Layla Dorine's Blog
January 16, 2024
Twisted Tuesday: When you're already in jail and they won't let you enjoy the cell
Bounty Hunter, psychic, snake shifter. Darian has all but been banished from his family for his visions, for his lineage, and for the way he lives his life. But when he meets Zaiden, he’s left wondering if his visions might be the least of his worries.
While searching for their missing sibling, Zaiden and his sister, Kaandhal come across the last pure-blooded psy-clairvoyant of their kind. Unfortunately for them, Darian has no idea what he truly is and isn’t much interested in learning or helping them locate their brother, Zxex.
A bounty hunter by trade, who’s been all but banished from his family due to his visions, Darian’s a bit cynical about his ability to be of any assistance, nevertheless, Zaiden brings him back to their home Rhumba, where Darian discovers that very little is what it seems.
With plots unfolding all around them and discoveries about his own heritage leaving Darian reeling, he is left with the choice of whether to embrace who and what he is or spend every moment with them as a prisoner on the fringes of their society.
Add in a pesky little bond that only seems to grow the more time he and Zaiden spend together, and several factions looking to gain possession of him and Darian is left wondering if his visions just might be the least of his troubles.
Serpent's Kiss can be found on Amazon here!
Or purchased directly through payhip.
So, talk about having nothing go right, Darian had already been 'persuaded' to leave home to visit the Snake's Rumba, now he's dealing with a jealous ex and a snake-lady who thinks he's the CEO of Visions-r-Us. Below you'll see what happens when she decides that kidnapping him from the dungeon is the best way to achieve her goals, but you'll have to read the rest of the story to see why he wound up locked in there in the first place.
The light had been on when Kaal left, which was a small mercy in that windowless tomb, but one of the servants turned it out after removing the remains of the dinner he didn’t eat, and Darian struggled to find it in the dark. Slowly, inch by inch, chains rattling, he ran his fingertips over the surface of the wall, trying not to feel desperate, but the darkness and the silence was panicking him just a little bit. He missed the view of the will-o-the wisps and the chains leaching his powers made him feel drugged. Funny, but where he used to look forward to that floaty feeling, at the moment, it was just reinforcing that he'd been locked in a cage.
He hated unfamiliar spaces, and this was made worse by being left in the dark. It left him feeling unsettled and desperate to map out the place with his fingertips, despite how exhausted he was. He kept at it though, until he grew tired of dragging the chain along and rested his head against the wall. Slow, steady breaths, he pushed away a little, turned, slid down the wall, wrapped his arms around his knees, the chain pressed against him.
It was cold, and he was shivering a little. Being isolated even for such a short period of time, already had him missing the sometimes tumultuous conversations with Zaiden and the silences, when they could just share a space and enjoy each other’s company. Icy pangs of sadness added to his discomfort, the thought of losing such a new, yet treasured friendship left him feeling lethargic and sad. There was little here to draw comfort from, so in desperation he turned to the past, memories of self-soothing in a dim and silent room. It had been a long time since he’d sung and his voice was rusty from disuse, still, as he gave himself over to the music he found himself dropping easily into his range, the song making him feel less alone. He sang himself to sleep, or nearly so, words slurry as he relaxed and closed his eyes.
“You have a very powerful voice, strong, rough, like a lover’s touch,” a voice hissed.
Darian blinked, having missed the sound of the door unlocking, he jerked when cool fingers touched his cheek. She seemed to be far more adept at seeing in the dark than he was. He suppose it was yet another drawback of him being a purebred. For all his powers and abilities, physically, he would always just be...less.
“It was very cruel of them to lock you in here,” she hissed softly. “You should be somewhere that you can be cherished.”
He scoffed at that. His voice bitter, acrid as he scooted away. “Yeah ‘cause someone really would without asking for something in return.”
“You’re too young to be so jaded,” she said, her voice soft as she scooted closer to him in the dark, crowding his space, her hands all over him. “Let me show you how well I can treat you.”
He felt her fingers on one of the manacles and he jerked the hand away. “Thanks, but I’d better stay here. I’ve caused enough trouble.”
“Some of us appreciate trouble, especially when it comes in such exquisite packaging.” Her finger slid down his neck, then back up again, into his hair, petting lightly. It was nothing like Zaiden’s touch and he found himself struggling to escape it.
“Now don't be like that, Darian,” she whispered, her tongue tracing his ear, making him cringe in revulsion. “Not when I've gone to so much trouble to arrange to get you out of here.”
“I’m sorry you came down here for nothing, but I can’t go anywhere. I have to stay here. Zaiden will be back soon and maybe he’ll listen to my side of what happened.”
She laughed then and continued to pet him, making him twist and buck, nearly tumbling her off of his lap where she'd perched herself. It had taken effort though and energy he didn't really have with the shackles sapping everything.
“Piss off, I'm tired. I just wanna sleep and wait for Zaiden,” he muttered, jerking his head when her fingers stroked along the edge of his jaw.
“Do you truly believe that he will oppose Kaal for you? He is far too loyal for that. Not to mention he idolizes his father. Kaal will order him to stay away from you and he will obey.”
“Maybe, but I’mma wait here and see for myself,” he said firmly.
“No...you are not,” she hissed, her tone having changed from coy and seductive to infuriated. Before Darian could wrest her hands off of him, she sunk her fangs into his neck with the force of a baseball bat and whatever she was rocking in those fangs wasn’t blissfully addictive or hypnotically enticing or even like liquid fire and lust, this was... Heat roiled in his belly, bile shot up his throat as he was flooded with hot, acrid nausea, gagging, he tried to push her away from him, but she wouldn’t budge until he’d slumped sideways and retched.
“Karim, come retrieve this disgusting thing,” she called haughtily as she moved away from him. He was grateful because the scent of her perfume had only been adding to the nausea. He heard heavy footsteps, felt the chain being yanked, then the manacle around his wrist and ankle were released and for a moment he tried to scramble to his feet, only to be yanked against a hard wall of muscle. He managed a few weak punches before a voice growled in his ear.
“Stop that, or I will ask my mistress to let me play with you when she is finished,” Karim instructed.
“Would rather play with you than your damned mistress,” Darian muttered as he was hoisted over Karim’s shoulder and carried from the room.
While searching for their missing sibling, Zaiden and his sister, Kaandhal come across the last pure-blooded psy-clairvoyant of their kind. Unfortunately for them, Darian has no idea what he truly is and isn’t much interested in learning or helping them locate their brother, Zxex.
A bounty hunter by trade, who’s been all but banished from his family due to his visions, Darian’s a bit cynical about his ability to be of any assistance, nevertheless, Zaiden brings him back to their home Rhumba, where Darian discovers that very little is what it seems.
With plots unfolding all around them and discoveries about his own heritage leaving Darian reeling, he is left with the choice of whether to embrace who and what he is or spend every moment with them as a prisoner on the fringes of their society.
Add in a pesky little bond that only seems to grow the more time he and Zaiden spend together, and several factions looking to gain possession of him and Darian is left wondering if his visions just might be the least of his troubles.
Serpent's Kiss can be found on Amazon here!
Or purchased directly through payhip.
So, talk about having nothing go right, Darian had already been 'persuaded' to leave home to visit the Snake's Rumba, now he's dealing with a jealous ex and a snake-lady who thinks he's the CEO of Visions-r-Us. Below you'll see what happens when she decides that kidnapping him from the dungeon is the best way to achieve her goals, but you'll have to read the rest of the story to see why he wound up locked in there in the first place.
The light had been on when Kaal left, which was a small mercy in that windowless tomb, but one of the servants turned it out after removing the remains of the dinner he didn’t eat, and Darian struggled to find it in the dark. Slowly, inch by inch, chains rattling, he ran his fingertips over the surface of the wall, trying not to feel desperate, but the darkness and the silence was panicking him just a little bit. He missed the view of the will-o-the wisps and the chains leaching his powers made him feel drugged. Funny, but where he used to look forward to that floaty feeling, at the moment, it was just reinforcing that he'd been locked in a cage.
He hated unfamiliar spaces, and this was made worse by being left in the dark. It left him feeling unsettled and desperate to map out the place with his fingertips, despite how exhausted he was. He kept at it though, until he grew tired of dragging the chain along and rested his head against the wall. Slow, steady breaths, he pushed away a little, turned, slid down the wall, wrapped his arms around his knees, the chain pressed against him.
It was cold, and he was shivering a little. Being isolated even for such a short period of time, already had him missing the sometimes tumultuous conversations with Zaiden and the silences, when they could just share a space and enjoy each other’s company. Icy pangs of sadness added to his discomfort, the thought of losing such a new, yet treasured friendship left him feeling lethargic and sad. There was little here to draw comfort from, so in desperation he turned to the past, memories of self-soothing in a dim and silent room. It had been a long time since he’d sung and his voice was rusty from disuse, still, as he gave himself over to the music he found himself dropping easily into his range, the song making him feel less alone. He sang himself to sleep, or nearly so, words slurry as he relaxed and closed his eyes.
“You have a very powerful voice, strong, rough, like a lover’s touch,” a voice hissed.
Darian blinked, having missed the sound of the door unlocking, he jerked when cool fingers touched his cheek. She seemed to be far more adept at seeing in the dark than he was. He suppose it was yet another drawback of him being a purebred. For all his powers and abilities, physically, he would always just be...less.
“It was very cruel of them to lock you in here,” she hissed softly. “You should be somewhere that you can be cherished.”
He scoffed at that. His voice bitter, acrid as he scooted away. “Yeah ‘cause someone really would without asking for something in return.”
“You’re too young to be so jaded,” she said, her voice soft as she scooted closer to him in the dark, crowding his space, her hands all over him. “Let me show you how well I can treat you.”
He felt her fingers on one of the manacles and he jerked the hand away. “Thanks, but I’d better stay here. I’ve caused enough trouble.”
“Some of us appreciate trouble, especially when it comes in such exquisite packaging.” Her finger slid down his neck, then back up again, into his hair, petting lightly. It was nothing like Zaiden’s touch and he found himself struggling to escape it.
“Now don't be like that, Darian,” she whispered, her tongue tracing his ear, making him cringe in revulsion. “Not when I've gone to so much trouble to arrange to get you out of here.”
“I’m sorry you came down here for nothing, but I can’t go anywhere. I have to stay here. Zaiden will be back soon and maybe he’ll listen to my side of what happened.”
She laughed then and continued to pet him, making him twist and buck, nearly tumbling her off of his lap where she'd perched herself. It had taken effort though and energy he didn't really have with the shackles sapping everything.
“Piss off, I'm tired. I just wanna sleep and wait for Zaiden,” he muttered, jerking his head when her fingers stroked along the edge of his jaw.
“Do you truly believe that he will oppose Kaal for you? He is far too loyal for that. Not to mention he idolizes his father. Kaal will order him to stay away from you and he will obey.”
“Maybe, but I’mma wait here and see for myself,” he said firmly.
“No...you are not,” she hissed, her tone having changed from coy and seductive to infuriated. Before Darian could wrest her hands off of him, she sunk her fangs into his neck with the force of a baseball bat and whatever she was rocking in those fangs wasn’t blissfully addictive or hypnotically enticing or even like liquid fire and lust, this was... Heat roiled in his belly, bile shot up his throat as he was flooded with hot, acrid nausea, gagging, he tried to push her away from him, but she wouldn’t budge until he’d slumped sideways and retched.
