[Flashback] What The Water Gave Me [Closed]

[Jaron Grunn]

(Credit to Prowlcat111 @ Deviantart. Photoshop used to reduce size, add fancy layers.) 40 Spring, 511 The little land allotted to the graveyard was one that Jaron had not seen prior to Sev’s death. He had been lucky in that his family members, up to this point, had largely remained alive and not succumbed to the dangers of the world. The foreboding darkness and stones marked with writing denoting other dead people didn’t make Jaron nervous, nor did he truly care for the couple other groups that were also there to mourn their deceased loved ones. When he looked down to the freshly turned soil at his feet he could practically see the warmth from the ground that had just accepted the new body that was returned to the dirt. The mound was fresh, the shovel marks and footprints on it still visible hours after family, friends and undertakers had left back to Lhavit and back to their lives. Jaron couldn’t pull himself away from the last place that he saw the man that he loved; departing this one place would be difficult. He tried to think of a time once they were together when they were physically apart from each other and how far that distance had been. Jaron couldn’t think of a time that he hadn’t been within yelling distance of Sev, except for the forthcoming moment when he had to leave Sev in the ground. Spring rain was something that was just part of the season, and as the sun started to set in the distance, Jaron could feel the soft splash of rain against his hair and the tip of his nose. While the showers were welcoming and refreshing, they only enhanced the dour expression on his face that, up to this point, had been free of any sign of tears. The headstone was simple, name, date of birth and date of death. No elaboration on his status as a father, husband or role model – just the facts were listed as if he was another entry in a catalogue. Jaron couldn’t name what type of rock the headstone was carved from, but it was just as simple and black as the text that was etched onto the surface. The silence around him was nothing comforting; it was a sign that he would soon have to leave. That Jaron would have to buck up and get on with his life and live alone. There was no reason for Jaron to lay in bed forever while he mourned this loss. He wouldn’t let himself be paralyzed by grief. Jaron slipped his left hand out from his jacket pocket and held it out in front of him. There was still a hint of dirt in the cracks of his calloused palm as his fingers outstretched to reach for the soft drops of rain from the grey clouds above. His fingers closed tight, curling his hand into a fist that he buried deep in his pocket once more. His mind was clear of any thought and of any voice that would tell him what to do at that very moment as his body sunk down to the ground, his knees landing in the soft dirt at the bottom of the mound that housed Sev’s coffin. “After how many years you’ve been on my case,” Jaron said softly to himself and to the body of the man six feet under the surface, “I still don’t listen to you and get the knees of my good pants dirty. Like a damned little kid.” He could practically hear the gravelly voice of Sev in his mind, scolding him for the sloppiness he had when it came to caring about “good” clothes. The way that Jaron always seemed to attract dirt, food, and other substances against his pants or shirt that always took more effort than necessary to remove upon laundering. Jaron felt a cool breeze brush against his shoulder and he rolled that shoulder up against the side of his jaw as a chill ran down his spine. The air around him seemed to cool almost immediately as he kept that fist tight inside his pocket. He wasn’t ignorant of the pressure he was exerting in that fist, the rough and uneven nails of his middle and ring finger digging through the rough callouses of his palm to the soft tissue underneath. When that chill ran down his spine, Jaron gripped the fist tighter and he could feel the soft trickle of blood seep between his fingers and stain the inside of his pocket. “You know,” A familiar voice rumbled out from behind him. Jaron looked up to see what he thought was the form of Sev standing beside him, with a hand on his shoulder. But the man that he thought was there wasn’t really a man at all, but a faint image of what Sev looked like. The edges of this image were slightly blurred and his body and face seemed faint, Jaron could easily see through him, but there was enough of the image for him to recognize exactly who it was. “I won’t be there to clean your pants anymore, Jay. You’re going to have to stop messing them up, or start taking on more expensive contracts to afford more clean clothes…”

[Jaron Grunn]

