Wicked Ones: The Early Years – 01 – Missouri

[section=Disclaimers & Notes]Disclaimers: All copyrights belong to their respective copyright holders, including but not limited to MGM, Columbia Pictures, Village Roadshow Pictures, and others. I make no profit on this piece of fan-produced work. The story itself belongs to Adora Addams and Katsuko. Please do not steal!
Word Count: 1,425
Archive: DarkMagick.net, Apollymi’s Grimoire, and Archive of Our Own. Anyone else wanting it, please ask first. I’ll probably say yes, but ask first…[endsection]

So far as he was concerned, no one knew the real version of Joshua. There were days he was Joshua Faraday, and there were days when he was Joshua Robicheaux. Sometimes there were even days when he was both, though thankfully never at the same time; that would be probably the most confusing thing that could possibly happen to him.

Still, there were secrets that he had from everyone. Secrets he kept from his remaining family, not that he had much of an opportunity to speak to his brother these days, but he never put any of his secrets in the letters he had written over the years. He didn’t exactly have much in the way of friends, not anymore, but even if he did, he would have imagined that he would keep some these secrets from them as well. He managed to avoid having actual employers, so that was another group of people he didn’t have to worry about knowing things he would much rather keep private.

Although, listed out like this, it made him sound like the most miserable son of a bitch in the Western Territories… or at least the loneliest. He wasn’t, not as far as he was concerned. He had his work, and he enjoyed it, both the gambling and the bounty hunting.

Granted, since he’d been on his own these last several years, he had had to develop a rattlesnake mean reputation as a bounty hunter, but that was no real problem. He had had a great example of a mean bastard to live up growing up, after all.

If anyone ever asked, he would say that he hadn’t had a daddy. Yeah, there was the man who got his mother in the family way and then promptly took off back to his other family and home in Louisiana, Monsieur Robicheaux, but that man was not a daddy, not by any stretch of anyone’s imagination. Even his actual legitimate son would agree with that assessment. He would, however, say that he had more than his fair share of mamas: Ma, the woman who had birthed him and given up everything for him to have something like a good life; Miss Ethel, who had tried to take care of him after Ma died and then tried her best to save his life; Maman Arthémie Robicheaux, who had taken in another woman’s child by her husband and somehow managed to love him; and even Colette Robicheaux, for all that his half-sister had only been a handful of years older than him.

But a daddy? Not a one to be seen, just a mean bastard that he and his siblings called Monsieur Robicheaux, rather than any friendly or familial term. He had celebrated when he had gotten his brother’s letter that the old bastard had died of dysentery midway through a campaign march. He couldn’t think of a better fate for the man than that, shitting himself to death.

He used everything he had ever known about Monsieur Robicheaux to make Joshua Robicheaux into a bounty hunter to be feared, despite his relatively young age. When it had been him and his brother hunting together, he hadn’t needed a separate reputation of his own; his older brother’s had been spoken loudly throughout the South and slowly moving westwardly through the years, and they had been able to use it to open a lot of doors that might not have been available otherwise; but the minute he was on his own, people stopped taking him seriously, so he got mean.

Well, meaner. Mean in almost every way he could recall the old bastard being in his childhood, with some notable exceptions: he was never going to raise a hand to a lady or child… and only to a man if he actually deserved it. In fact, he would kill any bounty that hurt a lady, no matter her chosen profession, and if they hurt or, worse, killed a child… Well, he had overheard a couple of old-timers putting it best: it would be best for the bounty to slit their throats and hope to hide in hell when Joshua Robicheaux was the one after them, because if they had been hurting kids, he took extra pleasure in their deaths.

He still got to be Joshua Faraday, the name his Ma had given him, in the meantime, when he wasn’t turning in a warrant, when he wasn’t actively tracking someone. When he and his brother had first started this, he had used ‘Faraday’ on the sly to keep from besmirching the Robicheaux name with his gambling. Now it felt like the gambling was his only real chance to be himself these days.

He had secrets that he would never tell his small remaining family. He was never going to tell his brother that he had forgiven the words that had been said about him within a few months of them parting ways—but that he still heard them in his sleep sometimes. He was never going to tell his brother that the man had long since been proven right about the bounty that had separated them. He was never going to tell his brother that the only reason he had not tracked his brother down and said something in person was because he didn’t want to give someone else the chance to abandon him first… or in Goodnight’s case, again. He was never going to tell his brother that he wanted him to come to Joshua because maybe—just maybe—then his brother wouldn’t take off on him. And he was certainly never going to breathe a single damn word to his brother about his life before he had lived with the small Robicheaux clan, about the lengths his Ma had been willing to go to in order to keep him fed and clothed, if not particularly well educated via books.

Miss Ethel had been the proprietor of the establishment where his Ma had worked after he was born, after all. She had been a foul-mouthed woman who did everything she could to keep her girls safe, and when Aileen Faraday had shown up on her doorstep with an infant and in need of work, with few skills other than needlepoint, she had barely blinked an eye. Instead, she had simply added Aileen to her roster and never said the first word to anyone about where Joshua was growing up. When he was four and Aileen died, Miss Ethel had tried to keep him on for nearly a year, finding little odd jobs for him to do around the place for a good year or so. But eventually there had been two very good reasons why she had written to Monsieur Robicheaux and asked him to retrieve his child: money was always a lean thing, even for someone in this particular profession, making it damn difficult thing also feed someone who couldn’t help themselves. The other reason had been kin to the first: Miss Ethel also wasn’t about to add him to the roster, not at five years old, no matter how many twisted men asked her about it, because Miss Ethel was a classy lady, damn it, and she had been his first surrogate mother.

After he and his brother had parted ways eight years ago, the first place he had drifted was Missouri and, more specifically, Miss Ethel’s. He only knew a single one of the ladies working there at that point, Miss Ethel’s own daughter, Miss Jane, but Miss Ethel had still been there. After some introductions and disbeliefs, she had even shown him where his Ma was buried, and he had given her every single penny he could spare for all the help she had given him over the years. It had been then that she had told him why she had shipped him off to Louisiana, with the firm belief that she had probably saved his life doing that. Maybe she even had. Of course, Miss Ethel had died less than a year later, leaving him with only his brother to name as family… and only barely that. He still sent money back to the establishment when he could spare it, about every couple of months, because Miss Ethel’s daughter was running the place now and, being of a similar age, they had played together before he’d been shipped off to Louisiana. He still considered Miss Jane one of his few friends in this world, such as he actually had friends.

But childhood playmates did not a family make.

[section=Footer Notes]13 January 2017

I’m sorry.

Okay, no, I need a longer note than this. This was always going to be a painful thing to post. Wicked Ones is darker than just about anything else I’ve ever written. A lot of this is because I guess I started working out some of my own history and issues out through Joshua…

But a lot of it came down to a premise I had during NaNoWriMo: “Shut up and let Mean Faraday talk.”

~Adora[endsection]

After Midnight – 05 – Chisolm’s Prey

[section=Disclaimers & Notes]Disclaimers: All copyrights belong to their respective copyright holders, including but not limited to MGM, Columbia Pictures, Village Roadshow Pictures, and others. I make no profit on this piece of fan-produced work. The story itself belongs to Adora Addams and Katsuko. Please do not steal!
Word Count: 1,064
Archive: DarkMagick.net, Apollymi’s Grimoire, and Archive of Our Own. Anyone else wanting it, please ask first. I’ll probably say yes, but ask first…[endsection]

It was not fair, not in the least.

The monster who now called himself Vasquez had been called up by one who still worshiped his kind, a señorita who was having trouble with a white man in what had once been part of his domain. He had come at her call and had quickly dispatched of the mortal. It had been while he was eating his prey that the other mortals had come upon him, calling him monster and insisting that it was illegal — for whatever that was worth — to kill a mortal who was apparently some kind of agent of law and order.

Some law, some order. A bully preying on one of his chosen peoples. That was always grounds for swift execution.

Although, honestly? What made him angry was that he did not get to finish his meal. Had he consumed the mortal in full, he would have turned himself over just to see what these creatures thought they could do to him.

The problem was, however, that now the mortals they called monster hunters were on his trail.

He was farther north than he preferred to be, well into what was now the territory of other creatures but had once been his, and the hunters kept chasing. He easily dispatched many of them, of course, ate the ones he could when he was hungry and left the ones he could not when he was not as hungry as a warning. One that went unheeded, but a warning still.

He was currently holed up with the body of one such hunter, dining on him bit by bit as he pondered his next move. He would prefer to go home, but he dreaded leading these relentless pursuers to his brothers and sisters. His siblings, they would not appreciate that, and they could cause him harm.

As he chewed idly on a finger he had removed from the dead hunter’s hand, he heard horses approaching. Mortal horses, not ones like his demonic mount, which likely meant more monster hunters. He heaved a sigh and slipped out the door, spotting the riders still some ways out. He shifted into the space between flesh and shadow, making himself all but invisible to the mortal eye, and walked around the building even as the man and the woman dismounted and walked into his hideaway.

He allowed them to do so, moving around the building back around to the front again and remaining in the space between. Even so, he readied the rope he had retrieved from Diablo, swinging the lasso idly as he waited for some move.

The woman was the one to make it, a startled cry slipping from her as she stumbled backward onto the porch once again. He flung the rope around the woman, let it fall to her feet before pulling tight and dragging her to the ground. He immediately slipped back into the world, pistol drawn and trained on the man who was standing with hands up to show he meant no harm.

He was not fooled: he had seen the gun on the woman’s hip and demanded it. The woman reluctantly dropped her weapon on the ground, and he kicked it away before she could get any ideas. These were odd monster hunters; it seemed they were not even trying.

“He was already dead,” he lied with a nod to the corpse, “if that’s what you were wondering.”

“Have you been sleeping in here?”

What an odd thing for a monster hunter to care about. Still, he replied, “He doesn’t snore much.”

“You Vasquez?” the man asked, seeming to ignore his irreverent words. He did not believe that, given the man knew the name he was currently using.

“You a monster hunter?” he asked in return, even though he already knew the answer.

“I’m going to tear up a warrant,” the man replied. “Just wanna make sure I have the right monster.”

He kept his weapon on the man, even as he pulled out a paper and opened it to show what was supposed to be his current form.

He smirked. “Poor likeness.” There were not nearly enough teeth, to start with. And he thought he had chosen a rather handsome mortal face. These mortals who made the warrants could not draw well, it appeared.

He then frowned, curious as to the fact that the hunter was unarmed. “Where’s your gun?” he demanded.

“Man carries a gun, he tends to use it.”

He chuckled lightly, amused by the hunter. Honestly, mortals were so very young.

“I’m looking to hire some monsters for a job,” the hunter continued, folding the warrant but not doing otherwise with it. “Was wondering if you’d be interested in some work.”

He was somewhat interested. “Does this work involve her?” he asked, indicating the woman. She did not seem suited to be a monster hunter, but perhaps she was in training. If that was the case, then she would not last long in this life.

“Get this off me!” she abruptly snapped as she moved to claw at the rope on her ankles, and he caught a hint of something in her scent. It was not pure monster, very diluted if there was anything in her bloodline. Her fire was amusing, though, and he started to chuckle at her. “You wipe that smirk off your face!”

He chuckled again, greatly amused by the woman. “And when our business is concluded,” he asked, “what happens then?”

The man gave him a steady look. “There’ll still be a lot of monster hunters looking for you.”

“And this is supposed to bring me comfort?” the ancient being asked, already knowing that he would just eat whomever came after him. He was always hungry, and he would always be ready to devour his enemies.

“It should,” the man replied. “I won’t be one of them.”

