fellowshippers | FIC: Different Tomorrow

Title: Different Tomorrow (1513 words)

Author: ocko_okate (ocko_okate@yahoo.com)

Beta: none, please, forgive me

Pairing: Orlando/Viggo

Rating: NC17, but entirely for the violence, no sex in here, sorry

Warnings: AU, angst, violence, murder, character death,

Disclaimer: Never happened, not true.

Summary: Orlando isn´t who he pretends to be.... A very, very strange little story that just popped into my head, so I had to write it down.

Maybe. As he walked, life went in the opposite direction and somehow everything about this fact was wrong. It wasn´t over. Heavy wind, too heavy to keep the cape on, blew from every side. If every step had a mile, he would be twice and half around the globe by now. On the other side. Darkness stared from every corner and not knowing what else to do, he stared back. It wasn´t a fair battle – the darkness lost in the end and didn´t give up and he won and was too tired to care. Let´s try another time again. His heart – was still there. He had a pair of hands, had lungs, had a brain. Another street, once left, once right, pass the road, careful – the red is on. Rain. Shyly at first, more brazenly later – it fucking rains.

Sharply turning to the side, his coat cutting edges through the cold air, he sees that there aren´t just shadows looming along the walls. Wrinkled and thin, there is a living being crouching in the darkest corner of this blind alley, the trash container preventing a better view. Trash and trash – always finds together.

„A pence. Only a pence.“ Goes the mantra off as a pair of eyes focuses directly at him, the old pal knowing his metier only too well. „Spare a pence, young man, spare a pence.“ Rough voice, heavy with weariness, the unnerving fossil must be sitting here forever, begging for a couple of coins every now and then. Something is missing. They were right after all, those bastards. Something in his life must be missing, if he has the nerve to waste his time with things like this.

He is angry. Too angry to know what he is doing. „Shut up!“ He shouts, more harshly than it would be proper. The old man did him nothing wrong after all. But still, he was hurt, more than he is ready to admit, and this pain now concentrates and comes out – rather violently. „Shut up you fucking freak!“ Taking one of the metal bars leaning against the trash container, he strikes – randomly, blindly, the sudden outburst of anger overwhelming his common sense. Once, twice, thrice – it feels just too good to stop. The sound of bones cracking, blood covering the bar, the floor, his clothes too – it´s like an absolution, hearing how the bloody oldster finally gives up. With one last hoarse moan the old man sacks down dead, lying unmovingly on the cold pavement.

There is a shrill, metalic sound to hear – the metal finally falls out from his convulsed fingers, hitting the freshly formed blood puddle near his feet.

Serves him fucking right, is the only though Orlando spares the old fool, while discarding his coat and wiping up all kinds of suspicious blood stains from the rest of his clothes. Polishing the shoes with the dead man´s last piece of clean cloth, he calms down at the end. One last deep breath and he is ready to go. Shouldn´t forget to stop at the third corner on left, at the former Devious&Bestial Gift Shop – a joke investition of some morons gone wrong a couple of years ago - now an abandoned building. The current quarter of a handful homeless loosers always had at least some waste bins set on fire and offered so a good opportunity to get rid of things unwanted. Like a couple of gloves and a coat completely ruined with blood. Nine hundred dollars wasted – simply because some old git couldn´t keep his mouth shut.

Rolling the garments together he welcomes the emptiness of the street as he throws the bundle into the next burning pile of scum, not caring if some of the loosers may be around or not. Who would believe what those nutcases are saying anyway? And besides, they´re all drunk out of their minds.

Pulling out the ringing phone from the shirt pocket, he turns away, already looking forward to the walk home. It´s a pleasant evening after all, the sky clear and the air crispy fresh. Not to mention the person awaiting him home.

