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Post by Deleted on Jun 6, 2019 11:44:33 GMT -5
shades and my place for a plot. specifically one involving two strangers and the cat they share. this is a place for August and Joseph to be sad and grow as human beans through their baggage.
(i'll make this prettier at some point.)
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Post by Deleted on Jun 8, 2019 2:20:05 GMT -5
August Decker home is where the heart left.
He secretly loathed the chubby son of a bitch.
It was never even his to begin with: Juliet had come across good old Marmalade when he was just a kitten only a couple years ago when she had heard his mewling from behind a trash can in the neighborhood, and the rest was history. The orange fuzzball that August had once actually liked was spoiled rotten, constantly fed canned tuna and Boar's Head deli meat--the same kind they brought to work in their sandwiches--because he was so good at breaking her down. All it took was one of his silent pleas, with eyes as wide as saucers, for his wife to initially cross her arms, then smirk, then finally shake her head and begin loading up his food bowl again. And the older Marmalade got, the more cunning and manipulative he got with this whole system.
"You've created a monster," he remembered telling her one night several years later, as they ate dinner together in the dining room of their small home. The chunky orange feline was turning figure eights through their legs under the table, hoping that he could charm a scrap or two from the plates above with his incessant pleading. "He's gotten... Pretty big, Jules." August was being conservative: they had recently weighed him at a whopping sixteen pounds on the scale. He was basically two cats.
The woman across the table from him shook her head, doing her best to hide the smile that so badly wanted to spread. "There's just more Marm to love now," was her answer. "I mean--look at him." As if on cue, the orange bastard meowed from right next to him, and he looked down the side of his chair to see that adorable set of eyes watching his every move. "He's so cute. You can't stay mad at him."
Her husband raised an eyebrow, and she laughed. "At least he's healthy, honey. For now!" She added quickly, watching his mouth open with a comeback that was certainly going to be along those lines. He shut his lips as quickly as he started opening them. The cat was a different story; Juliet was the only one in this home they shared that he could never stay mad at. They dropped the subject and finished their dinner.
August's disdain for the cat was due to much more than just the fact that he constantly begged for food like a dog on the brink of death. What business did a 6'2", 215 pound man working in the Central Intelligence Agency have owning such a pathetic animal? It was a silly reason to be frustrated with something so innocent, but it became one of those things that dug under his skin after a while. All of his coworkers seemed to own impressive physical specimens of animals--Dobermans, pitbulls, and, of course, German shepherds--that they might have even been able to sneak into work. That were trained, sharp animals. Some of them even went on runs and trained when they were off duty with their dogs, for Christ's sake. And what did he have? They didn't make cat collars big enough to fit Marmalade. In fact, he barely had a neck to put it on.
And what did he have? He had a cat that his wife, who also worked with him (it was where they met, after all) got a thrill of showing off to her own friends and coworkers. She also had a particular love for some good old fashioned guilt by association: she'd never forget to remark that this was August's cat too, and that she'd catch the two of them begrudgingly loving on each other every so often. Even if he'd had all the sensitivity trainings in the world, and he did, he couldn't get over how emasculating this whole thing was. The fat orange cat became a bit of an inside joke among their ranks--one that he hated and Juliet relished in. Jokes about Marmalade were whispered and giggled about when August struggled in a conditioning workout, or piled more food onto his plate at the mess hall, or complained about gaining weight around the holidays.
Everything suddenly changed when Juliet didn't come home from a work call. She'd been called in on a mission to subdue a terror threat at the airport in DC--it was rare to be called on such short notice, but somewhat routine in their line of work--but the gunman started firing wildly once he realized he wasn't as invisible as he thought he was. He managed to catch a gap in her bulletproof vest, and the bullet managed to do quite a bit of damage once it struck her. The twenty four hours that followed were a whirlwind of chaos and tragedy at the hospital: first she'd been admitted to have routine surgery to get the bullet removed, then her condition deteriorated, then it got infected, somehow. It was the worst of luck. To say he was crushed beyond measure was an understatement. Like his love for his late wife, his grief couldn't be described in words.
