Farm of Styx

[The Mood is Write]

The sun rose in the east and an old man stood behind his house. A chicken clucked quietly beside one of his feet, and he watched that distant Eastern sky. Even with the hedge and trees the surrounded his home and part of his fields, the colors of the sky shifted beautifully just above. And ran a hand through his short hair and smiled.

"Pretty morning, Paul. Warm and beautiful. Just enough clouds to make the sunrise look nice. I'm getting energetic just thinking of all that I can get done today." He rolled his shoulders, then grimaced.

The bird looked up at him with a cluck.

"Never mind it. Just my shoulder." He forced a grin despite gritted teeth, and the bird stared a few moments, then stabbed her beak against his bare foot and pinched hard. "Gods damn—! Paul, I am going to fry you!"

The bird fluffed her feathers and settled in for a nap.

"I should get a real dog. They don't punish me for enjoying my farm."

Paul clucked sleepily in response, and the old man growled and limped into the kitchen. His newly-acquired bruise would turn positively lovely by noon. The man scratched at his head with well-calloused hands and walked into the house followed by Paul, only to slam the door in the chicken's face.

The bird's next sounds scolded at him, but And simply cracked a pair of eggs into a preheated cast iron skillet and began to cook them, then added another and some milk before he began to slide his wooden spatula about, pulling the cooked egg from the bottom and scrambling it.

"You're a cannibalistic chicken and this is your punishment for getting an attitude! Just because I have one little ache is not reason to give me another one!"

He cooked quickly, then laid some egg onto a thin, white plate to cool and took a larger, matching plate to the table and ate cautiously. He blew on each bite until it stopped steaming, then popped it into his mouth. "Mm, oh, Paul, this is soooo good!"

The bird stared, as though betrayed on the deepest level: not because And was eating her eggs, but because he wasn't sharing.

When And left the house, he took the small plate and placed it on the ground. "Did you think I wouldn't feed you at all? I'm not that mean, dumb bird."

Paul began to eat contentedly.

The old man pulled on his boots as he rested on the back step, then took off to the barn. "Hurt foot and shoulder or not, I need to milk and turn the cows out. May I do that much, your majesty?"

Paul ignored him.

"Fine, then."

When And returned from tending the cows and checking the fields, which looked fine enough for now, he limped back to the house. "I suppose... a quiet day wouldn't hurt."

The bird puffed her feathers as she hopped into the house ahead of And, and he paused to pick up her plate.

"Should have plucked you with your sisters." Despite the muttering, he smiled fondly at the hen.

 

[CalamitousNag]

"Ah, man, dammit. Are you freaking kidding me?" The laptop made a sound *crack* when it slammed shut. It made the young man wince, but he threw it on the bed anyway. He was almost certain the retailer would give him his money back for the shoes that never arrived. Despite the fact the shoes sat right at his feet, still boxed up in the company's packaging. This was the sixth time they had caught him and his fraudulent orders. Dorsey would have to find a new online store to rip off.

He sat in his desk chair for what felt like forever, hand covering his mouth, deep in thought about what he'd do next. He really wanted that new iPhone and he was a couple hundred short. This latest scheme to procure some money hadn't worked and he was running out of ideas. If things kept up like this, he'd have to resort to finding a job. Jobs just didn't make the money quick enough. Dorsey was an impatient man. He wanted instant gratification.

Like a nap. A nap was sounding good right about now.

Dorsey wasn't hardly out of his chair before he was falling into his bed. The first thing he reached for was his piece-of-crap prepaid phone and the same message from earlier was still staring at him.
"yeah. i kno u've heard about him. they say he lives alone out there in the boonies. u kno u want to."
Knowing the person who sent him this text, Dorsey found it odd that his classmate didn't jump at the chance himself. He texted back in those same words.
"dude, i got a job n a reputation. what do you have to lose?"
Smiley emoji.

What a dick.

Dorsey flipped the phone shut and buried his face into the comforter. He really needed that money. Come on—who even had flip phones anymore? He was embarrassed to bring it out, not when his friends had all their Apple watches and Fitbands. Dorsey couldn't even afford a fucking phone.
But he could if what his friend said was true. The old man on the edge of town was fabled for a lot of things. A lot of people thought he was a creep that kept dead bodies hidden in his house. Dorsey and his friends were of the mindset he was just some rich old craggy bastard who harbored his money to himself. No one ever really saw him out—that had to mean he couldn't get around well, right?