“Karim, come retrieve this disgusting thing,” she called haughtily as she moved away from him. He was grateful because the scent of her perfume had only been adding to the nausea. He heard heavy footsteps, felt the chain being yanked, then the manacle around his wrist and ankle were released and for a moment he tried to scramble to his feet, only to be yanked against a hard wall of muscle. He managed a few weak punches before a voice growled in his ear.
“Stop that, or I will ask my mistress to let me play with you when she is finished,” Karim instructed.
“Would rather play with you than your damned mistress,” Darian muttered as he was hoisted over Karim’s shoulder and carried from the room.
January 14, 2024
Restarting Again with a brand new WIP
Note: For those who have read A Daddy for Christmas: Ryu you know what gift basket exchange they're speaking of and for those who haven't, you can read all about it in A Daddy For Christmas: Ryu
“I’m sorry, Donovan, I know this is supposed to be your baby, but I’m telling you in no uncertain terms, do not allow Roan to take part in the gift basket exchange. He’s a fuckin’ brat.”
“Don’t worry, everyone who signed up pretty much said the same thing under their special instructions. No one wants to get saddled with him, well, almost no one. I’ve already told him that I’ve removed his name from the list.”
“Yeah, and how he’d take it?”
“Not like I expected,” Donovan admitted as he ran his fingers through his long, loose hair.
The ends were getting ragged, and the deep midnight hue was beginning to fade. He’d need to get it tended to just as soon as he remembered to set up an appointment. Across the table from him sat his longtime friend, and the owner of Velvet Illusions. He and Callahan had worked damned hard to make it one of the best kink clubs in the city and part of seeing to it that it stayed that way was making sure that every event and activity showcased their members in the best light. That meant problem boys, like Roan, wouldn’t be allowed to take part in anything until they’d learned how to act right.
“How so?” Cal asked, his hands steeple in front of him. He was tapping two fingers together to a beat only he could hear, a move some took for impatience.
Donovan had known him long enough to recognize it for what it was: restless energy. The man was a beast when he was demoing proper flogging techniques or any soft of impact play but force him to remain behind the desk and deal with day-to-day shit and he fiddled like a kid waiting on the last bell before summer vacation.
“Just, got all quiet and nodded when I asked if he understood why. Didn’t yell, didn’t stomp, just stared up at me with big, liquid eyes like he was about to start the waterworks, only none fell,” Donovan said. “I almost felt bad for him, until I remembered what he’d done to Kyle’s stuffie. I still haven’t been able to find one like it.”
“Why are you looking? Roan should be the one to replace it.”
“He should, but we both know he won’t, at least not anytime soon. Kyle shouldn’t have to wait for him to get his head out of his ass and admit what he did was wrong.”
“Has he at least admitted to doing it in the first place?”
“No. He still maintains his story about being nowhere near the room when the toy got wrecked.”
Cal shook his head, eyebrows crinkling together in a harsh frown. “Even after you mentioned the security feed?”
“Yup, told him we had the whole thing recorded, even offered to show it to him, he still won’t budge from his story.”
“You need to kick his ass out of here.”
“Bylaws say the most we can do is suspend him for two weeks, since technically, it’s a first offense.”
“Only we both know it isn’t.”
“Yeah, but we’ve got no proof of the bullshit Ricky accused him of. It’s one boy’s word against the others and if we start taking sides it sets a bad precedent.”
“I don’t need you to remind me of that, was my damned rule in the first place, though I’m regretting it right now. Just make sure he knows he’s out of here for good if he steps so much as a toe out of line from this point forward. No do-overs and no weaseling his way out of it. I don’t care how many tears he sheds.”
“I stressed that point to him, as well as the terms of his suspension,” Donovan said. “Hopefully he comes back after the holidays with a better attitude.”
“Somehow, I don’t see that happening. Out of curiosity, you said almost all of the Daddies commented about not wanting to be saddled with him, who didn’t?”
“Finn.”
“Go figure. I wouldn’t mind sending him packing either.”
“Except he’s too careful to break the rules. He might bend and stretch them a little, but he’s never stepped over the line.”
“Believe me when I say I’ve given some serious consideration to moving the line,” Callahan grumbled. “Though…”
Donovan watched him stroke his beard a slow smile lifting the corners of his lips. He knew that look. Cal was cooking something up in that devious mind of his, which left Donovan with a sudden prickle of unease.
“What would you think about matching them up?”
“Who? Finn and Roan. No way. That boy is rotten enough without a Daddy like Finn to make it worse. We’re supposed to be breaking him of his entitled behavior, not giving him to someone who’d feed into it.”
“Would he? Or would he teach Roan a lesson in how disposable he can be? Smack some humility in him, so to speak. We both know Finn wouldn’t hurt him, but he might help him see things in a different light.”
“I don’t know. I don’t think it would be good for Roan, not in the way you’re hoping. Could even push him into acting out worse than he already does,” Donovan said. He sighed heavily and rubbed the back of his neck, picturing those sad golden eyes when he’d told Roan about his suspension. “I’d take the boy on myself before I gave him to Finn.”
“Then why don’t you?”
“Huh?”
“Sounds to me like you’ve already given it some though. Why not make him your boy and teach him the right way to behave? At least that way he’s sure to learn something.”
“Wouldn’t making him mine be rewarding him for bad behavior?” Donovan asked. “We all know he’s acting out because he wants attention. Giving it to him just lets him think he can keep behaving any way he wants without any real consequences.”
“True, but we’ve also seen that not giving it to him isn’t helping either. He came here claiming that he wasn’t new to the scene and that he’d had a Daddy before he moved out here but that they’d broken up when he moved, only nothing in his behavior indicates that he’s ever had a Daddy before. I think he’s a new little and too afraid to admit it because he thinks it will make him look less desirable in everyone’s eyes. He doesn’t get that what makes him less desirable is his bravado, his lies, and the way he tries to bully the other littles.”
“Which is exactly why I haven’t offered to make him my boy. I don’t want a little that I can’t trust to play with the others. I’d never be able to take my eyes off him for fear that he might lash out if he didn’t get what he wanted.”
“Striking someone without consent is grounds for being disenrolled. If he’s tried to hurt someone…” Callahan began.
“He hasn’t, but after the way that toy was shredded, I can’t help but feel that things could progress that far,” Donovan admitted. “Which sucks because I’ve enjoyed every conversation I’ve had with him and could easily fall in love with the little shit if he wasn’t so damned determined to show off just how bratty he can be. Hell, if he’d just admit to what he did with the toy I could work with that, get to the root of why and see about correcting it, but I can’t even get him to give me that much.”
“And yet, you’re unwilling to give him to Finn.”
“Cal…that boy doesn’t deserve to be toyed with, which is all Finn ever seems to do with his boys. He treats them like they’re disposable, interchangeable even. That isn’t good for anyone, let alone someone whose already struggling with behavioral issues.”
“Sounds to me like you’ve made your choice then.”
“Excuse me?”
“He needs to be taught. He needs guidance and nurturing. No one else is willing to try with him besides you and Finn and we both know that Finn’s methods would be as far from nurturing as they can get, which just leaves you.”
“Wha…” Donovan stammered, realizing that somehow he’d walked into a very carefully laid trap. “You said not to let him take part in the event.”
“This has nothing to do with the event. I’ve seen the look on your face after you’ve finished talking to him. Your eyes still seek him out even after you’ve walked away. I know you’re curious about if he can play the guitar as good as he claims. Listening to the two of you talk music, it’s like you’re in your own little world, so use that connection. Build off it to get him to open up and be honest with you about what he needs so you can give it to him. If that doesn’t change the way he acts, then we’d be perfectly justified in washing our hands of him.”
“You make it sound so simple when you put it like that.”
“I’m under no illusions that it will be easy, but knowing you as long as I have, I also know easy isn’t your thing, unless you’re saying he’ll be too much of a challenge?”
“I’m sorry, Donovan, I know this is supposed to be your baby, but I’m telling you in no uncertain terms, do not allow Roan to take part in the gift basket exchange. He’s a fuckin’ brat.”
“Don’t worry, everyone who signed up pretty much said the same thing under their special instructions. No one wants to get saddled with him, well, almost no one. I’ve already told him that I’ve removed his name from the list.”
“Yeah, and how he’d take it?”
“Not like I expected,” Donovan admitted as he ran his fingers through his long, loose hair.
The ends were getting ragged, and the deep midnight hue was beginning to fade. He’d need to get it tended to just as soon as he remembered to set up an appointment. Across the table from him sat his longtime friend, and the owner of Velvet Illusions. He and Callahan had worked damned hard to make it one of the best kink clubs in the city and part of seeing to it that it stayed that way was making sure that every event and activity showcased their members in the best light. That meant problem boys, like Roan, wouldn’t be allowed to take part in anything until they’d learned how to act right.
“How so?” Cal asked, his hands steeple in front of him. He was tapping two fingers together to a beat only he could hear, a move some took for impatience.
Donovan had known him long enough to recognize it for what it was: restless energy. The man was a beast when he was demoing proper flogging techniques or any soft of impact play but force him to remain behind the desk and deal with day-to-day shit and he fiddled like a kid waiting on the last bell before summer vacation.
“Just, got all quiet and nodded when I asked if he understood why. Didn’t yell, didn’t stomp, just stared up at me with big, liquid eyes like he was about to start the waterworks, only none fell,” Donovan said. “I almost felt bad for him, until I remembered what he’d done to Kyle’s stuffie. I still haven’t been able to find one like it.”
“Why are you looking? Roan should be the one to replace it.”
“He should, but we both know he won’t, at least not anytime soon. Kyle shouldn’t have to wait for him to get his head out of his ass and admit what he did was wrong.”
“Has he at least admitted to doing it in the first place?”
“No. He still maintains his story about being nowhere near the room when the toy got wrecked.”
Cal shook his head, eyebrows crinkling together in a harsh frown. “Even after you mentioned the security feed?”
“Yup, told him we had the whole thing recorded, even offered to show it to him, he still won’t budge from his story.”
“You need to kick his ass out of here.”
“Bylaws say the most we can do is suspend him for two weeks, since technically, it’s a first offense.”
“Only we both know it isn’t.”
“Yeah, but we’ve got no proof of the bullshit Ricky accused him of. It’s one boy’s word against the others and if we start taking sides it sets a bad precedent.”
“I don’t need you to remind me of that, was my damned rule in the first place, though I’m regretting it right now. Just make sure he knows he’s out of here for good if he steps so much as a toe out of line from this point forward. No do-overs and no weaseling his way out of it. I don’t care how many tears he sheds.”
“I stressed that point to him, as well as the terms of his suspension,” Donovan said. “Hopefully he comes back after the holidays with a better attitude.”
“Somehow, I don’t see that happening. Out of curiosity, you said almost all of the Daddies commented about not wanting to be saddled with him, who didn’t?”
“Finn.”
“Go figure. I wouldn’t mind sending him packing either.”
“Except he’s too careful to break the rules. He might bend and stretch them a little, but he’s never stepped over the line.”
“Believe me when I say I’ve given some serious consideration to moving the line,” Callahan grumbled. “Though…”
Donovan watched him stroke his beard a slow smile lifting the corners of his lips. He knew that look. Cal was cooking something up in that devious mind of his, which left Donovan with a sudden prickle of unease.
“What would you think about matching them up?”
“Who? Finn and Roan. No way. That boy is rotten enough without a Daddy like Finn to make it worse. We’re supposed to be breaking him of his entitled behavior, not giving him to someone who’d feed into it.”
