[color=silver][center][img]https://i.ibb.co/dwVVFgvB/FJ44Yj9.png[/img] [img]https://i.ibb.co/pN5DVpx/sdvddvgrove1.jpg[/img] [/center] [center] [sub] [color=B8533E][b]Location[/b][/color] — [i]The Open Road / Convenience Store / Home[/i] [color=B8533E][b]Interacting With[/b][/color] — [i]N/A[/i] [/sub] [h3][color=black]────────────────────────────[/color][/h3] [youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W8tSSdSlcCE[/youtube] [/center] The road curved in a way that always felt never ending. Something about that stretch of miles before home, the anticipation that built as one drew closer and closer to the place they know best. Even the dread that likes to creep in the older you get, knowing where you’re headed is the only real place you’ve ever known despite how vast the world really is. Boone rode with that curve, leaning into the turns as the highway cut through the hills, the bike steady beneath him, familiar as his own heartbeat. The engine’s vibration traveled up through his boots, into his bones. Wind tore at the hair that hung beneath his helmet and the air smelled green and wet, pine-heavy and always a little cold even in the warmer seasons. Out here, between towns, the land didn’t belong to anyone. There were barely any fences or watching eyes. Just trees stacked thick on either side of the road, branches knitting together overhead in places where the sun barely made it through the canopy. Shadows flashed and broke across the asphalt, light and dark chasing one another endlessly. There was something poetic about that; fitting even. He let his thoughts go loose, let the noise swallow them all whole. This was the only place it ever happened like that. Miles from town, miles from people who knew his name, his face, his history. Out here, he was just another rider on a winding stretch of road. No expectations, no weight, and no ghosts from a damaged home. Just freedom. A sign rose up ahead, dull green and weathered, the paint chipped at the corners. [color=026B20][b]PINES HOLLER 4 MILES[/b][/color] Boone didn’t slow down as he passed the sign, but something in him did hesitate. There was a piece of him that did so every single time he reached this point. The hills began to open up, trees thinning as the road straightened. Countryside homes appeared few and far between at first. Then in clusters with mailboxes leaning crooked at the edge of driveways. That last stretch of miles came and went too fast, and he shouldn’t have been surprised because it always did. Boone rolled his shoulders, jaw tightening as he took a deep breath. Another sign waited for him just past a bend. [color=026B20][B]WELCOME TO PINES HOLLER[/B][/color] [i]Home sweet home[/i] The gas station sat just inside town limits, lights buzzing faintly even during the daylight. Boone eased off the throttle and coasted in, killing the engine once he was parked. The sudden quiet rang in his ears, but he was used to that. He swung his leg over the sportster and headed inside. The bell above the door chimed and the fluorescent lights washed over him. His [url=https://ibb.co/3xCrQ1j]MC cut[/url] sat heavy on his shoulders, leather creased from wear, patches worn soft with a few years’ worth of time. The rings he wore flashed on his fingers as he grabbed a paper cup and filled it with coffee that smelled burnt and metallic. He didn’t bother tasting it yet since really it was just to buy him time. Someone else was inside. A man paying for gas, whose eyes flicked toward Boone with a healthy dose of suspicion. Boone leaned back against a cooler and waited, patient as he finally sipped the terrible cup of coffee. The man left a minute later, bell chiming again as the door shut behind him. The silence settled in that convenience store as Boone walked to the front. Ms. Stella stood behind the counter, hands folded tight, knuckles pale. Her eyes lifted to him, worry already there, something that started setting in the moment he walked in that door. [color=C8C2FF]“Boone,”[/color] she said with fear in that voice. [color=C8C2FF]“Did you… were you able to get it?”[/color] He nodded once, his heavy eyes meeting hers. [color=B8533E]“Yeah. But it took some digging.”[/color] Her shoulders sagged just a little. [color=C8C2FF]“Is it going to be hard to find again?”[/color] [color=B8533E]“Probably,”[/color] he said honestly. [color=B8533E]“I’ll keep looking, but I can’t promise it’ll always be there.”[/color] She swallowed, fingers tightening together. [color=C8C2FF]“I don’t know what we’re supposed to do if it isn’t.”[/color] Boone didn’t answer right away. He set the coffee down and reached into the inner pocket of his cut. The movement was careful, almost gentle. He pulled out a small plastic bag and laid it on the counter between them. The label was clinical, with hard to pronounce prescription names, side effects, and more information than is honestly necessary… But one word stood out among the rest. [i]Leukemia.[/i] Ms. Stella’s breath caught sharp in her chest. Boone met her eyes once more. [color=B8533E]“I don’t know,”[/color] he said quietly. [color=B8533E]“But I’ve known you and your husband since I was a boy.”