The warm reality of his current state of mind made Jaron realize that, yes, that was Sev standing beside him. He slowly raised himself back up to his feet as he kept his eyes on the form of the man that was standing before him, or at least the faded image of him. Those pale blue eyes that appeared even bluer against the faint image of Sev, and that unique cleft chin. Jaron couldn’t believe what he was looking at; he knew that there were ghosts that existed but he never took much stock in those rumours as he had never seen one himself. But here, standing right before him like there was nothing wrong in the world, was Sev. The image of the man smiled and gave a little, faint chuckle as Jaron’s eyes remained locked with those in front of him. Jaron didn’t need to state what was happening; he knew he was sane of mind and perfectly awake. While he had experienced vivid dreams before, this was nothing like that. He pulled out his bloodstained hand out and reached to touch the image’s chest as blood trickled down his wrist and a couple drops fell to the grass below. His fingers went right through the image of Sev – the only tactile contact he got from the interaction was a cooling of his fingers, as if he dipped his fingers in freezing cold rainwater. “You know I’m not real, Jay. I really am dead you know.” Sev said as he eyed the drops of blood that dripped down to the ground below. One of the nervous habits that Jaron had when the two men had met was clutching his fists in his pockets, to the point that he would easily draw blood. First Sev tried to trim Jaron’s nails to prevent much damage, then he offered his own hand to squeeze in times of stress. That alleviated Jaron’s anxieties and soon there was no longer a need to grip anything, he had Sev in his life. He had his rock. Without Sev, Jaron slipped ever so easily into his past vices. “I know,” Jaron replied immediately, the final acknowledge of that death being caught in his throat as he swallowed nervously. He flashed a nervous smile that he knew that the ghost, ironically enough, could easily see through. “It’s funny, Jay. I was around the entire time that everyone was here, but I couldn’t will myself to become apparent to anyone. I didn’t want them to know that I was still here and not where I should be. But now that they’re gone, I just felt...” While Sev realized himself he was no longer part of the mortal realm, his hand reached out instinctually to touch Jaron’s arm. Just as Jaron’s fingers had went through him moments ago, his own fingers went right through the fabric of Jaron’s dark jacket, past his flesh and bones as if it wasn’t there. He pulled his hand back as Jaron’s eyes spotted the awkward and anxious gulp of a swallow of Sev’s neck. The ghost’s attempt at a normal, regular conversation faltered the moment his fingers failed to make physical contact with the man that he loved. “I miss you.” Jaron said softly, just above a whisper, but Sev heard it perfectly. He smiled back as he put his hands into the pockets of his jacket. The jacket was dark shade of green and made of sturdy leather; it was the jacket that Jaron bought for him as a present, and the jacket that he died in. Sev’s eyes broke contact with Jaron’s as he looked to the ground awkwardly and gave a slow nod of his head in reply. “I know,” Was all Sev said in reply. What more was Jaron to do with the ghost of Sev? They couldn’t touch, couldn’t kiss and everything that one man wanted to say to the other was circulating in their minds like a tornado. It was utter chaos, a complete mash up of various thoughts, feelings and urges that neither man wanted to admit to each other but both were thinking. Jaron’s gaze also followed some random path on the ground as the sound of his thumping heart alerted him back to the present. “I don’t know what to do,” Jaron said, in a low and defeated tone. “You know exactly what to do,” Came Sev’s reply without hesitation. The journal that lay in the breast pocket of Jaron’s jacket seemed to burn against his chest. The countless tales that Sev told Jaron about the lands of this world and the strange and weird cities that chronicled in his journal made up many a night’s conversations between the two men. The strange scents, foods and customs that made Lhavit appear so normal in comparison. The strange people that existed past the borders of Kalea, people with six arms, hands like claws, and short grey men and women that could dip their hands in fire as easily as Sev could dip his hands in water. The journeys that Sev took before meeting Jaron was something that Jaron was endlessly envious over and he wished he had taken the time in his younger years travelling the roads instead of protecting them. “Not without you,” Jaron said as he looked back up to Sev and those painfully blue eyes that could see through any walls that Jaron had put up, and in the days since Sev died in his arms every mental wall that he could put up, was up. He couldn’t deal with the pitiful looks, the words of condolence, or the food baskets. A faint hand from a faint green pocket reached out and gently traced the outline of Jaron’s jaw. Sev smiled as his fingers traced just the scruffiness of the strong bone as he looked back to Jaron. He wanted to pull away from that cold touch, to pull away from this new memory of the touch of the man he loved making his flesh cold instead of warm, but he couldn’t move a muscle. Jaron felt a cool tear well up in the corner of his eye, travel down his hot cheek, and lose itself in the rough beard surrounding his lips. Jaron pressed his lips firmly together to prevent any outcry, any verbal noise or grunt from escaping his lips at that touch. “My Jay,” Sev said softly as he moved his hand and placed it directly over Jaron’s heart. The ghost couldn’t feel anything and that reality made his face tighten slightly as he yearned to feel the quickened beat of the man’s heart under his strong and lean chest. “You’re far stronger than you give yourself credit for. Remember when I first met you? When you were a cocky sonofagun that didn’t have a fear in the world?”