“Would he? Or would he teach Roan a lesson in how disposable he can be? Smack some humility in him, so to speak. We both know Finn wouldn’t hurt him, but he might help him see things in a different light.”
“I don’t know. I don’t think it would be good for Roan, not in the way you’re hoping. Could even push him into acting out worse than he already does,” Donovan said. He sighed heavily and rubbed the back of his neck, picturing those sad golden eyes when he’d told Roan about his suspension. “I’d take the boy on myself before I gave him to Finn.”
“Then why don’t you?”
“Huh?”
“Sounds to me like you’ve already given it some though. Why not make him your boy and teach him the right way to behave? At least that way he’s sure to learn something.”
“Wouldn’t making him mine be rewarding him for bad behavior?” Donovan asked. “We all know he’s acting out because he wants attention. Giving it to him just lets him think he can keep behaving any way he wants without any real consequences.”
“True, but we’ve also seen that not giving it to him isn’t helping either. He came here claiming that he wasn’t new to the scene and that he’d had a Daddy before he moved out here but that they’d broken up when he moved, only nothing in his behavior indicates that he’s ever had a Daddy before. I think he’s a new little and too afraid to admit it because he thinks it will make him look less desirable in everyone’s eyes. He doesn’t get that what makes him less desirable is his bravado, his lies, and the way he tries to bully the other littles.”
“Which is exactly why I haven’t offered to make him my boy. I don’t want a little that I can’t trust to play with the others. I’d never be able to take my eyes off him for fear that he might lash out if he didn’t get what he wanted.”
“Striking someone without consent is grounds for being disenrolled. If he’s tried to hurt someone…” Callahan began.
“He hasn’t, but after the way that toy was shredded, I can’t help but feel that things could progress that far,” Donovan admitted. “Which sucks because I’ve enjoyed every conversation I’ve had with him and could easily fall in love with the little shit if he wasn’t so damned determined to show off just how bratty he can be. Hell, if he’d just admit to what he did with the toy I could work with that, get to the root of why and see about correcting it, but I can’t even get him to give me that much.”
“And yet, you’re unwilling to give him to Finn.”
“Cal…that boy doesn’t deserve to be toyed with, which is all Finn ever seems to do with his boys. He treats them like they’re disposable, interchangeable even. That isn’t good for anyone, let alone someone whose already struggling with behavioral issues.”
“Sounds to me like you’ve made your choice then.”
“Excuse me?”
“He needs to be taught. He needs guidance and nurturing. No one else is willing to try with him besides you and Finn and we both know that Finn’s methods would be as far from nurturing as they can get, which just leaves you.”
“Wha…” Donovan stammered, realizing that somehow he’d walked into a very carefully laid trap. “You said not to let him take part in the event.”
“This has nothing to do with the event. I’ve seen the look on your face after you’ve finished talking to him. Your eyes still seek him out even after you’ve walked away. I know you’re curious about if he can play the guitar as good as he claims. Listening to the two of you talk music, it’s like you’re in your own little world, so use that connection. Build off it to get him to open up and be honest with you about what he needs so you can give it to him. If that doesn’t change the way he acts, then we’d be perfectly justified in washing our hands of him.”
“You make it sound so simple when you put it like that.”
“I’m under no illusions that it will be easy, but knowing you as long as I have, I also know easy isn’t your thing, unless you’re saying he’ll be too much of a challenge?”
July 18, 2022
Hitting the reset button
I haven't posted anything on this blog in years, but I'd like to change that moving forward. I hope to share little snippets and other things a couple of times a week, along with any signings and sales I might have going on. For now, I'll share a bookbub link, come find me there to see what's next in my rocker, biker and shifter series.
https://www.bookbub.com/authors/layla...
https://www.bookbub.com/authors/layla...
November 3, 2017
In The Span of a Traffic Light
In the Span of a Traffic Light
(Just a bit of Flash Fiction for Flash Fiction Friday)
I saw you at the corner of 8th and vine. You were barefoot and dancing, wearing a flower and singing “Lips of an Angel.” You’re long, silken curls shimmered a warm chestnut in the waning Autumn sun. I wanted to hear you better, so I ignored the light, stared, listened as you through you head back to hit the high note. Your eyes were electric blue when you opened them again, so stunning I could hardly breathe when you locked on mine. You smiled, hips swaying as you moved to a beat only you could hear. I’ll never be able to listen to that song again without thinking of you.
You twirled and I saw butterfly wings tattooed across your shoulders, the pattern flowing down the backs of your arms and I could almost picture you flying, flitting from flower to flower though none could ever be as beautiful as you.
Someone honked, shattering the moment, and I froze, torn between moving and staying put, even as they honked again.
“Honey why you callin’ me, so late?” you sang, in a voice so sweet it was almost mocking. I’d love to call you.
“Can I have your number?” My words drowned out by the honking horn. I turned, started to wave them past, when I saw the cop car turning towards us. Last thing I needed was him putting his flashers on. With regret, I took my foot off the break as the final notes of your song faded away.
You licked twilight purple lips as I drove past, launched into another song, a few notes trailing after me like a haunting requiem.
“How I wish, how wish you were here….”
Yeah baby, I wish I was too, I thought, as I drove away.
(Just a bit of Flash Fiction for Flash Fiction Friday)
I saw you at the corner of 8th and vine. You were barefoot and dancing, wearing a flower and singing “Lips of an Angel.” You’re long, silken curls shimmered a warm chestnut in the waning Autumn sun. I wanted to hear you better, so I ignored the light, stared, listened as you through you head back to hit the high note. Your eyes were electric blue when you opened them again, so stunning I could hardly breathe when you locked on mine. You smiled, hips swaying as you moved to a beat only you could hear. I’ll never be able to listen to that song again without thinking of you.
You twirled and I saw butterfly wings tattooed across your shoulders, the pattern flowing down the backs of your arms and I could almost picture you flying, flitting from flower to flower though none could ever be as beautiful as you.
Someone honked, shattering the moment, and I froze, torn between moving and staying put, even as they honked again.
“Honey why you callin’ me, so late?” you sang, in a voice so sweet it was almost mocking. I’d love to call you.
“Can I have your number?” My words drowned out by the honking horn. I turned, started to wave them past, when I saw the cop car turning towards us. Last thing I needed was him putting his flashers on. With regret, I took my foot off the break as the final notes of your song faded away.
You licked twilight purple lips as I drove past, launched into another song, a few notes trailing after me like a haunting requiem.
“How I wish, how wish you were here….”
Yeah baby, I wish I was too, I thought, as I drove away.
June 21, 2017
Wednesday Writing Workshop
I'm back with another Wednesday Workshop! I'm hoping to make this a weekly post, barring anymore unforeseen misadventures.
This writing exercise is from an erotic writing workshop I've been working my way through. The exercise for the week was a dialogue exercise, where the characters had to get one another revved up from a distance.
“This was a stupid idea, next time I’m coming with you,” Talon grumbled.
Flint could tell he was pacing, likely on the porch if the creek of wood was any indication. He kept meaning to fix the loose boards and Talon kept finding ways to distract him every time he headed out there with the hammer and jar of nails.
“I never pictured you as the bored housewife waiting for me to come home.”
Snorting, Talon grumbled into the phone. “Think you’re funny huh, when you get back here we should see just how funny you are draped over my knee with my hand warming your ass.”
Flint whined, then glared at the trio of women who looked over at him and openly stared.
“Fuck, don’t say shit like that when I’m out in public,”
Talon’s chuckle, deep, low and rumbling made him shiver, and he had to take a deep breath and let it out slow.
“maybe you’ll be more careful with your comments next time.”
“You don’t play fair.”
“Never said I did.”
That chuckle again, it was making Flint’s inside’s melt. Pressing the phone to his ear, he unscrewed the cap on his soda and took a long, slow drink, hoping it would cool him off.
“Were you able to get the radio equiptment yet?”
“Yeah, but I have to wait until Friday to take the class and get certified.”
“Dammit.”
Flint grinned at the positively frustrated and annoyed tone that rumbled through the phone.
“Maybe you could fix those loose boards while I’m gone, and chop some more firewood, then go stand over the falls and let all that cold water cool you off least you go up in flames waiting for me to get home and suck you ‘til you beg to fuck me raw.”
The only response was a choking sound, followed by loud, forceful coughing, and Flint had to laugh at the way Talon sputtered and wheezed.
“Son of a bitch, you keep it up and I’m going to need a new phone at this rate. The fuck’s wrong with you. I’m hard as fuck over here now thanks to you.”
“Consider it payback,” Flint chuckled. “how do you think I feel right now trying to talk down the fuckin’ street with my cock swollen against my zipper. Shit hurts man.”
“Too bad you’re not back at the hotel, so I could tell you exactly what you should do with that, and that fat orange toy I know you took with you.”
“What?” Flint squeeked. “How….”
“I went looking for it last night and found it gone.”
“Damn.”
“Yeah, and what were you gonna do with it?”
“Pretend it was you.”
“Shit…” Flint groaned, walking smack into a light post. It was so unexpected his phone fell, clattering on the ground. Flint shook his head and reached for the phone, brushing some grit away, grateful it hadn’t cracked. All he could hear coming through it was laughter when he placed it back to his ear.
“You suck,” he grumbled.
“Anything for you, babe.”
“Uggg, I’m ending this call now, Talon, before I walk into a bus or something.”
“Yeah, okay, but call me tonight if you can. Its way too quiet up here. I didn’t think it would be so bad.”
“Call me if you need to, doesn’t matter what time, okay. I’ll be on the road as soon as the class is over.”
“Good. Miss you.”
“Miss you too.”
“Bye Tal.”
Hanging up, Flint shoved the phone back in his pocket and finished his drink. It wasn’t easy being apart, especially at night when the endless sounds of the city made it next to impossible to sleep. He missed the silence, he missed Talon, and he missed the hot, burning exploration of one another that had gradually come to consume a good chunk of each day. His phone beeped, and he frowned as he pulled it out again. One missed call, now who…
Chase’s name and number popped up and Flint froze. Now that was certainly unexpected.
This writing exercise is from an erotic writing workshop I've been working my way through. The exercise for the week was a dialogue exercise, where the characters had to get one another revved up from a distance.
“This was a stupid idea, next time I’m coming with you,” Talon grumbled.
Flint could tell he was pacing, likely on the porch if the creek of wood was any indication. He kept meaning to fix the loose boards and Talon kept finding ways to distract him every time he headed out there with the hammer and jar of nails.
“I never pictured you as the bored housewife waiting for me to come home.”
Snorting, Talon grumbled into the phone. “Think you’re funny huh, when you get back here we should see just how funny you are draped over my knee with my hand warming your ass.”
Flint whined, then glared at the trio of women who looked over at him and openly stared.
“Fuck, don’t say shit like that when I’m out in public,”
Talon’s chuckle, deep, low and rumbling made him shiver, and he had to take a deep breath and let it out slow.
“maybe you’ll be more careful with your comments next time.”
“You don’t play fair.”
“Never said I did.”
That chuckle again, it was making Flint’s inside’s melt. Pressing the phone to his ear, he unscrewed the cap on his soda and took a long, slow drink, hoping it would cool him off.
“Were you able to get the radio equiptment yet?”
“Yeah, but I have to wait until Friday to take the class and get certified.”
“Dammit.”
Flint grinned at the positively frustrated and annoyed tone that rumbled through the phone.
