The Drunk and the Orphan (Curly & Neil)

[faryllll]

Curly lay sprawled out on a bench, clutching her head in the apprent torture that was called a hangover. Her upper torso hung off the edge of the bench, her hair nearly touching the ground. Curly let all of the blood rush to her head because she thought it would make the headache better, but it apparently made it worse.

The main staff at the Alleyway let her come in late after she had had a rough night of drinking. The more alcohol that was in her system and the farther away from the legal BAL it was, the worse the hangover would be, and if she had a bad hangover, she wouldn't be able to do her job, so they let her absense slide on days like these.

Apparently, Curly woke up in the park after a good night at the Rabbit Hole. She always went there after she had had a stressful day, and since she couldn't remember anything that had happened there except that she was there, she had had a seriously stressful day.

But Curly didn't have time to ponder around, since her head was pounding and since she was sober, she felt it ALL.

[sand]

Neil made sure his old, reliable sneakers were strapped onto his feet and – with a great trudging effort – began to jog. He wasn’t one for exercise, and he definitely wasn’t a morning person. It was all his new social worker’s idea: after she’d noticed how unmuscular he was and lectured him on the benefits of exercise, she’d forced him to make a daily planner on all the running he’d do and promise to join the Tennis Club.

One step. Another step.

Apparently, she thought (besides being “character building”) it’d look good on his adoption papers. She was obviously new – after five months of Being Neil to the last social worker, she’d given up trying to help him get adopted alltogether.

Another step. Another step.

The last thing he wanted right now were parents. That would mean piles of paperwork, moving into some suburban home far from New York, and, most importantly, leaving Baum. He couldn’t leave Baum, not after he’d worked so hard to win that Creative Arts Scholarship to get in. Besides, Baum looked amazing on his job resume.

Another step. Another...

There was a woman on one of the park benches, lying down with her head tipped over the side. Her face looked pained and her eyes, screwed shut. The symptoms of a hangover weren’t new to him. God knew how many times he’d mopped his parent’s puke off the linoleum back when he was a kid.

“Hey, Miss...?” He whispered, hoping not to set off a mental explosion. His dad’d always complained about being noise -sensitive in the morning. “Miss, are you alright?”

[faryllll]

"Just PEACHY," Curly groaned, sitting up and still clutching her head. "Just simply PEACHY. I had the time of my life last night, I think, and I only get rewarded with a huge headache that kicks my mind straight into last week." Curly groaned again, and then she looked over at Neil. "And what about you? You're not exactly in a position to sympathize a drunk old woman, yourself. Whatsa matter? Cardboard box got foreclosed?"

Curly stretched, her headache starting to go away the more she talked, because for once, her mind wasn't focused on the pain of her headache, but on Neil and how to possibly get him out of the picture so that she could... ugh, there was the pain again.

But she WAS curious about him. He didn't look the wealthy type... or the good-looking type, to be frank. He looked the complete opposite of what she wanted in a guy, but she still felt... connected to him. Not connected like she had to kill him at that very moment, but... more like she DIDN'T have to kill him. He was one of those boys that you needed to get along.

Corny, she thought, but true. She wondered if he needed a place to crash (to seriously /crash/). But these thoughts were to only distract her from... OH CRAAAAP There was that hangover again.

[sand]

A tiny dog had started sniffing Neil’s leg as the woman’s next headache hit. He stared at her, feeling a wave of nostalgia. It’d been a full three or so years since he last saw a hangover. Feeling about for his backpack and his handy bottle of aspirin, he realised he was in his jogging kit and backpack-free.

“Crap,”

He leaned in close to her face, breathing in what smelled like booze on her breath. Her face wasn’t one he recognised, thought he felt, deep down, they’d met before... a long time ago.

“Listen, Miss,” he reached out his arm to shoulder her, “I’m going to take you home and get you something for that headache there, alright?”

Chewing his lip, he wondered why he was trying to help someone he’d only known for five minutes. It wasn’t something he’d usually do...

Have you met my brother? A voice whispered in the back of his mind. Neil listened, transfixed.

Most people don’t know half of it, continued the voice. They think he carries harvesting tools to lob heads off, they think he rides a horse made of darkness under the full moon, they think he’s a skeleton, without tendons, joints, flesh. They’re wrong, of course; the evidence’s right in front of you.

The tiny dog had begun to growl softly, something was definitely wrong with the moment. Neil pursed his lips, resisting the urge to talk to the voice in front of another person. He’d heard it once before, but his social worker had dismissed it as some stress-related schizophrenia.

