Recent Posts

[tangent="what if i use this"]and try to edit[/tangent]

does it work at all

When he stepped outside, he felt an arid breeze, a level of dryness that made him want to cough. The weather had been fluctuating as of late, a fickle thing, and the winds were especially uninviting at this hour. The hollow gusts flushed against his ears as Donald went for the garage, a howling greeting. He pulled out his keys, the metallic bunch clanked as he pressed for the garage door slid open. Gears and machines hummed, and Donald continued to jingle the key ring of stuff--important stuff. If there was anything worth saving during a hypothetical 'burning house' situation, one of them would ought to be his key ring holder with all of the things attached to it.

Donald entered his car and then started the engine. The grumble of the car was rough, like a defiant stallion, but a stroke of good luck quieted it down. It had been a long time since he had last driven a car because he had never really felt the need to get somewhere in a hurry; time was a slow amble for him. Yet the situation had changed, and the urgency prompted him to leave with his old habits aside. The pocket that held his phone seemed to burn through the layers of clothes; the messages were still in there.

He set the gear to reverse, made a three-point turn, and then went off without much greeting to the peaceful neighborhood. The street lamps illuminated his face for a few seconds at every third of a block, and each time, it revealed Donald's tense expression. He didn't feel good; it was a foreboding mixture of fear and anger, two sides that was warring against each other. What prevailed, however, was his sense of duty, and 'honour'--a word that tasted like ashes on his tongue. He was bound to the pursuit of penance, and this honor was the only term he could use to save face.

The blackened, sentinel black gates were in view, it encircling what was known as one of the oldest graveyard in England. A place that would normally harbor peace looked so disturbed and disgruntled to him--for something had robbed it of its peace.

Please... Please...

Donald parked his car on an empty lot, and it was no surprise that it was completely deserted. It did not make him feel any better to the slightest. He locked up the car, pocketed his keys, an then made a calm trek to the nearest entrance. The willow trees swayed to the whispering winds, as if to beckon him toward a begotten path. It swayed away from the entrance, however, and whatever sign nature tried to give was smitten by Donald's objective.

Leaves were crushed underneath his feet with every step. Donald did not try to go about this with stealth, especially so when he began to climb over the blacken iron of the gate. With his strength, he made it over with little struggle, save for that one instance when the tip of the spire caught a brush of his jacket. Donald landed on us feet, crouching on his knees to break the blow of the fall. When he stood up, he surveyed the area.

The tombstones were countless, a myriad of ancient soldier stones and crosses that have been left for memories. The blue moonlight gave it an ethereal glow, but it also created harsh shadows that made the statues look bestial and cruel. The nearest willow leaves swayed once more.

Her eyes were a yellowish brown... Or was it... Blue?.

He traversed through these hallowed grounds, and the deeper he went, the more lonely he felt. Mumbled of his past began their groping, imagined screams and wailing drowned the silence.

He stood in front of the grave of the Marose family, a beautiful family. They were buried together. The girl's eyes were blue, according to the documents.

Donald swallowed his anger as despair and confusion surfaced. Why would anyone do this--who knew? No one should know... No one. The girl's eyes were blue, the girl's eyes are gone. The winds were so dry, he felt as if he was swallowing blood.

Donald had been in colder weather, but never had he endured this sort of winter. London bridge at midnight could not look more menacing from ground level, with the encroaching fog surrounding this iconic structure like a grey-clad army. The fog had consumed half of the bridge, and beyond his view was something between hazy line and absolute nothingness. Right when it started to drizzle, Donald humored himself with the thought that it could not have been a more opportune moment for it to rain. The gusts were strong, and the scent of earthy petrichor brought along the prospect of storm. A rumble of thunder rolled from behind the grey clouds, war drums beating for what was to come.

The air bit at his flesh, pricking what life he had on his complexion, but all the same, he felt no pain. Donald knew this was it, and he stood alone on this bridge, one that would normally be so crowded and bustling was desolate. A thought about Seamus disposing everything within this area made Donald feel goosebumps, and it rode down the lifeline of his spine.