“Maybe you could fix those loose boards while I’m gone, and chop some more firewood, then go stand over the falls and let all that cold water cool you off least you go up in flames waiting for me to get home and suck you ‘til you beg to fuck me raw.”
The only response was a choking sound, followed by loud, forceful coughing, and Flint had to laugh at the way Talon sputtered and wheezed.
“Son of a bitch, you keep it up and I’m going to need a new phone at this rate. The fuck’s wrong with you. I’m hard as fuck over here now thanks to you.”
“Consider it payback,” Flint chuckled. “how do you think I feel right now trying to talk down the fuckin’ street with my cock swollen against my zipper. Shit hurts man.”
“Too bad you’re not back at the hotel, so I could tell you exactly what you should do with that, and that fat orange toy I know you took with you.”
“What?” Flint squeeked. “How….”
“I went looking for it last night and found it gone.”
“Damn.”
“Yeah, and what were you gonna do with it?”
“Pretend it was you.”
“Shit…” Flint groaned, walking smack into a light post. It was so unexpected his phone fell, clattering on the ground. Flint shook his head and reached for the phone, brushing some grit away, grateful it hadn’t cracked. All he could hear coming through it was laughter when he placed it back to his ear.
“You suck,” he grumbled.
“Anything for you, babe.”
“Uggg, I’m ending this call now, Talon, before I walk into a bus or something.”
“Yeah, okay, but call me tonight if you can. Its way too quiet up here. I didn’t think it would be so bad.”
“Call me if you need to, doesn’t matter what time, okay. I’ll be on the road as soon as the class is over.”
“Good. Miss you.”
“Miss you too.”
“Bye Tal.”
Hanging up, Flint shoved the phone back in his pocket and finished his drink. It wasn’t easy being apart, especially at night when the endless sounds of the city made it next to impossible to sleep. He missed the silence, he missed Talon, and he missed the hot, burning exploration of one another that had gradually come to consume a good chunk of each day. His phone beeped, and he frowned as he pulled it out again. One missed call, now who…
Chase’s name and number popped up and Flint froze. Now that was certainly unexpected.
June 19, 2017
Monday Mini (Parts 1-4)
On my blog, Rainbow Lyrics and Mellow Mushrooms, I've been posting a short story about a super hero who is just trying to get his grocery shopping done. Tonight was the the final installment, and as I have plans to start making my blog posts here as well as on Tumblr, I decided to kick things off by posting all four parts tonight.
Lactose Intolerant
Layla Dorine
Groaning in despair, Devlin closed the cupboard door and glared across the room in the direction of the refrigerator. His stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn't eaten yet this morning, which with his enhanced metabolism meant that he'd start feeling the effects sooner rather than later. Hoping against hope that there was actually something edible inside the chrome appliance, Devlin yanked open the door and blinked at the brightness of the light that greeted him. The top shelf was pretty pathetic, empty save for the crusty bottle of mustard shoved to the back and an egg carton that upon closer inspection revealed one lone, solitary egg.
Still, if he had cheese to go with it, he could make a sandwich, thanks to those two end pieces of bread in plastic on the counter. Unfortunately, the cheese was dotted with a spectacular shade of green mold, and his search for bacon or sausage proved fruitless. His efforts did produce three ketchup packets, a bottle of soy sauce with about an inch of dark brown liquid in the bottom, some limp, wilted and slightly slimy lettuce, a tablespoon of butter half smooshed to the wrapper, and an overturned carton from the Chinese place down the street. It was leaking something that smelled like rotten garlic. Wrinkling his nose, he pinched the metal handle between his thumb and forefinger and quickly threw it away, along with the rotting lettuce, washing his hands when he was done.
He returned the refrigerator with a soapy sponge and quickly cleaned up the mess, splattering droplets on the note he'd left himself, he wasn't sure when. It simply read "Buy milk, dammit, cereal with tang is getting disgusting and P.S. We're almost out of tang."
Must have been written a few days before, seeing as how they were now officially out of tang and had the last bowl of cereal with water the day before. By them, of course, he meant himself and his perfectly conjoined twin, two halves that shared one merged body so well that it was only their hair and eyes that were a giveaway of their unique condition. Sometimes he wondered if it might not be easier to just dye the lighter half darker and wear a contact, but it went against his nature, and since Naill wasn’t about to lighten his side or conceal his own eye color, they just left them alone and let people think whatever they wished. Which generally meant that they got mistaken for goth or punk or some other practitioner of an alternate lifestyle.
Sighing, he closed the door and scrubbed a hand down over his face. This is what they got for allowing themselves to get so busy fighting crime and attempting to help people who shied away from them in the light of day. At least at night, hidden beneath a mask and hood, their oddities went unnoticed, folks were generally too busy trying to figure out why some super maneuverable vigilante had appeared to save them.
His stomach rumbled again, and he was forced to listen to Naill curse at the thought of yet another fast food meal.
Not only are they getting quite expensive but they’re rather unhealthy to boot,” Naill pointed out.
“I get it, you’ve only said it about a million times.”
“Perhaps someday you’ll listen.”
Devlin rubbed his temples, trying to ease the tension there. He was pretty sure the only thing stopping them from topping the scales at over three hundred pounds was the fact that their amazing metabolism fed their super sharp reflexes, allowing them to burn a ton of calories with how fast they moved.
He swayed and reached out to grab the refrigerator door, closed his eyes against the spots that danced in front of them and cursed again. Stupid lightheadedness, so stupid, they should have checked the fridge and the cupboards last night, at least then they could dive into a bowl of cereal, rather than a sad, pathetic egg. Still it was sustenance and would get them to the burger joint four blocks away where they could get a proper meal.
Yanking open the door, he grabbed the egg, butter and a ketchup packet. He grabbed the cheese too, only so he could throw it away before it stank up the entire appliance. Making short work of frying up the egg, he shoved it between two pieces of toasted bread, squirted the ketchup on it, and wolfed it down in six big bites, chewing the last one as he slid his wallet in his pocket and headed out the door.
Halfway down the block he encountered one of his neighbors sweeping her front porch in blue fuzzy slippers and a threadbare aqua bathrobe. Her steel gray hair was up in curlers save for one spiraling strand she kept shoving out of her face. He waved as he went buy, and pretended to ignore the way she narrowed her eyes at him and muttered about "crazy god damned freaks mucking up the neighbor, making good folks scared to come out of their houses at night."
If only she knew just how much they did to insure that the good folks on this side of town were safer, even if it seemed like the guys they took down and left tied up for police rarely spent more than a couple months in jail before they were out terrorizing folks again. It was thankless work, hell; even their day job answering insurance claim calls for one of the biggest firms in the city afforded them more praise than catching criminals. Good thing they wasn't in it for the glory or they'd be sorely disappointed.
Ducking into his favorite fast food place he order a couple breakfast sandwiches, two hash browns and an orange juice to go, munching as he walked down the street. It was almost fall, a crisp chilly wind blowing, causing the leaves to swirl in mini tornados down the block. He loved the reds and golds of the trees, and reminded himself to just take a weekend to head up into the hills, camp out and roast hot dogs over the fire.
Disgusting, Naill muttered, “if we are going to roast anything it ought to be steaks pan seared to perfection.”
He chuckled at that and conceded, declaring he could go along with that as long as they could have melting marshmallows between fudge stripped cookies for desert, rather than traditional s’mores, since the marshmallows never seemed to get hot enough to melt the chocolate completely. Of course Naill argued that it was because he always chose to purchase the king sized chocolate bars rather than the regular ones, owing to his addition to all things junk food, another source of contention between them.
Muttering to himself as he walked down the street was likely another reason folks looked at them strangely, but it gave him less of a headache than having the entire debate inside the brain they shared.
As with most of their internal monologues, one of them ended up the winner and the other ended up with their feelings hurt, which made Devlin wonder how they’d managed to live twenty-six years without trying to cause serious bodily harm to one another. The answer to that was simple, really, in those moments he was being honest with himself. He loved his brother and knew that his brother loved him, it was no fault of their own that they'd been born forced to co-exist in a single body, just like they hadn't been responsible for whatever cells had mutated inside them that allowed them to eat whatever they wishes without gaining a pound.
Still, maybe his brother was right and they needed to start eating healthier all the way around. Certainly with the help of the internet and the cooking channel they could manage passable meals.
“Thank you,” Naill replied and Devlin could feel that side of their mouth quirk up in a smile.
"If you wanna do the shopping go ahead," Devlin offered. "It's not as if I'd know what to buy anyway."
And that was how they ended up stepping through the automated doors of the grocery store with Naill in charge of their little shopping expedition. It afforded Devlin the opportunity to people watch, starting with a leggy brunette in the football jersey who was rummaging around in her bag, muttering to herself about never having a stupid pen.
"I can relate," he chuckled as they went by; pausing only so he could pass her the only pen they had on them.
Not like they had a list anyway. She smiled and thanked him while Naill grumbled about Devlin never being prepared for anything. That wasn't true and his brother knew it, he kept a condom in his wallet, right next to a little packet of lube. Equal opportunity and all that jazz, if there was one thing their unique existence had taught him was to never limit themselves in anything.
“Which is why we are one honey bun away from actually needing to do exercise,” Nail muttered furiously as they headed for the aisle marked canned fruits and vegetables. Devlin simply whistled a happy tune and pushed the cart, breathing in the scent of chicken frying over in the deli. A pyramid of mushrooms stood beside the endcap, picture perfect with all of the labels facing in the same direction.
"They'd be pretty good on pizza," Devlin remarked, eyeing up the cans.
"Fresh ones are better and we're not making pizza, we're not making anything that comes from a drive through or can be delivered to our door."
"You do know that we get cranky when we're hungry."
"Thought you agreed to shut up and let me handle this?"
Devlin grumbled and narrowed his eye. "Fine," he snapped, but that didn't stop him from reaching out and snagging a can as they went past. Unfortunately, the rapid, jerky movement sparked an avalanche of cans and a gasp from Naill. In a flurry of motion, they grabbed at the cans, gathering them all back up before they could hit the ground in a cacophony of noise. Unfortunately, putting them back so fast meant that they ended up in a precariously balanced pile, nothing like the precise placement they'd been in before Devlin happened past.
"You just couldn't resist, could you? Naill grumbled.
"One can isn't going to hurt us, besides, we can throw it into a pot of spaghetti or something," Devlin pointed out, the offending can still clutched in his grasp.
Naill let out a long suffering sigh and rolled his eye. "Fine, but from here on out, you keep your hand to yourself."
Smirking, Devlin placed the can in the cart and made an x with his fingers across his chest. "Cross my heart and hope to die"
"So I'd wish, but that would be suicide," Naill complained as he took charge of their direction, wandering down the aisle and adding cans of pineapples and apricots. They'd hardly gone a few steps when a woman fussing at her child to slow down and stay beside her took the turn, and distracted, bumped into the stand, sending mushroom cans everywhere. The crash was spectacular, cans rolling down the aisle and bouncing with loud clangs off metal shelves. Naill cringed, pushing the cart a little faster.
"Shit, cleanup on aisle three," Devlin muttered, hiding a snicker behind his hand.
"It ain't funny."
"Yeah, it kinda is," Devlin remarked as the woman tried to corral the out of control kid, dodging cans and nearly tripping on them while she made a grab for him. "Maybe she'll put the kid in a cart from now on."
"Wish I could shove you in a cart, you're old enough to know better."