Dorsey didn't have to hurt him… just… ask him for help fixing a flat and then push his way in. He didn't have to carry a weapon, he could just pretend. Or not. Trespassing on someone's property was a perfectly valid excuse for manslaughter out here. Maybe he should take a knife or something, just in case.

It'd be safest.

Dorsey had never robbed someone before. The word alone gave him a sour taste in his mouth and set a bunch of steel butterflies loose in his belly. There was something wrong about taking advantage of an old person, but then again, who better to take advantage of? It's not like the old man could hurt him much and then Dorsey wouldn't be forced to hurt him. Maybe this would work out.
Dorsey closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

…

Despite how nice the day had started out, the air had turned chilly and Dorsey felt every prick of it through his hoodie. His bangs were annoyingly blown into his eyes as he rode against the wind toward the fabled old man's house. The journey felt like it took twice as long as it should have and Dorsey was half afraid of crashing the bike before he'd made it even partway to the old man's house. Broken but still standing stalks of corn littered the harvested fields he pushed past and, every once in a while, Dorsey could hear the howls of coyotes. It wasn't good to be out here this late in the afternoon alone, but, then again, wasn't the cloak of night the best time to rob someone?

Hell like he knew, he'd never done it before.

Dorsey came to an intersection and stopped. The old foursquare was just up ahead according to his friend's shit instructions. It was too late to turn back now. Swallowing thickly, Dorsey began to pedal towards the old man's home.

 

[The Mood is Write]

In the quiet night, the sound of a car on the road brought blue eyes flicked up from the crossword in the newspaper. After a few moments, he expected the sound to grow louder and pass, but instead it kept going very slowly.

Very, very slowly. Was it car troubles?

And's eyes narrowed, and he shoved his hand under he lamp shade to turn it off. Rushed fingers brushed against burning glass, and he winced, then followed it down to the knob. With a turn and a quiet curse, it clicked off.

Of course, by that time, the sound became louder. It sounded like it wasn't far off, and definitely not a car. Stupid old man, assuming. Slowly, he ran a hand through his hair, then turned the knob again. With light, the keenness in his ears faded, and he folded the newspaper.

A dramatic sigh slipped from his lips, and he tapped the chicken on his lap. "I'm moving you, Paul," And warned, more for his own comfort than the bird's. Careful, slow shifts forward eventually made space on the arm chair and allowed And to slip a hand under the bird, and then another hand. He stood and placed the bird on the seat, then limped toward the door.

It opened slowly and loudly. The creaking hinge went unused for weeks and months at a time, and moved with difficulty. By the time it was open, And felt heat in his cheeks and wondered if it would have been faster to take the back door and jog around to the front. Still, he stepped from within and pulled at the door. The light through the small window nearby offered faint golden glow, but in the still-present light of the early evening, it gave the appearance of warmth within the small home.

And shoved his foot against the wall beside the door and and yanked the knob with both hands until it shut. The creaking ended with a soft thunk and a click, and the old man finally looked toward the road.

The hedge was in the way and the uneven tops offered the tall man no glimpse of who came. He approached the gap across from his door and leaned forward between in an effort to discover in the darkness the source of the noise that disturbed his crossword.

 

[CalamitousNag]

Dorsey was close enough to see the house now and he adjusted his pedaling accordingly. The gravel of the country road ground under his bike tires--likely the loudest thing for miles. Dorsey swore to himself but he continued on. He was close to parking his bike.


And close enough to see the light coming from the windows suddenly dim.


/"Shit!"/ Dorsey threw himself off the bike so fast that it spun off track and got twisted between his legs. He fell to the side, barely managing to keep a hold of the handles and keep the bike from crashing in the road. He didn't have time to nurse his twisted right ankle as he hobbled to the side of the road where he sunk down as best he could among the shadows. He had seem a damn light go off. Either the old man was retiring for the night or Dorsey had much such a racket that the old man was privy to his hiding.


Oh well. Might as well make the best of the situation. It'd be more believable if he had a limp, right?


Dorsey looked around him at the plot of land the lonely old house sat upon. There wasn't much in the way of cover so he couldn't just rob the man and split. If the man had a good shotgun, Dorsey would have no way to keep a target off of his back.