He stared at the hunter for a moment before a grin crossed his face. He knew he was showing too many teeth from the way the mortal froze for just a moment, but that did not matter. “You are loco, my friend,” he found himself saying even as he reholstered his weapon.

“Sí,” came the reply, and the creature that called himself Vasquez laughed out loud. This could wind up being fun, especially if he got to meet with the other monsters roaming these northern lands.

[section=Footer Notes]11 January 2017

Running count on monsters:
Emma Cullen – one quarter Changeling (on her father’s side)
Bartholomew Bogue – warlock uppity witch
McCann – hedge witch
Denali – skin-walker
Teddy Q – half earth elemental half dryad (on his mother’s side)
Chisolm – human monster hunter
Faraday – Trickster Fae a little of this, a little of that
Goodnight Robicheaux – demon an Antichrist
Billy Rocks – angel of death
Vasquez – Ancient God (Old Mexico/Aztec/Mayan)[endsection]

Trinity – 03 – The Second Partner

[section=Disclaimers & Notes]Disclaimers: All copyrights belong to their respective copyright holders, including but not limited to MGM, Columbia Pictures, Village Roadshow Pictures, and others. I make no profit on this piece of fan-produced work. The story itself belongs to Adora Addams and Katsuko. Please do not steal!
Word Count: 1,389
Archive: DarkMagick.net, Apollymi’s Grimoire, and Archive of Our Own. Anyone else wanting it, please ask first. I’ll probably say yes, but ask first…[endsection]

“Everyone, final bets,” Eddy called, waiting in the corral for the cowhands and passing ranchers to ante up.

Goodnight lounged on the fence itself, back to the post and legs stretched out on the rail. He watched as Billy stood in the middle of the corral, sharply dressed as always even though he still had a few surprises tucked away. It had been nearly a month since they’d last visited Lafayette and his parents’ home, and although he did love to see them, it had been time to go back out into the world.

Maman T had long since begun to lament that their third may have passed on without ever meeting her Goodnight and his Billy, despite Daddy’s reassurance that sometimes it took a bit of doing to find all of a triad. I got damned lucky all o’ us were in New Orleans, he had reminded her once again. I reckon Goody’s are just a bit further afield.

Still, Goodnight and Billy were happy with their lot in life. Plenty of time to travel the west and a safe haven to return to every now and again when they needed to rest without looking over their shoulders. His parents may have paid off Billy’s bounty — and that had, indeed, scandalized the neighbors, that the Robicheaux boy had paired off with a felon — but neither really trusted that some idiot wouldn’t try something just because they were a mixed-race pair rather than part of a triad as yet.

“Arcade,” Eddy said, catching Goodnight’s attention again as he indicated the other opponent. “Billy Rocks. On my gun.”

The half-Creole took a long draw of the opium cigarette in his hand before swigging back some bourbon. His gaze drifted over the assembled men, but his attention sharpened on a younger man leaning on the gate.

He was a tall drink of water, build stocky but not overweight as Arcade was. No, Goodnight was certain that the man was pure muscle, and the fact that he was gritty from the trail was not a deterrent to his attractiveness. He estimated that the man had about a week and a half’s worth of scruff on his chin, and absently he wondered how it’d feel to kiss the other.

The thought was startling, as he hadn’t even thought of seducing another since he and Billy’d met so long ago, even though they didn’t stop hoping to find the rest of their triad. Goodnight shook it off, turning in time for Eddy to fire his gun and for Billy to draw a split-second faster than Arcade. From the corner of his eye, he could see the handsome stranger watching Billy walk over to him and noted absently that his eyes were a striking shade of green.

“Why don’t we do it for real?” Arcade suddenly demanded, and Goodnight could sense Billy turning to give the man the exact same you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me face he was pulling. The stranger at the gate had turned a similar look to the newly doomed man, and Goodnight felt his pulse jump. Could it be possible…?

“Come on, you sap-sucking runt of a man! Double or nothing!”

Well, then. Billy nodded to his partner and turned to return to his position, only to stop briefly before continuing. Goodnight was positive that his cher had spotted the handsome stranger just then and felt that same sharp dig of attraction. But his Billy had more self control — thank God — and took the time to deal with Arcade to prevent future problems.

As Goodnight hopped down from the fence, Billy caught his eye and tilted his head back towards the gate. The Creole nodded in reply before setting about collecting their winnings. He noticed that the stranger was still in the same spot, watching intently as he moved down the line… and Goodnight wasn’t surprised when Arcade’s friend refused to pay up. Chances were good the poor thing was one of the dead fool’s triad and wasn’t going to be thinking clearly for a little while.

“Easy, Goodnight,” said the familiar man standing by the new widower. “He’s drunk. He doesn’t mean it.”

“Mister Robicheaux, sir,” the drunk said, standing abruptly. “Had I known that was your man, I wouldn’t have been so disrespectful.”

Goodnight noticed that the stranger had straightened up, looking both pleased and slightly stunned. “That’s okay, son,” he addressed the man before him. “You just pay me double.”

That problem dealt with, he moved on down the line and managed to not stall at the gate when the stranger called to him by name. He did stop still, however, when he continued:

“Sam Chisolm’s sent us.”

Goodnight turned to face the man, meeting those green eyes he’d noted earlier and feeling his heart jump in his chest. From the way the stranger drew in a sharp breath, he’d felt it too.

Chisolm had gone and sent his other partner to him without realizing it.

Sadly, the conversation had been all business, what with the presence of young Joshua Faraday’s traveling companion Teddy Q… who looked halfway to scandalized upon realizing Goodnight and Billy were pair-bonded rather than part of a full triad as yet. Alternatively, Joshua himself was a delight; his immediate reaction to Goodnight’s story about how he and Billy’d met was to make a joke about killing a man with a hairpin and then not flinching in the face of his cher’s deadpan expression. Rather, the young man had just smiled brightly as if waiting for the punchline, and he had laughed like the sound was punched out of him when it came.

“You make your living off of his alley fights?” Teddy asked after Goodnight had finished the abbreviated version of their first meeting, leaving off the feeling like he’d only just started to live in that moment. Stories of a triad’s bonding, even in part, was a private thing that should only be shared with intimate companions; Teddy Q didn’t count, even if Joshua Faraday would as soon as they could have a private moment.

“Equal shares,” Billy replied. Generally, if asked, he would make some remark about prejudices, but in this case he continued with, “Triads are equal. Everyone knows that.”

Teddy was visibly biting his tongue, although Joshua had a small pleased smile crossing his face. Oh yes, he had indeed felt that bolt from the blue as well, then. Then the youngest of their small cadre spoke up again:

“Mister Chisolm said to come get you, but he didn’t say anything about your… friend over here.”

“He’s coming with.”

That had not been Goodnight, although he’d been about to say something similar. Nope, that had been young Joshua, turning to give the other man a hard look that dared him to argue. After a moment, the boy crumbled with a muttered yes, sir and a faint flush to his skin.

Goodnight turned a smile to both his Billy and young Joshua. “We understand each other,” he remarked. Billy returned the smile with that tiny pleased one he only shared with his partner, and Joshua offered a brilliant grin.

“It’s a day and a half to Junction City,” Joshua remarked, “and we’ve got two days. Normally I’d suggest we do half a day of drinking,” and here Goodnight let out a bark of laughter, because Maman T was going to love this boy, “but I’d rather just talk, if that’s okay with y’all?”

Goodnight grinned. “I like you,” he stated clearly, and he knew for certain that the more true I know I can love you came through clearly as well.

“Teddy,” young Faraday said, tilting his head to the other man, “can you go get us some more whiskey? Thanks, kid.”

Teddy looked a bit put out at being dismissed, but apparently whatever look Billy was giving him got him to moving, and in short order it was just the three of them. Billy dropped his feet from the table and leaned forward even as Joshua did likewise, both men sliding easily into Goodnight’s space.

“Now, then,” the older man said, a warm smile crossing his face, “let’s have that talk, shall we?”

When they rode out of Volcano Springs a few hours before dawn, the new Robicheaux triad appeared to be complete.

[section=Footer Notes]09 January 2017

Translation Notes:
(All translations are taken from Google Translate or Adora’s shaky remnants of French)
French:
Maman – Mamma
cher – darling[endsection]

Wicked Ones – 02

[section=Disclaimers & Notes]Disclaimers: All copyrights belong to their respective copyright holders, including but not limited to MGM, Columbia Pictures, Village Roadshow Pictures, and others. I make no profit on this piece of fan-produced work. The story itself belongs to Adora Addams and Katsuko. Please do not steal!
Word Count: 3,953
Archive: DarkMagick.net, Apollymi’s Grimoire, and Archive of Our Own. Anyone else wanting it, please ask first. I’ll probably say yes, but ask first…[endsection]

“Whose execution do we seek, Chisolm?”

Emma Cullen was a firebrand, and that was for certain. She certainly wasn’t in any way responsive to the lightest conversational measures he was willing to try. Joshua could respect that in a lady. He certainly preferred that type to the shrinking wallflowers of the big cities. But for all that abruptness and barely hidden temper, there was too much grief, much of it very recent, for her to be of any appeal to him, even if he had any more of a leaning in that direction. Easier to move on along and try to coax some particulars out of Sam Chisolm.

“Bartholomew Bogue.”

Times like these, he figured that Chisolm had ice water running in his veins, to just toss out a dry comment like that like it didn’t even matter. It wasn’t the first time Chisolm had left him flat-footed before, but even he had to take a second to gather his thoughts up again.

“Bart Bogue? The robber baron?” he asked incredulous… before his mind took to considering all the possibilities. “Means there’s gold in the equation, but gold don’t do you much good when you’re buried with it.”

“You want out? Feel free to leave,” Chisolm returned, side-eyeing him. “Just leave my horse… ‘cause I paid for it.”

Definitely ice water in that man’s veins… And besides at this point, he was entirely too curious to point out that he could pay that money back with interest, as well as for the tack. Taking on a man like Bogue, it was suicidal and crazy, and he liked the sound of it.

Crazy and suicidal fit well into his plans quite nicely these days.

“Just speaking out loud,” he replied instead, all affable Faraday in his voice, not a hint of the slide coming. He actually wanted to stay on with this a bit, and letting the bounty hunter part of himself out would not be the way to go. Little Teddy Q might well turn tail and run, though he doubt Miss Emma would even consider it.

“Twenty miles east of here, Volcano Springs supply station. You look for a Cajun—”

He had heard men describe a feeling of their stomach sinking all the way to their feet. He had experienced it only once before, a little over eight years ago, but he had been too mad at the time to place note of the exact feeling. The sensation now was remarkably similar. Honestly, he wanted to throw up every ounce of Busthead he had managed to pack away today, and Chisolm hadn’t even finished speaking yet.

“—name of Robicheaux.”

“Goodnight Robicheaux?”

“That’s right.”

“The Angel of Death…”

This time Chisolm just continued talking as he had not spoken, giving them meeting instructions: outside of Junction City in three days. Chisolm even included an aside that was probably meant to be as funny as Chisolm ever got, about how if he wasn’t there, then he was probably dead and Joshua could keep ‘his’ horse.

Chisolm was already turning to speak to Miss Emma, his horse turned towards the hills to the north, when Joshua’s brain finally caught up to what was going on around him. “You’re going after that vaquero, right? Gabriel Vasquez?” Chisolm nodded once, carefully. “I’ll go get him. You find Robicheaux.”

“I reckon not, Faraday.” The use of that particular name seemed deliberate, maybe even too deliberate. “I imagine Mister Vasquez would be more likely to come along if there’s not too much danger of him getting shot dead for his troubles. Some of us don’t have a reputation of shooting first.”