"So's the kid, or he would be, if she'd teach him some manners."
"Yeah, 'cause you know all about raising kids, right?"
"I'm just saying, maybe if some folks taught these brats young, they wouldn't grow up to be little assholes who run around robbing corner stores, spray painting other people's property and beating up folks for their money."
"Maybe..."
Naill grabbed a couple bags of dried beans, studying them awhile as he debated which would be best in a pot of chili, before finally deciding on the canned beans, uncertain if it would be worth the effort of having to soak them overnight, then boil them before they'd be of any use.
"Chili does sound good; think we can figure out cornbread?"
"It shouldn't be too hard," Naill replied, grateful that Devlin was finally getting with the program; they headed into the aisle with the baking products only to discover that there were way more kinds of flour than they'd ever imagined.
"Ummm," Devlin stammered as they walked slowly past bags of rye and wheat, bleached, gluten free, rice flour, oat flour, all-purpose, self-rising, and finally, corn meal.
"Pretty sure we need this," Naill stated as he picked up the corn meal. Turning the package over revealed a recipe for corn bread, so he made short work of grabbing the all-purpose flour, honey, and sugar they also needed from the aisle.
"Hey, if we grab some vanilla extract maybe we can figure out how to bake a cake, don't all those cooking shows talk about vanilla extract?" Devlin supplied.
"No cake, even homemade counts as junk food," Naill pointed out. He grabbed a small bottle of cooking oil, then paused at the spice rack, selecting several items and adding them to the cart.
"Do you even know what those are used for? Devlin asked, as Naill added jars of sage, rosemary, thyme, basil, and oregano.
"Nope, but we're going to figure it out."
"Joy."
Devlin's eyes lit up when they reached the cereal aisle. Reaching for a box of sugary goodness, he was stopped by Naill's admonishment.
"Don't even think about it."
"But..."
Groaning, he dropped his hand, pouting as Naill selected several varieties of shredded wheat and flakes with nuts and dried fruit bits in them.
"What's the point of having a super metabolism if you won't even let us enjoy it a little," Devlin moaned as they passed his favorite cereal, the colorful box depicting several varieties of oddly shaped grain bits and marshmallows.
"It won't kill you to eat this for one week."
"You don't know that. It just might."
Lite syrup and whole wheat pancake mix soon joined the cereal in the cart. Naill stared at the oatmeal selections, trying to decide between the organics, gluten frees, lites, instant, steal cut, old fashioned and sugar-free. Devlin would have selected the flavored packages of fruits and cream or maple and brown sugar, Naill of course, grabbed the gluten free, likely because it looked the least appealing of all of them.
As he was tossing it in the cart, they both happened to notice an older gentleman trying to get the last box of cereal down off the top shelf with his cane. Hurrying over, they leapt, propelling themselves off one of the bottom shelves to get greater height, easily snagging the box and landing back beside the old man with a grin. It was quickly wiped away when he rapped Naill on the wrist with his cane hard enough to make him drop the box, right into the cart the crafty old codger had deftly maneuvered into place. Naill grabbed his wrist, shaking it out while the old man waved his cane at them.
"Think you was being smart, didn't ja, you young whipper snapper. Well let me tell you something, no little punk is going to steal my cereal and get away with it. You ought to be ashamed of yourself; didn't your folks ever teach you to respect your elders? You just wait, one day you'll be old and bent and let’s see how you like it when folks just push you aside like you ain't even there anymore. I know you saw me grabbing that box. What right do you think you've got to try and take it away? You want a box; you go ask them if they got some more in the back, this one is mine. Have some damned respect for descent folks who just wanna get on back home without any trouble."
Naill opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't manage to find the words before the old man hobbled away pushing his cart, muttering under his breath about kids these days.
“Unbelievable." Naill muttered.
"Why? Look at what happened with the purse snatching we stopped last week. We step in and keep those two girls from mugging the lady, leave them tied up in the alley and even offer to escort the woman home so she made it there safely, and she turns around and beats on us with that damned heavy assed handbag, yelling at us about putting our hands on those girls. Like they weren't about to beat the hell outta her if she didn't given them everything she had."
"True.” Naill conceded. “He didn't even give us a chance to explain."
"Why, when he'd already made up his mind about our intentions the moment we stepped in. Let's face it, people are jaded. It’s easier for them to see the bad in everyone than to expect something good."
"Tell me again why we bother?"
"I guess so we don't become as disillusioned as the rest of them. Besides, what's the point of having lightning reflexes if we can't do anything with them? It’s not like we can take all of our martial arts training and complete in tournaments or even fight pro, it wouldn’t be fair, we'd always be able to anticipate where the strikes would land, so we'd always counter them, where's the challenge in that?"
"Where's the challenge now?"
"True, but at least we're doing something good, even if most people don't appreciate it."
"Umm, excuse me sir, but are you okay?"
The soft, feminine voice startled them out of their conversation. Glancing around they suddenly found themselves face to face with a middle aged woman who was clutching her daughter close.
"Umm yeah, We…err, I’m fine," Naill replied, looking away.
"Then can you please move? I've been trying to get to that shelf for the past few minutes. I even said excuse me several times, but it didn't seem like you heard a word of it."
"Sorry," Devlin replied, and felt his face heat up, he sure hoped Naill was blushing too or they were going to look pretty odd. Shuffling left, they moved so the little girl could get her box of cereal, one of the beautiful, sugary kinds Devlin would have loved to have.
"Fine, one," Naill finally relented once the woman and her little girl were on their way.
Giddy, Devlin reached out and snatched up the same kind as the little girl, placing it in the cart with a loving pat before they continued down the aisle.
In the produce section, they loaded up on fresh veggies and fruits, Devlin wrinkling his nose at the broccoli and making gagging noises at the Brussel sprouts. Naill moved on undaunted however, getting fresh mushrooms as he'd set out to, red seedless grapes and ginger root. He grabbed wonton wrappers, carrots and bean sprouts, green onions, shallots and garlic too.
"Thought we weren't getting anything that can be delivered," Devlin challenged.
"I'm gonna make lumpia," Naill determined.
"What the hell is that?"
"Filipino style of egg roll, totally different fillings from the crap you get from the Chinese place downtown."
"Keep telling yourself that," Devlin chuckled, then let it drop.
In the drink aisle they bought bottled water and drink packets to flavor it, like what the hell were they gonna do with zero calorie anything but try telling Naill that. This healthy living shit was gonna kill them both and it was only the first day.
Heading down the pasta aisle they caught sight of a woman in a pea green oversized coat, several pockets adorning the front and a few inside judging from the way she swiped a package of orzo from the shelf and tucked it away. You couldn't even see the lump.
She grabbed three envelopes of sauce mix and slipped them in an outer pocket, then turned, studying the packages of summer sausage and other meats. They swiped the envelopes from her pocket as she was pondering the peperoni, and when her jacket swung open as she tucked the peperoni in, they snagged the orzo too, putting both back on the shelf. Whistling, they pretended to study the boxes of pasta, adding fettuccini and linguini to the cart while discreetly trailing her.
They liberated the peperoni from her pocket, and the pack of crust mix all while she was placing a container of parmesan cheese in her basket. When she glanced their way, they tossed a loaf of French bread in the cart on top of a couple jars of sauce, and then maneuvered around her, pretending to ignore the looks she shot their way.
To her own basket she added a small container of red pepper flakes, then gasped, when store security grabbed her arm.
"Ma'am, you need to empty your pockets," the officer said, the pointed look on his face making the woman cringe.
"I...what's the meaning of this?" she stammered.
"I think you know," the officer told her, his stern expression turning to shock as she turned each of her pockets out one by one only to reveal there was nothing in them.
"Doh," Naill muttered, face palming and shaking his head.
"How were we supposed to know they were doing their jobs," Devlin grumbled.
"Yeah, ‘cause assuming they weren't just worked out so well. Can we please learn a lesson from all this. Let's just our shopping done and go home. We can't police everyone."
"Wasn't trying to police anyone, just looking to keep the prices down. Companies gotta make up for theft loss someway, how do you think they do it; they pass it on to the consumer, that's how. I just didn't wanna end up paying for her pizza, especially when you won't even let me have one."
"For a week, one miserable week. You keep this up and we can make it a month."
"Yeah, you can fuck right off with that shit too."
"Don't you wish?"
Left with no choice, the security guard apologized and let her go, frowning and rubbing the back of his neck as he watched her hurry to the checkout counter and pay for the items in her basket. Was too much to hope she'd chalk it up to a lesson learned, some strange twist of fate that had kept her from getting arrested. Was more likely she'd head to another store and lift the shit she'd failed to get.
What the hell did they bother for anyway ?
Rounding the corner to the organic section, they found the island with the coffees, teas and nuts, a long row of dispensers with plastic baggies to collect dried goods in. Grabbing two at a time they filled them with green tea leaves and light roast beans, tied them off and grabbed two more. Expresso beans this time and red rooibos tea, the packages stacked on top of the other two. The third time around they shoved the bags beneath the yogurt covered raisins, 'yogurt covered rat droppings,' Devlin complained, and the chamomile blossoms, like some tea was gonna be enough to relax them and lull them to sleep, but whatever. The shit tasted like sucking on grass but Naill seemed to like it and sometimes sharing a body meant putting up with things he'd rather not taste.
Flicking the levers closed produced a grinding sound from the raisins, and flicking it again only produced a dull, metallic clunk before raisins poured over the edge of the bag and onto the floor. They tried to stop them, using both hands to try and hold the raisins in but all that managed to do was send the blossoms flying, till it was raining chamomile into the ever growing pile on the floor.
Groaning, he tried to shuffle away, booted foot landing on a pile of raisins that caused his ankle to roll, spilling him sideways. The only thing to grab on to was the dispensers, one hand smacking into the lever, sending a hail of pistachios onto the floor. Throwing up his hands in frustration, he slunk away as carefully as he could, hurrying to the checkout line so he could get the hell out of there before something else went wrong.
At this point fast food would have been easier and far less stressful and if the checkout girl didn't hurry up and get him out of there before someone discovered the mess on the floor then it was going to prove to be a lot cheaper too.
"Told you so," Devlin giggled.
"Sometimes I think you do this shit on purpose," Naill bemoaned. "Every time you don't want to do something you turn it into a disaster."
"Consider it a hidden talent."
"Wish you'd keep it hidden, forever preferably, why do you have to do these things."
"In all truth and fairness, the whole, let's use our hyper reflexes to fill the bags faster thing was your idea, which proved to be an epic fail."
There was no way to argue that point so Naill let it slide, made much easier by the fact that the checkout clerk was dragging the final item across the scanner, the can of mushrooms that had started it all.
"Sixty-three dollars and fourteen cents is your total," she declared. "Do you have a food saver card?"
"No."
"Would you like to apply for one, you can do it today and start saving right away, it will take five percent off your total." she rambled, as Devlin caught sight of the store manager and the security guard heading for the coffee dispenser aisle.
"Umm no thanks, not today, we’ve gotta be going" Naill explained as he hastily swiped his card, punched in his pen number and gathered up the bags as the receipt started to flow out of the machine.
"Would you like your receipt," she called after them as they briskly headed for the door.
"No thanks," Naill called back over his shoulder.
The automatic doors seemed as if they couldn't open quickly enough and the second set seemed to take even longer, they'd nearly walked into the glass before it parted in front of their noses, sending a blast of frigid wind whipping around them.
