Roadtrip of Denial: Swallow a drop of gravel and blacktop 'Cause the road tastes like wintergreen

[emptynight]

Darkness. The night was so ink-black and thick, he couldn’t see his hand in front of his face, much less the path in front of him. He stumbled, and the unseen rocks and jagged ice cut into his clothes and his skin. An icy wind blew and seeped into the growing rips in his clothes and his skin, a chill that lodged into his very bones, that seemed to grow until it obliterated the very memory of warmth. He couldn’t stop. Something was driving him onward, one painful step at a time. He shivered from the cold, and that only made him fall again, in the dark, into the ice and glass and rocks. His hands were cold, slick with icy slush and blood, but he still moved, on hands and knees until he could get his feet back under him, and then stumbling steps in the dark. Relentless. Always moving.

And suddenly there was light. Where there had been darkness and uncertainty there was now light. Light that illuminated his path, that showed him the world, a place of beauty and marble statues. He left behind jagged rocks for artful columns and tasteful drapery, a place of sunlight and warmth. The wounds on his hands and knees healed, flesh knit closed and warm water rinsed away traces of blood and ice. The drive to move, to always keep moving forward faded, and he found rest. Rest in this place of marble and ivory where there had been before only lost wandering. Warmth where there had been ice. Fulfillment where there had been hunger.

Hunger. Warmth. Something warm and soft at his feet. Thomas looked down, and instead of warm cloth and blankets, it was a woman, slim and lovely, her face frozen in a moment of utter bliss. Dark hair, smooth olive skin. A rosy flush in her cheeks. Wide dark eyes, empty and staring. The warm world around him seemed to change, or perhaps he did. Where there had been ivory and marble was now bleached bone, the lovely columns taking on a patina of decay, the air so warm and inviting a second ago now curling with the sickly sweet scent of rot.

The fall of another at his feet, a man this time. Sinewy and well-muscled. Dark hair and dusty chin. His eyes staring wide and empty at the ceiling, his face forever twisted into panting desire. Another. Red hair and a haughty face turned wanting and mindless with desire. Dead green eyes. Another and another and another. Blonde hair mingled with black, with strands of gold and shocking pink. Eyes staring, lips parted. Always staring. He tried to step backwards, but found himself surrounded. More and more and more. A neverending parade of them spread out at his feet.

Fear rose in his throat, black and bitter, as he fumbled, stepping over the tangled limbs. His legs caught on one and he fell into waiting arms. This one perhaps the worst. Pale smooth skin. Long silken hair the colour of chocolate. The curve of a throat that fit perfectly into his hand. Wide eyes that had held such strength and understanding now empty and frozen. Trembling lips that had parted for him a thousand times now fighting for a single last breath.

They were his. All his. All wanting and needing and walking to their deaths. The world of bleached bone mocked him in its cold austere beauty and terror. A cold wind whipped through him, carrying a whisper on the wind, telling him this was his, all his. All there would ever be…

*****

Thomas woke with a start, trembling as the tenacious tendrils of cold terror and sleep clung to him. He reached out instinctively for Alice, a familiar warm presence against his mind, but found nothing. The logical part of him sighed in relief, not wanting anyone to see him like this, shaking and terrified of unseen things. It wasn’t until he sat up, throwing the covers aside with every intention of making a cup of strong coffee, that Thomas noticed he wasn’t alone.

A young woman sat on the hotel room issue couch, slim and pale, with short dark hair, and her face buried in the hotel directory. “Lacci?” Thomas asked, rubbing his eyes with a hand.

At his voice, the young woman looked up, a smile on frozen raspberry lips. “Is that her name?” Maeve cooed, the short hair flowing back into cool glacial colours as she stood up. She managed to cross the small hotel room slowly, with unnaturally graceful, undulating steps despite the short distance, and stopped within arm’s reach of Thomas.

“What are you doing here?” he asked sharply, fingers tightening on the hotel bedspread as he forced himself to still, not to flinch away.

Maeve blinked, and her eyes shone with the colours of a winter sky. “You haven’t been sleeping well, my knight,” she said, conversationally, trailing a finger on the bedspread, following the curling design with a tracery of ice. “I only came to see if I could offer my services.”

Thomas’ eyes flickered between Maeve and the creeping ice on his bedspread, but he kept his voice calm despite the tension he couldn’t hide. “I’m not your knight, Lady Maeve,” he said, careful and firm. “I don’t think there’s any service you could render me.”

