“Kal.”
“Mmf.”
“Kal.”
……..
“Jaiki, Kal.”
The low growl accompanying the additional word had him grunting and rolling over to rub at his eyes. He glared at his brother reproachfully, for all the man was looming over his bed in the small space provided and had a better face for it, he felt that, given the late, or despicably early, hour, he had every right to express his irritation. Prhy, however, rarely did anything without good reason. So, for all his annoyance, and great wish to wake up without sleep deprivation, for once, please!, three times was all it took. At the very least, he could be grateful that the bed he was on could not be lifted up without risking injury. That used to be his brother’s preferred wake up call.
So, he sat up, still trying to get a bit of stubborn crust out of one eye and squinted up through the dim light shining in from the window. “What?” If he was a little snappy, it wasn’t his fault. He always woke up grumpy. Prhy was good at ignoring him.
“Gu hemen.”
“We’re here? Where’s here? For heaven’s sake, Prhy, I’m too tired for Euskara.” In all honesty, he probably should have known what the man meant, they’d discussed it the night before and he knew where they’d been headed. But he was apparently too tired to think at all. His brother, snorting, condescended to help him out. “Loud girl’s farm. Smells. Gizona hitz egiten… outside.”
“What?!” Kal was awake and full of energy after all, when he realised what his brother had been trying to tell him. Bolting upright, he shouldered past Prhy to swing the trailer door open and stare in dismay at the farmhouse they were apparently parked beside. And there was the man Prhy had promised him, blinking right back at him, hand raised to knock. “Ah, excuse me, sorry, is this Samantha Bray’s home?”
With nothing but boxers on, a bedhead, and obviously confused state of mind, Kal was quite sure he was making an incredible first impression. But he honestly hadn’t expected Prhy to park the trailer right outside the girl’s front door. Was that more or less creepy than his original plan of parking a bit off the road and walking up to knock politely on the front door? He had no idea. But he was wondering if they’d get chased off the property at gun point.
When he was merely frowned at, which was all good and proper considering the circumstances, but not altogether useful, he frowned right back and considered the possibility of messages getting passed along. The man would do for that, well enough. “Right well, anyway, could you pass along that we’re hoping to have a word with her? S’only a brief bit of a chat, promise.”
Heck, it might even only be one word if they let Prhy do the talking…
With that, message suitably delivered because there was no way he was going to step any further out of the trailer in socks and boxers, Kal tried out a smile that turned into something more like a grimace, shut the door again, and turned to tell Prhy exactly what he thought of this whole fiasco. They’d come here because they’d been nearby when he’d seen an article in the paper about some car getting wrecked while parked and two teens getting sent to the hospital. Later news had mentioned that one was dead. The other, however, he’d suspected might need some help. There hadn’t been many details released, but enough to leave that measure of uncertainty about the situation, so, just in case it was a mutant, they’d made a detour.
It wouldn’t be the first time they picked up mutants in need. They’d met more than a few troublemakers or just always in the wrong place at the wrong time sort of people. And what with the trend of powers manifesting during puberty, he wasn’t really surprised. Usually, however, they didn’t drive right up to anyone’s door and just announce themselves so openly. Sure, it was still night and all, and Prhy would know better than most if anyone else was about, but it was still… “Couldn’t at least have given me some warning, huh? Oh no, just up an’ at ‘em, Kal, rise and shine we got guns and pitchforks at the door an’ I don’t want to deal with ‘em, you do it.”
Grumbling and muttering to himself, he dragged on the jeans and shirt he’d thrown over the seat back after he’d turned it into his bed, glaring at his brother’s back all the while. “What’s wrong with a morning hike, eh? S’good to stretch the legs out, stay low, under the radar. Isn’t like there’s any chance the good gov’ment’s gonna be turnin’ its big ol’Sauron eye thisaway any time soon. Oh no, not a chance!”
When he’d pulled on his long coat (an affectation that either made him look mysterious, or suspiciously like a flasher) and found his boots and there’d still been no response from the man lying in the back, looking right peaceful, damn him, Kal narrowed his eyes at the lump before huffing and banging down the steps and out the door. “Now I’m talking to myself. Bloody fat bastard.”
He growled and kicked the grass, having learned a few of his manners from his brother, they’d been living together too long. Then, stuffing his hands in his pockets and cursing the chill still in the air, he strode towards the house, hoping they’d ask first, shoot never.