Naill sighed and shifted the bags he carried, trying to better distribute the load. "Holy shit that was close."
"I would not wanna be the guy whose gotta do the cleanup."
"Yeah I'm sure he'd going to be loving you."
"Loving us you mean."
Nail just counted backwards peppering the numbers with the occasional curse.
"Okay chef, since this is still your show why don't you tell me what we're having for dinner, hope its something high carb and cheesy, we're supposed to patrol tonight."
"Shit."
"I'm not liking the sound of that."
"I forgot to get cheese."
"Awe come on man, seriously."
"Hey, it’s your fault, if you hadn't kept getting us into shit, I might not have forgotten anything."
"Come to think of it, we kind of forgot the eggs too."
"Oh for fuck's sake, Devlin."
"Hey, this was your show, remember,"
"And you're never gonna let me live it down, are you?"
"Nope."
"God, sometimes I hate you."
Fall leaves rustled and crunched beneath their feet, riled up by the cars that rushed past. Devlin kicked a can out of his path, watched it spin, clattering against the concrete before it finally struck a wall and ricochet off, smacking into the dull brown loafers of a man chattering away on his phone.
"Hey watch it!" the man complained, returning to his phone call moments later with complaints about even the sidewalks not being safe. Seemed like nothing today was destined to go right. In the distance, they could see their apartment looming; maybe tonight they should just stay in. Devlin was just about to suggest it when Naill paused, causing Devlin to stagger.
"Son of a bitch." Naill rasped with such venom in his voice that Devlin flinched. "SON OF A FUCKIN' BITCH!"
In an explosion of flapping wings the pigeons on the rooftop took to flight, a dark cloud rapidly fleeing into the distance.
"Language!" An older woman snapped from where she sat on her porch doing the crossword.
"Sorry ma'am," Devlin replied, giving her his most charming smile.
"Dude", he muttered under his breath, "what the hell was that all about?"
"I give up," Naill replied, hurrying them on their way to their apartment again. "All that shit we went through and guess what we forgot?"
"What?"
"The milk."
*END*
Lactose Intolerant
Layla Dorine
Groaning in despair, Devlin closed the cupboard door and glared across the room in the direction of the refrigerator. His stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn't eaten yet this morning, which with his enhanced metabolism meant that he'd start feeling the effects sooner rather than later. Hoping against hope that there was actually something edible inside the chrome appliance, Devlin yanked open the door and blinked at the brightness of the light that greeted him. The top shelf was pretty pathetic, empty save for the crusty bottle of mustard shoved to the back and an egg carton that upon closer inspection revealed one lone, solitary egg.
Still, if he had cheese to go with it, he could make a sandwich, thanks to those two end pieces of bread in plastic on the counter. Unfortunately, the cheese was dotted with a spectacular shade of green mold, and his search for bacon or sausage proved fruitless. His efforts did produce three ketchup packets, a bottle of soy sauce with about an inch of dark brown liquid in the bottom, some limp, wilted and slightly slimy lettuce, a tablespoon of butter half smooshed to the wrapper, and an overturned carton from the Chinese place down the street. It was leaking something that smelled like rotten garlic. Wrinkling his nose, he pinched the metal handle between his thumb and forefinger and quickly threw it away, along with the rotting lettuce, washing his hands when he was done.
He returned the refrigerator with a soapy sponge and quickly cleaned up the mess, splattering droplets on the note he'd left himself, he wasn't sure when. It simply read "Buy milk, dammit, cereal with tang is getting disgusting and P.S. We're almost out of tang."
Must have been written a few days before, seeing as how they were now officially out of tang and had the last bowl of cereal with water the day before. By them, of course, he meant himself and his perfectly conjoined twin, two halves that shared one merged body so well that it was only their hair and eyes that were a giveaway of their unique condition. Sometimes he wondered if it might not be easier to just dye the lighter half darker and wear a contact, but it went against his nature, and since Naill wasn’t about to lighten his side or conceal his own eye color, they just left them alone and let people think whatever they wished. Which generally meant that they got mistaken for goth or punk or some other practitioner of an alternate lifestyle.
Sighing, he closed the door and scrubbed a hand down over his face. This is what they got for allowing themselves to get so busy fighting crime and attempting to help people who shied away from them in the light of day. At least at night, hidden beneath a mask and hood, their oddities went unnoticed, folks were generally too busy trying to figure out why some super maneuverable vigilante had appeared to save them.
His stomach rumbled again, and he was forced to listen to Naill curse at the thought of yet another fast food meal.
Not only are they getting quite expensive but they’re rather unhealthy to boot,” Naill pointed out.
“I get it, you’ve only said it about a million times.”
“Perhaps someday you’ll listen.”
Devlin rubbed his temples, trying to ease the tension there. He was pretty sure the only thing stopping them from topping the scales at over three hundred pounds was the fact that their amazing metabolism fed their super sharp reflexes, allowing them to burn a ton of calories with how fast they moved.
He swayed and reached out to grab the refrigerator door, closed his eyes against the spots that danced in front of them and cursed again. Stupid lightheadedness, so stupid, they should have checked the fridge and the cupboards last night, at least then they could dive into a bowl of cereal, rather than a sad, pathetic egg. Still it was sustenance and would get them to the burger joint four blocks away where they could get a proper meal.
Yanking open the door, he grabbed the egg, butter and a ketchup packet. He grabbed the cheese too, only so he could throw it away before it stank up the entire appliance. Making short work of frying up the egg, he shoved it between two pieces of toasted bread, squirted the ketchup on it, and wolfed it down in six big bites, chewing the last one as he slid his wallet in his pocket and headed out the door.
Halfway down the block he encountered one of his neighbors sweeping her front porch in blue fuzzy slippers and a threadbare aqua bathrobe. Her steel gray hair was up in curlers save for one spiraling strand she kept shoving out of her face. He waved as he went buy, and pretended to ignore the way she narrowed her eyes at him and muttered about "crazy god damned freaks mucking up the neighbor, making good folks scared to come out of their houses at night."
If only she knew just how much they did to insure that the good folks on this side of town were safer, even if it seemed like the guys they took down and left tied up for police rarely spent more than a couple months in jail before they were out terrorizing folks again. It was thankless work, hell; even their day job answering insurance claim calls for one of the biggest firms in the city afforded them more praise than catching criminals. Good thing they wasn't in it for the glory or they'd be sorely disappointed.
Ducking into his favorite fast food place he order a couple breakfast sandwiches, two hash browns and an orange juice to go, munching as he walked down the street. It was almost fall, a crisp chilly wind blowing, causing the leaves to swirl in mini tornados down the block. He loved the reds and golds of the trees, and reminded himself to just take a weekend to head up into the hills, camp out and roast hot dogs over the fire.
Disgusting, Naill muttered, “if we are going to roast anything it ought to be steaks pan seared to perfection.”
He chuckled at that and conceded, declaring he could go along with that as long as they could have melting marshmallows between fudge stripped cookies for desert, rather than traditional s’mores, since the marshmallows never seemed to get hot enough to melt the chocolate completely. Of course Naill argued that it was because he always chose to purchase the king sized chocolate bars rather than the regular ones, owing to his addition to all things junk food, another source of contention between them.
Muttering to himself as he walked down the street was likely another reason folks looked at them strangely, but it gave him less of a headache than having the entire debate inside the brain they shared.
As with most of their internal monologues, one of them ended up the winner and the other ended up with their feelings hurt, which made Devlin wonder how they’d managed to live twenty-six years without trying to cause serious bodily harm to one another. The answer to that was simple, really, in those moments he was being honest with himself. He loved his brother and knew that his brother loved him, it was no fault of their own that they'd been born forced to co-exist in a single body, just like they hadn't been responsible for whatever cells had mutated inside them that allowed them to eat whatever they wishes without gaining a pound.
Still, maybe his brother was right and they needed to start eating healthier all the way around. Certainly with the help of the internet and the cooking channel they could manage passable meals.
“Thank you,” Naill replied and Devlin could feel that side of their mouth quirk up in a smile.
"If you wanna do the shopping go ahead," Devlin offered. "It's not as if I'd know what to buy anyway."
And that was how they ended up stepping through the automated doors of the grocery store with Naill in charge of their little shopping expedition. It afforded Devlin the opportunity to people watch, starting with a leggy brunette in the football jersey who was rummaging around in her bag, muttering to herself about never having a stupid pen.
"I can relate," he chuckled as they went by; pausing only so he could pass her the only pen they had on them.
Not like they had a list anyway. She smiled and thanked him while Naill grumbled about Devlin never being prepared for anything. That wasn't true and his brother knew it, he kept a condom in his wallet, right next to a little packet of lube. Equal opportunity and all that jazz, if there was one thing their unique existence had taught him was to never limit themselves in anything.
“Which is why we are one honey bun away from actually needing to do exercise,” Nail muttered furiously as they headed for the aisle marked canned fruits and vegetables. Devlin simply whistled a happy tune and pushed the cart, breathing in the scent of chicken frying over in the deli. A pyramid of mushrooms stood beside the endcap, picture perfect with all of the labels facing in the same direction.
"They'd be pretty good on pizza," Devlin remarked, eyeing up the cans.
"Fresh ones are better and we're not making pizza, we're not making anything that comes from a drive through or can be delivered to our door."
"You do know that we get cranky when we're hungry."
"Thought you agreed to shut up and let me handle this?"
Devlin grumbled and narrowed his eye. "Fine," he snapped, but that didn't stop him from reaching out and snagging a can as they went past. Unfortunately, the rapid, jerky movement sparked an avalanche of cans and a gasp from Naill. In a flurry of motion, they grabbed at the cans, gathering them all back up before they could hit the ground in a cacophony of noise. Unfortunately, putting them back so fast meant that they ended up in a precariously balanced pile, nothing like the precise placement they'd been in before Devlin happened past.
"You just couldn't resist, could you? Naill grumbled.
"One can isn't going to hurt us, besides, we can throw it into a pot of spaghetti or something," Devlin pointed out, the offending can still clutched in his grasp.
Naill let out a long suffering sigh and rolled his eye. "Fine, but from here on out, you keep your hand to yourself."
Smirking, Devlin placed the can in the cart and made an x with his fingers across his chest. "Cross my heart and hope to die"
"So I'd wish, but that would be suicide," Naill complained as he took charge of their direction, wandering down the aisle and adding cans of pineapples and apricots. They'd hardly gone a few steps when a woman fussing at her child to slow down and stay beside her took the turn, and distracted, bumped into the stand, sending mushroom cans everywhere. The crash was spectacular, cans rolling down the aisle and bouncing with loud clangs off metal shelves. Naill cringed, pushing the cart a little faster.
"Shit, cleanup on aisle three," Devlin muttered, hiding a snicker behind his hand.
"It ain't funny."
"Yeah, it kinda is," Devlin remarked as the woman tried to corral the out of control kid, dodging cans and nearly tripping on them while she made a grab for him. "Maybe she'll put the kid in a cart from now on."
"Wish I could shove you in a cart, you're old enough to know better."
"So's the kid, or he would be, if she'd teach him some manners."
"Yeah, 'cause you know all about raising kids, right?"
"I'm just saying, maybe if some folks taught these brats young, they wouldn't grow up to be little assholes who run around robbing corner stores, spray painting other people's property and beating up folks for their money."
"Maybe..."