“Oh really now, Thomas Raith.” The way his name rolled off her tongue made something tingle between his shoulder blades, and Thomas tried hard not to think about it. “There are many services I think you would be interested in.” She smiled again. The gesture would have been warm and inviting if she hadn’t be so cold, her beauty and pull so obviously inhuman. “Dreamless sleep. Power. And end to your struggles. An end to fear. Even, if you wish it, to touch that girl again.” The last was spoken with almost casual indifference even as Maeve shifted again, hair growing long, pale as snow. Her eyes grew dark and knowing. A sweet smile curved on her lips, painful in how familiar it was, as she touched his hand with her fingertips, trailing a cool path up his arm.

Justine’s touch had always been warm. The dissonance made Thomas jerk away, moving to place himself between Maeve and the door. “I don’t think so. But I’m flattered by your consideration. I’ll send you my resume if I change my mind,” Thomas answered, his sarcasm’s effectiveness blunted by quaver of longing that escaped. His hand tightened on the door knob and he opened the door, gesturing to the hallway. “If you don’t mind, I’m expecting company. Dinner.”

Maeve laughed, melting back into herself, icy dreadlocks and frozen berry lips. “I adore resolute men,” she purred, brushing past Thomas with a whisper of snow. “It’s all the more satisfying when they accept.”

The breeze that whispered by smelled of pine and snow-covered mountaintops, and Maeve was gone. With slow, deliberate movements, Thomas closed the hotel room door and sat down on the couch, watching the bedspread, where the elaborate pattern of frost was beginning to melt.

((Tag Alice!))

Comments

[manicpixydream.livejournal.com]

"Don't make fun of the handicapped, it's totally gauche." Anything else Alice might have to say was swallowed by the kiss, and he didn't have to try very hard to make her squirm. It was always good, but this time everything was sharpened by a kind of desperation she didn't usually feel (or at least admit to) and that was better.

Touches that normally drew heated anticipation were something like torturous, and if she'd been a less patient and disciplined Alice she would have done a lot more than squirm, kissing him with bruising intensity, hips reaching for those damned tugging fingers just a little more eagerly than they would have otherwise. As it was she was sliding her free hand around his waistband, 'cause if there was one thing Alice could do in a cramped space it was undo a pair of jeans without looking.

Then the cab stopped without any warning at all and her head slammed into the front seat and there was a very, very irritated Alice.

"Um, safety much? I'm pretty sure I heard him tell you to take the long way." Her best glare was usually reserved for Edward, sometimes Jasper, and people who talked down to her because she was tiny, but this guy was so not getting a tip.

"You been back there ten minutes, only takes two. That was the long way. Fifteen bucks." Albuquerque was already on Alice's shitlist, just for this.

"Fine, here's your money, and when you get far enough away I'm going to figure out when you're gonna die and I'm so not warning you." She dug through her purse (http://pics.livejournal.com/manicpixydream/pic/0001282c) and tossed some bills at him before getting out. And yeah ok she may have stuck her tongue out for good measure but he completely deserved it.

"Hang on a second, this is a strip mall!"

"You said Burt's Tiki, lady. Have a great night."

[emptynight]

Climbing out of the cab before the cabbie could drive off into the dunes, Thomas couldn't help but laugh at the face Alice made at the driver as she tossed bills at him. "He's right, you know, the sign does say Burt's Tiki Lounge," he pointed out, snaking a hand around Alice's waist to rest at her hip.

He eyed the copious amount of neon and what little of the interior he could see through the windows. "Come on, there's a bar full of people to scandalize," he promised, heading for the entrance.

The line at the front moved quickly, and they were shuffled in along with the masses with in minutes. Thomas stared at the interior for a few speechless seconds, soaking in the brightly coloured lights and tacky plastic decor, before muttering to Alice. "Is this where good taste goes to die?"

[manicpixydream.livejournal.com]

Alice's mouth hung open in a seriously un-Alice way, but there were limits to the amount of stuff a person could stick to a wall and call it theme decor.

"Is this a bar or a garage sale? Oh my god Thomas, there's kitsch and then there's just- is that a bike?" It was. This was hysterical and tragic and like a million other things at once, and Alice would've laughed if she hadn't been interrupted by a waitress wearing a fake grass skirt and something like a tube top who looked like she'd been really super pretty about three drug habits ago.

"Booth or table?"

"Um, booth please I guess, and if you're-"

"Right over there booth minimum is one bottle plus two mixed drinks have a Tiki-tastic time." Wow, and so friendly, no wonder there was a line.

Alice pulled Thomas to the one booth still open, the rest of them filled with people who seemed to be having like the best time ever, so maybe it couldn't be too bad, plus none of them had Thomas. And she really wanted something fruity and slushy and drenched in alcohol, that sounded just about perfect. Then she saw the menu (http://burtstikilounge.com/images/6354_Burts_tiki_menu-3.gif). That's when she started laughing for real.

