My spirit aches...

[the_marshal]

WHO| Wyatt and all the insomniacs.
WHAT| Avoiding sleep.
WHERE| The Lounge
WHEN| One night, so late one might call it early, before the crowning.
WARNINGS| Some talk of nightmares, but nothing too terrible.



Night time was the worst. While the sun was up, while he had people and things to distract him, he could push the bulk of his troubles to the back of his mind. But at night, once things had gone quiet and he was alone with nothing but the sound of his own thoughts, they would all come rushing back.

Alcohol helped - took off the edge - but there wasn't a drink strong enough to stop the nightmares. The images that haunted him once his eyes finally closed.

Faces taunting. Sometimes Dora, sometimes Neeshka. Howard. Max. Sometimes a combination. At once beautiful and terrible. Dead and alive. Screaming. Whispering. Blaming and crying. 'Why didn't you do more?' 'Why didn't you save us?'

Sometimes, trying to put sleep off, he would pace for hours, to and fro across the floor of his room. Others he would flee into the training room, throwing knives until his arm burned and his back was sore. Tonight...

Tonight, he sat in the Lounge, a cup of black coffee, steaming gently on the table beside him. His chair turned out so he could lean over a trash can. In one hand he held a lump of dark wood, vaguely familiar in size and shape. In the other, was a small dinner knife.

Painstakingly, he worked the latter against the former. The point digging and turning, putting the finishing touches on a pair of tiny eyes.

Comments

[iselldrugstothecommunity]

The voice seems to be just enough to push Howard from barely sleeping to barely awake. He jerks as he wakes up, realizes he's gasping in air like he's just sprinted a hundred meters. His clothes are slightly damp with sweat. He yelps before he's conscious enough to stop himself.

It takes him a moment to remember he's in the closet. That he hid here because Alpha was prowling around the suite. That this is the first sleep he's gotten in 48 hours.

Did someone say something to him? He finds his knife in his pocket and holds it.

"Is someone out there?"

[the_marshal]

Howard?

He frowned, brow furrowing in concern.

"Howard? That you in there?"

His hand slipped down to the knob, fingers curling around the metal. "It's Wyatt. Ya alright, son?"

[iselldrugstothecommunity]

Oh, thank God it's Wyatt. Wyatt who's seen him battered and bloody and scared and defeated before. That keeps the shame in Howard's chest from blossoming further than his neck.

There's a rummaging sound as Howard extracts himself from the confines of the vacuum cleaner and the uniform he was using as a blanket. There's a push on the other side and the door opens just enough for Howard to poke his head out.

"Hey. I was sleeping." Even though it's Wyatt, Howard's face still ends up flushing with embarrassment.

[the_marshal]

There was a moment's pause as he swallowed down the obvious response to that.

In a closet, son? Why?

He could hazard a guess even without the details.

"Can't imagine it's too comfortable in there." His eyes slipped sideways, probing past Howard into the dark of the closet, and then back. He was wise enough, understanding enough to ignore the way the boy colored. Instead he stepped back and nodded toward his table and the nearby couch. "Why don't ya come on out and sit with me for a spell."

[iselldrugstothecommunity]

"Well, you know. I'm pretty sure I put a kink in my back trying to navigate around a mop in there." He glances around the lounge before coming out entirely. He's fully clothed, but his jacket's on backwards as a makeshift blanket. He starts to unsheathe his arms from it.

For an instant, he remembers his dream, not the details but the feeling of Wyatt saying...something...to him. Something that terrified him. But the feeling passes.

A slight, shy smile creeps over his face at the invitation. It's gratitude, not that he'll say 'thank you' right now. He goes and takes a seat, looking at the shavings in the trash can. "What were you doing out here? You're drinking coffee."

And not alcohol.

[the_marshal]

"Workin'." He scratched idly at the back of his neck with his free hand as he followed Howard back to the table, smiling wryly. "The coffee's a might better for focusin'."

And it didn't make him sleepy.

He settled back into his chair, a boot on either side of the can, and turned the nearly finished buffalo toward Howard, it's slightly crossed-eyes leering above a gently crooked nose.

"Ain't much, but it's somethin' to do."

[iselldrugstothecommunity]

"I like coffee." Howard yawns, uses his communicator to send an order in for an Avox to bring him some too. He just woke up; he's allowed. He settles on the couch and squirms a bit to try and find a comfortable pose with his sweat-dampened t-shirt.