Naill grabbed a couple bags of dried beans, studying them awhile as he debated which would be best in a pot of chili, before finally deciding on the canned beans, uncertain if it would be worth the effort of having to soak them overnight, then boil them before they'd be of any use.
"Chili does sound good; think we can figure out cornbread?"
"It shouldn't be too hard," Naill replied, grateful that Devlin was finally getting with the program; they headed into the aisle with the baking products only to discover that there were way more kinds of flour than they'd ever imagined.
"Ummm," Devlin stammered as they walked slowly past bags of rye and wheat, bleached, gluten free, rice flour, oat flour, all-purpose, self-rising, and finally, corn meal.
"Pretty sure we need this," Naill stated as he picked up the corn meal. Turning the package over revealed a recipe for corn bread, so he made short work of grabbing the all-purpose flour, honey, and sugar they also needed from the aisle.
"Hey, if we grab some vanilla extract maybe we can figure out how to bake a cake, don't all those cooking shows talk about vanilla extract?" Devlin supplied.
"No cake, even homemade counts as junk food," Naill pointed out. He grabbed a small bottle of cooking oil, then paused at the spice rack, selecting several items and adding them to the cart.
"Do you even know what those are used for? Devlin asked, as Naill added jars of sage, rosemary, thyme, basil, and oregano.
"Nope, but we're going to figure it out."
"Joy."
Devlin's eyes lit up when they reached the cereal aisle. Reaching for a box of sugary goodness, he was stopped by Naill's admonishment.
"Don't even think about it."
"But..."
Groaning, he dropped his hand, pouting as Naill selected several varieties of shredded wheat and flakes with nuts and dried fruit bits in them.
"What's the point of having a super metabolism if you won't even let us enjoy it a little," Devlin moaned as they passed his favorite cereal, the colorful box depicting several varieties of oddly shaped grain bits and marshmallows.
"It won't kill you to eat this for one week."
"You don't know that. It just might."
Lite syrup and whole wheat pancake mix soon joined the cereal in the cart. Naill stared at the oatmeal selections, trying to decide between the organics, gluten frees, lites, instant, steal cut, old fashioned and sugar-free. Devlin would have selected the flavored packages of fruits and cream or maple and brown sugar, Naill of course, grabbed the gluten free, likely because it looked the least appealing of all of them.
As he was tossing it in the cart, they both happened to notice an older gentleman trying to get the last box of cereal down off the top shelf with his cane. Hurrying over, they leapt, propelling themselves off one of the bottom shelves to get greater height, easily snagging the box and landing back beside the old man with a grin. It was quickly wiped away when he rapped Naill on the wrist with his cane hard enough to make him drop the box, right into the cart the crafty old codger had deftly maneuvered into place. Naill grabbed his wrist, shaking it out while the old man waved his cane at them.
"Think you was being smart, didn't ja, you young whipper snapper. Well let me tell you something, no little punk is going to steal my cereal and get away with it. You ought to be ashamed of yourself; didn't your folks ever teach you to respect your elders? You just wait, one day you'll be old and bent and let’s see how you like it when folks just push you aside like you ain't even there anymore. I know you saw me grabbing that box. What right do you think you've got to try and take it away? You want a box; you go ask them if they got some more in the back, this one is mine. Have some damned respect for descent folks who just wanna get on back home without any trouble."
Naill opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't manage to find the words before the old man hobbled away pushing his cart, muttering under his breath about kids these days.
“Unbelievable." Naill muttered.
"Why? Look at what happened with the purse snatching we stopped last week. We step in and keep those two girls from mugging the lady, leave them tied up in the alley and even offer to escort the woman home so she made it there safely, and she turns around and beats on us with that damned heavy assed handbag, yelling at us about putting our hands on those girls. Like they weren't about to beat the hell outta her if she didn't given them everything she had."
"True.” Naill conceded. “He didn't even give us a chance to explain."
"Why, when he'd already made up his mind about our intentions the moment we stepped in. Let's face it, people are jaded. It’s easier for them to see the bad in everyone than to expect something good."
"Tell me again why we bother?"
"I guess so we don't become as disillusioned as the rest of them. Besides, what's the point of having lightning reflexes if we can't do anything with them? It’s not like we can take all of our martial arts training and complete in tournaments or even fight pro, it wouldn’t be fair, we'd always be able to anticipate where the strikes would land, so we'd always counter them, where's the challenge in that?"
"Where's the challenge now?"
"True, but at least we're doing something good, even if most people don't appreciate it."
"Umm, excuse me sir, but are you okay?"
The soft, feminine voice startled them out of their conversation. Glancing around they suddenly found themselves face to face with a middle aged woman who was clutching her daughter close.
"Umm yeah, We…err, I’m fine," Naill replied, looking away.
"Then can you please move? I've been trying to get to that shelf for the past few minutes. I even said excuse me several times, but it didn't seem like you heard a word of it."
"Sorry," Devlin replied, and felt his face heat up, he sure hoped Naill was blushing too or they were going to look pretty odd. Shuffling left, they moved so the little girl could get her box of cereal, one of the beautiful, sugary kinds Devlin would have loved to have.
"Fine, one," Naill finally relented once the woman and her little girl were on their way.
Giddy, Devlin reached out and snatched up the same kind as the little girl, placing it in the cart with a loving pat before they continued down the aisle.
In the produce section, they loaded up on fresh veggies and fruits, Devlin wrinkling his nose at the broccoli and making gagging noises at the Brussel sprouts. Naill moved on undaunted however, getting fresh mushrooms as he'd set out to, red seedless grapes and ginger root. He grabbed wonton wrappers, carrots and bean sprouts, green onions, shallots and garlic too.
"Thought we weren't getting anything that can be delivered," Devlin challenged.
"I'm gonna make lumpia," Naill determined.
"What the hell is that?"
"Filipino style of egg roll, totally different fillings from the crap you get from the Chinese place downtown."
"Keep telling yourself that," Devlin chuckled, then let it drop.
In the drink aisle they bought bottled water and drink packets to flavor it, like what the hell were they gonna do with zero calorie anything but try telling Naill that. This healthy living shit was gonna kill them both and it was only the first day.
Heading down the pasta aisle they caught sight of a woman in a pea green oversized coat, several pockets adorning the front and a few inside judging from the way she swiped a package of orzo from the shelf and tucked it away. You couldn't even see the lump.
She grabbed three envelopes of sauce mix and slipped them in an outer pocket, then turned, studying the packages of summer sausage and other meats. They swiped the envelopes from her pocket as she was pondering the peperoni, and when her jacket swung open as she tucked the peperoni in, they snagged the orzo too, putting both back on the shelf. Whistling, they pretended to study the boxes of pasta, adding fettuccini and linguini to the cart while discreetly trailing her.
They liberated the peperoni from her pocket, and the pack of crust mix all while she was placing a container of parmesan cheese in her basket. When she glanced their way, they tossed a loaf of French bread in the cart on top of a couple jars of sauce, and then maneuvered around her, pretending to ignore the looks she shot their way.
To her own basket she added a small container of red pepper flakes, then gasped, when store security grabbed her arm.
"Ma'am, you need to empty your pockets," the officer said, the pointed look on his face making the woman cringe.
"I...what's the meaning of this?" she stammered.
"I think you know," the officer told her, his stern expression turning to shock as she turned each of her pockets out one by one only to reveal there was nothing in them.
"Doh," Naill muttered, face palming and shaking his head.
"How were we supposed to know they were doing their jobs," Devlin grumbled.
"Yeah, ‘cause assuming they weren't just worked out so well. Can we please learn a lesson from all this. Let's just our shopping done and go home. We can't police everyone."
"Wasn't trying to police anyone, just looking to keep the prices down. Companies gotta make up for theft loss someway, how do you think they do it; they pass it on to the consumer, that's how. I just didn't wanna end up paying for her pizza, especially when you won't even let me have one."
"For a week, one miserable week. You keep this up and we can make it a month."
"Yeah, you can fuck right off with that shit too."
"Don't you wish?"
Left with no choice, the security guard apologized and let her go, frowning and rubbing the back of his neck as he watched her hurry to the checkout counter and pay for the items in her basket. Was too much to hope she'd chalk it up to a lesson learned, some strange twist of fate that had kept her from getting arrested. Was more likely she'd head to another store and lift the shit she'd failed to get.
What the hell did they bother for anyway ?
Rounding the corner to the organic section, they found the island with the coffees, teas and nuts, a long row of dispensers with plastic baggies to collect dried goods in. Grabbing two at a time they filled them with green tea leaves and light roast beans, tied them off and grabbed two more. Expresso beans this time and red rooibos tea, the packages stacked on top of the other two. The third time around they shoved the bags beneath the yogurt covered raisins, 'yogurt covered rat droppings,' Devlin complained, and the chamomile blossoms, like some tea was gonna be enough to relax them and lull them to sleep, but whatever. The shit tasted like sucking on grass but Naill seemed to like it and sometimes sharing a body meant putting up with things he'd rather not taste.
Flicking the levers closed produced a grinding sound from the raisins, and flicking it again only produced a dull, metallic clunk before raisins poured over the edge of the bag and onto the floor. They tried to stop them, using both hands to try and hold the raisins in but all that managed to do was send the blossoms flying, till it was raining chamomile into the ever growing pile on the floor.
Groaning, he tried to shuffle away, booted foot landing on a pile of raisins that caused his ankle to roll, spilling him sideways. The only thing to grab on to was the dispensers, one hand smacking into the lever, sending a hail of pistachios onto the floor. Throwing up his hands in frustration, he slunk away as carefully as he could, hurrying to the checkout line so he could get the hell out of there before something else went wrong.
At this point fast food would have been easier and far less stressful and if the checkout girl didn't hurry up and get him out of there before someone discovered the mess on the floor then it was going to prove to be a lot cheaper too.
"Told you so," Devlin giggled.
"Sometimes I think you do this shit on purpose," Naill bemoaned. "Every time you don't want to do something you turn it into a disaster."
"Consider it a hidden talent."
"Wish you'd keep it hidden, forever preferably, why do you have to do these things."
"In all truth and fairness, the whole, let's use our hyper reflexes to fill the bags faster thing was your idea, which proved to be an epic fail."
There was no way to argue that point so Naill let it slide, made much easier by the fact that the checkout clerk was dragging the final item across the scanner, the can of mushrooms that had started it all.
"Sixty-three dollars and fourteen cents is your total," she declared. "Do you have a food saver card?"
"No."
"Would you like to apply for one, you can do it today and start saving right away, it will take five percent off your total." she rambled, as Devlin caught sight of the store manager and the security guard heading for the coffee dispenser aisle.
"Umm no thanks, not today, we’ve gotta be going" Naill explained as he hastily swiped his card, punched in his pen number and gathered up the bags as the receipt started to flow out of the machine.
"Would you like your receipt," she called after them as they briskly headed for the door.
"No thanks," Naill called back over his shoulder.
The automatic doors seemed as if they couldn't open quickly enough and the second set seemed to take even longer, they'd nearly walked into the glass before it parted in front of their noses, sending a blast of frigid wind whipping around them.
Naill sighed and shifted the bags he carried, trying to better distribute the load. "Holy shit that was close."
"I would not wanna be the guy whose gotta do the cleanup."
"Yeah I'm sure he'd going to be loving you."
"Loving us you mean."
Nail just counted backwards peppering the numbers with the occasional curse.
"Okay chef, since this is still your show why don't you tell me what we're having for dinner, hope its something high carb and cheesy, we're supposed to patrol tonight."