"Oh, hey, Thomas?" she managed to gasp out between giggles, "I think I hate Albuquerque."

[emptynight]

It was hard to decide what was more amusing, the sheer amount of random crap on the walls, or the way Alice was gaping at everything. "Give me your camera," Thomas demanded, reaching for Alice's purse as she pulled him into the open booth. "I need a photo of the look on your face."

And then he got a look at the menu. Only then did Thomas' jaw actually drop. Humping pigs. There were actual humping pigs on the menu. Alice's giggles were infectious and Thomas found himself chuckling along as he stared at the menu, and the drink names. "I think I agree with you one hundred percent there, Alice," he answered, laughing so hard he was leaning against her for support. "But you have to admit seeing this place for yourself is worth it."

Another waitress in a fake grass skirt, this one wearing a plastic coconut shell bra instead of a tube top, approached their table. "What can I get you?" she asked, managing to sound bored and demanding at the same time.

It took three tries for Thomas to swallow his laughter long enough to say anything. "Let me get that Scorpion Bowl thing. And that Flaming Volcano." He nudged Alice and tapped at the menu, unfortunately right on the mooning monkey, "Should I be ordering for you, or can you manage two words without laughing?"

That was pushing his luck. He dissolved back into helpless chuckles.

[manicpixydream.livejournal.com]

The waitress looked really unamused which fair enough, she had to work there, and coconut bras were just uncomfortable, but the whole thing was just so insanely bad Alice could hardly believe it existed, never mind stop laughing at it.

"I'll have a Chi Chi, whatever the hell that is." That was all she could get out before the waitress walked away, which was just fine cause Alice really couldn't stop giggling. The menu said it was hard to make, so at least it would be interesting, and if it sucked Thomas seemed to be ordering enough to get the entire place smashed so she could steal some of his.

Speaking of which it had been way too frustrating getting slammed out of that cab, and as soon as she could catch her breath and stop laughing so damned much, she slid her leg over his and licked his neck, not like anyone would notice in the din that was really shitty garage rock and raucous drink sloshing.

"You gotta admit I'm the best dressed one in here, not that that's hard, but there's something to be said for presentation right? Oh and don't lean backwards, I think you're gonna get clonked by a surfboard with a really badly drawn naked chick on it." Alice grinned and tugged at his shirt collar, cause damn if she wasn't going to ignore every single ugly piece of crap around her.

"Um sorry um you're not. You know. Thomas Raith or anything. Are you?" Alice froze, expecting a messenger or some faerie or worse (what would be worse?), but when she turned all she saw was a group of three really tanned, really blond women in the tightest, lowest-cut white t-shirts she'd ever seen, which was saying something. And their hair was feathered. And the tips were frosted.

"Is Albuquerque stuck in some other kind of time vortex I'm not familiar with?"

[emptynight]

The waitress arched an eyebrow, probably taking in Alice's size versus the amount of alcohol that was going to end up on their table. She then shrugged, as if the tip was worth more to her than worrying about someone else's potential alcohol poisoning. "It'll be out in a few minutes," she said, jotting down their order and moving off to another table.

There was only so much gaping anyone could do at the sheer amount of ugly crap on the wall, so when Alice slid her leg over his and started tugging at his collar, Thomas was only too happy to resume what had been interrupted in the cab. His hand was making its way up her skirt again when the blonde trio approached.

"Forget time vortexes. I think good taste just doesn't want to cross the desert," he muttered back. Undeterred, Thomas didn't move his hand, in fact moving steadily up Alice's leg as he regarded the group of women with a carefully blank look. "Thomas Raith?" he echoed blandly as his fingers slipped beneath the scrap of lace and cotton Alice was wearing. "Who's that?"

[manicpixydream.livejournal.com]

The eye rolling was well underway before Thomas answered. It figured, it just figured they could make it through a place like Vegas without getting recognized even one time, but pull up to a strip mall crap hole in New Mexico and it was all breathy heaving bosoms and are you Thomas Raiths and- oh he was not. Alice bit her lip. Hard. But they didn't seem to be moving so someone had to say something, even if it was going to come out about an octave higher than usual.

"Never heard of him, run along now, you don't wanna be late for the Barbie convention." Circa 1976 maybe holy god he was trying to make her scream right there in front of a squad of Farrahs. Lip biting it was.

"Just cause if you were Thomas Raith, you know from that show that you aren't on," said the Head Farrah, glaring at Alice and trying to look all sultry and breast-centric at Thomas, "we thought you might want to judge our wet t-shirt contest. It's for charity."

"How can a wet t-shirt contest be for cha-" No, lip biting it really had to be, 'cause if she made that sound again he would never let her forget it, or worse, he might stop.

