Friends

Seven days a week the job takes him to various parts of New York. Each day is never the same. Each passenger he picks up is always different. There is though a universal similarity between everyone of them a indifference and blasé attitude he too shares with them. They go about their business in the back of his cab. Phone conversations - “Where were you last night?” Conversations - “They never really were good for you.” Fights. Sleeping. Sex. Continuing the party from where he picked them up. Each day runs through the gamut of human emotions: Love. Hate. Sickness. Sometimes all at once. And he, each day remains separate, disconnected from it all with an air of professionalism. The little old ladies. The party goers. The young couples. The old married couples. The single ones. The violent ones. The peaceful ones. The I-don’t-give-a damn ones. The meek ones, all pick up on this attitude. The wall of glass between them and him isn’t the only wall and most know. Most don’t care, it is New York, everyone needs a wall.

He watches the goings on with half an ear, half an eye, and feels detached from everyone. Suddenly a song on the radio plays, an old song, it seems appropriate to what is going on with him, with Poseidon and everyone else:

Baby I've been watchin' you (Baby I've been watchin' you)
Watchin' everything you do (Watchin' everything you do) And I just can't help but feelin' Someone else is stealin' you away from me
I see it written in your eyes. And you confirm it with your lies
Though the way the weave can hold me I would rather that you told me, where you wanna be…

He was being stolen away in the jaded attitude he had developed, he knew that. What he didn’t know was no matter how many times he asked the question, he couldn’t give himself the answer to the question:

Where did he want to be?

(Song Lyric credit: Slipping Away - Max Merritt.)

Before everything was burnt by Hawken’s spoilers he lived amongst the Autumn court of King Finvarra, as their greatest General. Despite his celebrated battle victories many despised him due to the fact he was a product of a Goblin rape over a Sidhe woman; none would ever let him forget what he was. The only one who received him with apparent courtesy was his mother. Most knew of him only as the monster. In fact, Hawken is not even his real name his real Sidhe name has been stricken from the books, hall, and minds of all who once knew of him. Even his deeds as a General for the king who ruled him are forgotten. After his mother died Hawken was then shunned, whispered about, mocked, hated, feared, and became in the mind of the populace the nightmares men and fae alike only whisper about.

( More deaths. More blood shed. More burning followed, mostly by the four men who were brothers. After a year and a day, when the goblins had taken siege outside the cave walls, the place lay as a wasteland, and noone was moving forward or back, the youngest of the four men made his way to Hawken in attempt to return peace. .... )

Yet another one of those weeks.

Once she'd put all three of them down for their afternoon nap, Brighid was ready for a nap herself. Unfortunately, it was a choice between a walk and precious time by herself or that tiny nap. She opted for the walk.

The weather in Maine in December was bitingly cold and she was wearing her heaviest coat for her walk. The wind blew and she drank it all in: the wind, the water, the small flurries of snow. They threatened the heavier snowfall to come and Brighid didn't want to stay out long just in case.

Once back in the house, she made sure the fire was going and she curled up on the couch with a book to relax until the girls woke up.

Okay, I'm amused now. XD

Given the right circumstances water can do either of the following: Over time wear away stone. And, two, use sand to create a pearl. Either way, water has a tenacious grip. If you take the first that wearing away can become all too familiar or extremely annoying. For me the constant drip, drip, drip was only wearing away one thing - my patience.

“…That has to be the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard.” I stood in the store room of my jewellery store: The Bowerbird and the Fox, facing Poseidon, and none too happy about encountering him again. I could feel my body tensing, my jaw clenching and knew he was receiving my best annoyed-upon-glare. He for the most part seemed oblivious to all of my emotional display.

His entire presence filled the small store room and invaded my personal space, even with him standing a good arms length away from me.

( This must be what happens when you go too long without sex, anyone starts to become attractive then you become desperately pitiful. I don't think I am quite that desperate or pitiful...yet. .. )

Routine.

Preparation.

It wasn't so different from every time he'd done it before. There was a little more baggage than usual, but that was all. He sat to himself in one of the seemingly seldom-used hallways in the manor house, palace, whatever. There wasn't such a thing as guaranteed privacy here. That wasn't so different, either. But he'd gone here, away from everything, to start pulling away what bandages remained on his hands.