When he finally returned home after the whole ordeal, Marmalade, blissfully ignorant of everything that had just went down and kept his owner from him, and also actually starving this time, howled and crowded his legs relentlessly. August scolded him and yelled at him loudly to stop at first, but when he saw the cat clam up and shrink back, he finally broke down. He sobbed as he poured kibble into his bowl, and then hugged him tight to his chest when he was done eating. Marm didn't resist. They seemed to have some kind of solemn, mutual understanding. It was only then that he understood why she'd loved holding him so much: he was a good pillow.
- - In the two years that followed Juliet's passing, his rules for the cat had become much less strict. He eventually gave into the orange bastard's pleas to venture outdoors by installing a cat door into the side of the downstairs sliding glass door; August was easily irritated these days, and Marmalade's yowling was the first thing to set him off, and he found peace in a quiet home. The two basically coexisted in the two bedroom home, which was considerably emptier and darker at this point. They were both keenly aware that neither was their favorite person, but they tolerated the company of the other, and it was fine, for the most part. The cat understood that August wanted to be left alone, and August understood that the cat wanted to be fed. And that was that.
But when he hadn't been verbally abused into feeding him for a couple of days, August started to worry about Marmalade's whereabouts. Normally the cat disappeared for, at most, a day or two at a time before happily trotting back into the house and resuming his life there, but it quickly occurred to the man that he'd been gone for at least three or four days at this point. He almost brushed it off, but this was Juliet's animal. She could almost hear her begging him to do something about this, because she loved him so much and he was suuuch a good kitty. So, he rolled his eyes, sighed, and then resolved to treat him like a missing animal.
It didn't take him long to use Microsoft Word to make some simple posters of Marmalade, with 'MISSING CAT - CASH REWARD' typed out around his photo. He added, 'ANSWERS TO 'MARMALADE'' for good measure at the bottom, then tacked on his phone number to call if anyone had seen him. As he walked around their suburb, stack of twenty pages in his hand, taping these posters to wooden telephone poles, August's mind couldn't help but wander through some dark possibilities. This neighborhood wasn't quite in the middle of the woods, but there was certainly a good deal of greenery and wildlife around them--what if a coyote or a hawk had gotten to him? It was more likely that he'd been hit by a car, but that made him sad, too. The thought of losing another trace of his wife in his life was very concerning. The search felt more desperate at that point.
There wasn't much else he could do at this point, except worry and pace in his own home. August even did the most, and set a bowl of tuna out on the backyard patio, right next to Marmalade's cat door, in hopes that he'd smell it from wherever he ran off to and would come crawling back home. If he's even still alive, the man grimly thought. The raccoons or possums or whatever are gonna get to this quicker than he will. He shook his head at the bowl. It's worth a shot, though. That night as he watched the news and ate dinner, now feeling more alone than ever, he turned the ringer on his phone and silently hoped for a new number to call with news of Marmalade.
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Post by shades on Jun 10, 2019 23:16:16 GMT -5
Joseph Szymanski (and Robert Szymanski) sometimes all you have left is family.
They didn’t move to Buxcaster, Virginia for the virtues of Buxcaster, Virgina. If they had, they probably would have been gone within the year, because there weren’t a lot of them. Although there wasn’t a lot of Buxcaster, geographically speaking. Maybe it was proportional.
The town itself was see-through--stand by the city limit, look down the main road at the other end. Everyone knew someone who knew someone mutual to the other, at least coincidentally. There were more residential roads within a fifty mile radius and one school, apparently they get cozy.
The arrival of the Szymanski siblings had been the event of the month. They almost felt guilt at how genuinely broken and recluse they mostly turned out to be--the youngest ended up in ISS (a virtually non-existent being at James Monroe Middle School, because the students there were good and peaceful) facing school with his usual speak-a-word-and-die attitude. During second period, the youngest refused to do any work--the rumor even states he threw a book at the teacher. Residents began whispers about the Szymanski brothers who live on the corner of Grover Lane at the end of the outlet.