[emptynight]

Shooting Alice a sidelong look that under normal circumstances would have gotten him smacked, Thomas smirked as innocently as he could manage and renewed his efforts, thumb teasing sensitive nerves as his fingers drove deeper, quicker. The way Alice was biting her lip and trying to glare at the Plastic Brigade only urged him on with a growing unrepentant smile.

Said plastic brigade, on the other hand, got a dull-eyed leer. Thomas hadn't noticed how tiring being on camera 24-7 was until this trip with Alice, when they slipped through places with blissful anonymity, and he wasn't about to give that up. Especially not for the Barbie Triplets and the Plastic Mounds of Olympus. "Don't know who you're talking about. Don't watch TV," he continued, letting one of the neighboring patrons' irritating twang creep into his voice. "Name's Ben. Just here to show my girl a good time."

The waitress came by with a large tray, setting two glasses the size of goldfish bowls in front of Thomas and a smaller one that smelled of coconut and pineapple in front of Alice. "But if she's alright with it, you can show me your titties."

[manicpixydream.livejournal.com]

Alice wouldn't have called it a good time right off, but it wasn't a bad one, even if she was about to make a complete spectacle of herself in public. It was Burt's Tiki Bar in the middle of nowhere she was going to be ever again if she could help it, plus there were worse things to be than feeling so much unbelievable heat and pleasure that you might not actually be able to stop yourself from screaming something.

That didn't mean she was going to cave - this was obviously a game and Alice was nothing if not a winner - so she was doing her damndest not to make a sound, not to writhe more than was totally justified above the table anyway, though if she was drawing blood where her hand was dug into Thomas' shoulder that was his fault and he could deal.

She was pretty sure they were going to get away with it too, when their drinks came. He didn't sound like anyone from New Mexico she'd ever heard, but he didn't sound like Thomas, either. The best way to maintain her composure, Alice figured, was to take a sip or, ok, a great big gulp of her drink, which was when Thomas decided give his act that genuine down-home spin. The great big gulp never made it past Alice's tongue.

So the wet t-shirt contest started a little early, so what? The Head Farrah looked totally appalled, dripping in frozen coconut pineapple whatever, and if Alice was laughing a lot longer and louder than most sane people ever did, she had an obvious excuse that had nothing to do with her hips jumping against Thomas' fingers.

[emptynight]

Any smug expression on Thomas' face as he felt Alice clenching against his fingers was wiped, no, washed away by the spray of frozen coconut pineapple vodka and whatever the hell else was in that drink. The look on Barbie One's face, like a drowned cat, only pushed Thomas over the edge and he cracked up, withdrawing his hand with one more teasing touch against slick, heated flesh.

Shooting Alice a thoroughly sinful look, Thomas swirled his fingers in the first mini-punchbowl (this one bright blue and full of who knows what and fruit) and licked them clean before turning his laughing attention back to the Barbie Brigade. The twang was hard to hear over the laugh, but Thomas was always one for being thorough in his disguises. "Looks like you're the winner, doll," he said, using the straw to take a bigger sip from the blue fish bowl.

Barbie One's shock was fading to anger, and Thomas continued, ogling shamelessly and laughing, "You'll have to find another drink to finish up with, 'cause these are ours."

[manicpixydream.livejournal.com]

The Head Farrah was so very not impressed, but at least she seemed convinced that this was not the droid they were looking for and that was something, cause they were turning on their really ugly heels and retreating, thank god.

Except then one of the lesser, secondary Farrahs got a lightbulb or something and raced back to their table grabbing Alice's drink and pouring it directly over her head, flipping her feathered hair and glancing back at the Head Farrah for the obvious approval this was going to win. But Alice just kept on laughing, really genuine laughter this time.

"Oh my god I have always wanted someone to throw a drink at me, it's only like a mark of honor or something, right? Come on Ben, you've gotta have had like hundreds thrown at you, yeah? God now I smell like suntan lotion, which, irony!" Her face scrunched with helpless giggling while she wrung out her hair into the glass, waving away the minion, who slunk off with a scowl that only totally proved Alice's point. Or something.

"Guess you're gonna have to share your drinks with me now," Alice said, taking a swig of the giant blue thing and grinning. "Don't think I'm not gonna pay you back for that, note I did not use the word revenge even once, cause I'm gracious like that."

She glanced over at the blonds, their leader frantically wiping sticky stuff off her t-shirt, and licked the teeny tiny bit of blood she'd drawn off her finger, looking as much like coy as you could after what had just gone down.. "I'm only totally honored you picked me over the obvious treasure trove awaiting you over there in bimboville."

[emptynight]

((Put the lime in the coconut and desquish it all up))