[/color] His fingers rested near the bag, close but not touching. [color=B8533E]“I’ll keep trying until I figure something out. The club will too. We aren’t gonna leave y’all high and dry. We got you, Ms. Stella.”[/color] Her hand came down over his, warm but still shaking. [color=C8C2FF]“I don’t know how to thank you,”[/color] she whispered. Then, softer still, [color=C8C2FF]“Who would’ve thought a bunch of outlaws would be the ones looking out for us. I swear, half of you boys and girls are really angels.”[/color] A faint smile tugged at Boone’s mouth as he slid a twenty across the counter. [color=B8533E]“For the coffee, ma’am. And put what’s left on pump three for me, if you don’t mind.”[/color] He picked up his coffee, pausing for a moment. [color=B8533E]“Oh… And please tell the old man I said to hang in there.”[/color] [color=C8C2FF]“I will,”[/color] she said, squeezing his hand once before letting go. [color=C8C2FF]“Be safe, Boone.”[/color] He nodded and turned for the door. The bell chimed as he stepped back outside, the noise of town creeping in around him again. The hills were still there, somewhere beyond the road, waiting… But home had him now. [center][img]https://i.ibb.co/ksHn75Dy/CPHBY9t.png[/img][/center] Shady Hills came up slow, the road narrowing as the trailer park opened out in front of him. Gravel crunched under his tires as he turned in, headlights washing over aluminum siding and chain link fences, yard junk half-hidden by weeds and trashy ass decorations. Lot numbers slipped by one at a time. When he rolled up to Lot #9, the first thing he noticed was the dark… The porch light was out. Boone cut the engine and sat there for a second, helmet still on, eyes lifting to the neighboring trailers. Every one of them was dark too. No glow through thin curtains. No flicker of television light. He let out a breath through his nose. [i]Figures.[/i] He swung off the bike and had barely gotten both boots on the ground when [url=https://ibb.co/C5nM4FW4]Banjo[/url] came barreling around from behind the trailer, nails skittering across the dirt, ears flapping as he ran. The long lead dragged behind him, clinking softly against his collar. [color=B8533E]“Hey,”[/color] Boone said, the word soft and with a bit of real joy. He crouched just in time to get a face full of dog, Banjo’s whole body wagging as Boone laughed under his breath and gave his little buddy the scratches he’d been waiting for. He unclipped the lead and Banjo took off in a tight circle, spinning himself dizzy before racing toward the front door and back again like Boone might forget where he lived. [color=B8533E]“Alright, alright,”[/color] Boone muttered, pushing to his feet. [color=B8533E]“I’m comin’.”[/color] Inside, the trailer was a little dark and smelled faintly like oil, dog, and old whiskey. The couch sat exactly where he’d left it, cushions torn and chewed beyond saving. A small card table stood crooked near the kitchenette, pretending to be some kind of dining room that it never could be. Three bottles rested there. Two were empty, one of which was tipped on its side. The last one was still about half full of nice…cheap…whiskey, a cup sitting nearby from last night’s use. Boone didn’t waste time with the cup. He grabbed the bottle instead, popped the cap, and took a long swig. He savored the burn for a bit and then swallowed before taking in a long, deep breath with closed eyes. Running his hands through his hair, he crossed the room and pulled the blinds open, letting a bit more pale natural light spill into the room. Banjo followed him everywhere, nails clicking, tail thumping against cabinets. Boone opened one and pulled out the bag of dog treats, tossing one down. Banjo snapped it up like it might escape, but didn’t eat it yet. Instead he just carried it in his mouth as he waited for his human. From the same cabinet, Boone grabbed a can of Chef Boyardee ravioli and pulled open the top. He dug a plastic fork out of a drawer and walked over, dropping down onto the worn out couch and started to eat straight from the can, forearms resting on his thighs, boots still on. He pulled his phone out with his free hand and scrolled. Post after post about the outage. Complaints, jokes, people cursing the utility company. The usual shit. So it wasn’t just them. Seemed like the whole damn town was down at the moment. Then a post caught his eye. [i][color=C9C255]Come on down to Huskers! We got the generator going strong and enough cold beer to last all day. Or, until the ice melts… But either way, we’re waiting for you fine folks to come on by.[/color][/i] Boone glanced sideways at his buddy. Banjo had finally started eating his treat now that he was curled up against him on the couch, chin resting against Boone’s thigh, eyes half-lidded and content as the little guy chewed. [color=B8533E]“Well,”[/color] Boone said quietly, nudging him with his knee. [color=B8533E]“What do you think...”[/color] Banjo thumped his tail once. Boone smirked, phone sliding back into his pocket. [color=B8533E]“Wanna hit the bar with me?”[/color][/color]