“Tell that to Powder Dan,” he fired right back.

“Be that as it may, I figure you’re more likely to get Goodnight Robicheaux to commit to this crew than I am at the point, and I know I’m a good deal more likely to be able to find Gabriel Vasquez than you are. Miss Emma, you’re with me,” Chisolm concluded, the pair of them taking off.

In the back of his head, he was already cussing Sam Chisolm in every language he knew a swear word in: French, Spanish, English, even a few words here and there of Gaelic he remembered from his Ma. He imagined his face was a granite wall, though, since he had long since perfected his poker face. He felt like it might be slipping around the edges, though.

Hell, he could admit that it was a pretty good plan. Yeah, more of his bounties came back dead than they did alive, and if Vasquez knew who was hunting him, then his instinct did seem to be to hide far and deep, well away from the world. If Chisolm had some insight into finding him that Joshua didn’t, then that might not be the worst idea. Especially because they didn’t have the time to find him all over again, no matter what the purpose of detouring after a wanted man happened to be.

He didn’t much care for the idea of Sam Chisolm stealing another bounty out from under him, but maybe he had something in mind for that five hundred dollars that could make this whole thing a little less suicidal. What, he didn’t know, but he would never doubt that his fellow bounty hunter had tricks up his sleeve that he couldn’t guess at. You could buy a lot of rifles and ammo for five hundred dollars, and a lot more rifles and ammo on their side meant a better chance of them all surviving this to get their hands on that gold.

But he figured Chisolm was thinking wrong on one aspect: he was in no way the best to get Goodnight Robicheaux to join their little band. He hadn’t talked to his brother in eight years, after all, and they had parted ways under some… less than stellar conditions. Words had been exchanged that couldn’t be taken back. Also, there were certain punches that had been exchanged that stood in the way of a good reconciliation.

Aside from that, he had a pocket in his saddlebags full of letters Billy Rocks had written to him. He had only burned the first one; the second one he almost had but he had quickly fished it back out of the flames, and the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind from then on. He had never once gotten a letter from Goody himself. And hell, for that matter, he had put a letter to post only three weeks ago, his fifteenth or so… and he had been determined that it would be his last one.

As of a month ago, Billy Rock and Goody were still together, out somewhere near the Nevada-California border. Per Rocks’ latest letter, they were even still doing quick-draw competitions, so really, not that much had changed with them over the last few years. He couldn’t even remember the last time he heard of Goody picking up a bounty, but it had probably been a year or so after they had parted ways. A vicious part of him thought that Goody probably couldn’t hunt bounties without him; he needed someone to be able to shoot up close, and bringing a bounty to hunt a bounty just seemed like a losing hand, so far as Joshua was concerned.

Little Teddy Q looked like he was considering speaking up, like he was confused as hell and wanted answers but didn’t know how to get them, like he was liable to kick up a fuss in the near future. In short, he looked like every rebellious youngster that he had ever had the displeasure and misfortune of knowing, It wasn’t particularly something that Joshua wanted to deal with, so he turned Jack and started southerly towards Volcano Springs.

This was not going to end well.


He was still stewing on his annoyance when he rode into Volcano Springs with Teddy Q the next morning. Teddy had spent much of the night inquiring as to the person they were meant to collect, until Joshua had given some serious thought to either finding a way to literally sew his mouth shut or possibly just shooting the little bastard. He didn’t doubt that he could easily do either one in order to get a decent night’s sleep. He had rolled over—again—facing away from little Teddy Q and gleefully dreamed of fishing out a needle to take to the young man’s face.

But it did mean that he was in a sour mood riding into the supply station, more so than he likely would have been otherwise. Because, really, this wasn’t going to end well for anyone.

It looked like two-thirds of the town was gathered around the corral. It was a fair bet that that was where they were holding the quick-draw contest. After tossing Jack’s reins across what passed for a hitching post around here and waiting a moment for Teddy Q to catch up to him, he nodded in the general direction of the crowd that was forming. “You’ll find Robicheaux over there. If you want, place a bet on the Rocks guy. I hear he’s good.”

“Where’re you heading, Mister Faraday?”

“I need a drink.” And wasn’t that the God’s honest truth? Between drying out on the trail here from Amador City and the stress of what was likely to come soon, he needed to find a bottle of whiskey to crawl into. The Busthead from Amador City was long since gone, and he needed more. He needed it, like a fish needed water.

Yesterday he had had misgivings about all of this, he mused to himself. Today, he flat-out wanted to get back up on Jack, start riding any direction but back towards Amador City or this little Rose Creek.

Teddy Q looked all set to argue, so he didn’t give him the chance, by turning away and walking to what passed for a saloon around here. Unless Goodnight had changed a lot, the barber’s that was also in here would be call lure enough for them to stop by sooner or later; he had never been able to resist getting gussied up whenever the chance presented itself. So he settled himself at the table closest to the barber chair with a bottle and a glass and got to drinking.

Half an hour and half a bottle of cheap ass whiskey later, sure enough, he could hear Goodnight and little Teddy Q coming in. He would assume that Rocks was in tow, trailing somewhere behind Goodnight, even if the man was silent; a quick glance in the mirror over the bar confirmed it. Rocks was, in fact, sitting in a low chair next to the barber chair that Goodnight had settled into, eating with his hands, some kind of food that Joshua cannot identify in the mirror’s reflection. Goodnight might have been in the barber’s chair getting soaped and lathered, but he was also holding court, entertaining little Teddy Q mightily in the way only someone with that famed Robicheaux charm could do.

“‘Duly-sworn warrant officer from Wichita, Kansas, and seven other states’?” Goody—Goodnight was saying. “Do we have the same man?”

Teddy must have made an affirmative sound of some kind that didn’t carry over to Joshua’s table. Teddy’s following question made it that far just fine though: “Should we talk someplace more private?”

“No, I like it right here. Billy, you like it here?” Goodnight was all loud expansiveness. It was his version of digging in his heels on a subject—or it had been years ago. It covered much of whatever Rocks was saying; Joshua could see his lips moving, just a little bit, a couple of times in the mirror, but that was it.

Instead what he got next was another question from Little Teddy Q, and there was no mistaking how disapproving the boy sounded, like someone’s old maiden aunt. “How did y’all meet?”

Goodnight laughed, and it almost even sounded like his old self. Almost. That was the point that Joshua turned back to his drink, trying his best to ignore the tale Goodnight was spinning about how he met Rocks while serving a warrant on him for the Northern Pacific Railroad. The bare bones of it was correct, excepting how it had been the two of them, it hadn’t precisely been bareknuckled as Rocks had involved his knives at one point, and that had been the beginning of the end for the Robicheaux boys as a bounty hunting team. They hadn’t brought in a bounty together since then, and it didn’t look too likely on them ever working together again.

Hell, it wasn’t exactly news to him that Goodnight was making money off Rocks’ quick-draw fights. It was news that they were going equal shares on it. “Between fights,” Rocks was explaining, “Goody helps me navigate the white man’s prejudices.”

And Joshua was seeing red. He had known from the letters that Goodnight let Rocks use the nickname that had previously been reserved only for Joshua himself. Hell, that had been the reason why he’d burned Rocks’ first letter. It was one thing to know it. It was another altogether to hear it said out loud like it was just another simple thing.

“Mm-hmm,” Goodnight agreed. “I keep him employed, and he keeps me… on the level.”

This time Joshua’s hands were shaking as he poured his next drink. It had been a long time since that had happened, that he had been so mad that his hands shook. He had known that him—and by extension, little Teddy Q—being sent after Goodnight was a bad idea and he had suspected that it would be a trial for him, but he hadn’t expected just how much it would hurt… or how much it would piss him off.

“Well,” Teddy began, and Joshua could have kissed him for the distraction, much less for his choice of words, “Mister  Chisolm sent us to come fetch you, but he didn’t say anything about your friend over there.”

“Wherever I go,” Goodnight stated, completely level, no trace of levity to be found in his voice, though at least he didn’t seem to have noticed Teddy’s slip in using ‘us’ in that little declaration, “Billy goes.”

Teddy folded like a house of cards in a stiff breeze with a muttered “Yes, sir.” There was a long pause, one where he was willing to bet that Goodnight was staring little Teddy Q down as he ascertained whether or not the boy was taking him seriously.

Finally, Goodnight commented, “We understand each other then. Now Billy and I—”

And that was the last thing that Joshua could stand. He shoved the now completely empty bottle away from himself as he pushed himself to his feet, even if he was none too steady on them. He half turned, mostly facing Teddy, though he could see Goodnight’s startled expression out of the corner of his eye as he shot up as well, Rocks a half beat ahead of him, and snapped out, “We’re leaving in an hour. Meet us by the corral then.” Because he needed to spend some time with Jack, cooling off before he did something he would really regret.

He managed to take off and get as far as the door before a hand wrapped around his arm. For a split second, the face he saw when he looked over his shoulder was Monsieur Robicheaux before it resolved into Goodnight. Even so, he could still see the similarities between his brother as he had aged and their shared bastard of a father. It was in the goatee, trimmed neatly but still greying. It was in the light brown hair, always closer to blond than his own reddish hair had ever been, hints of steel starting to streak through it. It was in the weathered eyes that still seemed centuries too old for his body. Hell, it was even in the clothes, just as fine-cut as Monsieur Robicheaux had ever favored, even if these were older, clearly mended, and trail worn, and the two fleur-de-lis pinned to either side of his vest collar. It wasn’t quite like looking directly at the old bastard all over again, since there was enough of Maman Arthémie there too: her blue eyes, a general softening of features that had been harsher on their shared father.

But it wasn’t too far away from him either, Joshua thought to himself in a moment of sheer desperation, yanking his arm to free it.

Whatever shock that had been on Goody’s—Goodnight, damn it—face had all but vanished during Joshua’s split second of horror, and it had been replaced with anger. And wasn’t that a too damned familiar expression on that damned face? “Thought you were done working with others,” he all but growled out, and at least the voice didn’t sound much like Monsieur Robicheaux. “Yet here you are playing babysitter to… well.” He gestured wildly at Teddy Q, and yeah, really, that was all there was to say on the matter of the boy.

“Your buddy Sam Chisolm bought my damn horse out from under me. This is me, being the honest citizen that I am, paying off a debt,” he hissed back.

Goodnight snorted and switched to French. “I’m surprised you didn’t just back-shoot him and take that damned wild animal back. I’ve heard how honest you are now. Word gets around.

He narrowed his eyes and bit back on the growl that wanted to arise, before returning in kind, “At least I’m earning a living on my own merit and not someone else’s skills…” He paused, giving the words a second to sink in, before a smirk built on his face as he went for the one-two punch, “Ain’t that right, Monsieur Robicheaux?

There was a long breath of stunned silence, like the entire world had fallen away, and then he realized that solely because his ears were ringing and the room was spinning around him. Goody—Goodnight—still hit like a train, after all, catching him hard in the left eye. For another stunned minute, all he could think was how glad he was that the actual Monsieur Robicheaux had never managed to hit anywhere near as hard as Goodnight did.

The other man’s voice was like ice as he spoke again, still in French. “The way I hear it, I may have the old bastard’s look, but the temper and attitude are the bread and butter of the younger brother.” He didn’t call him ‘the bastard’, but it felt like his brother—no, not that, not anymore—had only just restrained himself from saying those words. “Sound about right, T-Jo?

