Hold up these words, so holy and pure

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He rushed from the scene of crime like a mad man.

Correction--

Not like.

Jessie ducked out of the mess hall, having to navigate past many rooms, and many, many doors on his search for a space without a soul, and without light.

Perhaps that which turned the lights off here--- on those long, long hallways was the reality of the world being backwards, built in a way that remembered the past from decades ago, yet resolutely founded in some attempt of a tomorrow that sounded as real as the air we breathed in, as the ugly, and often hidden sun.

As--

But not all the hallways were dark.

In fact, were he wise he may have opted for those well-lit, strewn about with a number of uniformed cunts. They all had names. Titles. He was intended to remember them all.

He did.

Fuck them anyway.

Were he smart, however, as an idea suggested it’d be right to whisk off with his yield where everyone could notice his arms-- his arms, within which he clutched something that more and more appeared to be an object that did not belong; a result of theft, such should be revealed when he cradled it even harder, when this sudden, and yet invisible exit he had made from the busy evening mess hall introduced him down the very parts of the base indeed shrouded in darkness, indeed lined with doors on either side--

Indeed long, and dragging, appearing to wind on and on as if this build here had been intended to lose those uninitiated; as if the maze-like quality in here should be a hope of the architects to rein people back, a subtle, and psychological manner of achieving obedience by making this all but a trap.

Except to him it wasn’t a trap.

Except to him-- rushing wickedly, and yet without any stupid, and horrible noise, this was all liminal space; this was all home-- unhappy, and unwanted home as of several years ago, but still a home; one which he’d never write as So, rather make things tiny, and near invisible; a home that he disregarded for some warmth, that he claimed to have none thereof; that he disliked, and loathed and yet called his own, known through and through until these halls, eventually, and wherever he ducked between moments should face another reveal--

Of planning--

Of purpose.

Of having sat down at some point and thought this all through.

So that he could get away with taking from a superior.

When Jessie’s complicated, and long-winded journey purposefully lost him in the thinnest, narrowest, most hidden little nooks and crannies, or corridors of this place, still he didn’t stop; it was the evening, and his shoes hung down his chest, tapping softly against him as he scampered. He knew purpose. He had an aim. Evil, some would say, but maybe the only thing evil ‘bout him was how he would fight to get There.

There.

Until several minutes later, it couldn’t even be possible he’d been in the mess hall at all-- when he’d not been supposed to; when the higher ups had been enjoying dinner; when their meals, much kinder on account of the power they yielded, appeared to contain flavors and meats that never made it to the grub that the lowest rank shoved down.

When he took off with something that perhaps would get a cook, or two in trouble--

When he had planned doing that for days before:

When he had scouted--

Scoured and watched.

Attended primly and finely in every manner instances and interactions which familiarized him with escape routes, and utilized that which he was here for.

They had recovered him years ago.

He was meant to do things he already didn’t want to.

He would nineteen, soon.

And Christmas approached.

Jessie was alone, and silent when he finally managed to slip out the barracks, still a nelipot in his ceaseless skitter forward. Crossing the short distance to another building kept stocked up with supplies was only wise, mostly when he knew there to be several hiding spots in which to tuck himself, his purloined artifact warm.

As he did run-- and as he continued to, acting much like someone who'd never grow tired, he reminded himself he was so, so far away from any patrol, that he was behind, and between the buildings, that his only companion could be the buzzing of the bugs, occasional; or the glow of the moon, obvious; or the heartbeat--

His wild.

Wicked heartbeat as Jessie did come to a halt.

As he looked behind himself--

Saw the building off which he had taken something intended for strong, big men--

Well, fuck strong, big men.

Fuck them.

In the proverbial way.

And so he smiled-- cheeky, toothy, young--

Arrogant.

And then, ducking under a single oak tree planted in here, he crouched, sat, spread his legs out, still a true nelipot, and with sweat clinging to his face, as well as his form, he panted, and panted, still clutching desperately, victoriously his fucking yield.

A bottle of alcohol.

Looking up at the sky that he saw little of, fuck (do not) the tree crown, Jessie smiled.

Posted 05-03-2021, 01:01 PM This post was last modified: 05-03-2021, 01:08 PM by Jessie Michels

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Excuses, excuses, excuses.

Jacqueline had many as to why she was here at this hour and not where she was supposed to be. Where the rest where, the more rigid, more determined, more... more—

But she was- determination—she did not lack it.

In fact, she was brimming with it, because, well.

She was here, wasn’t she? And it took a special kind of adamant, of stubborn, of determined with a dash of reckless to be here, beyond the barracks. Outside. Where she knew patrols roamed, but- there was familiarity here, a sense of awareness and of comfort brought forth by the repetition of a pattern like the ticks of a clock or the movement of the sun, or... or—

Point is—and it was the only thing that truly mattered in the end—she knew they did not stray, knew they were predictable and thus able to be avoided. And that knowledge, it was enough to stir her to naught, much as naught was infrequent and fleeting like the birds that flew by once every blue moon, the back of her throat.