The front door suddenly opened and Dorsey wondered how obvious he was, crouched down here out in the open. Shrubbery near the front porch prevented him from seeing much but he wasn't about to wait to be spotted to put on his act.


Dorsey limped out of hiding, haphazardly lugging a twisted bike he hadn't yet set to rights and clutching his waist. "Oh.... Oh, shit. I think I twisted my ankle."
Dorsey said this to no one in particular and he couldn't help that he limped across the lawn, even more in sight of the front door.


"My bike... the shit's busted, man," Dorsey suddenly let the bike on the ground and, for emphasis, let himself be pulled down with it into the dirt. He held his head for a few seconds, his eyes downcast, before he finally looked up and at the light spilling onto the porch.


"Someone there? I... I'll make it off your land in a second. Just... just fell off my bike. It's dark out," Dorsey gestured towards the encroaching darkness, probably a little too easily for someone so freshly injured.


"Uh... you got a light or somethin'? I think--I think I dropped my phone."

 

[The Mood is Write]

And tilted his head at the boy, then sighed. He remained quiet until the boy finally acted like he noticed And, and began asking questions. "Aren't you a bit young to own a cell phone, young man?," he asked after several moments, only to sigh. "Can you stand? Leave the bike. I can escort you home in the morning."

It was painfully obvious the boy was up to no good, but at least if And kept him inside, his... 'home security' wasn't as likely to be what caught him snooping around.

"It's dangerous for children to be out at night," he added before he leaned down and pulled the bike from Dorsey. He leaned it against the hedge, then offered a hand to the fallen boy. "And, while I see about whatever injuries you have suffered, you can tell me why you've come all the way out to my home this late. It's simple to assume you've mischief in mind." With the dim light from the door and the growing darkness, the old man's expression became ever more difficult to read, though his tone remained patient.

The old man couldn't imagine anyone coming out this far to go past his house on a bike, and with the lack of other homes around, it had to be his home or property, unless the boy was simply a runaway, trying to get to whatever town happened to be nearest his own in an attempt to escape. With his free hand, And absently rubbed the back of his neck in an attempt at keeping himself calm, despite the boy's presence alone meaning danger to him.

 

[CalamitousNag]

Dorsey's jaw dropped open.


Huh?


He was just about to ask the outline of an older man just what in the hell he was talking about when Dorsey remembered his position. Instead, he kept his voice level. "Everyone owns a cellphone now. The government gives them out for free, you know."
Though his tone was level, perhaps his diction was a bit clipped.


Dorsey could work on that. He continued with the rest of the other man's questions.


"I-I guess so," Dorsey answered in response to the question about his ability to walk. He didn't move to stand, however. He was about to turn down the old man's offer for a ride home the next day when he realized that this might be his chance. He needed to get inside. The robber couldn't happen out here. So, Dorsey would play along. He let the old man pull the crippled bike from his grasp. He hoped it was too dark to tell whether or not any real damage had actually been done to the bike. Either way, he seemed to be making some headway with the old man.


That was, until the old man didn't stop at his chastising.


Shit.


"Mischief? Shit, I pay taxes, too. I can do a whole damn perimeter of this town if I wanted to. I was out here to... Well, I was riding out to see my girlfriend. Her old man was out and I only had a 2 hour window to get there, get it in, and get gone. I'm sure you know all about that, considering you were once a 'child', too?" Dorsey raised an eyebrow at the old man, looking challengingly past the outstretched hand in his direction and eyeing the other man instead.


After staring for a bit, Dorsey suddenly smiled widely (if not sarcastically) and reached out to accept the man's offer of help with a strong armed grip.


"The ride sounds good, dude, but I gotta book it. How about you let me use your phone instead? I can call my cousin to come and get me."


Yeah, right, like he would. His cousin would want a cut of the profits.

 

[The Mood is Write]

Everyone had cell phones? The government handed them out for free? That just didn't make sense. Those only began production a decade ago. They were a luxury, he was certain, not to mention large enough to trip over. Perhaps someone could have moved in the direction the boy had been going as well, but he couldn't imagine he would be oblivious to such a someone, and they couldn't be all that nearby: he'd been careful to buy up as much land as he could around himself to keep people away.