And you know what, he decided to himself, fuck this. He still harbored some fond memories from his childhood of his brother, so he wasn’t about to do anything permanent—such as draw his gun, even if there was no chance he could miss at this range, or even return the favor of aiming for an eye, when Chisolm likely wanted Goodnight to be a sharpshooter for him now—but he could always pay the insult back in kind. It was easy to swing hard, right from the hip, like he had learned all those years ago in muddy battlefields across Maryland and Pennsylvania. Yeah, he was a lot bigger now than he had ever been then, but when he was mad as hell, it was what he always fell back on.

And unlike Goodnight, he didn’t aim for an eye. Instead, he caught the other man right in the corner of his mouth and felt a visceral kind of cheerful rage to see Goodnight’s lip split and blood well up. A dark grin pulled at the corners of his own mouth, and it felt so damn good.

You don’t get to call me that anymore. You gave up that right years ago, remember?

I almost feel sorry for you.” And almost immediately he could feel himself bristling. Where the hell did Goodnight Robicheaux get off talking to him like that? “But fine. We can finish this conversation later.” And yeah, apparently he was done, because he switched back to English before continuing, “Thirty minutes, then we should be set to ride. Get as far as we can before nightfall.”

And then Rocks was right there, always sticking his nose in where it didn’t belong, always oh so fucking willing to come between the two of them. “Get cleaned up, Goody,” he commented quietly. “You shouldn’t leave looking like this.”

He rolled his eyes, hard. “Yeah, go on and get ready, Goodnight. Your buddy Chisolm wants us in Junction City in a day and a half.”

Goody—God fucking damn it, it was Goodnight now, and his stupid mind needed to remember that—actually looked more struck by the use of his full name than he had by the punch, and that was saying something, he figured, since there was still a little blood mixing in with the brown and grey of Goodnight’s goatee. “Fine,” he commented dully, and it almost felt like victory. Or it might have, had he not switched back over to French to finish, “Was a time when you wouldn’t call me by that name, Joshua.

Once again he narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. He wasn’t going to throw another punch, not if he could help it, but he always wasn’t going to lose at getting his fair share of the verbal battle in either. “And I figure it don’t much matter, since it seems everyone gets to call you ‘Goody’ now,” he fired back, sneering as the color rose up Goodnight’s neck and into his cheeks, just like it always had when he was mad as hell, before quickly chancing another verbal blow. “I certainly don’t remember you being quite so… free with that sort of stuff back then.

And there was that damn freight train again. Honestly, it felt like Goody had pulled his punch a bit the first time, at least compared to the second, because hell, that really did feel like getting hit by a train, because he hit the ground and tasted blood this time. He certainly felt like he’d had his bell rung like it hadn’t been in a few forevers, and it took him a few painful minutes to pick himself up out of the dirt, pushing himself to his feet and dusting himself off with his hat.

Little Teddy Q looked like he had suddenly had the knowledge visited upon him that he was in over his head. His green eyes were wide enough to pop out of his head, darting back and forth between Joshua in the doorway and the closed door that Goodnight and Billy had disappeared behind like one of them was going to end up biting him, and he actually looked a little pale. Yeah, he definitely had no idea what he had gotten himself into, and a vicious part of Joshua wanted to grin savagely with bloody teeth at the image he presented.

Instead, though, he paid for one more shot of the cheapest stuff in the bar, using it to painfully rinse the blood from his mouth. He even managed to ring the spittoon with blood-tinted rotgut before finally wiping at his mouth and saying, “We need to get back to the horses. It’s a long ride to Junction City, and I’m sure your little Joan of Arc ain’t going to be too happy with any of this.”

[section=Footer Notes]07 January 2017

Adora here again with another chapter of Wicked Ones. I’m still incredibly nervous posting this one, but all the lovely comments I received have gone a long way towards making me feel better about it. Thank you all so, so much for them all. I have turned it into a series, because I’m thinking some of the sections we have written would break up the narrative too much to be in the main story, but that’s subject to change. Katsuko will be starting to post Goodnight’s sections soon.

Also, I think I caught all the places the cat typed in the narrative, but if there is a random string of numbers and letters somewhere or something like that, please, let me know!

We’ve mentioned it elsewhere, but our posting schedule will be as follows:
Mondays – Trinity
Wednesdays – Monstrous/After Midnight
Saturdays – Wicked Ones

So yeah, I still hate the fact that the movie doesn’t give a first name for Vasquez. I’ve looked over all the supplemental material I could find, and nope, no first name there either. So we made one up.

~Adora[endsection]

After Midnight – 04 – Another Contest, A New Monster

[section=Disclaimers & Notes]Disclaimers: All copyrights belong to their respective copyright holders, including but not limited to MGM, Columbia Pictures, Village Roadshow Pictures, and others. I make no profit on this piece of fan-produced work. The story itself belongs to Adora Addams and Katsuko. Please do not steal!
Word Count: 2,187
Archive: DarkMagick.net, Apollymi’s Grimoire, and Archive of Our Own. Anyone else wanting it, please ask first. I’ll probably say yes, but ask first…[endsection]

“Alright, everyone. Place your final bets. We’re about to begin.”

Goodnight Robicheaux sat relaxed on the fence, back to a post and legs stretched out on the rails before him. He kept a careful watch on the crowd, seeing mostly humans, although a few monsters were also placing their bets on who would win. Unsurprisingly, the monsters were betting on his Billy, and they would be the only ones to profit today.

In the corral itself, Billy Rocks stood quietly, that angelic calm seeming to unnerve his opponent ever so slightly. Angels were still something of a mystery to the human race, given that only angels of death like Billy walked the world with any kind of frequency. And even his dear one was an oddity, since he enjoyed spending his time with the youngest of Lucifer’s Antichrists.

Goodnight tuned out Eddy’s words; he’d heard them many a time when they stopped by this particular supply station and he could already feel death in the air. This Arcade Jones fellow was going to do something stupid, his Billy was going to pull one of his blessed knives out to quickly dispatch the fool, and his Adelaide was going to get herself some fresh man-flesh to dine on after all.

Another glance over the crowd showed him that a couple new faces had joined the group: a young halfling of some sort, probably no more than early to mid-twenties, and what appeared at first glance to be one of the Fae. A second, somewhat closer look showed that there was something more to this particular Fae, and he would not be disinclined to make the man’s acquaintance to try and discover what it was. For now, though, Goodnight tuned back in just enough to catch Billy draw faster–of course–and begin walking over to join him in collecting their winnings.

“Hold on one moment, my dear,” Goodnight said, using the mind-speak that monsters, demons, angels, and others of their ilk favored. “I have a feeling.”

“I hate your feelings, Goody,” Billy complained, but pausing just long enough to catch Arcade’s taunt and demand to go for real. “I was hoping not to kill anyone today.”

“What, you want Adelaide to go hungry?”

“Seriously. I hate your feelings, and sometimes I hate you, too,” Billy heaved a mental sigh, but there was enough fondness in his ‘voice’ to prove otherwise. He turned on his heel, and Goodnight caught just a hint of feathers as the angel resumed his position and tossed aside first his hat then his gun-and-knife belt.

“Ooh, you’re gonna use my favorite? I knew you loved me.”

“Shut up and let me work.”

Eddy, human as they come but familiar enough with the way of the world to know a monster when he saw one, heaved a sigh and asked if Billy was ready. He shot off his gun and didn’t even blink when Billy’s wings flared briefly in the shadows as he threw his hairpin blade straight to Arcade’s heart.

“Damn,” Goodnight remarked. “That was almost disappointing.”

“At least Addie gets to eat well today,” Billy replied, offering a small smirk as he moved to retrieve his belongings. “Go get our money, little demon.”

“So damn bossy, dear angel.”

Despite his complaint, Goodnight slipped from the fence and resisted the urge to kick the body on the ground. Mainly because Adelaide didn’t like her meat too tenderized, and he doted on that mare to a ridiculous degree. Rather, he set about collecting their winnings.

“I ain’t in the habit of paying cheaters,” one of the human bettors declared, gaze distant but somewhat focused on Arcade’s corpse. “I’ll be keeping my money.”

Goodnight stared at the man, gaze hard as his eyes shifted. No longer were they a shade of blue almost too pale for a human to possess, but the black he purposely shifted them to when he was angry but still in just enough control of himself to keep them from blazing to hellfire white. The human next to the fool noted the rage building and stepped in to diffuse the situation.

“Easy, Goodnight,” the old man said. “He’s drunk. He don’t know what he’s saying.”

The younger man abruptly straightened up, realizing the danger he’d stumbled into as he registered that the ‘man’ he’d talked back to was a demon. “Mister Robicheaux, sir,” he stammered. “If I’d realized that was your man, I wouldn’t have made such a disrespectful comment.”

Goodnight blinked, the black sclera clearing instantly to true blue. “That’s okay, son,” he said. “Just pay me double.”

Once that fool was dealt with and once he could hear Eddy allowing Adelaide into the corral for her treat, the demon moved to continue collecting his winnings. He noted that the Fae was still at the gate waiting, but he stepped past him to the next loser.

“Goodnight Robicheaux? Chisolm’s sent us.”

The demon turned and blinked at the Fae. “Really now?” he asked. “And who might you be, mon ami?”

“Faraday’s the name,” the Fae replied. “And Chisolm’s gathering an army of monsters to face an uppity witch.”

“Oh?” Goodnight blinked, somewhat surprised and a bit intrigued; he’d met Sam Chisolm only one time before, and that was during the final days of the war. He had had the man in his sights, and even to this day he wasn’t entirely sure why he didn’t pull the trigger and send the human straight to his daddy’s rooms. Instead, he’d frozen time for a few moments, long enough to walk up to the Yankee soldier, and restored it just in time to grin as the man jumped at finding black eyes locked with his own.

“You, sir, are interesting,” he had said way back when. “I find that I am disinclined to end your life today.”

“Much obliged,” Sam Chisolm had drawled, a note of amusement and annoyance both in his voice. “So what are we to do now, then, demon?”

“Let’s go have a drink and figure that out.”

And even now, Goodnight still thought rather fondly of Chisolm. Billy had reserved his judgment, having actually been present and directing his Reapers whilst that conversation took place, but ultimately figured that if Goody was fond of the man then he could let him keep on keeping on.

“Well, then, my friend,” the demon said, smiling sunnily at the Fae and his halfling companion, “let’s step into my office so we can discuss business.”

“You got an office?” Faraday asked, looking unimpressed.

“He means the saloon,” Billy replied quietly, and the demon nearly grinned at the small jump from the halfling.

Faraday smiled broadly. “My kind of office.”

The four of them went inside, Goodnight and Billy gravitating automatically to the corner near the barber station. On most days when they were passing through Volcano Springs, the demon would take advantage of the services provided and get a shave. Truth of the matter was, he could coax his appearance to any matter he wished, and fortunately today he’d opted to appear well-groomed before they set foot into the supply station’s borders. Meaning he and his angelic companion could simply seat themselves, backs to the wall, and observe the room while they talked.

“Should we go someplace quieter?” the halfling, Teddy Q if Faraday was to be believed–and Goodnight tended to trust that monsters were somewhat honest with other monsters–asked as he glanced about nervously.

It was a bit rowdy, true, but that was what made Goodnight so comfortable there. Hell, he’d grown up with his daddy, his momma, and nine-hundred ninety-eight older brothers and sisters; he and quiet were not fond acquaintances, and the louder a room was, the more at ease he could be.

“Nah,” the demon said evenly, “I like it here. You like it here, Billy?”

“You know I like it well enough wherever you feel safest, little demon,” Billy replied mentally. Aloud he simply said, “Here, Goody,” before passing him the flask he’d just taken a drink from.