„Hi, darling.“ He whispers lovingly into the phone, a gentle smile forming on his lips. „You´re so sweet, Vig. No reason to worry, I´m already on my way... There´s been just a misunderstanding....And I´ve lost my coat.......“

OoOoOo OoOoOo OoOoOo OoOoOo OoOoOo OoOoOo

Every action has a reaction. Two months pass and the sessions with his fucking therapeutist seem to have no end. Twice a week, that´s what she insisted on and if he didn´t want to give her a good reason to proclaim him a patologic case, he had to agree. It was only a slight indisposition from too much stress in work. At least that´s what he had told Vig back then, when he didn´t want him to worry too much about his sudden sweat outbursts, the causeless screams waking him almost every night from sleep and this... this strange craving – craving after blood.

Bloom never was a truly bad person, he never ever was particularly mistaken, angry or wrong doing – he was just young. Beauty, carelessness, self-love and shallowness were the only sins one could convict him of. But looking at his angelic beauty, those lush lips pouting, the big brown eyes gazing so pleadingly, no one could resist and be angry with him for a longer time. Orlando always got what he wanted. And maybe that was the reason why he always wanted more and more, climbing up the society ladder pretty high only by always knowing and charming the right persons and making a nice fortune by letting them fall after a while.

And two months spent with one and the same person were certainly too much – enough time for sweet Orli to get anything he wanted. He didn´t do things halfways – never. Take everything and than some more, that was the motto of the day. Their hearts at best – for those were only hardly mendable and the pain lasted long. Let them bleed and stamp down with a nail-sharp heel of a new Gucci. It was time to find another sponsor, this one started to get a bit too involved for his liking.

There was still this therapy problem of course. It would be dangerous, too dangerous to let his latest victim fall and at the same time play a composed and sane person, recovering from a nervous breakdown. That´s how he called it anyway - and others were well advised not to name his condition other names.

´Don´t say it! Don´t even think about it!´

„Angel?“ A worried voice coming from downstairs breaks through the angry haze raging in his mind. „Is everything alright, my darling?“ Eyes blackened in fury look over to the door and his hand finally stops abusing the wall, the knuckles already bloodied. Angel, he snorts, his fucking angel, that´s all what I am.

„Yeah, love, everything is wonderful,Vig, I´m down in a minute.“ He answers calmly, his voice gaining a gentler, sweeter tone – quite the contrast to the few ruthless words spoken on this night two months ago. Certainly not the same, was it?

I´m coming, sweetie, I´m coming, he thinks, licking the blood from his knuckles in an almost reverent manner, his clever tongue catching out every last drop. One last look in the mirror and he is ready to go, hiding the slight wound under a pair of elbow-long leather gloves, fitting to the rest of his black leather attire.

OoOoOo OoOoOo OoOoOo OoOoOo OoOoOo OoOoOo

If he had known that the old geezer wasn´t just another sample of the filthy homeless scum, he probably would have left him in peace. Fucking cosmic justice always happens to trace down the wrong guy.

´How could this happen anyway? How?´ He thinks while staring at the couple of big, ugly guys, their eyes bulging out at seeing such a sight. Sweaty muscles, sure movements and big, rough hands speak of years of practice and even if, the gun one of them is holding makes sure that he isn´t going to refuse the offer. Not this time and not any other time, that´s for sure.

Running off and randomly killing people when having a nervous fit over the newest boyfriend used to be such a nice idea. At least until he got the wrong guy.

And maybe... just maybe he should have accepted Vig´s yesterday´s offer to marry him instead of running off again and meeting these two not so nice gentlemen, their huge black wings now covering almost the whole width of the street. Hell, he could have been choosing his wedding outfit right now instead of getting shot in his pretty little head after a particularly brutal rape.

Innocent souls and their need to be revenged, how sweet all this bullshit is. Not important to him anymore, lying there in a pool of his own blood. But maybe he will remember it, when he comes back.

Will even be innocent again, but surely not for long.

The same soul, only in a different tomorrow.

The End

Please, let me know, what you think....

FIC: Different Tomorrow

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