"Shit."
"I'm not liking the sound of that."
"I forgot to get cheese."
"Awe come on man, seriously."
"Hey, it’s your fault, if you hadn't kept getting us into shit, I might not have forgotten anything."
"Come to think of it, we kind of forgot the eggs too."
"Oh for fuck's sake, Devlin."
"Hey, this was your show, remember,"
"And you're never gonna let me live it down, are you?"
"Nope."
"God, sometimes I hate you."
Fall leaves rustled and crunched beneath their feet, riled up by the cars that rushed past. Devlin kicked a can out of his path, watched it spin, clattering against the concrete before it finally struck a wall and ricochet off, smacking into the dull brown loafers of a man chattering away on his phone.
"Hey watch it!" the man complained, returning to his phone call moments later with complaints about even the sidewalks not being safe. Seemed like nothing today was destined to go right. In the distance, they could see their apartment looming; maybe tonight they should just stay in. Devlin was just about to suggest it when Naill paused, causing Devlin to stagger.
"Son of a bitch." Naill rasped with such venom in his voice that Devlin flinched. "SON OF A FUCKIN' BITCH!"
In an explosion of flapping wings the pigeons on the rooftop took to flight, a dark cloud rapidly fleeing into the distance.
"Language!" An older woman snapped from where she sat on her porch doing the crossword.
"Sorry ma'am," Devlin replied, giving her his most charming smile.
"Dude", he muttered under his breath, "what the hell was that all about?"
"I give up," Naill replied, hurrying them on their way to their apartment again. "All that shit we went through and guess what we forgot?"
"What?"
"The milk."
*END*
April 28, 2017
Thunderclap to help launch Guitars and Choices
It's been a long time since I've blogged, and I was starting to feel like this moment wouldn't happen. For months, Guitars and Choices, the sequel to Guitars and Cages, sat in limbo as my previous publisher went on hiatus and ultimately shut down. Fortunately, I was granted my rights back, and was able to find a new home for both Guitars and Cages, which will be re-released on May 26th, at a discount price of .99 and Guitars and Choices which will be released the same day, May 26th. Please consider supporting my thunderclap campaign for the launch.
https://www.thunderclap.it/projects/5...
https://www.thunderclap.it/projects/5...
January 26, 2016
Thunderclap campaign
I decided to try my hand at a Thunderclap campaign in order to promote my Author website which pretty much contains excerpts of my work as well as my newsletter. Hoping to get 100 supporters to launch the thunderclap. Figured it can't hurt to give it a shot. please share and support.
Thunderclap Campaign
Thunderclap Campaign
October 25, 2015
Happy Sunday...new book release announcement
Hi folks, happy Sunday and thanks for dropping in, it's been a busy week for me but only in the most productive way. I am thrilled to announce that my second novel, Broken Prince, Mismatched Eyes, is scheduled for release by Wayward Ink Publishing on November 13.
Broken Prince, Mismatched eyes, began as a writing prompt 2013. The prompt was something along the lines of: your character has just been informed that they have been betrothed to be married since they were born and in less than an hour, their intended will be arriving to marry them. Never in a million years could I have imagined that prompt to spawn a whole novel, but it did. Thanks in huge part to Mann Ramblings, author of The Luxorian Fugitive, who encouraged me to keep on writing and flesh the story out after my initial prompt response.
At that point, I was very iffy about my ability to write what, in my mind, I could only see as being a romance. Boy was I wrong as I started writing and a ton of political intrigue just started pouring onto the page, giving the book the elements of conflict and danger that I love to have in my stories.
Book Blurb: All of his life, Caden DeMott’s mismatched eyes have made him the target of superstition and scorn. Though he is the son of a nobleman, he’s been allowed to run free over the hills and moors, mostly ignored by his family. No one ever thought to inform him that he had been betrothed since infancy, until the day his fiancé, Prince Rhys Gwyther arrived to marry him.
Rhys is the prince of the small island country of Mauritania, a land rich in gems, rose oil and pearls, but poor in skilled artisans and seeds to grow crops. In order to further cement the trade route to the mainland, he’s been sent to marry a man he’s never met, and bring him back to Mauritania. Unfortunately, an accident years before has left Rhys with a lot of emotional baggage and very little trust in strangers.
But trust is exactly what Caden and Rhys are going to need if they are to make a life together, and help unravel the mystery of who’s been smuggling valuable gems and pearls off the island. Add in the realization that Caden’s stepmother, Mildred and her island representative, Maxwell, have been importing inferior goods for years, forcing Mauritania to become more dependent on them, and trust becomes even more difficult.
Caden possesses the knowledge to finally allow Rhys’ father to unravel the plot to ruin Mauritania, but only if the king and his son are willing to put their faith in Caden’s loyalty to his new home. Something that is difficult to do after Caden is accused of cheating on his marriage vows to Rhys with his guard, Luc. Will Rhys believe him innocent? Or will their marriage be over before it truly has a chance to begin?
This week I was also able to flesh out my pinterest site even more and really start working on ways to use it to storyboard. It's been slow going, but I love the idea and I've already been able to see the many ways that it can really work for me and save me some time. A bunch of new pins have been added and in the upcoming week there are still more to come along with a few more Works in Progress I plan to create boards for over there.
Layla's Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/layladorine/
I've also created a tumbler page. I wanted to have a place, separate from this blog, to kind of focus on inspiration and collect/share things that inspire me. Tumbler looked like it would be a bunch of fun to get into, at lease from what my roomie has said of it, so I decided to give it a shot. I've got a ton left to learn about how to use it but at least I'm set up there now.
Layla's Tumbler: http://layladorine.tumblr.com/
As mentioned earlier in the week, I designed a brand new Author website for myself, and what fun it was to do. It lets me keep track of my upcoming releases and works in progress all in the same place and share updates on all of them.
Layla's Website: http://layladorine13.wix.com/laylador...
In fact, it even has a newsletter. This issue features an interview with Conner, from Guitars and Cages, which proved really fun and insightful to do.
Newsletter: http://layladorine13.wix.com/laylador...
Also this week, I was able to finish organizing and making notes on my upcoming National Novel Writing Month story Burning Luck. I will be updating my progress on the story nightly using the word tracker to the left. Hopefully, I'll make that 50,000 words again this year.
Lucky Strike McAllister isn't very lucky. In fact, he isn't much of anything most days, to hear his MC tell it. Since the death of his father two years ago, he's done nothing but find ways to get in trouble. He's talented with an airbrush gun and an amazing artist when he sets his mind to it, but more often than not, the thing Lucky sets his mind to is getting into trouble.
When Thorn and his partner Cain, are forced to fish Lucky out of the ocean on a chilly, fall night, both men decide he needs a keeper and who better than them to keep Lucky from self destructing. Too bad Lucky can't see that they're trying to help. Bitter and lashing out, he does everything he can to sabotage the only chance he's ever been giving at truly belonging to someone.
Will Lucky be able to put aside his anger to get to know the two men who have taken such an intense interest in him, or will he run from them, his club and everything he's ever known, and burn the last of his luck in the process?
Broken Prince, Mismatched eyes, began as a writing prompt 2013. The prompt was something along the lines of: your character has just been informed that they have been betrothed to be married since they were born and in less than an hour, their intended will be arriving to marry them. Never in a million years could I have imagined that prompt to spawn a whole novel, but it did. Thanks in huge part to Mann Ramblings, author of The Luxorian Fugitive, who encouraged me to keep on writing and flesh the story out after my initial prompt response.
At that point, I was very iffy about my ability to write what, in my mind, I could only see as being a romance. Boy was I wrong as I started writing and a ton of political intrigue just started pouring onto the page, giving the book the elements of conflict and danger that I love to have in my stories.
Book Blurb: All of his life, Caden DeMott’s mismatched eyes have made him the target of superstition and scorn. Though he is the son of a nobleman, he’s been allowed to run free over the hills and moors, mostly ignored by his family. No one ever thought to inform him that he had been betrothed since infancy, until the day his fiancé, Prince Rhys Gwyther arrived to marry him.
Rhys is the prince of the small island country of Mauritania, a land rich in gems, rose oil and pearls, but poor in skilled artisans and seeds to grow crops. In order to further cement the trade route to the mainland, he’s been sent to marry a man he’s never met, and bring him back to Mauritania. Unfortunately, an accident years before has left Rhys with a lot of emotional baggage and very little trust in strangers.
But trust is exactly what Caden and Rhys are going to need if they are to make a life together, and help unravel the mystery of who’s been smuggling valuable gems and pearls off the island. Add in the realization that Caden’s stepmother, Mildred and her island representative, Maxwell, have been importing inferior goods for years, forcing Mauritania to become more dependent on them, and trust becomes even more difficult.
Caden possesses the knowledge to finally allow Rhys’ father to unravel the plot to ruin Mauritania, but only if the king and his son are willing to put their faith in Caden’s loyalty to his new home. Something that is difficult to do after Caden is accused of cheating on his marriage vows to Rhys with his guard, Luc. Will Rhys believe him innocent? Or will their marriage be over before it truly has a chance to begin?
This week I was also able to flesh out my pinterest site even more and really start working on ways to use it to storyboard. It's been slow going, but I love the idea and I've already been able to see the many ways that it can really work for me and save me some time. A bunch of new pins have been added and in the upcoming week there are still more to come along with a few more Works in Progress I plan to create boards for over there.
Layla's Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/layladorine/
I've also created a tumbler page. I wanted to have a place, separate from this blog, to kind of focus on inspiration and collect/share things that inspire me. Tumbler looked like it would be a bunch of fun to get into, at lease from what my roomie has said of it, so I decided to give it a shot. I've got a ton left to learn about how to use it but at least I'm set up there now.
Layla's Tumbler: http://layladorine.tumblr.com/
As mentioned earlier in the week, I designed a brand new Author website for myself, and what fun it was to do. It lets me keep track of my upcoming releases and works in progress all in the same place and share updates on all of them.
Layla's Website: http://layladorine13.wix.com/laylador...
In fact, it even has a newsletter. This issue features an interview with Conner, from Guitars and Cages, which proved really fun and insightful to do.
Newsletter: http://layladorine13.wix.com/laylador...
Also this week, I was able to finish organizing and making notes on my upcoming National Novel Writing Month story Burning Luck. I will be updating my progress on the story nightly using the word tracker to the left. Hopefully, I'll make that 50,000 words again this year.
Lucky Strike McAllister isn't very lucky. In fact, he isn't much of anything most days, to hear his MC tell it. Since the death of his father two years ago, he's done nothing but find ways to get in trouble. He's talented with an airbrush gun and an amazing artist when he sets his mind to it, but more often than not, the thing Lucky sets his mind to is getting into trouble.
When Thorn and his partner Cain, are forced to fish Lucky out of the ocean on a chilly, fall night, both men decide he needs a keeper and who better than them to keep Lucky from self destructing. Too bad Lucky can't see that they're trying to help. Bitter and lashing out, he does everything he can to sabotage the only chance he's ever been giving at truly belonging to someone.
Will Lucky be able to put aside his anger to get to know the two men who have taken such an intense interest in him, or will he run from them, his club and everything he's ever known, and burn the last of his luck in the process?
October 11, 2015
Writer's Retreats are wonderful things
After a lovely weekend attending a Writer's retreat, here is a new blog talking about the events and some of my experiences there.
http://rainbowlyricsandmellowmushroom...
http://rainbowlyricsandmellowmushroom...
