ALL NOVEL Verses On Hubris And Revenge In Heroic Cultures
Darla had been sixteen when Georgia got it. She had been the stereotypical blond haired country girl, a heartbreaker, and Darrow's eldest. She had been engaged to the son of another cattleman, an old ranching family in the south east of Kansas. It had been the talk of the town. 'Sett's was significantly rarer west of the Mississppi. It was something that happened elsewhere.
From the Kenton's perspective, Georgia was in church every Sunday until she just up and disappeared for two months. No one knew anything, except the horrible rumors that trickled out form Darrow's ranch hands. Then, George just appeared in church one day. He had a haunted look in his eyes, and a massive chip on his shoulder. Darla had asked about his engagement, and immediately regretted it. She hadn't been able to decide which was worse: the look of total loss he had, or when he spat in her face.
"I'm not a-"
"-fucking faggot!"
George pounded the flatbed truck's hood again. His face was red from yelling, and his eyes jerked around with rabid malice. The younger Darrow brother (Junior? Dale? she could never get the two younger than her straight) stood back, flicking his eyes between Darrow's eldest and Paul. Paul, for his part, was holding both locked doors shut with a rising panic.
Mike was striding towards the scene very deliberately. His AR and knife were still in the flatbed's lockbox, but his Deagel was half-drawn. Joan and Darla piled out of the shop skittering onto the pavement. Darla's mind raced. Please not again. Whatever power is out there- no more blood. Please, oh, please.
Joan's hand twitched to her shoulder holster. She grimaced, and let it fall. Darla touched her arm. They both realized it would politically go bad if she drew first. All they could do right now would be lend silent support to America's Finest Fuck Up.
Mike had a clearly fake smile plastered on his face. He walked up to the flatbed's cab, and putting his good right arm on the trunk, he nodded at George. Joan and Darla were still too far away to make out what he was saying, so without thinking Darla began fast-walking toward the truck, and Joan quickly followed suit.
"I saw him looking at my ass!" George screamed. Joan winced. Darla cursed to herself; one small move of disrespect when Triangle had the upper hand, and now this. Stupid, stupid city-slickers!
Mike was saying in a firm level voice "Let's just all take a breath here, okay?" George grit his teeth. Paul still looked like a deer in the headlights. Junior studied the clouds. Mike barreled forward "What makes you think he looked at your ass?'"
"Look at him!" George seethed. "He's clearly a faggot!!" Paul waved limp-wristedly as if to demonstrate Georges point for him.
Mike spent about 5 seconds staring at Paul in mute discomfort. "Okay, he's a homo," Paul frowned as Mike turned back to George. "So what? It's not like homos wanna fuck every guy they see."
George stopped. He watched as Darla and Joan had reached the front of the truck. George tilted his head to look down at them and sneered. "You certainly like covering for queers, huh?" He smirked, waving a hand magisterially, indicating Joan, Darla, and Paul. "The whole rainbow coalition of gimme, fag, and dyke."
Mike clenched his jaw and clicked his teeth. "I don't know where you get off calling Darla a gimme, George." He loosely gestured at George's body. Darla noticed Joan cringing.
George blushed red, gnashed his teeth, and twitched like he was barely restraining himself from jumping on Mike. It was time to intervene. "George. "
George wheeled on her. "Darla." Disgust and a second emotion Darla couldn't quite place flashed across his face as he hung on the final syllable of her name. Looking at her up and down he took a breath. "You're through it then?" He asked, his voice audibly softening, moving towards her on the sidewalk. From the corner of her eye Darla saw Paul relax slightly as the focus left him behind.
Darla wet her lips. "Yes." She shifted her weight moving herself closer to Joan. She had never seen George like this... Angry? sure, he had been one of the leaders in hounding Chelsea out of town, but this was different. He was blinking rapidly and twitching- seemingly lost in a forest of his own tangled emotions. Mike turned to follow George with his body, not moving from his sentry at the driver's side door, while Paul watched from the window behind him. The younger Darrow stood frozen on the street. Darla made eye contact with George. "I'm all girl now."
George paused in his stride. His back straightened. The twitching and blinking stopped. He smirked. "Congratulations." His voice had taken on his father's drawl, as if they all didn't know how fake it was. "I hope you enjoy your cramps every 4th week." He said, his tone taking on taunting lilt. He was trying desperately to hold on to his smirk which kept withering in the poor soil of his face. "Getting knocked up's the only way to stop it, so you better get to it." His eye twitched. "You can't possibly show your face at church if you're not trying to find a man." He clapped twice sharply and leered inelegantly. "Chop, chop."
Oh. He's envious. Even if he was able to transition back to womanhood... He will never bare children. George twitched again, a shudder running through his whole body. Darla was speaking before she had the chance to think critically. Before she knew what she should say. "George... you don't need to have children to be a woman."
The look George gave her made her crumple, hiding further behind Joan. Darla had violated the first rule of Midwestern manners- never air the dirty laundry. "What does that have to do with anything?" Self-righteous fury burned in his eyes. His had inched toward his gun. "How dare you imply that I have been anything but a faithful servant of the Lord. Always following the path he has laid out for me!"
Joan shifted her weight, letting her flannel open showing off her side arm. "By 'the lord' do you mean God? or your Dad?"
Mike Looked at both of them like they had just murdered several puppies. "The fuck are you doing?" He mouthed at them over George's shoulder.
The vein in George's temple throbbed. The man was a boiling pit of rage. His fingers landed on his highly decorated leather holster. He hissed out a breath, a fully coiled spring.