Teddy looked a little annoyed, but that could be because he was uncomfortable with the noise level. “Where’d y’all meet, anyway?”

“I was serving a warrant on him from the Northern Pacific Railroad,” Goodnight immediately snarked, and Billy bit back a laugh.

Faraday did laugh. “No, but for real,” he asked. “How does a demon nicknamed the Angel of Death find an actual angel to hang about with?”

Billy shot the Fae a stern look, and Goodnight noted that the halfling gave a surprised blink. Ah, so one of their new companions hadn’t missed the flare of his angel’s wings earlier.

The demon grinned, letting his eyes flicker black for just a heartbeat before speaking. “We crossed paths ‘bout halfway through the War. I was bored and pretty randomly shooting anyone what annoyed me.”

“Even his fellow soldiers,” Billy chimed in, rolling his eyes lightly and leaning back against the wall again; Goodnight could sense him ruffling his feathers before letting them settle back into the spaces between once again.

“Is what it is,” Goody offered with a shrug. “At any rate, I was doing that, and this petite son of a bitch just comes storming up on me outta nowhere to tell me to, and I quote, knock it the fuck off, you are not making my life easier with this bullshit.” He chuckled at the eyeroll that got from his angel and grinned at Faraday’s appreciative snickering. “Decided that this was not a monster to aggravate much more, but rather one that it’d be wise to befriend.”

That wasn’t… entirely the truth. That was when they’d decided to stick together, true enough, but over the centuries they had met a time or two. Goodnight had started short jaunts to the humans’ domains when he was around four hundred fifty, and Billy’d long since been on the job by then. But a month or two here or there compared with the years of the War was nothing at all, and it had been nice to have someone of his own ilk around to keep him in line… or at least attempt that daunting task.

“Well…” Teddy sounded hesitant, and he gave the demon an apologetic look. “Mister Chisolm said to come get you, but I don’t think he knew about your friend. Didn’t say nothing about him.”

“Wherever I go,” the demon said, tone even, “Billy goes.”

Faraday turned to look at the halfling, who honestly didn’t look like he wanted to argue the point. Instead of pushing or folding under the pressure, Teddy simply shrugged and knocked back his own drink.

Goodnight felt a smile cross his face. “We understand each other,” he remarked.

“So, since we have a day and a half’s ride to Junction City,” the Fae remarked, “but two days to kill, I say we spend a half day sharing drinks and trading tales.”

“And what manner of tales do you suggest, Mister Faraday?” Goodnight asked, leaning forward to lean on the table.

Faraday likewise leaned forward. “Oh, I dunno. Tales about the War, tales about things you saw in the world before the War, tales about deals you’ve made with humans, that sort of thing.”

The demon snorted indelicately. “I ain’t no crossroads demon, mon ami,” he retorted. “Ain’t really spent much time out in the world, neither. My life was somewhat… sheltered.”

“Are you telling me,” the Fae said, sitting up straight, “that you’ve only been above ground for a total of twenty years?”

“I spent a month or two here and there,” Goodnight replied, “but nothing of matter until the onset of the War.”

Faraday blinked then started laughing brightly. “Whatever you say, baby demon.”

That made Goodnight bristle, annoyance flowing over him. He was the youngest of the family, yes, and his favorite brother had feuded with Daddy over allowing him to fight, but he was a full-grown demon in his own right now. He had been when Ezekiel and Daddy had fallen out, and he had been when he and Ezekiel parted ways upon arriving on the surface. He didn’t even know what form his brother had chosen; they’d not even shifted from their true forms until separating on the surface.

But he was six hundred years old, for the gods’ sake. He was not a child.

“And what are you, exactly, Mister Faraday?” he asked icily; given the way the Fae stopped laughing to stare at him wide-eyed, his annoyance was coming through loud and clear.

“Oh,” Faraday said smoothly, “a little of this, a little of that. But what kind of demon are you if you ain’t one of them soul traders?”

“Something a mite different,” was all he would offer.

Next to him, Billy gave his you are being a little shit sigh. Goodnight ignored it. He was willing to go with this Fae to meet up with Sam, see what was what, but there was little chance of him actually trusting the older monster any time soon.

Baby demon. What a crock of shit.

[section=Footer Notes]04 January 2017

Running count on monsters:
Emma Cullen – one quarter Changeling (on her father’s side)
Bartholomew Bogue – warlock uppity witch
McCann – hedge witch
Denali – skin-walker
Teddy Q – half earth elemental half dryad (on his mother’s side)
Chisolm – human monster hunter
Faraday – Trickster Fae a little of this, a little of that
Goodnight Robicheaux – demon an Antichrist
Billy Rocks – angel of death[endsection]

Trinity – 02 – The Robicheaux Family

[section=Disclaimers & Notes]Disclaimers: All copyrights belong to their respective copyright holders, including but not limited to MGM, Columbia Pictures, Village Roadshow Pictures, and others. I make no profit on this piece of fan-produced work. The story itself belongs to Adora Addams and Katsuko. Please do not steal!
Word Count: 1,268
Archive: DarkMagick.net, Apollymi’s Grimoire, and Archive of Our Own. Anyone else wanting it, please ask first. I’ll probably say yes, but ask first…[endsection]

To say that the Robicheaux family was familiar with scandal was like saying the sky was a mite bit blue.

The matriarch of the family was Arthémie Robicheaux, and it was her name that her triad shared. She’d been a well-born Creole, with a well-to-do maman and a daddy who was not only society but also a soldier. Her other mama, however, was Cajun through and through. And Momma didn’t raise a fool-headed child.

From Maman, she had learned poise and grace. From Daddy, she’d learned how to weather society life by standing tall and letting words roll off her back. But Momma… Momma had taught her how to cuss like a sailor who’d been out to sea for months and was just back on dry land. She taught her to question things that “didn’t make no sense on God’s green earth,” and she taught her how to laugh in the face of the same society that would look down on her for having a Cajun mother.

“If’n they knew that I were the one to carry ya, darling,” she would say, “they would look down their noses at’cha. So we ain’t never gonna tell ‘em, are we, ma cher Arthémie?”

So Arthémie did what she wanted within society’s embrace, even as she snorted at how lofty folk seemed to think they were.

That was how she met Sabine Beauvilliers.

Now, Sabine herself was also Creole, through and through. But she wasn’t as high up in society as the Robicheauxs, and that was only due to one teeny insignificant fact: her mother was white Creole, true enough, but her daddy was mulatto, which made her quadroon.

That one of her parents was mixed was enough of a scandal, and folk wondered why her white daddy wasn’t the one to sire her. But the Beauvilliers didn’t much care what society thought, as they were content with their beautiful daughter, and her mother doted upon her more than either of her daddies.

Arthémie was in love nearly from the second their eyes met across the room, Sabine looking utterly done with the conversation going on around her. Soft grey met light hazel and both women were utterly gone on one another.

They had a quiet wedding, just themselves and their families, and opted to remain somewhat respectable by taking the Robicheaux name. They still caused something of a scandal, not looking too hard to find their third, the one who would round out their relationship and make them complete. Both Arthémie and Sabine knew he was out there in the world, waiting for them, but they didn’t think they needed to dedicate their entire lives to tracking him down.

And they were right.

Dempsey Gaudet found them instead.

And, oh, but the scandal that caused! Arthémie had laughed for days.

Because Dempsey wasn’t Creole. Not in the very least. He was one hundred percent Redbone Cajun, and he made no bones about that fact.

Both his mamas had been half-Chitimacha and his daddy had been a quarter that himself, and he had learned to hunt in the swamps from all three of his parents. Hell, he still went hunting with his Ma, his only living parent.

He had only caught sight of Sabine walking down the street while he was in town, selling some furs from the rabbits he’d caught a few days earlier, and he fell for her the second he spotted her. Following her from a distance, he’d watched her greet Arthémie and just knew that he was supposed to be living in that big ol’ house with those women, and he set out to make their acquaintance.

Because he was, as he would delight in telling folk later at the society parties he was grudgingly invited to, just a “dumb ol’ Cajun boy,” Dempsey had seen no problem with walking up to the Mesdames Robicheaux and making his introductions to them.

Luckily for him, Arthémie and Sabine were completely charmed by his boldness.

It wasn’t too long after Dempsey had married into the family, likewise taking on the Robicheaux name and doting upon his wives like any true gentleman would, that Sabine fell pregnant with what would be their only child. And while they were thrilled at the news she was expecting, they did worry some for the child’s chances in life.

His father would be a Redbone, one who could pass for white despite proudly proclaiming his Chitimacha heritage, and his mother would be a quadroon who did not pass for white, not with her soft coffee-and-cream skin that she’d inherited from her own father.

The best they hoped and wished for was that the child would be lighter skinned than Sabine, so they could pass it off as Dempsey’s heritage breeding true. If that were the case, they could easily say that Arthémie had carried their heir, much as her own maman claimed, and no one would be the wiser.

To help with the charade, the Robicheauxs withdrew from society for a short while, citing that Madame Robicheaux was feeling poorly as the babe was not sitting well. And society thankfully bought into it, although if anyone had asked the servants they could have told tell of how Arthémie continued to ride her horse and go out into the swamp on occasion with Dempsey while Sabine sat in the gardens to read or took long walks with her triad as her stomach slowly swelled with their child.

But no one did, and even if they had, the Robicheaux servants were far more loyal to the folk who treated them as part of the family than to gossip mongers.

And then their son, their little Goodnight, was born. Named by Arthémie as was tradition in her family — the mother who didn’t carry the child got to name him or her, it was only fair — after her daddy who’d died at the Alamo, the boy seemed as if he could have been carried by his Maman T after all… because most of his skin was as fair and pink as Arthémie’s own, his eyes the same as Dempsey’s, with the only true sign that Sabine had birthed him a few small, nearly unnoticed patches of skin on his left thigh that were the color of coffee-and-cream.

“What the hell voodoo is this?” Sabine had laughed, utterly delighted even with her shock. “How did I carry a child so obviously yours, ma coeur?”

And so the Robicheaux family, happily familiar with scandal, were able to pass off their son as less than a quarter Redbone with no trace of black Creole to be found. And they lived their lives happily for many years, until war came calling when Goodnight was only just twenty. He wanted to fight without suffering from the draft, and his parents let him go with heavy hearts.

When the damn Yanks came into New Orleans, intent on occupying the city, Arthémie and Sabine and Dempsey had looked at one another for a long minute before packing what they could and fleeing for Lafayette. There they settled, and there they stayed, and there they greeted their beloved son when the war came to an end and he needed his parents.

And when he left again, heading west not even a year later, they knew he would come home as often as he could.

After all, they had found their hearts at home. Goodnight’s hearts were somewhere out there in the world, and he was his Daddy’s son. He was going to find them on his own.

[section=Footer Notes]02 January 2017

Translation Notes:
(All translations are taken from Google Translate or Adora’s shaky remnants of French)
French:
Maman – Mamma
Ma cher – My darling (feminine)
Ma coeur – My heart (feminine)[endsection]

Wicked Ones – 01

[section=Disclaimers & Notes]Disclaimers: All copyrights belong to their respective copyright holders, including but not limited to MGM, Columbia Pictures, Village Roadshow Pictures, and others. I make no profit on this piece of fan-produced work. The story itself belongs to Adora Addams and Katsuko. Please do not steal!
Word Count: 1,435
Archive: DarkMagick.net, Apollymi’s Grimoire, and Archive of Our Own. Anyone else wanting it, please ask first. I’ll probably say yes, but ask first…[endsection]

To say that Joshua Faraday was pissed off was like saying that the ocean was a bit damp. He had just spent the past day, since he got into Amador City, working on Powder Dan… and Sam Chisolm went and shot him in the chest, killing him dead in a heartbeat. And if that didn’t cap off an already bad day, he didn’t know what would. It made the slide easier.