None of this seemed right, but all And could do was scratch his head and sigh, and so he did. He decided not to answer about the phone right away and instead looked down the road in the direction he assumed the boy had been going. His eyes turned once more to the boy, and he pulled Dorsey up and then used his other hand to steady him. "Mm. This way."

Oh, but he had something to say to the boy, though he wanted to see the look in his face when he did. It might be fun, but it would definitely be telling of the boy's motives and honesty. He pulled Dorsey's arm over his shoulder and then used his free hand to wrap around his waist. "Let's get you into a chair or something, at least."

(( Sorry for the short post. I figured it was a good length for what was happening. ))

 

[CalamitousNag]

Ages seemed to fly by in the time Dorsey had accepted the man's offer for help until he was actually pulled to his feet. He half expected that the man would change his mind and leave him there in the dirt, or--worse yet--slap a pair of handcuffs on him. While the latter scenario was probably highly unlikely, Dorsey's guilt had a way of making the impossible seem possible.

He grinned when the old man did finally help him and grimaced when he realized the old man took it seriously. He wasn't expecting the hand around his waist when the man tried to steady him and he froze up at the contact. What old person would actually try to bear a young man's weight? It seemed out of character for someone his age and it put Dorsey on high alert. Maybe he had overestimated this guy's age.

"Yeah, a chair sounds good," Dorsey intoned, adding a little hop to his step as he let the older man guide him. He looked back over his shoulder in a quick attempt to memorize just where his bike had been left. If he was going to do this, he'd have to think several steps forward if he hoped to get the hell out of there unscathed.

"Your wife won't get jealous thinking you brought a strapping young fellow home, will she? I feel like shit and I don't think I can take anymore surprises. You got some ice or something?" The sooner Dorsey could separate from the man, the quicker he could get a look around. "Name's Dorsey, what's yours?"

 

[The Mood is Write]

And stiffened at mention of a wife, but kept going toward the small house, progress slowed by the boy's unsteadiness. Once inside, he flicked a switch, and the overhead light for the room flicked on, far too bright for his tastes. He squinted with a scowl, then led Dorsey to a couch covered in a white sheet. The feet that made an appearance below looked antique in design, though the effect may have been lost on someone like Dorsey.

And eased the boy to the couch, then stood and rested a hand on the small of his back. "I'm And. No need to worry about a jealous wife, either. Age took her some time ago, and I doubt she'd want to look at me long enough to interfere, regardless."

The man winked, expression devoid of a smile, though his narrowed eyes offered just a hint of amusement. How well did young people in the new generation take what they tried to dish out?

Still, his eyes began to wander up and down Dorsey, seeking not only injury, but insight. "Now, where does it hurt? I have a few treatments available for basic injuries, but I'm not going to touch you all over to figure out what you need where."

The room around them was decorated simply: it sported the singular couch, an arm chair, a small table between then that sported a small lamp, and a rug. Seated in the armchair, a realistic chicken pillow rested that seemed almost capable of breathing. A few black and white photographs, slightly blurry, hung above the fireplace, though rather than people, one depicted a white flower among a dark field and the other offered a haunting silhouette of a man hanged from a tree. His whole figure save the head were heavily blurred, suggesting prolonged motion during the capture.

A few candle sticks on the mantle, an urn, and a cross that appeared wholly rusted also decorated the area above the fireplace, though the only thing in the room that looked at all luxurious the ancient leather-bound book on the table with the lamp. Edged in gleaming gold and embedded with cabochons, it offered a striking contrast to its surroundings.

 

[CalamitousNag]

Dorsey hadn't been expecting the sharp assault to his eyes when a switch was flipped and light filled the room the older man led him into. He took in the decor and rolled his eyes before he realized it. The place was a dump and looked like it was stuck in the '70s. Dorsey could bet there was a rotary phone in here somewhere. Maybe even a gramophone. He was surprised a cloud of dust didn't go up when he all but fell on the couch. He bounced in place for a second before looking around.

He was forgetting what he was here for.

"Is that so?" Dorsey said, his mind wandering again as he took in the site of the walls and the elderly man's decor. Chances were it was the wife he spoke of who had decorated the place. The young man swiveled his eyes to the man, And, in front of him. The old man winked at him. Dorsey smirked... but he didn't know why he was smirking. It was a rather sad statement to begin with--what spouse neglected to look at the other? Okay, dude was creeping him out and it wasn't even, what, five minutes in?

