signed quietly as Mars lifted his head of a soft couch cushion with curiosity in his dark eyes.

However, the person behind the door was not trouble. Not trouble at all, even the opposite - quite a good surprise.

- Fionn? - Al stared at his friend unblinkingly for a few long moments, completely lost and not knowing what to say. Fionn looked about the same as usual just with slight shadows of tiredness around his eyes. - What are you doing here, buddy? - finally, Al managed to get over the initial surprise and felt a smile starting to light up his face.

Taking a step forward, he wrapped his arms around his friend, feeling a nice feeling of warmth slowly spreading inside him. They haven’t seen each other in a while and Fionn was one of the few people Al actually missed since he moved back to Haven, one of those few people he felt bad about leaving behind. Of course, they still talked and Alasdair visited New York on a number of occasions since moving away, however that wasn’t nearly enough.

- Oh, sorry, come in, - he finally stepped back from the hug and inside his apartment, beckoning Fionn to follow him. Of course, he’s not going to turn him away. - Why didn't you tell me that you were coming over to visit? You could have called, - as he led his friend into his living room, turning on some extra light, he realized that his phone was been off for a couple of days. So maybe Fionn called and Al just missed it in his futile attempt to hide from the world. - Oh, this is Mars, - he pointed at a sleepy dog on his couch. Since Mars was a relatively new addition to his life, they haven’t had a chance to meet yet. - Don’t worry, he’s friendly and will sell his soul for a belly rub.

Some heads up about a visit would have been really nice. Looking around his living room Al realized that his apartment was not in the best state, just like its owner. He didn’t want to worry Fionn unnecessarily and he really didn’t want to drag anyone else into his situation right now either. For their own sake and his own peace of mind. He’s not gonna let anyone else suffer on his behalf.

- Oh, um, Harper is here, - there is an open suitcase by the window with her stuff, little traces of her presence everywhere. - Well, not right now, she went to Portland yesterday, but yeah… - Al had a tendency to ramble whenever he got flustered by something. - It's a long story really. So what are you doing here? - he tried to shift the focus of the conversation back to his friend. - Have you taken an interest in fishing since we last talked? There’s really not a lot more to Haven other than that. Fishing and quiet desperation of a small town slowly dying off. Please don’t tell me you are here for the latter.


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