“Money for blood’s an awful peculiar business, innit?” he drawled low and dark, traces of an accent that hadn’t been there moments before sliding into his voice.

If Sam Chisolm was surprised to see him there, it didn’t show on his face or in his voice. “Fancy running into you again, here of all places.”

He didn’t even bother to hide rolling his eyes. “Is this supposed to be payback for me shooting that July Bully bastard out from under you, Chisolm? Because I can’t say I much care for it. Maybe next time I’ll let the bounty finish getting the drop on you and take out one member of the competition.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have waited so long on Powder Dan,” Chisolm returned mildly enough.

“Some of us prefer not to have a whole damn saloon gunning for us.” Because there was no chance that at least half of the recently departed inhabitants of the saloon weren’t forming a mob, with or without the sheriff being involved. And from the sound of things outside, it looked like that guess would be correct. “Speaking of which, you had best go deal with your public, Mister Chisolm.”

The minute Sam Chisolm’s back was turned, he cleared all the money from the table he had been sitting at, leaving the bits and bobs—someone’s pocket watch, an IOU for some shiny new tack, a shiny cigarette case, and a few other pieces—but holding on to the bottle of Busthead that Chisolm had left on the bar, and headed out the back door of the saloon…

…Right into the less than welcoming company of the Babington brothers.


As it turned out, Earl and Dickie Babington had not been an issue for all that long. In fact, all it took was a little affable Joshua Faraday-style sleight of hand to distract then… and a little slide into something else to put a single bullet in each of their heads. They hadn’t exactly been bad men, even if they had been willing to kill a man over fifty dollars lost fair and square in a card game, but they had touched his guns, taking three out of the four off of him and too dumb to check the small of his back behind his vest to find the banker’s special he had worn for years as an additional layer of backup.

Dickie Babington’s rifle wasn’t anything special, not by any stretch of the imagination—certainly not worth the effort of keeping—so he swiftly unloaded it and tossed it back in the dirt a few feet away from either body. There wasn’t anyone living here who could pick it up to shoot him with it, but he had learned the hard way over the years to be a bit beyond careful with any kind of gun. Of his three main guns, two of them were currently stuck under Dickie, so he rolled the body to retrieve them, even as he returned the banker’s special to the small of his back.

The Colt Peacemaker he’d long ago named Ethel went back into the strapped down holster on his left thigh, out of the way but ready to use if it ever came to it; it hadn’t, because he would generally prefer to reload the other two than use her. Maria went back into his side holster, ready to use again at a moment’s notice. It wasn’t his best gun by any means; that honor was reserved for Ethel herself; but of the guns he called himself willing to use in a fight, it was the best. He had not been of a naming mood when he’d taken the Army-issue Colt off a former bounty, but it was a good gun, accurate and fairly reliable. It went into the quickdraw holster on the front of his hip.

Staring down at the two bodies, a part of him almost wanted to apologize for killing the idiots. But they’d touched his guns, threatened his life, and insinuated that he had had to cheat at cards to beat them. Gambling might not have been his main profession, but he took pride in it. The days he had to cheat were few and very far between lately.

He could live with the insinuations. Hell, he could live with them threatening his life, since people did that often enough to him these days. But they had touched his guns—Dickie in particular putting his damn hands all over all of them, especially Ethel, called her a pretty thing—and that he couldn’t live with. Ethel was all he had of better times left to him these days; his brother had given Ethel to him after the War, fresh off the flush of their first successful bounty brought in, and he aimed to keep her. Hell, some days he aimed to be buried with her.

He should get the hell out of this town, he decided as he stooped to gather his cards from the dirt as well. Powder Dan had been the only bounty of any size readily available, certainly the only one that fit his particulars: crimes against ladies or children, potentially challenging, and worth a few greenbacks. But Sam Chisolm had damn sure taken that one out of from under him, and the Babington brothers had all but ambushed him leaving the saloon.

He might as well start out into the hill country north of here looking for that vaquero he had a writ for: Gabriel Vasquez. Vasquez didn’t fit too many of his particulars, but that amount—five hundred dollars—was certainly appealing and he might well yet be a challenge. Clearly Amador City had already dried up for him. Now he just had to get his horse, Wild Jack, back from the stable master and get on his way.

Of course, twenty-five for Jack was a steal, even having lost him in a dice game and paying an extra premium for that, especially when he had paid nearly twice that much for the horse to begin with—and that was prior to all the training Joshua had personally put into the creature. He had three times that amount in the saddlebag thrown over his shoulder, flush off a few good bounties and a decent few hands of poker. Seven and two bits for his tack was a bit rich, though, given its age. And that was the part he was intending to haggle over—provided the leprechaun of a stable master took his hand away from his gun, given how the very act made something dark in his head want to slide back into place—when Sam Chisolm bought his own damn horse right out from under him.

The other man was flanked by two people—a childlike man with a baby face and clearly very little experience in the real world, and a young woman who had seen something a bit more of the dark in the world, except for wearing a top that he knew ladies of the evening who wouldn’t be willing to go out in public wearing—who were so obviously out of their depth that it was actually funny. Chisolm called the woman Joan of Arc; she claimed her name was Emma Cullen, with the baby-faced boy being her ‘associate Teddy Q’.

Chisolm called this expedition impossible, like he knew just what to say to get Joshua interested, and just like that, he was in. Granted, two bounty hunters was a good start to an army, even if one of them was too honest for his own good and the other…

Well, Joshua knew he had a bit of a reputation. He leveraged it at every opportunity he could—a trick he had learned from sources he wasn’t thinking about too much these days—but he also had a separate reputation going as a lackadaisical and fare-thee-well gambler, which led to a lot of people underestimating him… and that worked just as well by him. Everyone in the world could underestimate Joshua Faraday, as far as he was concerned, as long as no one did the same for Joshua Robicheaux.

[section=Footer Notes]31 December 2016
Have you ever been so nervous about posting a story that you talk yourself out of it no less than seven times? Because that’s where I’m at.

This is the story that saved my NaNoWriMo. Of all the stories that Katsuko and I have worked on in this fandom, this is my baby. I would honestly feel less insecure about showing photos of my child online than I am sharing this story.

I was going to have Katsuko post this for me (yes, I am indeed that nervous), but instead, all I’m going to ask is, dear reader, please be kind.

~Adora Addams[endsection]

After Midnight – 03 – Trickster in a Saloon

[section=Disclaimers & Notes]Disclaimers: All copyrights belong to their respective copyright holders, including but not limited to MGM, Columbia Pictures, Village Roadshow Pictures, and others. I make no profit on this piece of fan-produced work. The story itself belongs to Adora Addams and Katsuko. Please do not steal!
Word Count: 3,541
Archive: DarkMagick.net, Apollymi’s Grimoire, and Archive of Our Own. Anyone else wanting it, please ask first. I’ll probably say yes, but ask first…[endsection]

There was a certain trick to hiding amongst mortals. If you played it too close to the chest, they assumed you were just as frail and near death as they all were. If you showed your hand too thoroughly, they either started fearing or worshipping you. And personally speaking, he was about sick of worshipping. Some of the perks from the worship were nice, but all in all, it was just too much of a bit much.

More than any of that, though, Faraday disliked hiding amongst mortals because they smelled like shit. Sometimes literally. The one-eyed bastard next to him wasn’t too bad, but some of the others at the poker table? If they had bathed a day since their mothers pushed them out into the world, he would be shocked. The one with the wild eyes and bad hat, the one who smelled so much of blood, he might not have even been bathed that day.

“These cards are shit,” he complained loudly, rather than let himself say what he was thinking. If he opened his mouth to say what he was thinking, after all, it was all going to end in tears and blood and someone dead. Again. Live long enough, after all, and these things did tend to start repeating themselves. Corpses had a way of coming home to roost.

He degraded his fellow players a bit more, dealing the cards out with a bit more flourish than they strictly needed. The off-key music on the rickety piano stuttered to a stop, and he followed everyone’s eyes to the batwing doors as they opened to admit a black man dressed all in black. He could smell the amount of iron and silver on the man from here, and that really summed up everything anyone needed to know as to the man’s profession: monster hunter.

Speaking as a monster his own self, this should prove to be most interesting.

A quick series of rapid gunshots took out Powder Dan’s friends. Most interesting, indeed.

Now, he’d had his eye on Powder Dan himself. Fire elementals weren’t exactly common things, and it paid—he had found—to keep a weather eye on the unusual.  It was, after all, impossible to say if and when the unusual might come calling to his door, in a manner of speaking. And depending on if Dan was affiliated with either of the Faery courts… That could potentially spell some trouble for him.

Even in the hush left after the gunfire that disabled but didn’t kill Dan’s friends, he didn’t think a human would be able to make out what the human in black was saying to the fire elemental. He could just make the words out himself… and he might have gone at a bit pale hearing the name of July Bully. He’d heard that name before, usually in regards to a wendigo. If this warrant officer had managed to to do what monsters had trouble doing and put down a  wendigo—and live to tell the tale—that was… Well, that was something. After all, monsters had trouble killing wendigo and living to tell the tale. This might well be the first human he has heard of to date who has managed it.

Given the number of years under his belt, he had heard of any number of humans and monsters try taking on a wendigo for whatever reason. There was a reason why groups were deployed against them—the Wild Hunt, groups of monsters, even angels—when more often than not it meant death.

And this human might have managed it all on his lonesome? Well, now this was interesting news.

The saloon was clearing out now, and Faraday had to grin, even as he chided the humans at his table to leave his winnings. His amusement only grew when one of them grumbled, “He’s gonna kill you, Faraday.” Because if he had a shiny coin for every time he had hear that, he would be the richest, most well respected Fae on the planet… and he damn sure wasn’t that.

“Dan, you dead?” he called out on a lark. In return, he got a look of amused tolerance from the human, and the smile on his face grew dangerously pleased. “Pity. I was just about to order a drink from him.”

The monster hunter pushed the untouched drink down the bar towards him as he gathered up his money. “Help yourself.”

“Money for blood’s a peculiar business, monster hunter,” he offered, not making a move towards the free alcohol. Been a while since anyone had gifted him alcohol. That was a nice thing. It was nice to be given offerings, even—or maybe especially—without the worship.

“Just trying to do right by folks,” the hunter returned, and Faraday raised a sardonic eyebrow.

“Human folks or everybody?” He didn’t give the man long enough to answer before asking another question. “You really kill July Bully?”

“That I did, Mister…?”

Names had power, even names made up. But there was less power in a name that he had invented than in his actual one, so he shrugged and answered, “Faraday.”

“I did indeed put July Bully in the ground,” the man in black answered. And Faraday was noting that he hadn’t offered up his own name. Rude. “Why do you ask?”

“Because ain’t many humans—monster hunters or not—who can take on a wendigo and live to tell the tale. Most monsters I know wouldn’t go near one if you offered them every little thing their hearts desired. How did you kill him?”

But before the man in black could answer, there were noises stirring outside, the nascent beginnings of a mob coming with the sheriff in tow. Too bad for the monster hunter, he figured, but it wasn’t like the man was asking for his help, and he wasn’t sure he would give it, even if he was asked; the gift of alcohol was nice, but a monster helping a monster hunter? Now there was a thing unheard of.

Might even be worth it to try, just for the novelty of it all.

