Holiest Days (March 2019)

J stared ahead as she quietly walked her way back towards home.

Salt. Paris. Cuppe. Ken. Bill.

The blood sloshed around in the iron bucket she carried, crashing against the remaining rotting tank hearts like tiny waves in a putrid sea. Her face was stern, her eyes shifting every so often in thought.

She'd watched from the edge of the morgue when Leo had made his way into town. Stopped every other step, shining eyes and smiling lips arched skyward to his sullen face. The Heartbeats nipping his heels like untrained pups.

She'd sneer if she felt it was worth the energy.

They knew when they opened the gates that there would be choice and divide. They knew that there'd be a silent war at hand between them. J knew that being who she is put her at chance of losing. She knew the social power that a Beaumont could hold, especially when the game is played on their field.

Fuck, she hated him.

J rolled the black diamond ring on her finger back and forth with her thumb and her pinky as her eyes landed on the morgue. She felt a calm wash over as she stepped into its power and dropped the bucket, ignoring it as slammed to the ground and sloshed blood everywhere. She dropped to her knees rather dramatically and fell to the filthy floor of the Morgue, sighing as her cheek found the cold ground. Her fingers ran over the floorboards, her ring glistening in the sunlight.

“I've never enjoyed holidays. You always enjoyed them enough for the both of us,” she said matter-of-factly.

Her ears ached for a whispered response, but to no avail.

Salt. Paris. Cuppe. Ken. Bill.

J shook her head a bit, trying to shake her thoughts away as if her mind were a filled etchisketch.

“I especially aren't fond 'a this one. You used ta bring me roses you grew yerself. You used ta make me that horrible grey mush fer dinner, one of the few things we can manage ta stomach, that I always hated but never failed ta eat. You used ta make the Courts play Sinatra and make me dance with ye, no matter how much I rolled ma eyes.”

J pulled herself halfway up, sitting cross-legged on the floor. Her fingers drifted to her ring again, slowly pulling it off and putting it back on as she stared out the door into the sunny field in front of her. Her eyes glazed over and she imagined her, dancing in the grass. J realized in that moment why she couldn't be around Holiday for very long. She looked so like her. Short, slender, a smile as bright as a lantern, no matter how Full Dead she was. J imagined her black hair falling past her shoulders, the way the sun would glisten off of her pale skin. How she always liked to be barefoot, no matter how much her brother chased her around to put shoes on.
J's sunny memory started to darken.

Her brother.

He started this. He knew why. He knew what had to be done. He knew and yet here they stand.

J stopped fiddling with the ring. She looked down and admired it for a moment more before pulling it off her finger, taking off the leather cord around her neck and slipping it back on. She tied a knot and placed it back over her head, close to her heart where it belonged.

Salt. Paris. Cuppe. Ken. Bill.

J stood up. She brushed off her cloak and stepped out of her dark getaway back into the sun and stared down the path, taking in the sounds of the Heartbeats playing and fighting before the end of trade.

She'd never felt the level of disrespect she'd felt today from the town. She'd never felt so many cold shoulders. Yet Leo had his finger curled under chins, cooing like they're purring cats. They remember he holds the land but they forget she holds life and rebirth. They forget that it's March soon. That it's supposed to be Tank Heart season.

Her eyes narrowed slightly as she watched them scurry around. Watched them laugh and play.

Salt. Paris. Cuppe. Ken. Bill.

“I love you. I'll always hold yer rituals and wants dear. I'll never shed blood or invoke vengeance on yer holiest days, but the after weeks...” She trailed off into the nothing.

The wind gust, cold and sharp, whipping her cloak around her. She rolled her eyes.

“You're dead, love. You don't get ta lecture me about rash decisions,” she said, turning away and heading back towards the morgue.

Salt. Paris. Cuppe. Ken. Bill.

J grabbed the bucket of tank hearts and walked to the edge of the forest. She sighed again as she dropped to her knees, gently set the bucket down, clasped her fingers together, and bowed her head.

“Lord Commander, give us the strength ta stand true in the face of our opposition. Give us the courage ta strike forth in yer glory. Give us the wisdom ta see our foes and why they war and the foes of all people so that we might smite them, the unjust, from this world, these things we ask in yer name.”

A shiver ran down J's back as she finished the prayer, and her fingers clasped tighter, her eyes shut harder.

“He whose light graces the land, grant me patience ta carry out my tasks. Grant me peace as the nights grow colder. Grant me yer love and guidance as vengeance drives me from yer light, into the dark abyss. Grant my wife all of the peace she'll allow. We both know she's likely driving ye up a wall. Be with me, be with her, as I am with both of you. Amen.”

Muscle memory kicked in, J lifted the cross on her cloak, planted a kiss on its cold metal frame and let it drop. She raised from her knees, and kicked over the bucket. Blood rushed from the mouth as the rotten hearts started tumbling down the hill. She stood as a statue for some time, admiring how they lay so beautifully in the dead leaves of the forest floor. She blinked as she saw a squirrel sniffing around the pile, walking quietly with its little paws. It found what its nose led it to, and J almost smiled as the furry tree rat started to dig in.

“Time ta get ta work, love.” She lifted her hood and adjusted her cloak before walking towards the zoo with almost a pep in her step.

December 2018

There was a fog rolling in. Never a pleasant sign around here. Never brought any thing good with it. Especially at this time of year. 
'Except her.'
J sighed as she opened her eyes. She shifted a little too hard against the tree she sat with, breaking off a few pieces of bark, making the only sound she could here. She looked over and ran her pale fingers across the scar she'd made on the tree. Her eyes glazed over as she remembered when her scars were once brushed against so softly. 
Her gaze shifted in front of her, to the morgue with the twisted shut mouth. 
"You didn't rumble fer me," she said to the ether.
"I understand your impatience and why you feel anger. I understand the idea of feeling betrayed. Must you be so selfish?"
A strong gust of wind tore through the clearing, ruffling leaves and branches, making the houses creak. J watched the world's jewelry whirl around her for a moment before receiving silence again. 
"That was dram-" she caught her words in her throat as she heard the distant sound of a zed.
Her brow furrowed, staring distastefully at the morgue. She stood, brushing off her cloak, and tracing the ground with her eyes for her weapon. Her two hander glistened in the moonlight, near calling for her hands. She lifted it so gently, and spoke again to the nothing. 
"I thought it was.. what they consider funny, being gifted a weapon called Nightbringer for accomplishing the means to restore light. But that's not how the world sees us, is it? Saints restore light. Saints are the good in the world. Saints are those who are so good, they name another at their end."
J looked into the forest, pinpointing where the poor creature was coming from. Her eyes softened when its shadow came into view. She put her hand in her pocket. Two things kept safe. A ring. A letter.
She touched the letter and thought of Amiir. Of his face, always heavy with his task. Of his words, and what they do. She looked to the morgue one last time. 
"If Saints are so damn good, then why do they have to die to manage?" 
She grabbed her Nightbringer and left towards the zed.
She heard her true name on the wind.

She knew it wasn't the wind.