"George!" It was Junior, finally finding his voice. He strode past Mike to put a hand on his fuming bother. "Let it go." The eldest Darrow boy spun on his younger sibling, so unbelievably mad that all he could do was splutter half formed sentences.
Junior cut through. "Look George, they want you to shoot first." That stopped him. He cocked his head in askance and Junior obliged. "Think about it- They have four and its just us, and they're armed too." Joan smiled, cocky. George's brow creased obscuring the vein. "If we shoot in anger and the freaks defend themselves, do you really think most of the town is gonna care that we're in the right?"
George put his head down and stroked his nose. Junior turned, giving them all the stink eye. "Y'all should be ashamed of yourselves." His gaze settled on Mike. "Especially you, bro."
"Wha-" Mike started.
"Would your dad be happy finding you protecting freaks?" He swept his hand at Darla and Joan. "Doesn't matter that they're from here." George's breathing steadied and he straightened his back. "You come home tracking mud in the house, its only right that we kick you out till you take off your boots." Junior points at Paul who shrinks away from the window. "Look at that homo. You really okay raising a family in this town with someone like him running around?"
George sighed loudly. "Yer right, lets go." Junior turned to face his bother. George smirked "I put the fear of God in him." He looked over at Paul hungrily. "Its enough that I can sleep sound tonight." He turned back to Joan and Darla. "We'll getchu gone soon enough."
As Junior turned to leave with a hand on his brothers back, he made eye contact with Darla and smiled. "Remember to clean your boots!"
When the brothers passed out of earshot, Mike jogged up to Darla and Joan on the curb. "What the fuck was that!" Joan took a step backward and Darla suddenly remembered how much taller Mike was than her now. "I've never seen the Darrow boys so pissed, and you two just egged them on!" The sensation of the punch, the taste of blood came back to her. She focused on the old school glass headlight of the flatbed. Mike continued his diatribe, but it sounded to her like he was getting further and further away.
Joan put up her arms in a placating gesture, stepping forward to be shoulder to shoulder with Darla. "Hey, we can talk about this!" She laid hands on Darla's shoulder. "Look what you're doing to her."
Darla shuddered and slapped herself hard on the cheek to clear the fear out of her mind. Mike relaxed a bit, no longer looming over her. "I'm sorry, Darla." He shrugged. "I forgot how weak girls are sometimes, you know?" Joan made a face and made eye contact with her.
Darla shrugged back trying desperately to seem nonchalant. "You punched me in the face last night, and I'm shorter than I used to be- Maybe don't block my sun?"
Mike blinked. "Shit. I didn't think about that." He moved aside- into the street's cement gutter, letting his leather combat boots stand tall in the plant debris. The curb did wonders for the two girls' relative heights. And yet, Mike still looked down as he said "Ok, but forreal what was that."
The door clicked loudly as it was swung open, jerking a bit as it hit the end of its arc. Paul had finally stuck his head out of the truck. "The consequences of trying to run a queer haven." He half shouted across the street, already looking haggard from the adrenaline crash.
Mike looked over at the flatbed. "What do you mean?"
"Darrow attacked us." Darla cut in desperately trying to dispel the bullshit as much as possible. "After Pops got his wild ass conspiracy theory in his head about me kidnapping and impersonating myself, Darrow rolled up with all his ranch hands armed to the teeth." Mike cringed. Clearly uncomfortable with what it said about him.
There was a loud slam as Paul extracted himself from the truck, stretching. He pulled out a black carton of American Spirits, and lit up. He looked both ways, and seeing nothing coming, wandered over to the group on the curb. "It was inevitable." He said, holding his cig between ring finger and pinkie. "Someone was always going to kick up a fuss at the faggots moving in." Paul took another drag, coming to a stop in the gutter with Mike. He blew smoke in Mikes direction. It was hard to tell if he was just flaunting manners, or asserting dominance.
"Paul, I thought you were gonna quit." Joan growled, pissed at Paul's sudden reflexive nonchalance.
"I nearly got hatecrimed." He grinned, the whites of his eyes formed an unbroken circle around his retina, the coke bottle glasses made it worse. "I've earned it." It was hard not to remember just how much he had seemed like a cult leader to her in their first meeting.
Joan twitched a bit. "Okay you know what, whatever, we need to get out of here." She jerked a thumb at Mike. "I doubt he wants to spend all day escorting us around town to make sure we don't get attacked again."
Mike, who had been sneaking uncomfortable glances at Paul since he had blown smoke in his face, chuckled "Yeah, one encounter with those psychos is enough for the day." He gestured toward the truck. "Lemme get my equipment, and I'll be outta your hair." The moment Joan had mentioned leaving he was all smiles and relaxed. He was suspiciously content to drop the Darrow question.
Paul took another drag. "Sure, the sooner I'm home the better." He tilted his head up to let the smoke plume out over their heads. "I need a fucking nap."
Joan turned to Darla. "Alright, let get going then."
Darla gave her a big thumbs up. "Good luck. I'm rooting for you guys." She turned to smile at Mike. "I'll be by to check on how things are going soon." Mike smiled back with a wink, and Darla had no idea how to read it. "I don't want us to fall out of contact."
The dark hole of Joan's open mouth could swallow the world. "I... Wha... You're not coming back with us?"
Paul cut in. "If she's okay with the lame ass deal she made with her dad that's her business." He touched Joan's shoulder. "I wanna get some sleep." He locked his tired eyes on Joan and whispered "Please."