The cabin’s roof has fallen, the debris still smokes in places. A pack of terribly disfigured humans sniff around the rubble, searching for survivors. Behind them, holding tight to their leashes, stands a red leather clad demon with almond eyes lined in white pencil. Gloria Gillory breathes in deeply, savoring the smell of destruction.

“He is a very slippery boy, no?” she says to a very tall and very bald man standing behind her taking notes.

His Leather coat is the same color but a different style; longer in the back and shorter in the front. His handle bar mustache, waxes and pristine, curls four times before ending in tiny points covered in diamonds. His chiseled face screams ex-gestapo, but the round framed multicolored sunglasses whispers beatnik bongos. His voice is Hungarian gravel, “Madam, what is it that we are looking for, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I do mind Endre, but I will tell you anyway. You see everywhere solace goes, he has the idiotic tendency to keep a journal. It is the peril of being a writer.” She holds up two finger, Endre quickly places a long cigarette between them and lights it for her. “If I can find such a wondrous clue, Byron will be most pleased.”

The pack of deformities all tug at the leashes in the same direction. Gloria smiles and releases them. They leap over each other and dig ferociously into the rubble. After a minute of digging the sound of tearing flesh and muffled screams seep into the air. Gloria Frowns and snaps her fingers at Endre, he walks into the fray with his gun held at the ready. The Deformities cower, moving away and revealing a Vandershnik Mercenary, still alive and half devoured. Without a second though Endre blasts a hole in the man’s head.

“He is no longer with us, madam.” Endre says walking back and wiping his gun off with a handkerchief.

“We should find the rest of the little mice and let my beauties have a feast.”



“Damn it, Billy.” The large door that used to separate the kitchen and the library in the Arrives manor, falls dangerously close to Edward McWrither’s feet.

“Sorry Ed, I guess I don’ know my own strength.” Billy McWrither, the youngest and biggest of the four brothers, picks up the half ton door and tosses it back towards the rubble he is digging though.

“Hey Ed, I know I’ve asked this here question a lot, but why don’t we get Billy here some help.” Carl McWrither asks taking a swig from his hip flask.

“Yes Edward, why don’t we get our little brother a bull douser of a woman who doesn’t mind doing a little pushing and grunting?” Timothy McWrither says, scribbling away in his notebook.

“I’ve told y’all before, it don’t sit right having to share any earning with the lot of you, why in the hot hell would I bring in someone else to make my share smaller?”

“You know, brother of mine, we could just kill the bastard after they do what we want them to.” Timothy says.

“No, no, no, we can’t do that,” Billy says shaking his head. “That would be dishonest, that would.”

“Retard, we’re criminals.” Carl yells.

“Carl you sad sack of shit, what did I tell you about calling him that. Brother or not, if you disrespect mama’s wishes again I will shoot your nuts off.” Edward pulls out his gun, but never lifts his hat from his eyes.

“That’s right Carl, mama said I’m not retarded.”

“Oh but you are little brother, Edward only meant mama did not want us calling you such a foul, albeit correct, word.”

“Albeit? Is that one of them fishy fish?”

“Holy Jesus on a cracker jack, how am I not supposed to call him retar…. the ‘R’ word if he acts like that?”

“Find a fucking way, alright.” Edward tilts his hat back, “why don’t you help him dig up one of those journals?”



The wind glides across the hospital’s acres of lawn, the oaks groan in cool relief. Patricia, in her summer skirt, walks calmly under a brilliant sun. She finds a lonely bench to sit to write. It has been days since she’s had the time and energy to relax.

In the distance she can see Andy and Penn walking hand in hand, she smiles. They have finally stopped hiding their relationship, forcing Cas to find another way to amuse himself. The bench creeks as a man in a dark suit sits next to her and begins to read from his book.

Patricia can’t help but notice how handsome he is. She discreetly lowers her sunglasses and scribbles a few words before risking a glance at him again. The man’s emerald eyes run across the pages of his book intently. Biting her lip, Patricia Crosses her legs, allowing a little bit of thigh peek out from under her skirt. The man turns the page without noticing a thing.

Patricia blows at a dangling strand of hair in disappointment. She scribbles in her journal for a few minutes before curiosity gets her and she peeks over at the man again, only to find his beautiful eyes looking at her. She drops her pen in surprise, when she reaches down to get it her skirt rises a little more then she would have liked. She sits bolt up and looks around nervously. She closes her eyes, almost wishing he’d just disappear. When she looks again he is still there, with a sweet smile of understanding.

“Hello, my name is Sabastian,” he says in a British ascent. “You are?”

“Patricia, I’d never have imagined meeting another Londoner around here. What part are you from?”

Sabastian smiles more widely and chuckles, “well as you said, London.”

“Right, I meant U.K. the first time, sorry. I’m Patricia… no I said that already, too.”

“Should we start over?”

“Hello, my name is Sebastian. I’m from London.” He smiles brightly at her and holds out a hand.

“Hello Sebastian from London, my name is Patricia also from London.” She shakes his hand.

“I feel like you are going to interview me for a position at the hospital.”

“Totally, I mean that’s why we’re here right?”

“Yeah,” his smile falters a little.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, of course you aren’t here for an interview. That was insensitive.”

“Don’t worry about it. So Patricia from London, is your patient doing alright?”

“My friend, he’s not getting any worse, and the doctors say that’s a good thing. What about yours?”

Sabastian smiles brightly again, and slips Solace’s journal in to his coat pocket. “He is doing better than I had imagined.”


One thought on “Leather, Brothers and Books.

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