[Jaron Grunn]

The tavern was loud, hot, and full of drunken men and women who thought of nothing more than having a good time after a long and hard harvest. Jaron was in the thick of them, just as drunk as the rest of them and his throat was beginning to get hoarse from all the yelling that he had to do just to be heard of the roar of conversation and laughing of the crowd. Each hand held two huge pints of ale, the two large handles hooked around his fingers in each hand as he struggled to weave his way through the crowd with his round of drinks that he had to pay for. Before Jaron could successfully even get halfway through the crowd along the bar back to his table, his foot hooked in one of the stools at the bar and Jaron went crashing into the man seated on the stool as the ale in his hands went pouring out, half on the man in front of him and half on the other patrons that were around him. With his fingers loosening around the glasses that he let drop down to the bar, Jaron found his arms practically wrapped around the man that was now soaked in ale that seemed to be enjoying his own solitude in a loud and very social bar. “Hey,” Jaron yelled at the man, who looked over to him and scowled with two blue eyes under a heavy brow. “If I said I want your body now, would you hold it against me?” Jaron laughed as he pushed himself back away from the man and looked down to the stains of liquid down against his clothes. “No, no, that’s fine,” The blue-eyed man said as he looked down to the stains on his shirt and looked back to Jaron without a smile. “I like the wet look. I think if I show my chest to the bartender I can get free drinks now.” Jaron laughed at the joke, glad that the man at least had a sense of humour. While blue eyes gave a dry reply to the situation, one of the men that Jaron spilled the ale on was not so happy to have the warm and sticky liquid spilled on his body. Without warning, the man’s fist met Jaron’s jaw, which made him stumble back against the bar. The patrons of the bar were too drunk to care what was happening and were even cheering on the man that stood at least half a foot taller than Jaron. “Next time get a damn woman to carry your drinks for you, boy,” The man bellowed out as he winded his fist up to try and plant it in Jaron’s gut. Despite the alcohol in his system that somewhat dulled his senses, Jaron’s gut instincts took over in this instant as he tuned out everything but the man in front of him. His hands reached out for the fist that was hurdling towards him and he deftly dodged that attack as he twisted himself back up to his feet. Jaron curled his body up against the man’s body and in one quick and seemingly painless and well-rehearsed motion had the bottom of his palm shoot up to the man’s nose, shattering it instantly. Before he had time to take stock of Jaron right up in his face, and the damage to his nose, Jaron shot out his hands to the man’s solar plexus and in one perfect hit the man recoiled back in pain, staggered to try and catch his balance and crash into the crowd. They laughed at his misfortune as Jaron just shook his head and looked back over to blue-eyes with a big grin on his face. “Sorry about that. Everyone wants a piece of me at this tavern sometimes. I’m kind of a big deal,” Jaron said with a casual roll of his shoulders. “So who are you and what are you doing all alone in this place?” The blue eyed man seemed even less thrilled at the way that Jaron was speaking to him, and Jaron could have sworn that his eyes rolled back as Jaron looked away from him with a grin and caught the bartender’s attention to order two more rounds of what he was supposed have back at the table by now. “Sev,” he said curtly as Jaron brushed shoulders with the man as the person on Jaron’s right was pushing him towards Sev, as he looked over to see him and one of the barmaids start to make out right then and there, against Jaron’s shoulder. He shoved them back with a laugh as he looked back to Sev and took in a breath yell out another quip to the man as two sets of arms hooked around Jaron’s arms and started to haul him back out. From the looks of the two men, they were part of the farmhands that were friends with the guy that Jaron crumpled down to the ground like it was no effort whatsoever. As Jaron was lifted up from the ground and away from the bar, the expression on his face was one of amusement and not a shred of fear on it of what might happen. “Sev, Sev! Hold my place! I’ll be back!” He yelled out to him with a laugh. The table of Sev’s friends that were expecting the drinks saw the commotion and stood up from their chairs and hooted and hollered at Jaron as they saw him get dragged out by the two men, followed by at least two other surly and drunk men that were muttering under their breath. “Sev! Save my seat!” Jaron yelled out as he was pulled out and brought out to the streets of Lhavit. ...”That man is still in there, and you need to let him out.” Sev said as he pointed to Jaron’s chest with a smile. “He was the bastard that I fell in love with, Jay.” “Yeah, I remember.” Jaron said with a smile as just a hint of red returned to his cheeks. Sev’s ghost looked over to him with a warm smile, too, and curled his own faint hand into a fist as he wished he could place his hand on Jaron’s shoulder. “That’s how you got that scar on your leg, I believe.” Jaron nodded his head and gave a scoff over to the image of Sev. “Yeah. Bastard thought he could pull a knife on me and get away with it!”