He looks at the little animal and grins. "It's cute." He reaches out a hand and rubs its lopsided nose. "You named it?"

[the_marshal]

His mouth twitched, head shaking gently. "No, no can't say as I have."

He smiled, a small flash of teeth as he leaned over the trash can, carving knife winking light from where his hands hung idly between his knees. "Why, ya have somethin' in mind?"

[iselldrugstothecommunity]

"Well, it's a buffalo, right?" Howard suddenly hopes really strongly that it isn't, like, some really amateur attempt at a dog or something else. All Howard's truly certain of is that it's supposed to be quadrapedal.

The Avox brings him coffee. Howard reaches to take it, but his hands are still shaking from the nightmare, so he waits.

"There's a TV show I watched when I was a kid with a character named Buffy. And she protected everyone by killing the things that would hurt them. It was her job to keep them from dying."

Like Wyatt. Howard still trusts that that's Wyatt's duty, one that's as immutable as being a Slayer was for the Buffster. You can take the sheriff out of the Wild West, but you can't take away his badge.

[the_marshal]

His throat worked, Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed.

He might not have known this Buffy person from Eve, but he understood the connection Howard was making and while there was a part of him that wasn't sure that qualified anymore,... another was deeply touched.

That part there, just beneath metal star resting against his chest.

"I think that's a fine name," he nodded, clearing his throat lightly as he took the carving up, rubbing his thumb along the nose. "Certainly one any buffalo could be proud of."

[iselldrugstothecommunity]

"Alright. Buffy the Grassland Slayer," Howard says, as if brushing past the touching moment, but his hands have stopped shaking. He sips from his coffee. "What are you going to do with her?"

And he stretches for a moment and rubs some sleep out of his eyes. "So, I decided, um. I don't think I'm going to run for the Cornucopia this next time."

[the_marshal]

"Hadn't given it much thought to be honest," he replied, shoulders moving a gentle shrug. "I ain't been doin' it with any particular reason in mind, ...just for somethin' to do mostly."

Looking up at the mention Cornucopia, his brow furrowed uncertainly. "Ya got a plan in mind?"

He hadn't given it much thought, himself, but suddenly he realized that he'd expected Howard to be there. On them working together again.

But maybe the boy had come up other plans. It'd be his right.

His thumb worked over the buffalo's hide thoughtfully.

[iselldrugstothecommunity]

Howard nods. "I been fixing radios and stuff like that to keep my mind off things. I get it. Way to keep your hands busy."

He licks his upper lip thoughtfully. "The Sponsors sent me four things last time, so odds are I'll at least get a knife next time even if I don't go to the bloodbath. So if there's high ground, I'll head for that. If there isn't, I'll head south. If there's no shadow to guide my way, or if it's noon and I can't tell directions, I'll just go in directly opposite the direction of the center of the Cornucopia from my pedestal."

He's telling Wyatt all this as an invitation. So you know where to find me.

[the_marshal]

High ground, south, opposite....

Wyatt repeated the words back to himself, memorizing the map Howard was clearly laying out for him. Howard speak, he assumed, for 'I want you to be there too.'

Mouth curling gently, he nodded in agreement. "That sounds like a good one."

And I'll be there, son.

Unless.... well.

Swallowing, he glanced down at newly christened Buffy in his hands, and then, on impulse, sensing the rightness of it, held it out.

[iselldrugstothecommunity]

Howard pauses for a moment, just looking at the offering. He's surprised, stunned. He feels his heart beat against his ribs like a cat in a box.

"For me?" He reaches out and takes it, holds it in both hands like a baby bird. It's still warm from Wyatt's hands, the hands that made it. Howard looks at it with a kind of reverence he hasn't shown anything in a long time.

[the_marshal]

Another nod, decisive, as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, blue eyes intent on Howard's face.

"Iffen ya want it, son," he said, empty hands slowly knitting together, his head tipping slightly. "Iffen I don't make it, I just want ya to know it wasn't 'cause I didn't want to."

/and end. in feels.

[iselldrugstothecommunity]

Howard closes his hands over it, trapping that warmth, trapping the smell of the sweat on Wyatt's palms, he thinks. And he stares back into those blue eyes.

"Promise is a promise, big guy." And he tucks the little buffalo into his jacket, in the pocket nearest his heart.