He shuts eyes, Neil; it’s your job to shut them too – just in a different way.

“A differen...?” He was cut short as the dog, sick of growling at the unseen force, lunged at him, barking with teeth bared. Screaming, he threw his hands forward, falling back into the bench with the woman. He handed on the seat just a hair’s breadth from sitting on her... and the dog asleep on his lap.

He felt a gritty sand between his fingers as he shoved the animal off him. Turning back to the woman, he realised all the screaming might have made her headache worse. Whatever happened, it had to wait for her. And if the voice said she was his... brother... she could give him some answers.

“Are you... okay, Miss?” He asked, absentmindedly and bemusedly rubbing the strange sparkling sand with his thumb.

[faryllll]

“Listen, Miss, I’m going to take you home and get you something for that headache there, alright?”

"That would be lovely," Curly replied, sitting up while still clutching her head. "Lovely, lovely, lovely. So lovely, I could just..." She was about to continue when she noticed the phenomenon that had occurred right in front of her. She had sat up just in time for Neil to topple on the bench next to her, and it seemed her hangover had faded away at his very presense...

"Actually, on second thought... Come to my house. You look like you've seen a ghost, child. I promise I won't hurt you," she stated, smiling gently at the young man.

You'd better not hurt him, a voice stated in her mind. Actually, you cannot. There are only two people whom your powers do not affect, and they are the ones whom you should be with. This boy... he may be the key to getting somewhere in life. Go ahead, try to kiss him. He'll still be alive.

Curly paused for a moment, before looking over at this boy, this strange boy, who seemed to be the solution to all her problems...

[sand]

“That,” Neil muttered, slightly too shaken to think straight, “Sounds like a plan,”

It probably wasn’t safe to follow perfect (older!) strangers to their homes, where they could potentially rape/torture/skin/bake you into a pie, but somehow, it seemed right to go wherever this woman went. She did feel almost like family now.

Ohh, how his social workers would flay him for this.

Almost instantly, she was acting as if her hangover had never existed – though Neil was too startled to argue the implausibility of a recovery like that. Besides, he’d seen weirder things today.

Carefully, he shoved the sleeping dog under the bench with his shoe and stood up, as if to leave.

“I’m Neil Sanderson, by the way,” he introduced himself. An introduction had been long-due after all. “You, urm, can just call me Neil,”

[faryllll]

“That,” Neil muttered, slightly too shaken to think straight, “Sounds like a plan,”

"You're welcome," Curly replied, taking Neil's arm and standing up. "Besides, I have a sixth sense for hobos, and you don't look like the type that's got a home besides a cheap rented one. 'Course, that ain't much better than what I got, but there's a difference between you and me, and that's the fact that my type is allowed to run around homeless. It's a stereotype when you work at the fight club."

Curly looked the boy over for a second. So the 'boss' had just told her that trying to kill this guy was going to do no good. This obviously meant he was meant to be on the team (or, what small team there was), and that he deserved her trust. Well, that was quite strange. She was supposed to play Mommy for some random kid that she had bumped into? Well... he WAS the Sandman, after all...

“I’m Neil Sanderson, by the way,” he introduced himself. An introduction had been long-due after all. “You, urm, can just call me Neil,”

"Lenorette," Curly replied, looking him straight in the eye. "Ms. Lenorette. But, since you have a good face, I'll let you call me Curly. In private. But in public, it's Ms. Lenorette, or M'am. Or, if you wish it that much, Mum."

Wait...

...

What?!

[sand]

“Mom...?”

Neil blinked. He had a mother, and she was still very much alive. She sent him letters on occasion, telling him how well she was doing in Alcoholics Anonymous (the whole while making fun of the fact that her AA supervisor hadn’t realised she smoked marijuana) and, on occasion, she send over some of his old clothes. She was, apparently, turning his room into a (quote-unquote) “Bachelor-girl pad”.

It wasn’t the fact that she was getting along great without him that annoyed him – it was those clothes. He spent a good six days every week wearing his old orphanage corporate tees; it wasn’t like he needed these old clothes, and they reminded him too much of another life when he still cared about his folks.

In a ton of ways, this woman was a better mom than the one he’d known. Hell, he’d barely known her for ten minutes, but she was already seeming more and more like family than his mom.

“I wouldn’t care if you lived in a cardboard box, actually,” He said, “Just as long as it’s closer to here than my dorm. I really, really could use to shower,” He dusted his hands off, but the sand, try as he might, wouldn’t leave his hands clean. It was as if he was still... making it... somehow.

