Ever since Nairn had dropped his little bomb about an offspring Ruth had done his best to avoid Megara at all costs. He’d come home late, leave early, avoid her invitations to tea for the Refectory and when she started looking, claimed to have a lead and promptly left without so much as a wave or usual witty, lewd remark. He couldn’t look her in the eye and lie that things were fine. Not with Nairn hovering over the trigger.
It was a shit show he dreaded to witness, cursing himself for growing too attached, hope kindled that two people could actually make this shit work. Nairn was an idiot, though Ruth couldn’t blame him either, faced with the same choice he’d have likely done the same in Nairn’s place. No-one had expected the kid to turn up, let alone be mentored by his own father all these years under their noses. But Meg hadn’t deserved to be lied to all these years and been abandoned till now either, having no malicious bone in her body.
Nice people didn’t get shit. Only further suffering.
He’d wandered into this village in a haze, head too busy swinging from scenario to scenario of the fallout. Anger, fits of rage weren’t the Stoner’s usual mo when things disrupted life or the boys did something she disapproved of. If Nairn landed him in the shit, Ruth was going to be pissed. It did neither of them any good if she was furious at both of them, how would they know what her plan was? His head pounded with the possibilities and lake of rest, insomnia had plagued him since he’d bumped the last of his stash with the fool. A few days past now. Ruth knew it was empty, even as he fumbled out the tin to check again. Fuck. Life really enjoyed fucking him sideways at every opportunity.
While he’d remembered to eat that morning, Ruth's stomach refused to abate its goal of a seafaring life. Waves of nausea caused him to seek some privacy on the outskirts to spew out his breakfast of rum and crackers, stomach immediately settling before the shakes overcame him.
It was a shit show he dreaded to witness, cursing himself for growing too attached, hope kindled that two people could actually make this shit work. Nairn was an idiot, though Ruth couldn’t blame him either, faced with the same choice he’d have likely done the same in Nairn’s place. No-one had expected the kid to turn up, let alone be mentored by his own father all these years under their noses. But Meg hadn’t deserved to be lied to all these years and been abandoned till now either, having no malicious bone in her body.
Nice people didn’t get shit. Only further suffering.
He’d wandered into this village in a haze, head too busy swinging from scenario to scenario of the fallout. Anger, fits of rage weren’t the Stoner’s usual mo when things disrupted life or the boys did something she disapproved of. If Nairn landed him in the shit, Ruth was going to be pissed. It did neither of them any good if she was furious at both of them, how would they know what her plan was? His head pounded with the possibilities and lake of rest, insomnia had plagued him since he’d bumped the last of his stash with the fool. A few days past now. Ruth knew it was empty, even as he fumbled out the tin to check again. Fuck. Life really enjoyed fucking him sideways at every opportunity.
While he’d remembered to eat that morning, Ruth's stomach refused to abate its goal of a seafaring life. Waves of nausea caused him to seek some privacy on the outskirts to spew out his breakfast of rum and crackers, stomach immediately settling before the shakes overcame him.
I’mma shove my staff up that Coterie fuck’s ass for this… ugh,he spat,
fuck me.
04-27-2024, 11:11 AM