Do not mistake it for fear. Donald was bristling with anger and resolve. Vaughan was gone--the rookie disappeared, and God knew where he went. But what the Welsh did leave behind was a tip to go to the elevator. With no other choice, Donald made his lonely trek forward into the fog, toward a direction made clear by memory. A sharp ding caught his attention, and when he turned to face the elevator, there was Seamus behind closing doors. A wicked smile was on his face, those eyes a steel blue death. A millisecond was enough to capture the distinct insanity of his expression, and it was enough to ignite Donald's ire.

He bounded towards the elevator, but the doors shut by the time he got there. Donald gave it a strong fist out of frustration, and he seethed as he impatiently pressed the button simultaneously to go up. Damn that guy. Damn him to Hell.

Seconds turned to minutes, but it felt like hours as Donald wallowed in the miasma of his imagination. Aoife, Victoria, Westley, Vaughan... Why did he have to include them?

This was their fight, between two men of the same kind. Donald could not deign to comprehend exactly what was running through Seamus' mind. As Donald pressed his forehead against the cold, metal wall, he took the moment's respite to think, to recollect, and to reminisce.

Yes... Donald understood now. This was what he had done once to that family...

Tears glistened in his eyes. Retribution? Donald grunted as he wiped away the tears with his sleeve. There was no God in that, he affirmed, and there is no God in this either.

God won't have a hand on this either. This was entirely human, and like humans do, they will war, fight, and protect. This amped him up, and made him stand taller, his expression was calmer. The doors opened once more, and he stepped in before it started raining harder.

He pressed the button to go up, and waited in silence. Donald mumbled a prayer underneath his breath; God may not be here but at least he could acknowledge his piety. Give me strength, is all I need. The strength to save them as Jesus did to so many...

Another sound of the elevator, and Donald opened his eyes. The rain was pouring, and it tittered against the paved ground. When the doors opened, the wind sent in a sharp chill, but Donald made no flinch. He stepped out, his hand balled in fists.

“Hah, hello!” Donald turned his attention to his dog, who sniffed around the sheep. After a couple of claps, he crouched to receive his dog, who trotted to him by command. Rover wagged his tail, panting as he did.

“Good thing ye didn’t crush the wee pooch of yers, back there Vaughan. But together they make one hell’va whirlwind.” As Donald rubbed Rover’s head, Rover turned his head to the side at the sight of the butterfly. The golden hound was more trained than he appeared, and so it stood still as a sentinel. However, its’ interest clearly focused elsewhere.

“Ah right. Off the cigarette, if ye will. Not good fer the weak-lunged.” Donald didn’t mind the smell, and he won’t admit how much he didn’t like it. The smell reminded him of things, but years of repeated exposure helped hone his tolerance. In this case, he was more concerned about Wes' comfort.

After giving Rover two pats on the head, Donald said, “Go on boy.”

Rover bounded off, leaving a fluff of stray golden hairs in the air among the dust motes. Donald sighed, one that sounded more preening than a chiding one. Rover had been the closest thing to a child to him.

Right, now he almost forgot about the other two blokes—the other Kirklands.

Donald stood up, a grin plastered on his lips. “We’ve got two herding dogs and a sheep. This is like an informal petdate, but too bad yer sheep’s not a runner.” It was uncommon for people to have their sheep tag along them in the bustling streets. Donald had thought it was strange, but now he ought to give it to Wes for not giving a damn. The fluffy thing reminded him of home anyhow, so he had no particular qualms.

“M’ guessing that the kids dekko at yer sheep whenever you bobble ‘round the joints, eh?” Donald remarked in his usual, singsong brogue. "Anyway I haven't seen ye two in a while. Howya?"

Rover stood in front of the large glass panel, fogging up the glass with his panting breath. His golden tail flickered left and right. He closed his mouth to swallow his saliva, and then went back on panting, his brown eyes staring straight at the vista outside. Rover, like his master, can't see colours like how regular humans do. Regardless, everything looked pretty outside, especially the trees and the grass and all of the strange furry animals that climb up trees.