[Jaron Grunn]

Four men. Four men, to Jaron, was nothing more than foreplay when it came to a brawl outside. Unfortunately, for the men, there wouldn’t be much of a brawl as Jaron had a cute guy inside that he wanted to try and see if he could pry him out of his shell and he wasn’t going to be distracted by this silly fight. He would have to end it soon. By the looks of the four men, they didn’t have such an easy harvest as the rest of the farmers and other patrons in the tavern. They scowled. They grunted. They cracked their knuckles as they got ready to beat the living lights out of this young “punk” of a kid that thought that spilling a drink on someone was something to laugh about. They threw Jaron down to the ground and he skidded to a halt as he looked back to the four men as they snarled and growled at him as if they were four Kelvic wannabes that thought that since their animal forms were bears, that in their human forms they should snarl too. Jaron wanted to reach over and pinch their cheeks but thought twice about it; he could do all the mocking he wanted to after he had them on the ground and had tenderized them up a little. “What? Come on now, let’s get this over with!” Jaron said, putting his up fists in the most clichéd defensive position he could make. He knew that it would do little against these men but he thought it would be more fun to try and at least give them a good show before sending them to the healer for the night to sleep off their hangover and be bandaged up after Jaron was done with them. They weren’t thrilled with the question; perhaps he was supposed to stay quiet while he was pummelled relentlessly until he was taught his lesson? Jaron didn’t have time to further elaborate on his question as the first drunken man took a swing at his face, missed, and almost stumbled to the ground. "Oh, boy!" + + + + + Sev grew bored inside the tavern and wondered exactly what was happening outside; was the man that he barely got to say hi to already in a mud puddle, broken and bleeding? He threw some coin to the bartender and got up from his seat (where someone immediately took it and the seat he was saving for Jaron) and pushed his way outside. When he got outside and pushed the doors open he saw Jaron, standing alone in a circle of men that were on the ground. They weren’t dead – though Sev wished they were – as they were on the ground, moaning, groaning and all other pathetic sounds of someone that their posterior handed to them. By the looks of it Jaron had just finished with the men and was checking to make sure no one else was going to get up and start something else when his eyes caught Sev and he smiled over to him. Jaron looked bad, but at least he was standing. The visible wounds on his face looked like they would tell a tale the morning after as they would swell up, and Sev made a note to himself to ask for a play by play of the fight, later. He gave a little laugh as he gestured to the tavern. He started to walk towards Sev with a bit of a limp, the side of his pant leg red where a wound had yet to stop bleeding. “I thought you were going to save my seat.” “I got bored inside. Someone barfed on the counter next to me and I thought I’d get some fresh air.” A lie and Jaron could see right through it even in his inebriated state. Sev didn’t hesitate to make his way over to Jaron with a more hurried jog as he stepped up beside him and helped him move. The two men went over to an unoccupied bench and Jaron sat down with a growl as the wound on his leg came in contact with the dirty bench. Sev sat on the side of the injury and pushed Jaron over to try and give it a look as he tore at the pant leg to try and see just what the wound had cut. “You know, if you wanted to cut right to that could you at least let me get clean first?” Jaron said with another growl as his body instinctively