"I... I hurt my ankle when I fell off my bike. It was dark. I ran into a pothole... I guess. Then I tumbled over--ankle braced the fall. You got some ice or something?" Dorsey stressed again. "I don't want to walk on it," he said just a bit too strongly. He wasn't sure how to get the man out of the room otherwise. He couldn't very well survey his surroundings with the old man watching him like a hawk.

The kid had to catch himself; perhaps he was coming off a little too strong. The whole 'punk kid 'tude' was only cute on 12 year olds. He was damn near drinking age and a seemingly hostile young man probably wasn't the preferred recipient of genuine hospitality. He had to cool it. Maybe change his approach.

Dorsey forcably pulled his eyes from And's form and purposely began looking about the room. Across the table in front of him was an equally antique armchair. His eyes fell on a 1950's looking pillow shaped like a chicken and he about lost it. He hadn't been expecting something so colorful against the dreary white of the chair covers. Dorsey immediately turned to something else--only to have his eyes land on a hanged man.

Dorsey shot to his feet.

"The hell man?!"

Dorsey's hand flew to his waist, where he had tucked away the knife in his waistband.

Now, how had he never thought of this? Old, lonely man, living out in the middle of nowhere, no kin as far as the eye could see... Wife who had passed on... Creepy shit all over the place...

Son of a bitch was a murderer.

Dorsey's eyes flicked from the photographs to the fireplace mantle to the table in front of him. Then he looked to the door conveniently located between him and the old man. No, Dorsey hadn't thought this far ahead at all...

 

[The Mood is Write]

Had Dorsey stopped at hurting his ankle, that might have been normal, but he went over the circumstances too carefully and with too much certainty. Tired eyes continued to watch the young man, weary, but without the earlier suspicion. By now, he felt certain that this was just another thief. "I don't have ice at the moment. I've been meaning to go buy some in town..." He sighed and shook his head, but stepped toward Dorsey and knelt by his legs, looking between them as he let the other look around freely.

This close, in the light, his clothing looked shockingly rough and simple: dark brown pants hung loosely around his legs. Over top, a loose tunic-like hooded shirt tied at the neck looked light weight, and hung to the mid-thigh on the man, the threads visibly uneven. His sleeves were long, and tied in place around his wrists. "I do have a way to make your ankle cold, though. Which was it again—?"

WHAM!

The young man's knee slammed his face. And fell back a step and shook his head, then stood. "The hell, indeed, what are you—"

Dorsey's hand went to his waist, and And backed up another step. Concern turned to anger as the lies with the sudden movement and the reaching for the waist connected into certainty. "I knew it! Better acknowledge the corn, you gumming thief!"

His hand shot to one side, and a gun slapped into his grip with a single word. The old man aimed it at Dorsey, eyes narrowed. "Damned little fice," he snarled.

A moment after the utterance, a hen collided with Dorsey's head and began to peck and flap as she produced sounds that almost sounded dog-like.

"Damn it, Paul, get down! Heel!"

 

[CalamitousNag]

(( Hello, Moody! Sorry for another delay. Happy holidays to you! ))

His knees were knocking. Never had his legs gone to water like this before. Dorsey had an unintentional tendency to avoid direct conflict as much as possible (so were the ways of a scammer). He wasn't used to situations like this, nor did he know how to react when a gun was drawn on him with too much speed from too old bones.

"I didn't even do anything yet!" Dorsey screeched, hands raising automatically in a show of submission. He knew when a fight was won; there was no way in hell he could take on And with a short dagger. Steel gray eyes flit about the room, obviously assessing ways of escape. "Dude, just let me go. I don't want any trouble. I'll slip out the door," Dorsey swallowed audibly before continuing, "...and we'll pretend this never happen. Just a regular old house visit, okay..." Dorsey's voice petered off at the end and his eyes scrunched as a look of confusion settled on his face. "Wait... what?" Acknowledge the corn? He grimaced as his mind turned the expression round and round in his head. He'd grown up in this county all his life and he had never heard that expression before. The hell?