“Mmf.”
“Kal.”
……..
“Jaiki, Kal.”
The low growl accompanying the additional word had him grunting and rolling over to rub at his eyes. He glared at his brother reproachfully, for all the man was looming over his bed in the small space provided and had a better face for it, he felt that, given the late, or despicably early, hour, he had every right to express his irritation. Prhy, however, rarely did anything without good reason. So, for all his annoyance, and great wish to wake up without sleep deprivation, for once, please!, three times was all it took. At the very least, he could be grateful that the bed he was on could not be lifted up without risking injury. That used to be his brother’s preferred wake up call.
So, he sat up, still trying to get a bit of stubborn crust out of one eye and squinted up through the dim light shining in from the window. “What?” If he was a little snappy, it wasn’t his fault. He always woke up grumpy. Prhy was good at ignoring him.
“Gu hemen.”
“We’re here? Where’s here? For heaven’s sake, Prhy, I’m too tired for Euskara.” In all honesty, he probably should have known what the man meant, they’d discussed it the night before and he knew where they’d been headed. But he was apparently too tired to think at all. His brother, snorting, condescended to help him out. “Loud girl’s farm. Smells. Gizona hitz egiten… outside.”
“What?!” Kal was awake and full of energy after all, when he realised what his brother had been trying to tell him. Bolting upright, he shouldered past Prhy to swing the trailer door open and stare in dismay at the farmhouse they were apparently parked beside. And there was the man Prhy had promised him, blinking right back at him, hand raised to knock. “Ah, excuse me, sorry, is this Samantha Bray’s home?”
With nothing but boxers on, a bedhead, and obviously confused state of mind, Kal was quite sure he was making an incredible first impression. But he honestly hadn’t expected Prhy to park the trailer right outside the girl’s front door. Was that more or less creepy than his original plan of parking a bit off the road and walking up to knock politely on the front door? He had no idea. But he was wondering if they’d get chased off the property at gun point.
When he was merely frowned at, which was all good and proper considering the circumstances, but not altogether useful, he frowned right back and considered the possibility of messages getting passed along. The man would do for that, well enough. “Right well, anyway, could you pass along that we’re hoping to have a word with her? S’only a brief bit of a chat, promise.”
Heck, it might even only be one word if they let Prhy do the talking…
With that, message suitably delivered because there was no way he was going to step any further out of the trailer in socks and boxers, Kal tried out a smile that turned into something more like a grimace, shut the door again, and turned to tell Prhy exactly what he thought of this whole fiasco. They’d come here because they’d been nearby when he’d seen an article in the paper about some car getting wrecked while parked and two teens getting sent to the hospital. Later news had mentioned that one was dead. The other, however, he’d suspected might need some help. There hadn’t been many details released, but enough to leave that measure of uncertainty about the situation, so, just in case it was a mutant, they’d made a detour.
It wouldn’t be the first time they picked up mutants in need. They’d met more than a few troublemakers or just always in the wrong place at the wrong time sort of people. And what with the trend of powers manifesting during puberty, he wasn’t really surprised. Usually, however, they didn’t drive right up to anyone’s door and just announce themselves so openly. Sure, it was still night and all, and Prhy would know better than most if anyone else was about, but it was still… “Couldn’t at least have given me some warning, huh? Oh no, just up an’ at ‘em, Kal, rise and shine we got guns and pitchforks at the door an’ I don’t want to deal with ‘em, you do it.”
Grumbling and muttering to himself, he dragged on the jeans and shirt he’d thrown over the seat back after he’d turned it into his bed, glaring at his brother’s back all the while. “What’s wrong with a morning hike, eh? S’good to stretch the legs out, stay low, under the radar. Isn’t like there’s any chance the good gov’ment’s gonna be turnin’ its big ol’Sauron eye thisaway any time soon. Oh no, not a chance!”
When he’d pulled on his long coat (an affectation that either made him look mysterious, or suspiciously like a flasher) and found his boots and there’d still been no response from the man lying in the back, looking right peaceful, damn him, Kal narrowed his eyes at the lump before huffing and banging down the steps and out the door. “Now I’m talking to myself. Bloody fat bastard.”
He growled and kicked the grass, having learned a few of his manners from his brother, they’d been living together too long. Then, stuffing his hands in his pockets and cursing the chill still in the air, he strode towards the house, hoping they’d ask first, shoot never.