She could not bring herself to be a machine.

She was cradling her own victory token, a half-empty pack of cigarettes—the good kind. Not the stale, cheap ones. Those were not worth it- not worth the effort, the time, the metaphorical tears—and she was cradling one between her lips, testing the feeling even if she knew she’d actually have to light it to have the nicotine and the tar bleed into her mouth.

But much as she may have wished for privacy, for a moment that was just her own, for a memory that would only be hers and no one else’s, movement—fuck—would eventually wriggle in the corner of her eye, and though it was dark and she was far away from any patrol (she knew that, knew she hadn’t miscalculated), she also knew she was not delusional. And so it was only natural that she felt herself tense, with unease, with possessiveness, but the figure— they did not move any closer. Did not veer towards the warehouse where she was at, pressed against the eastern wall, like a bug. But she sunk low regardless, even if there were several yards between them.

She could not see who it was for the life of her—the angle was wrong, the oak tree obscured a more direct view—but she knew what she’d seen and though she didn’t know who, she knew they were there.

Likely unaware.

Hopefully unaware.

Jacqueline pondered her options.

Posted 05-04-2021, 03:41 AM

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It’d be his body that told him against staying in place; you’re young, you’re barefoot-- it’s winter.

But Jessie was uselessly stubborn; there was a time and place for that emotion; he existed right under the sole tree in here, beginning to clutch his yield with so much emotion, it could have been believed that had owned this bottle once before-- that he had grown up with it, he had aged daily staring up at it--

It meant something to him--

Or just the idea thereof did; a cool, glass surface; an untouched liquid; amber shaded, he had noticed.

His--

He could do so much with it--

Already, he was planning on how to drink it. When-- he didn’t remember once being drunk; surely, something like that stayed with you; but he’d sipped on alcohol before-- he had maybe licked it, he had hardly savored that flavor-- he had felt the burn. And only the burn.

Now, it was all his, and fearing it would fuck him up too much, fearing he could wake up late for training tomorrow come, Jessie clutched, and clutched, and tucked his feet under himself to protect them from the cold--

Until--

Movement.

It’d be his senses-- sharp, honed, and fully functioning that not just stirred him from the spot at the instant of him hearing the door behind him softly opening---

He actually rushed from the spot, a noiseless missile, a quiet pitter-patter of him the nelipot that concealed him at the warehouse before the person even reached the outside--

Against a wall--

East.

The door, eventually, of the barracks building would open to emit out some man-- a soldier, perhaps, who immediately turned around and after some rustling of his clothes, began to enjoy a guilty, and shameful leak.

But it wasn’t Jessie’s concern.

It was as he had reached the eastern wall that the very spot he stood on felt warm and-- he ducked low, and shot a panicked looked to his left.

He was not alone.

"What are you doing here?" he hissed in panic, still whispering, and looking at the silhouette of a person he could not see in detail-- yet was certainly eyeing up like he fucking did.

Posted 05-04-2021, 09:09 AM

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If humans could hiss, Jacqueline would be hissing like a cat cornered by a cur. It had been her hope that whoever was roaming, for reasons unknown, but likely similar to her own, would not take notice of her presence. That hope was quickly shattered however, and as the other navigated closer and hissed in her direction, she felt her muscles tensing.

shit.

But the voice was familiar, if only distantly, and she supposed as she listened to the receding steps of another (thank fuck they were receding and not nearing), that there was no real reason to play dumb and not acknowledge when she’d so clearly been spotted.

Shit for luck.

“I could ask you the same thing,” she returned in the same low whisper, defensive and feeling her body tingle with an anxious sort of energy reminiscent of electric currents.

Why couldn’t life be simple for once?

Posted 05-06-2021, 06:14 PM

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“Well then,” he began, and where he would consider himself smart normally, all his wits abandoned him; in a moment of stress, the only way he could finish his haughty, and hurried response was--

“Do!”

And he blushed as he reeled back; he looked away immediately.

He clutched his bottle with greater strength afterward, and pointedly looked to the side, pretending he was enormously invested in the location of that newcomer cunt; some soldier, as suspected before, enjoying a leak so long that Jessie was almost tempted to scream to him from his spot--

HEY, YOU GET THAT PROSTATE CHECKED, FOOL.

Instead, he just nervously fidgeted, this notion of a patience very much beginning to come apart and dissolve-- for a second after another passed, and then Jessie just looked to his side--

His left, yeah, once again at his compadre here, a woman whose voice he didn’t think he could distinguish well from his memory-- but somewhere in the back of his mind, he surely heard a voice--

You know her, you fucking know her, act!

