Can’t Ever Go Home Again [open]

[Jonah]

Jonah stepped out of the woods and dusted some of the dirt and leaves from his shoulders. The city didn’t look the way it did when he had left, but that wasn’t a surprise. It had been a long time and it had changed. Hell, he had changed. And from what he was hearing, it didn’t sound like any of the changes had been for the better.

Life (or what he called a life) had gone to crap well before he’d left. Most all of his line had gone to sleep or shadows long before and the rest...either he faded or they did.

That was a lie, he knew he had. He had taken to hiding in the forge, avoiding everyone. Piecing bits of metal together as best he could. Only leaving to find more. He didn’t need to. He wasn’t the best at it. He wasn’t bad but he wasn’t great. He just needed something to do and the killing...the killing had gotten to be too much.

And then there wasn’t anyone there anymore.

And then he wasn’t there anymore.

And it wasn’t that bad.

He drew stares everywhere he went but it wasn’t like it used to be. In a world where strongmen has become superstars, he was an impressive specimen to be sure but not as outrageous as he used to be. And only rarely did he look as monstrous as he once did. And it was good, being away and just being...as normal as one could be.

But then it wasn’t.

It started...he wasn’t sure. But awhile back. Rumors passed between strangers at a nearby booth. A headline to an article that was finished at an article later in the paper. Then a news segment. And all of a sudden it wasn’t whispers anymore.

And for the first time in a long time, Jonah didn’t feel safe. And if he didn’t feel safe, he wondered who else didn’t feel safe. And from half a continent away, he felt a tug from a hammer he had left in the back room of a bookstore under some floorboards and a calling from a goddess he wasn’t sure he believed in anymore.

Jonah wasn’t angry he was looking at Harper Rock again. He wasn’t happy though. He was just...sad. Sad that it had come to this. Sad that all of this had happened to begin with. Sad that people were going to die again and again and again for all of this...mess.

But if it had to happen, “Might as well do my part,” he grunted to himself as he started walking the rest of the way into the city.

[Fleur]

Fleur stood at the edge of the wilderness, listening to a particularly vocal owl. In front of Fleur, back to the forest, Dorothy had her hands on her hips, eyes narrowed, lips in a thin line. If it weren't for the oozing head wound, Dorothy could have passed as a flesh-and-blood human, not a ghost. Fleur, bare feet planted in the grass, turned her head so her right ear faced the forest. She'd been standing there for an hour, emerging after sundown to walk the quiet streets. Fleur liked to stand at the edge of the forest and tempt the fae. Sometimes she thought she heard them, in the rustling of leaves and the trampling of grass. Dorothy hated when Fleur went anywhere near the wilderness, since Fleur had lost an arm to the monsters, not that Fleur minded. Her arm had come back, after all. Near the wilderness, she didn't have to worry about lights -- she hated lights, since they all seemed to hurt her. She blamed her aversion and the pain on her frequent trips to the shadow realm. She'd grown too accustomed to the darkness. Sometimes she felt as if she were nothing but darkness. Dorothy stomped a foot at her, so her eyes strayed from the trees, temporarily distracted from the owl's steady hoot.

"How much longer are we going to stand here, Flower?"

"You don't have to stay here, you know. I'm a big girl. You're a big girl."

Fleur sounded distracted, and she was. Her words were quiet, slightly muffled by the black cloth mask concealing the lower portion of her face. She'd decided on a pale pink tutu and a black crop top she'd found at a second-hand clothing store. Dorothy jumped when the owl sounded again and Fleur's lips twitched for a smile. Dorothy hated the dark, even though nothing could hurt her, except for banishment, and even then, she always returned, her soul seemingly interwoven with Fleur's. Gaze moving from Dorothy to the forest, Fleur placed a hand over her heart. At one time, she'd almost lost her heart, but she'd healed, as usual. Something told her to stand there, to listen to the owl. Her gut told her. Her spine told her. Dorothy liked to joke that Fleur was a hack psychic with a high percentage rate for failure. Fleur agreed. She'd only been correct a handful of times in eight years. Once was when she lost Rhys. Somewhere, she had the dead flowers as a reminder. People came and went, came and went, the only constant being the dead girl returning to her side.

"This place gives me the creeps. No one's out here, Flower. Trees, grass, an owl -- was that movement? Oh ****!"

"Language."

"It's the fae. Let's go, Fleur. Please," Dorothy begged, her hand repeatedly passing right through Fleur's. Fleur looked down at the young girl and then back to the forest. "What happens if it comes and gets you? You remember what happened the last time!"

"It's a cycle," Fleur whispered, thoughts breaking apart as she tried to speak. Dorothy looked absolutely exasperated and Fleur reached out to poke the girl's forehead, index and middle fingers passing right through. "We lose parts of ourselves and regain parts of ourselves. It's an endless cycle. Life. Death. Rebirth." Fleur knew her mind was slipping, so she hummed to herself and turned to go. "There's nothing here."

Fleur urged Dorothy to lead the way, so the girl took off running, leaving Fleur to bring up the rear. The city had become famous, for all of its disasters, for all of the undead. Vampires were being microchipped, and Fleur disliked that very much, because that meant trouble, trouble for her, trouble for others like her. She thought it was only a matter of time before someone she knew -- not personally, of course -- received the microchip, if not herself. She wasn't a fighter, had never been a fighter in her life, so she knew she wouldn't stand a chance. There was a war and it was all around her, the beginning of it occurring the moment the first vampire stepped through the rift. But Fleur couldn't blame them. If it weren't for her sire, she would have bled to death in the forest, another cold case among all the cold cases. As it was, she bore a hideous scar, mouth split open in a grin, the last gift her abusive ex had given her, and she would bear the mark for the rest of her existence.

She heard footsteps, so she slowed to a stop. Dorothy circled back to ask her why she'd stopped, but the girl's eyes widened and she pointed at something behind Fleur.

"Your hack psychic abilities were right!"

"This time, it's just dumb luck." Fleur turned and stared at the large man. Dorothy hid behind her, even though most people couldn't see ghosts. Dorothy hissed at her to say something. "It's a lovely night for a stroll, don't you think?"