He didn't have much time to ponder it when something heavy and gelatinous hit the side of his head. The young man screamed when the gelatinous mass wouldn't stop--it was obviously alive, whatever in the hell it was--and a brilliant multitude of colors flashed before his eyes. When something sharp pierced through the fabric of the beanie on his head, Dorsey finally realized what it was.

"What the FUCK," Dorsey began to bat at whatever was pecking him, eyes unconsciously swiveling to where he had seen these same colors before. He didn't have time to react when the pillow he was looking for wasn't there any longer. He only knew he had to get the hell out of here. The young man vaguely heard the old man's voice as he focused and launched a swift punch at the hen he knew it to be.

Not even waiting to see if the hit had connected or not, he dove towards the floor, getting out of the area of attack and effectively striking his side on the edge of the coffee table. He groaned from the impact but didn't stay his feet. Dorsey trip-fell out of the tactical trap that the furniture created, attempting with all his strength to make it towards the door only a few feet away. This wasn't a fight he'd win, but he sure as hell wasn't going to lay down and take it.

 

[The Mood is Write]

(( Happy holidays! No worries. ))

"Paul!" The old man's voice grew choked as the bird fell away from Dorsey. A moment later, the boy scrambled desperately for the door, but And couldn't let him escape—not and expect to be left alone and keep his farm and his life.

His leg shot out and slammed down onto Dorsey's back as And put his weight down despite the pain from his earlier bruise. He placed the double barrels of his shotgun against the back of the boy's head.

"Just hold still, boy," he ordered, "Otherwise my finger could twitch just a little bit."

And's slow, heavy breathing betrayed his age as he caught his breath. "I don't want to hurt you, but..." His voice trailed off, and he pressed the cold metal against Dorsey's head. "I refuse to be subjected to another witch hunt." The gun shifted subtly as And adjusted his grip and slid his finger onto the trigger in preparation to take the shot, but he hesitated.

"Actually," he slid his finger from the trigger, but kept the shotgun in position, "You reacted very quickly, but you suck at running away. Have a seat, and try not to scream."

Foot and gun lifted away, and fingers much thinner than And's gripped Dorsey by the back of the neck and the waistline of his jeans. As he was flung back onto the couch, he could see the grabber: a stone golem shaped like a skeleton that followed Dorsey and stood in front of him under And's sharp gaze.

(( Sorry if I went a bit far on the post. I figured from your last paragraph that you aren't expecting Dorsey to manage the escape. ))

 

[CalamitousNag]

He could almost laugh.

So he was going to lay down and take it after all--if the foot between his shoulder blades was any indication. The muscles in his arm bunched and his teeth cracked as he readied himself to spring, only to freeze from the cold press of metal he swore he could feel through the beanie on his head.

'Just hold still, boy ... otherwise my finger could twitch just a little bit.'

This was it, wasn't it? All the scams he ran, the lies he'd spun--it was all catching up to him, right? If this wasn't karma paying out, he didn't know what else it could be. Why had he even considered robbing an old man? The concept alone was bad enough. Factor in the fact he'd chosen to rob a serial killer was even worse.

The old man was still talking. As regret slammed into him, Dorsey found it hard to focus on much else other than the clear fact that he was dying today. So when his body moved involuntarily and his neck snapped back against the couch cushion, he didn't immediately realize he was no longer pinned down. He only knew that the two of them were no longer alone in the room.

He felt the freak-out coming. It climbed up his throat and his eyes widened until his irises resembled gray targets.
And then, suddenly, he was so over it.

"Get this shit away from me..." Dorsey spoke in an unnaturally calm and flat voice. His eyes were still wide and his movements were choppy, but it didn't reflect in the vocal command. This was thinly veiled hysteria. "What is this shit and who the fuck are you?" Dorsey's eyes swung briefly to the old man before settling back on the anomaly in front of him. Something like this just didn't register in his state of mind. It couldn't be real.

"You're not real," he repeated in mantra to the figure. "Step back. I said: BACK THE FUCK UP!" Dorsey's voice rose at the end and his body was shaking something terrible. The hysteria was breaking through. The young man had never before been pushed to his limit like this. He was too traumatized to dwell on how little it had taken to get him there.

(( o/c; nah, I don't think you took it too far in this post. what we may need to discuss is where this rp is going. any plot ideas? we can discuss them in the original pm thread if you don't want to do it here in the forum. ))