The bandages came off reluctantly, those few remaining gauzes sticking to the wounds that had mostly healed. The new scars were no paler than the rest of his palms - but then, the rest of his palms were so pale that they were almost vibrantly white. Just like all of his scars. The paleness of his skin in those places was nothing new. Just like the appearance of more scars.

The last of the gauze pulled away, bringing an old scab with it. It wasn't a pretty wound, still pink (that would fade), but it would do without bandages now. And with that done, he could pick up his clothing and go. That was all that remained. His clothes, maybe what was left of his pills.

And maybe the next world would smell less like smoke.

He stood, gauze dropped into a small trashcan as he headed for the outside. He'd lied to himself. There was one last thing to do, and he was on the way to do it, with a particular anklet in hand. Maybe he wasn't as coarse as he could be. He'd see this thing explode outdoors instead of in.

Who: Breacan and Poseidon.
When: Now.
Rating: R. Adult male/male concepts.

They were in Breacan’s new apartment. Poseidon’s presence now had become an accepted part of the other permanent fixtures in his new home. The god lay stretched out on a couch, dressed casually in jeans and a black silk shirt, he was for the moment bare footed - which were propped up on the coffee table. In one hand he held a coffee cup and the other he held up Breacan’s taxi cab identification.

“Corey Breckan.”

Breacan looked at himself in a mirror overlooking the living room. Preparing himself for work he adjusted his shirt collar, smoothing it down.

“It was that or the name Fletcher.”

( “You do not leg-hump everything that stands still long enough.” The sea captain artfully dodged a couch pillow thrown in his direction. “Seems of late like I am.“ Said, Breacan. The pillow fell harmlessly away to the floor..... )

Tall, dark, and handsome does not get a man far into my bed if they are married.

When I looked up at all six feet of him, my heart leaped into my mouth and the back of my knees went weak. Apart from Hawken, he is the only man ever to not look at me as if I were an expensive toy to be used and discarded at pleasure. Leaving me feel horrible, degraded and demeaned which is not all good for my fragile womanly ego. Still, I had those sorts of weaked knee feelings before and they got me into trouble too. And, Hector of Troy was with out doubt - trouble.

There are some men no matter how attractive, willing, and wealthy I will not under any circumstances become romantically involved in. Common sense alone, tells the dangers of being involved with a men who are married or invovled with another, while you are perusing them and they you. As for men who are married with children…well…I have a lot of things said about me: Stupid is not one of them. I have been maligned, scorned, criticized, lied about and my fairly normal mode of living considered scandalous, but no one can ever say I am a husband/boyfriend stealer. Someone always gets hurt with those sorts of involvements, it is better to stay single as some things just are not worth the heartache.

Who: Fin.
------

Hawken.
-------

Poseidon.
--------
What: Troy and Hector.
When: Now.
Rating: R.
-----------------------------------

It was just like her to want something she never had. Hawken, for his part remained unusually silent. Every now and then, the Trade Goblin would throw her a side glance as he tried another way to make her open up in the silence. Fionnuala remained stubbornly silent. Eventually Solomon raised his eyes towards the ceiling and gave her a narrowed eyed glance.

“That was your own idiotic error arguing against Poseidon in the first place.”

She wasn’t sure which annoyed her the most, Poseidon. Hawken for knowing what Poseidon did. Or over herself for wanting what she could never have. Her voice sounded whiney even to her when she returned an answer.

( Good god no. Solomon, the man is ---was--- married! I do not poach on anothers property, you know I would never tangle with any involved with another. What do you take me for ...  )

He is intrigued by the tender new glow in the homes of the newly married. The presents still in boxes, the honeymoon photos in packets, the aura of contentment in two individuals who found their soul mates. But one can never know at that golden point, how the relationship will end up. Will it atrophy into indifference or weather the shock of capitulation and compromise to become a haven, a harbour to rest from the toss of the world.

Living together means endless sacrifices, disappointments and patching up. "I imagine only vegetables live happily ever after." He’d say.

He knows no one should embark on an enduring live-in relationship if they have to be in complete control of their universe. It takes courage to embrace all the messiness of sharing your life. It takes courage to move in and live with someone. It took courage for him to marry Edyth.