tried to push Sev away; his fingers were groping along the wound, feeling for something that Jaron wasn’t exactly sure he knew. He looked back over to Sev who smiled and pulled his fingers back. Jaron wasn’t much of a sentimental soul, but when he saw that smile lit by the light of the moon and the fires around the tavern he knew that there was something about this guy... something more than just a surly man from a bar. “Well whatever happened down there, he managed to miss anything important. I have some stuff back at my place if you want me to patch it up, I could carry you if you like. You’re not that heavy.” Sev said as he sat against the bench, letting Jaron to adjust himself on the bench and get as comfortable as he could despite the fight that had just tenderized his body. Jaron turned his head to the side and spit out a gob of saliva and blood, the repercussions of many a fist punching his face ... and maybe a knee, too. “Knife. The bastard had a knife. Who brings a knife to a bar brawl? Honestly,” Jaron said and gave his head a shake. “No matter. They’re done with and I’m still standing and don’t need anyone to carry me away like a damsel in distress.” To emphasize the point that Jaron could still stand, he pushed himself up to his feet but only for a moment. The trauma he received to his head had temporarily messed with his sense of balance, and unbeknownst to Jaron he started to fall backward with a very confident smile on his face. Sev stepped out again and caught Jaron in his arms, looking down to him with a look that only a disappointed father could give. Jaron gave a little shrug up to Sev as he struggled back up to his feet properly, though heavily leaning on the man beside him. “Okay, so maybe I do need some help...” Jaron looked over to Sev and the faint image of a man that he now was. Sev would no longer be there to lean on, to save him, to even give him a slap in the face when he slept in. Sev returned the look and thought the same things in his mind. He would never be able to feel the rough cheek of Jaron’s face, feel the rough scar along his leg or even feel the heat from his body. “I have to go, Jaron.” “I know,” That much was obvious to Jaron but thinking about that reality was one he didn’t want face just yet. He slipped his hands back inside his pockets as his eyes looked up to the sky for a moment as the clouds darkened. Harder drops of rain fell from the sky and into the fresh dirt over Sev’s grave, sinking the dirt back into the earth where it belonged. “I’m going to miss you, Jay. But,” Sev gave a little shrug as he looked away from Jaron, the younger man not wanting to confront reality either. “Yeah,” Jaron said with a fake smile as he looked back to Sev, his image already starting to grow fainter as the rain grew harder. “I love you.” “I love you, too, Jay.” Sev said as the last tendrils of the faint and opaque image of his body disappeared into the rain that left Jaron standing in front of the grave by himself once more. His eyes settled on the dark tombstone that had Sev’s name on it and he gave a little grin as he wished he had a hammer and chisel, to add his own little line at the bottom. But with nothing more in his pockets than his own fists, Jaron could feel the nails of his fingers dig into the soft and raw part of his palm as his fist curled tight once more.

[Duality]

Jaron +2 Seduction +2 Observation +1 Unarmed Combat Hurting yourself Needing one last touch Dealing of loss Drunk and Flirty Angering the wrong farmers Bittersweet Memories Saying Goodbye None awwww. This thread was very well done. I love the way the memories spring up and the way the ending wraps up the story so well. The mix of saying goodbye with the thoughts of how they met really mesh together well. It was a very enjoyable read. Thank you! For any questions or concerns with my grading, PM me!