Well, if the monster hunter was still alive and breathing after he retrieved his horse… He hadn’t seen Jack hitched outside the saloon when he’d come in, so he might well have done something stupid. Hopefully, it was the kind of stupid that a judicious application of the boring kind of human money—the paper kind that mortals so loved and he just found dull—there was no shine to it at all!—could get him out of.

Of course, he did end up walking right out the back door of the saloon and into the less than tender, loving arms of the Babington brothers… who promptly took his guns off of him. He liked his guns, damn it. He had had a lot of special work done to them so that he could use them safely. There weren’t a lot of Fae of any sort that could stand to use guns, given the amount of iron to be found in them, but these had been his for a long, long time—as humans reckoned time—and he didn’t tolerate people touching them.

He wowed the brothers with a card trick or two, anything to prevent having to go into that mine. Even from here, he could feel the iron cart rails, iron latticing throughout the entire structure. Even if it wasn’t fatal to him, as a Fae, it was uncomfortable and painful, and too much of it would leave him weakened. Not as much as it would for some, thanks to years of carefully doled out exposure to it, but it still wouldn’t be a good thing.

But he did have the third gun, the little banker’s special he kept tucked in a small holster at the small of his back, hidden between his shirt and his vest. He didn’t like using it. There was no pearl-inlayed handle. There was no wooden grip. It was nothing but the cold iron and it burned with a frozen fire, but it sure as hell put a bullet between the eyes of Dickie Babington, who had been thoroughly entranced with him plucking the King of Hearts out of thin air. If he’d had his Ethel or his Maria, he might have been more inclined towards mercy for Earl Babington. As it was, he was pained and rapidly losing his temper, and it was easy to give into the urge to show Earl Babington a new trick: one called the Amazing Disappearing Ear. After that, Earl Babington was more than willing to never cross paths with him again.

That promise secured, he tucked that little banker’s special into the back of his pants, letting his shirt hide it from sight. He rapidly unloaded Earl’s shotgun and tossed it aside, gathering Ethel and Maria and returning his girls to their proper places, before stalking back into Amador City, inspecting his hands as he went. Now he wasn’t the typical Fae, not by any stretch of the imagination and he might have built up a tolerance of sort to iron, but that didn’t mean that the stuff wasn’t uncomfortable as hell. A regular Fae would be burned black from holding onto iron that long, and their hand likely would have been rendered permanently useless; Faraday’s hand looked red and angry, but with a few days—maybe a week or two—of babying it, it’d be just fine. For right now, there was no need to waste his water or energy on healing it. It took a lot of water and energy to heal iron burns, after all, even if this was little more than an iron scald.

All the same… Fuck Amador City. It was time to go retrieve his Jack and get the hell out of here.

Walking back into town, listening much more carefully, he could hear his Jack bellowing his annoyance, and that made it easy to track him down to a corral near the center of town. As he walked, he wrapped his hand in the bandana that had been around his neck. Following the sounds, he had to grin at the poor mortal trying to get his hands on a Fae horse like Jack and the leprechaun sitting on the fence urging him on. And damn it, he recognized that voice. Of all the leprechauns in the West, it would have to be the one—one of the ones—who hated his guts who currently had possession of his horse.

“You aren’t trying to feed humans to my horse, are you, Fergus? You know Jack’s killed men for less than that.”

The shorter Fae turned on the fence to face him, a dark look spreading across his face as he jumped down off the wooden rail. “Faraday,” he returned, and it wasn’t friendly. “And just what do you think you’re doing?”

In for a penny… “I require my horse. That horse.”

“Two days ago, your… horse against my Irish whiskey, behind the saloon, playing dice.”

Well, hell, that sounded like something he would do at that. Hopefully, Jack would forgive him for it or he was going to be in for some very uncomfortable rides in the near future. It galled him, but he instead offered, “In that case, I would like to buy my horse back… though I am light of funds at the moment.” That was true enough: all he had was that ratty paper money from the saloon, which was pretty much useless as far as either of them were concerned. “So it seems we got ourselves a Mexican standoff, only between two Fae, and I’m not sure how that ends.”

Fergus rolled his eyes. “With you walking away without your… horse.” At the last word, his hand settled on his gun, the threat loud and clear.

Faraday’s eyes followed the movement, his eyes narrowing in annoyance. “Now why did you have to go and touch your gun for? We were in the middle of a gentleman’s negotiation.”

A long beat… two… of silence, then…

“How much for his horse?” And that was, unexpectedly, the monster hunter’s voice.

Glancing up and to the side, Faraday could see the man in black astride an—unsurprisingly—black horse with two halflings riding up on horses behind him as Fergus set out his terms: twenty-five for Jack, seven and two bits for the saddle. It was highway robbery, even for a leprechaun, but he couldn’t help feeling a bit perversely cheered by the other Fae taking a hunter for all he was worth.

“Our paths cross again, monster hunter,” he greeted the man in black, just barely holding back a smirk. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Took a job, looking for some monsters to join me,” the other man returned easily enough, and this sounded interesting. So this time he was asking for help? Granted, in a roundabout way, but still…

“There any money in it?”

The halfling woman grabbed up a leather mailbag and tossed his way. It jingled pleasingly when he caught it and even more so when he shook it. Even Fergus was starting to look interested in the contents of the bag. “Who’s she?” he demanded first, though, nodding at the woman.

“Joan of Arc,” the man in black returned dryly, and he nearly gave into the urge to snicker.

“Emma Cullen,” she answered instead, “and this is my associate, Teddy Q.” The other halfling nodded at him.

“Well, I do have an affinity for shiny things,” he offered, and he tried not to smirk at the look of relief that crossed Miss Emma Cullen’s face as he tossed the bag back to her. Unless he missed his guess—and he didn’t think he was—the woman was part Fae. Maybe there had been a changeling in her family and not that long ago, as Fae reckoned time. The boy, he was a bit harder to pin down. While the woman was more human than Fae, he seemed to be half and half, human and something else, something that felt like the earth and trees. Elemental, maybe? Not from his area of the world, not precisely, but maybe closer to the Aegean? A dryad? Well, if they were both halflings, it was no wonder they knew well what to offer to a Fae to tempt them along. He approved. “Is it difficult?”

“Impossible,” the monster hunter fired right back, and if it were actually possible for his heart to skip a beat in sheer joy, it might have.

“How many you got so far?”

“Two.”

He turned to eyeball Fergus, not liking the interest in the leprechaun’s eyes. No, this was his shiny new sandbox to play in. Fergus could keep Amador City. More than that, he didn’t like the considering look the other was shooting the halflings. At least one of them was part Fae, and since they seemed to be attached at the hip, that made them both as good as Fae so far as he was concerned. It was an unspoken covenant that Fae walking the world should take care of any changelings and children of changelings that they might come across just as they would any other full Fae that they met. Speaking of which…

“What, them?” he nodded at the halflings as he asked.

“You and me.”

And yeah, Faraday couldn’t help being impressed. A monster hunter, willing to partner up with a monster? It must be some kind of job in that case, especially if he had used the word ‘impossible’ to describe it. There was no way he wasn’t going to agree in that case. And maybe this could do a bit to satisfy his curiosity as to how a human managed to kill a wendigo. Ride off, do a job with a monster hunter, find out just how he went about doing the impossible, and keep a couple of halflings from getting their fool selves killed. Yep, there was no way he was turning this job down. Back in the saloon, he might have debated the merits of it, but this time, it was a foregone conclusion: he would be helping.

So it was only a few moments later when he was finally putting Amador City to his back, riding with two halflings and a monster hunter. They didn’t speak until the city was well to their backs, and that was him moving Jack up closer—but not too close, for her safety’s sake—to the woman and prompting, “Sending out a woman to gather guns isn’t very chivalrous.”

“I volunteered,” she answered, pausing a moment before correcting herself. “Insisted, actually.”

“And just how much monster are you and your… associate there?” It was rude, but right now, he didn’t give much of a damn. He was curious, damn it, and he had waited long enough for an answer. “You’ve got Fae in you, and him?” He turned in his saddle briefly to examine the young man. “I’m guessing… elemental?”

The boy sat up straighter, his entire demeanor as serious as could be, like he had never been caught out as elemental before, but of course, it was the woman who answered. “My grandmother was a Changeling. She always said, if we needed anything, we should call upon the Fae for help.”

“Sounds like a smart lady” was all he commented, before turning his gaze back to the young man.

“My mother was a dryad.”

“So, earth elemental,” Faraday confirmed. He certainly didn’t need Teddy’s helpful nod in confirmation. “Any other halflings involved in this?”

The pair of them exchanged glances, clearly debating their answer silent between the two of them, before Emma replied, “There might be others in town. We never really… talk about this kind of thing. That’s why we asked Mister Chisolm to help us gather an army of monsters.”

Well, there was nothing else to say to that. He made a soft encouraging sound to Jack, urging him forward to catch up with the man in black. Once he was riding abreast with the hunter—Chisolm, if Emma was to be believed, and he thought she was—he commented, “Lotta fire in those two. Begs the question, whose execution do we seek?”

“Bartholomew Bogue,” Chisolm returned blandly.

He was shocked enough that he leaned back in the saddle, confusion writ large across his face. “Bart Bogue? You mean that uppity witch who fancies himself a robber baron?”

Chisolm turned dark eyes on him, gazing at him implacably. “I do believe the man calls himself a warlock.”

He waved a dismissive hand. “And I don’t doubt that he’s a lying, scheming witch, but he’s still just an uppity witch. Still, means there’s gold in the equation, but gold don’t do you much good when you’re buried with it.” Not that would be a long term issue for him or many other monsters, but halflings? They were as mortal as the next human. That would be a issue.

“You want out? Feel free to leave,” Chisolm returned. “Just leave my horse, ‘cause I paid for it.”

You couldn’t handle Jack on a good day, he thought with no small degree of personal amusement. He would eat you alive. Literally.

“Just speaking out loud,” he countered.

Chisolm favored him a look that said he wasn’t nearly as amusing as he thought he was… which was a bit of bullshit, because he was exactly as amusing as he thought it was. And then came his marching orders. “Twenty miles east of here, Volcano Springs supply station. You look for a demon, name of Robicheaux.”

“Goodnight Robicheaux?” Because he had only heard of one demon using the name of Robicheaux, and that had been one who came topside for the War, one that had even served in the War as a Confederate sharpshooter. At Chisolm’s affirmation, he continued, “The Angel of Death…”

“Meet me outside of Junction City in three days. I ain’t there, means I’m dead and… you can keep my horse.” He turned his attention briefly to Emma. “Let’s go.”

Faraday exchanged a glance with Teddy, the young halfling looking more concerned than he was strictly comfortable. “Three days,” he called back to Chisolm, both confirming the information and as an unspoken reminder to keep the halfling traveling with him safe.

Wherever the hunter was heading, clearly it involved gathering more monsters. Personally speaking, Faraday didn’t think a monster would hurt a halfling, not intentionally, not unless they thought she aimed to hurt them first, but it was hard to say. He didn’t think that would happen, but it was hard to say. He was old and he had traveled most of the world in his time, but he didn’t know every kind of monster. He suspected he didn’t know close to every type of monster. Maybe if they thought she was a monster hunter too…

There was no use worrying about it. He would have to trust the monster hunter to keep the Changeling safe, and he would do his part to keep the halfling with him safe… and collect the demon called the Angel of Death.