It took courage for him to allow Poseidon to move in.

There is a strange dynamics of a man who considered himself straight to allow another man to move in with him. Poseidon told him it required confidence. He was not sure if he had enough confidence. He knew with others from the start there would never be permanence to the arrangement. They never fully moved in, they touched his homes and world ‘lightly’. There was always the question how long did they last? Three weeks, a couple of months? But with Poseidon no part of his world remained untouched. The God put his heart there - in what he called their home.

He also knew, with fear, home was where the heart breaks. The fear brought up two questions: whose heart was going to break, and who was going to leave first.

In the room that he'd been staying in, Ethan paced.

He was clean. The pillow and the blanket were on the bed again. But he felt sore, like his head was heavy and his knees were weak. This wasn't really normal. He was used to feeling ill, but this wasn't ill. His stomach felt fine for the first time in years, but something was wrong.

He paced.

"I know," he murmured. "I know. Shouldn't be here, I know, I see, okay, shut up." His voice was muffled intentionally. He knew that whatever he spoke to, it wasn't something anybody else could hear.

But he could hear it. He could, he did, it was there, he couldn't stop hearing it.

The glass of the window was cool as he rested his cheek against it, hands fisted against the window sill.

"I know, I know, not yet, I know..."

Poseidon is a annoying, frustrating, pratt.

They keep getting louder and louder.

Robert Gurney is balding, overweight, smokes fat Havana cigars too much, drinks too much liquor, and equally is foul mouth. He has high blood pressure and ulcers. Is forty years old, and spent at least twenty of the years as a police officer in New York City. When they put him on desk work he started up a taxi company in New York. His business helps floats two house mortgages, a beat up car, a wife who he loves for near on twenty years and two adult children, who he often berates for not leaving home. His long time friend - Joe Cable, is fifty years old. A ex-viet. Who sleeps little. And, often dives for cover when he hears loud bangs and helicopters.

A half-year back I worked for Gurney’s company; it must have come as some surprise to Gurney to see me return again. Cable, looked like a jackhammer jittering nervously at seeing a familiar face.

“Fuck me,” Said Gurney, “If it isn’t Garland Greene.”

Cable twittered nervously, adding. “I told him that one. You won’t kill me will you?”

My eyebrow shot up towards my hairline. Whatever these men were on, I wondered if I could do with something similar myself.

“Pardon?”

“Don’t give us the fuckin’ wide eyed, innocent look. I checked on you, ex-fuckin-army-sniper who can kill us with his pinky finger.”

That was what he should find. I was not about to indulge the information was out of date by a few centuries; those little details are a trivial matter in the grand scheme of things.

“Ah, I see” What else could I say? The interview for the job went from normal to strange in under a second. Not that those sort of one eighty degree changes bothers me, after all when you work for Poseidon, one tends to accept sudden turns. Gurney eyed me and I looked back waiting,

“But I don’t give a rats ass about that," He said amongst a puff of Havana cigar smoke, "When you were with us you could fuckin’ drive. I only want people who can drive, I don’t want no slackers and you sure are no slacker. At least this time you look a helluva lot better than the shit look you were carrying a few months back, what happen you get clean?”

There was so much going on then. Sea banishment for a selkie could prove almost fatal, the fact I am half human managed to stop the enviable happening. Still it was not without consequences, to quote Gurney, I did look like shit. I was thirsty, craving water, leaving Gurney and Cable swearing I was a diabetic. I never gave them argument on it. Gurney gave me a job when I needed it and he was giving me a job again. The man, regardless of his less than stellar ways, knew a good thing when he saw it. Apparently I am a good thing.

I signed the papers using a new name of Corey Breckan, and took my locker.

A few weeks later I sold an old apartment to buy a new apartment - actually the two top floors of an old mansion - is beautifully remodelled and in part rebuilt to secure spacious rooms and lofty ceilings. I have filled, but not crowded, the place with rare specimens of oriental, occidental, ancient, and modern art. A show case of nine hundred years of living. There to are sailor artefacts such as maps, after all far from the sea I still have her at my heart. Two rooms fill up the space, one for a bedroom. Of which is often most used when Poseidon visits; who has been the only regular visitor of late.