"C'mon Rover," Donald called as he slid on a beige overcoat. He adjusted the collar, glanced at the mirror, and gave his reflection a crooked smile. When he noticed that his canine friend bumbled over, the man grinned widely. "Whaddye think Rover?"

Woof!

"Hm, I think so te. Probably a bit te hot outside fer this, dontcha think? Maybe I should just jog instead, yeh." Donald took off his coat and then put it back on the hangar. Well, he'll just have to settle for something lighter. The weather had been warming up, a slight by mother nature to the moody Londoners. They got the whitest of white outside in shorts and tank tops, hoping for a tan while blinding the eyes of the feeble. It gave him a reason to prefer the cooler weathers, also because his closet consisted more of autumn and winter apparel.

Donald took off whatever he was wearing and exchanged it for a pair of grey knee shorts and a v-neck shirt of a color he perceived as orange. "What color is this, Rover?"

Woof! Ruff!

"I have no idea either," Donald replied jovially as he slipped it on. In actuality, it was a dark navy blue, and a tight fit too. Damn, he really did get bigger. If the bulking is going to go up, Donald will have to borrow a bit more money from Arthur to buy some more clothes. He brushed it off for another time and then grabbed his keys, sunglasses, hat, and cellphone. The ginger sauntered downstairs with his furry companion behind him, briskly swiped a water bottle from the counter, and then took a moment to activate security for his house. The hum of machines began to wind, and the steel blinders descended down in front of the windows.

"Here we go, boy," Donald attached a leash on Rover's collar, pulled on his running shoes, and then exited his quarters. On the way down, he gave a couple of greetings to the people living here. There was a shy college girl who lived here, and it had been three months, and she never said 'hello' back! When he saw her, he attempted again.

Donald put on his cap and then doffed it in greeting. "Hello there!"

She looked at him, flustered, and then pulled out her cellphone. Ah, the youth these days.

Donald did not mind. It was cute to see--in the most innocent sense. Out in the fresh afternoon of all sorts of nice and warm, he put on his sunglasses and inwardly thanked himself for picking the right outdoor attire. Rover was excited enough and began to wander forward, tugging Donald to amble after. After a couple of paces, he eased into a jog with the spirited golden pooch, and they stopped only for waiting to cross the street. He whistled as he waited, and Rover panted with breaths of doggy excitement. People were looking at Rover, and it looked like the kids especially wanted to touch him.

"It's aight," he assured genially. "He doesn't bite."

They children took that as a wonderful invitation.

Straight ahead was Regent's park, filled with whatever history that had now been replaced with tanning British people and tourists. Breaking a bit of sweat, he jogged across the street into the serpentine pathway that lolled around the park. Donald felt a tighter pull from Rover's leash. Oh crud. Rover's power level is increasing.

A yonder, he noticed... a party of women having a picnic.

If there are two things that Rover is attracted to, it is squirrels and pretty billowing summer dresses.

"Whoa whoa--Rover! Rover! Calm ye horses!" But to no avail! The overgrown pup was approaching a hyper speed. Donald replied with a long laugh as he let go of the leash, trusting that his little best friend won't cause much trouble. The golden furball just loved attention, and had never caused any trouble.

Watching Rover dart off, Donald slowed down to walk to get a drink of water. From the corner of his eye, he noticed that something else was running, perpendicular to Rover's path. Oh Lord. Another dog running at the speed of light, and it looked like they were about to collide. He nearly choked on his water when he saw Rover leap over the dog--a corgi, he surmised.

Something ticked in Rover's brain, and he turned around to bound with the corgi.

"Oh ye've got a lady's fickle nature," Donald muttered to himself as he jogged over to Rover's direction. Past the trees and foliage, he saw that the dogs were parading around someone on a bench--a girl---wait a minute. That's a boy.

Wait a minute.

That's his cousin.

Donald simpered. Always nice to see more Kirklands, the whole bloody lot of them that populate the rest of the city."Westley! Is'at ye?"