[section=Footer Notes]28 December 2016

Running count on monsters:
Emma Cullen – one quarter Changeling (on her father’s side)
Bartholomew Bogue – warlock uppity witch
McCann – hedge witch
Denali – skin-walker
Teddy Q – half earth elemental half dryad (on his mother’s side)
Chisolm – human monster hunter
Faraday – Trickster Fae[endsection]

Trinity – 01 – The First Partner

[section=Disclaimers & Notes]Disclaimers: All copyrights belong to their respective copyright holders, including but not limited to MGM, Columbia Pictures, Village Roadshow Pictures, and others. I make no profit on this piece of fan-produced work. The story itself belongs to Adora Addams and Katsuko. Please do not steal!
Word Count: 1,302
Archive: DarkMagick.net, Apollymi’s Grimoire, and Archive of Our Own. Anyone else wanting it, please ask first. I’ll probably say yes, but ask first…[endsection]

Goodnight Robicheaux had rode into Las Mesas, Texas late one afternoon in 1867. He’d been gone from home for just over a year at that point, and he had been making his way nicely by taking high-priced bounties. Point of fact, he was on the trail of one right now for the Northern Pacific Railroad, and a hundred dollars would not only suit him nicely out here but would be pleasant to send back home.

True, Maman T and Maman Essie and Daddy didn’t really need the money, but he liked to let them know he was doing well for himself by sending back a little of his earnings.

And this Billy Rocks person sounded to be an interesting quarry.

Goodnight reined in Adelaide, patting the sweet bay mare on the neck as she slowed to a walk then stopped in front of the saloon. He climbed down from the horse and rubbed her nose before tying her reins to the hitch.

“I won’t be too long, sweet girl,” he told the mare, who nickered at him and nosed his pocket for the bit of dried apple she knew was there. Goodnight chuckled and gave her the treat before turning and walking up the steps to pass through the bat-wing doors…

…and came up short at the sight of an Asian man knocking a giant bear of a human being flat out on the floor.

A quick look around revealed more big ol’ Texans on the ground, a couple of them getting up and making another go at the petite son of a bitch in the middle of the room, only to have their asses soundly handed to them a second time.

“Goddamn you, stay down!” the Asian growled when he knocked a third man down for likely the second time, and just like that, Goodnight knew he was in trouble.

Because when he had turned, the man doing the ass-kicking was revealed to be the very same one he was tracking down.

Goodnight, he mused to himself, still watching the show in awe, this is not a man to arrest. This… this is a man to befriend.

When it finally looked like the Texans were done trying to fight Mister Rocks, the man himself breathing hard in the center of the room as he bent to pick up his hat — and the gentleman was definitely a sharp-dressed fellow — Goodnight cleared his throat. His former quarry stopped dead still, head whipping around to focus sharp, deep brown eyes on him.

And oh dear.

Their eyes locked almost immediately, and Goodnight realized he was in even more trouble than he’d initially realized, because he was pretty goddamn certain that this was what Maman Essie had meant when she said she knew from the first that she and Maman T were meant to be together.

He honestly felt like he hadn’t even really been alive until he made eye contact with Billy Rocks, and from the expression of shock and awe on the other’s face, the feeling was plenty mutual.

Rather than keep staring like the lovestruck fool he was, Goodnight schooled his expression into a pleased smile. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Billy, ain’t it?”

“It is,” the other answered, and his voice was smooth as silk, and he wanted to hear it say his name every day for the rest of his life. “You have me at a disadvantage. You would be…?”

And there was his cue. “Goodnight’s the name,” he replied easily, his own smile brightening at the tiny one that slipped across Billy’s face. “And I do believe we could become very good friends.”

“‘S that what white men call it?” Billy asked, obviously amused by this new person in his life, but pleased as anything to have met him. “My parents called it teulio… but never just with two.”

Goodnight chuckled. “Well, we call it something similar, mon cher, but it took my mommas ‘bout a year or two ‘fore my daddy found ‘em, so sometimes just pairing off for a spell ain’t a bad thing.” He grinned again and offered, “So, shall we pair off, see how long it takes ‘em?”

Billy gave a sharp, amused grin and bent to retrieve a long knife from the floor, sheathing it before stepping over one of the men he’d laid out on the floor. “I see no problem with that. I need to go steal my horse back, though. Someone,” and here he kicked at a different man on the floor, “snagged her and took her to the livery while I was trying to buy a drink.”

The older man laughed brightly. “I think we can do one better and just buy her back,” he offered. “Keep things on the level.”

Goodnight Robicheaux rode out of Las Mesas, Texas early one evening in 1867. He was accompanied by the first member of his triad, Billy Rocks of Sacramento, California.

It would be twelve years before they met their third.

[section=Footer Notes]26 December 2016

So, hahahaha! Merry Christmas a bit late, y’all.

This is just one of the myriad other stories we’ve been mulling away at in addition to “After Midnight” and the Monstrous ‘verse. I think I put it best with my description when Katsuko and I were working this during NaNo:

Take one part triad trope, one part soulmates au, two parts sleep deprivation, two parts dirty minds, one part NaNoWriMo, and a pinch of sugar and cinnamon, put it all in a blender and set to pulse, for a delicious porn smoothie.

Y’all have to wait a bit on the porn part, though. Can’t put the cart ‘fore the horse, you know.

Translation Notes:
All translations taken from Google Translate and Adora’s shaky recollections of French
French:
Maman – Mamma
Mon cher – My darling (masculine)
Korean:
Teulio – Trio or trinity[endsection]

After Midnight – 02 – Apples

[section=Disclaimers & Notes]Disclaimers: All copyrights belong to their respective copyright holders, including but not limited to MGM, Columbia Pictures, Village Roadshow Pictures, and others. I make no profit on this piece of fan-produced work. The story itself belongs to Adora Addams and Katsuko. Please do not steal!
Word Count: 1,302
Archive: DarkMagick.net, Apollymi’s Grimoire, and Archive of Our Own. Anyone else wanting it, please ask first. I’ll probably say yes, but ask first…[endsection]

Teddy Q had grown up in an orchard.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. His mother had had an orchard, and she was outside amongst her apple trees every day of the week. Rain or shine, she spent at least three hours a day in the orchard, whispering to the trees and collecting fruit when it was ripe. And most of that time, Teddy was right beside her, listening to her words and absorbing the lessons.

“Halflings have to stick together,” she told him time and again. “Like calls to like, and although monsters will recognize you for what you are, not all of them are going to treat you as an equal.”

“That sounds a lot like how the humans act,” Teddy had said one time, a pout in his tone, and Momma had laughed that bell-like laugh she had.

“Oh, my sapling,” she’d replied. “Yes, many humans are that way. Your daddy is one of the exceptions. And you’ll find friends who like you for who you are, regardless of your blood.”

He hadn’t been entirely certain that her words were true, but he still went to school and attended to his lessons. And when the day was done, he rushed back home and tossed aside his books and made his way to the big apple tree in the center of Momma’s orchard.

That one, well… It was just special.

The big apple tree grew the sweetest fruits, no matter the season. It never suffered during times of drought or times when it was too wet, always just growing and thriving. The neighbors had asked time and again for Momma to give them a cutting, but she always just smiled and shook her head.

“It takes something special to make this sort of apple tree thrive,” she told them, and because she was an earth elemental, a dryad to to be more precise, they accepted that as the gospel truth.

When Teddy turned twenty, he decided he’d had enough of Missouri life and figured he’d go west. Momma and Daddy had just smiled, Momma’s a bit teary-eyed, and told him to go where his heart led him. Daddy had helped him buy up the supplies he’d need to go out into the world, and he made plans to join up with a wagon train in Independence that was headed out that-a-ways.

Momma, though…

Teddy could only stare at the small pot she’d handed him, filled with a bit of freshly-watered soil and a cutting from the big apple tree in their orchard.

“Momma,” he said finally, “I can’t take this.”

She had given him a firm look with her verdant eyes and said evenly, “Yes, my sapling, you can. You’re the only one I will ever trust with a cutting.” She had then smiled and said almost wistfully, “Watch it grow.”

He hadn’t seen his parents since, although he still wrote home often. Teddy had crossed the entire country with the same group, tending to the cutting the whole while and letting his instincts tell him just what it needed when. It took nearly five months to get to California, to the little newly established town of Rose Creek and the land that he’d purchased prior to leaving his family home.

And within the first week he was there, with just the bare bones of his house built up and honestly too late in the year to actually begin planting, Teddy took the cutting his mother had sent with him, the cutting that had survived five months of travel when he’d seen plants others had brought with them wither and die, and planted it just behind his new home.

He finished building his house with the help of his new friends in town within a week and was content with the one room. The cutting grew rapidly into first a sapling then into a tree in less time than it honestly should have taken; typically, it should have been about six years for the tree to grow enough and begin to produce, but Teddy’s tree was fully grown and producing within his first year in Rose Creek.

And from that one cutting, another dozen seemed to appear from nothing; one day it was the one tree that should not be mature, and the next there were even more saplings growing far quicker than they should have. And from that dozen came another ten or so, until Teddy Q had an orchard of twenty trees before his twenty-third birthday.

The people of Rose Creek knew that Teddy was part monster; the trees alone proved that. But they accepted him, because he always shared his apples without having to be asked. When newcomers arrived in town, he was one of the first to greet them, arriving to where they were building their homes with a bushel of apples or some apple tarts or, on one occasion, a handful of pennies and a smile for the newlywed Cullens.

And Teddy was happy in Rose Creek, with his small orchard and his connection to his primary apple tree and the secret knowledge that Emma Cullen was like him and that Matthew Cullen was well aware that Teddy wasn’t entirely human but was still his dearest friend in spite of—or because of—it.

And then the warlock Bogue arrived, searching for gold and demanding their land. He came with the hedge witch and the skin-walker and no respect for the land, the land which was all but screaming at Teddy to do something.

And then Bogue shot his best friend Matthew dead in the street, shot him down like a dog and told the sheriff to let the bodies rot in the sun.

The damned hedge witch McCann must have known that Teddy was planning to make a move of some sort, given than he slammed the stock of his gun into the back of his head, knocking him to the ground and nearly knocking him out. He managed to stay aware, however, watching as the church burned and as Emma’s eyes went from sorrowful to vengeful.

Teddy did not hesitate to help her bury her husband, his best friend in Rose Creek. He watched her dust off her hands and walk back towards her home even as he set up the cross and used his penknife to carve Matthew’s name into the wood. And then…

And then he walked back to his own home and began to gather up anything bright and shiny that would appeal to a monster, making sure to walk outside and ask his apple tree for one of its juiciest fruits, which it dipped its boughs and offered him three beautiful specimens to choose from. He plucked one, thanked his tree for its offerings, and dropped it into the bag before going back inside.

It took no time to change, and he was outside Emma’s door when she threw it open to stalk outside.

“Teddy?” she asked, confusion in her voice but that vengeful glimmer still in her eyes.

“He was my best friend. If you’re going for an army,” he said, before correcting himself to, “if you’re planning to find monsters to bring down on Bogue, then I ain’t letting you do it alone.” Teddy paused for a moment, remembering Momma’s words, and added, “Halflings have to stick together. That’s what my momma always said.”

He could see the gratitude in her eyes, but she didn’t ask what he was. He did her the same courtesy, knowing that someday she would share with him. But until then, Teddy would support the woman he thought of as a sister in her quest for vengeance.

And maybe, just maybe, whatever monster they found would appreciate the apple he had tucked in his rucksack. After all, it was good for the soul.

[section=Footer Notes]24 December 2016

Running count on monsters:
Emma Cullen – one quarter Changeling (on her father’s side)
Bartholomew Bogue – warlock
McCann – hedge witch
Denali – skin-walker
Teddy Q – half earth elemental half dryad (on his mother’s side)[endsection]