Eothian is in England, perusing lord knows what. While, Audr has left to places unknown. He avoids State soil. When we speak we neatly sidestep bringing up any talk as to why he does so. I am done discussing the issue with him and consider my attempts to reconcile the affair as closed.

I am then left with filling my days in with work and Poseidon; even though I intend to keep to Eothian’s promise.

Perhaps Audr is right: ‘We are not men who change.’ So far he has proven to be correct.

We've got ourselves a body, Bones.

His mind is sick and twisted.

Twenty Five things:

1 - My name is Corey Breckan. The ‘B’ is pronounced with a ‘V’.

2 - I hold a Master Mariners License, this is layman’s terms, means I can sail any tonnage ship in any ocean water.

3 - The sea comes first. All else comes last.

4 - I am a widower.

5 - I once was seventh of nine brothers.

6 - I have a long memory.

7 - I uphold old fashioned ideals of duty, honor, and respect. Duty will always be above everyone and everything.

8 - I am not evil. I am no angel either.

9 - I endure night terrors.

10 - I do not trust easily.

11 - Occasionally, I may be won over with bread and butter pudding.

12 - I prefer chocolate drinks made from chocolate which has ninety percent coca, not coca mass.

13 - I am, if you wish to believe, of royal blood. I am, however, no prince charming.

14 - I have done bodyguard duty for some of the world’s most famous people.

15 - I am a bastard. See number eight and number thirteen.

16 - I am a trained army sniper.

17 - I once preferred to remain celibate.

18 - I collect Mermaid Tears, also known as Sea Glass. The blue is a favorite to add to the collection it is a rare find and the color reminds me of my wife’s eyes.

19 - I never allow another to speak for me, ever.
[Meta]
The rare exception being one of two messengers: A gentleman by the name of James Audr and a young man known as Eothian MacLir.
[/Meta]

20 - The three quickest ways for me to lose respect for another: Attempt to strike me. Speak for me. Show overt public displays of affection towards me. There is a time and place for such displays, public places is not one of those places.

21 - I am not what I appear to be.

22 - I believe the saying: He who is fated to drown will do so in a teaspoon of water.

23 - I will never marry again.

24 - I give a cold silence when angered.

25 - I believe the best secrets hide in plain view.

Time to lose the emotional baggage?

Who: Breacan and Poseidon.
What: Smut.
When: Now.

----------------------

The outfit was a far cry from his usual sombre court attire. The fabric consisted of soft pale silk, embellished with gold twining leaves around covered buttons decorated with small insects. The suit was a gift to him from Edyth and had laid wrapped in tissue paper for centuries to preserve the memory and the fabric. He recalled the day she had given it to him; her glorious blue eyes sparkling with mirth while she approached him with hands behind her back. When she carefully presented the gift he had looked upon the present with a raised eye brow,

“What celebration creates a gift for me?”

She laughed, kissing his cheek, “Six months of marriage.”

He looked at her distressed, “A married couple celebrate such things? I have nothing for you.”

Edyth giggled girlishly, “I think I will enjoy looking at the display. Open it.”

He had gingerly opened it, looking at the suit for what it was. “Your court wear is so sombre," She had said, and continued, "I asked Mister Hawken to find some fabric for me, and I embroidered the material with twining leaves in gold silks. I sent it to him to have his people make the outfit up. He said the material is finest in all of the fae lands.”

The material shimmered, and glistened like a spider web touched with heavy dew. Fingering the cloth carefully the silk smoothed over his finger tips like butter.

“The textile feels as if Hawken speaks the truth.”

“Try it on.” She said softly. He made a move to change in the privacy of their bedroom. She stopped him. “No here.”

His eyebrow shot up once more.

“In the parlour room? Eydth, how improper…”

“I want my husband to present a gift to me. She sat back into one of the embroidered satin resting chairs. Her eyes gleaming as she waited for the show she wanted her husband to give her.


In the privacy of his quarters his lips kicked up into a quirky grin as Breacan recalled the memory and the time spent in the parlour, with the richly, embroidered outfit resting on a side table.

( Rating. Adult content. Over 18. m/m..... )