“...And an explanation,” He added, slightly perturbed.

[faryllll]

“I wouldn’t care if you lived in a cardboard box, actually,” He said, “Just as long as it’s closer to here than my dorm. I really, really could use to shower,” He dusted his hands off, but the sand, try as he might, wouldn’t leave his hands clean. It was as if he was still... making it... somehow.

“...And an explanation,” He added, slightly perturbed.

"Luckily, Love, one of the things I DO have at my dump is running water," Curly stated in reply, starting to walk away from the bench, despite the fact that she was still teetering a little due to the alcohol in her system. "It isn't a five-star, but it'll do decently. At least, enough for you. Why, you look like you've been digging a hole with your bare hands at the beach with those fingers..."

And then, it hit her.

Sandman.

She'd heard all about this fellow from The Boss but had never actually seen him in person, or at least, for what he was. The Boss had told her that if she were to ever even ATTEMPT to kill the guy, it would be all over for her. Thankfully, though, she was in a hangover at that time, and the boy was young and, although handsome, not quite to her tastes.

What did I tell you? The Boss asked Curly, a satisfied smirk clear in his voice. And besides, I don't really want him in my realm, anyway. He's too scrawny, and quite connected to life. I REALLY don't want to watch him bawl his eyes out...

[sand]

“I don’t understand it myself,” Neil grunted, flicking his hands again and again, the sand not stopping all the while. “It’s like... I’m making it...”

“Listen, I really need a place to clean u-”

Attached to humanity? Bawling my eyes out? Well I’m certainly not- PRETTY EYES! PRETTY PRETTY PRETTY EYES!

Neil clutched his head. What was going on? This, whatever it was, could not be good.

PRETTY EYES! SUCH PRETTY PRETTY SUCCULENT EYES. THE EYES OF LITTLE CHILDREN WHO DON’T GO TO BED AT NIGHT! THE EYES OF STUPID STUPID CHILDREN WHO NEVER- Children are to be loved, cherished, cradled, like the gems of humanity they are. It’s our job to take them safely from their minds to worlds only you can dream of...

None of this was making sense. None at all. He shook his head, the voices rattling in his mind before coming to a halt. Silence. It was almost as startling as the noise itself.

“Mom- I-I mean, Curly,” He stammered. “This isn’t normal. I keep hearing these voices... in my head... since, well, since I met you...”

He was aware how stupid he sounded, but unless he voiced something out, he’d be hounded with his problems. Not to mention the fact that Curly seemed to be the closest person he could ask for what could possibly be a reasonable answer.

[faryllll]

“I don’t understand it myself,” Neil grunted, flicking his hands again and again, the sand not stopping all the while. “It’s like... I’m making it..."

"Well, that's quite odd. But it's normal for your position. Believe me, you think it's hard for you? I can't have a decent love life without throwing bodies in the river," Curly stated in reply, sighing as she remembered the earlier days of her small career. "It's a one in a million chance that someone like you comes along that I can peck all over, according to the Boss..."


Attached to humanity? Bawling my eyes out? Well I’m certainly not- PRETTY EYES! PRETTY PRETTY PRETTY EYES!


You softy idiot, I wasn't talking about you, the Boss stated to the voice in Neil's head, and both Curly and Neil could see the dissatisfied gleam in the glowing red eyes of the Boss, surrounded in shadow. And what is it now?

PRETTY EYES! SUCH PRETTY PRETTY SUCCULENT EYES. THE EYES OF LITTLE CHILDREN WHO DON’T GO TO BED AT NIGHT! THE EYES OF STUPID STUPID CHILDREN WHO NEVER- Children are to be loved, cherished, cradled, like the gems of humanity they are. It’s our job to take them safely from their minds to worlds only you can dream of...

Welcome to the twenty-first century, the Boss retorted, now sounding somewhat mischevious. There's the good kids and the bad kids. The good ones get a visit from you, while the bad kids... well, let's just say they won't be awake to see tomorrow. He chuckled.

“Mom- I-I mean, Curly,” He stammered. “This isn’t normal. I keep hearing these voices... in my head... since, well, since I met you...”

He was aware how stupid he sounded, but unless he voiced something out, he’d be hounded with his problems. Not to mention the fact that Curly seemed to be the closest person he could ask for what could possibly be a reasonable answer.

"Get used to it, Kiddo. At least your Sandman isn't as strict and demanding as the Boss. But I'm on pretty good terms with him, so it's not ALL bad. Now, keep up, because we're getting close to the apartment."

((-fin-))