The stream of urine was an uncomfortable constant over yonder when Jessie awkwardly focused on the woman beside himself, and in a tone clearly of a person learning the ropes of conversation, shyly asked her--

“So… so sup with you, huh, a rather… a rather long night. Yeah?"

Over yonder, indeed, that soldier farted.

Jessie pretended like he didn't grimace in stifled, shocked laugh.

Posted 05-06-2021, 06:22 PM This post was last modified: 05-06-2021, 06:22 PM by Jessie Michels

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The consistent sound of piss they had going on for background music pretty much summed up how Jacqueline imagined this interaction going, and as the other opened his mouth and a clearly, undeniably intelligent do! sailed from his lips, she was– she was pretty fucking sure that the sound of pissing was an awfully accurate descriptor.

Goddamn.

Though her attention mostly remained on him, she couldn’t help but mirror his movements after a point and glanced towards the general direction he was looking towards, the pissing sound still ongoing.

Impressive, genuinely.

This was no leak; the floodgates had opened.

But it was of no matter as conversation returned, this time laced with nerves, only... to be interrupted by- by... Jacqueline sucked in a breath. Brought a hand to her mouth. Bit her lip as her muscles tugged upwards to quirk her mouth into an involuntary expression.

She would not laugh.

God. She. Would not. Laugh.

Posted 05-06-2021, 06:41 PM This post was last modified: 05-06-2021, 06:45 PM by Jacqueline Sadowski

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And then-- she sucked in a breath.

Immediately, a number of things occurred to Jessie-- one, there was the realization that their unwanted third party over there, just merrily, and also unwittingly third-wheeling, had likely been holding back that piss for far too many hours, meaning this was likely a significant moment of relief to him--

Two:

Jessie grinned, dangerously.

He slanted the guy one last look, just one as the man, very, very obviously happy to be by himself, hummed something catchy under his breath, wiggling his arse about and giving another fart or so--

Honestly, Jessie could not blame him; the nonsense people did when committing their private business wasn’t often talked about (merry that), but happened to include every evidence of mortality, and nastiness--

And Jessie, looking back at his comrade here, shot her an evil grin before--

Shuffling softly, he balanced the bottle in his hold and then, leaning a bit towards her, he slipped a hand under his arm and--

Pfft, came the fart from his underarm, pfftttttttt and ttfffffffuuuppppp and everything else he just went very much town on, prompting the soldier over yonder to audibly startle-- his own final fart was no longer of relief, rather of shock, leading Jessie to stifle laughter, and turn away, hoping to keep his very 'sudden' and 'random' need to laugh out loud fucking subdued.

Posted 05-06-2021, 06:54 PM

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Jacqueline realized a few things in that moment:

One: whoever this was, they were not doing their bladder any favors.

Two: her current company had the maturity of an eleven-year-old.

Three: damn it. Just– fucking DAMN IT. She was laughing. Even if it was for the halfest of half seconds, she actually laughed. A shrill sort of sound, really, high-pitched and uncharacteristic and she couldn’t help but feel heat rise to her face as she stifled it, snuffed it out like a cigarette crushed with the heel of one’s shoe.

Fuck.

She shot her fellow rule-breaker a have you lost it?? kind of look, brows arching for emphasis.

Her body subconsciously tensed, ready to bolt the fuck outta here if need be.

Why couldn’t things be simple, God.

Posted 05-12-2021, 04:59 PM

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She laughed.

She laughed, and somehow Jessie had needed it.

Somehow, Jessie had wanted it.

Somehow, and he didn’t know how, he’d been in an acute need for something ephemeral, and vague, and eluding his need to voice it--

To pin it down but a victim of a crime and declare in delight: I know now, I do.

I have wanted you--

He had wanted her; her laugh, her need to stifle herself--

Her everything as Jessie S. Michels looked at her like there was nobody here; nobody.

Just her.

Just him--

--just that man over yonder delivering one final fart, before ducking back inside.

And Jessie, his focus temporarily disrupted by the sound, had to giggle somewhat, before enough seconds of silence had passed, and they had heard the door close that he trusted they were alone.

It was also when the adrenaline waned--

When he understood: fuck, cold feet, the literal pair--

And he giggled again, and began hopping on the spot in as little noise as possible in the need to keep his bare feet warm, while quipping to her, a conspiratorial whisper--

“So hi, I’m Jessue, wutcha dong do you want alcohol, I have alcohol, wanna drrrrrink baby?”

With that, he presented his loot in front of her-- indeed a gorgeous bottle of amber-shaded liquid.

Whiskey.

Posted 05-13-2021, 04:51 AM

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