Nobody could quite remember what the eldest looked like, either.
Joseph was frowning.
Normally, this wasn’t so much of an indicator of trouble as it was a cosmic fact. Today, however, Joseph was frowning explicitly and definitively at the bathroom door--more specifically, who was behind the door; and if that wasn’t a sign that something was out of alignment with the stars or planets or whatever, nothing was.
“This is childish, Robert,” he shouted from outside the door. Joseph was, as always, closed off and a respectful distance, arms crossed unconsciously across his chest. “Come out,” he demanded. “Stop being a baby.”
“I’m twelve! I’m a minor and a child!” Someone answered from the other side, Robert Szymanski, Joseph’s younger brother. “And no! Not by the hair of my chinny chin chin!”
“You’re twelve, you can’t grow facial hair.”
“Neither can you, Joe.”
Joseph blinked at the door, unsure how to politely convey the fact that he was capable of taking down the door with a screwdriver. He did.
Robert blew a raspberry in response. A cat meowed also.
That’s where the current problem began--Robert Szymanski hiding in the bathroom with Izzy (Marmalade) the cat. It had been about a month ago when Joe opened the door. A rather fat orange tabby was zipping side to side on their front porch, balancing on the railing precariously and in a bizarrely smooth motion. His fur was matted, he mewled and begged with large eyes. If any cat could turn ‘trouble’ into a cat, it was this one.
“I’m gonna name him Izzy.” Robert had declared from the doorway, glasses perched on his nose and wide green eyes challenging his older brother and guardian.
“We’re not feeding a stray cat.”
They did. “Izzy” kept returning for a few weeks. No collar. No real indication of where he came from (Joe begged their neighbors if the cat was theirs; no one owned a fat orange tabby). One moment Joe would see the cat lying on the porch, waiting for Robert to come home from school. The next day the cat was laying on the furniture, waiting for Joe and Robert to return from their daily routine.
They did not adopt this cat. Joe would remind himself, scratching the cats ears and giving him Meow Mix in a tiny bowl.
Robert would tell you they definitely adopted a cat.
Then came the posters. Marmalade, they said, was missing. The cat bore strong resemblance to Izzy, in fact they were identical. Robert would swear it was a coincidence, to think nothing about it. Izzy was theirs, they didn’t have the right to take their cat away.
However, Izzy never really stayed in one place too long. He would leave at odd times, and show up once again; sometimes when they were home, and sometimes waiting patiently on the front porch swing.
Joseph Szymanski knew what had to be done, it was a matter of convincing Robert that morals were important in life (and being selfish sometimes hurt others). He explained they should take Izzy home, explain to the owner about their ownership with the odd animal, and maybe since it wasn’t too far Robert could visit and say hello to Izzy once in a while.
It took Joe forty minutes to convince Robert to come out of the bathroom, twenty to convince him to come out of his room, and ten for both of them to shove Izzy (or Marmalade) in a box and drive him over in their beater blue Chevy Cobalt that once belonged to their parents. It was a nice house one street over in a more expensive neighborhood and congested residential area; the houses were definitely bigger and more pristine.
Robert scowled, but knocked politely. His dusty hair coiffed, green eyes deciding anywhere else would be a better place to look.
Joe frowned, carrying the meowing box (with pencil poked holes). Identical eyes shifted sideways towards the noise in the house; his posture shifted. They both were skinny, but tall; Robert already stood 5’3” and Joe was a head taller at 6’ even.
He jumped when the door opened; an indignant meow responded.
“Hi,” Joe wore his best customer service smile. “We--uh, have your cat. Funny story, he kinda...well….”
“We found him,” Robert’s arms were crossed. He was half-hidden behind his brother. “He’s ours.”
“You can have him back.” Joe finished at the same time, shooting Robert a pointed look.
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Post by Deleted on Jun 12, 2019 1:08:41 GMT -5
August Decker decisions, decisions.
The last thing he expected on this afternoon (or any, really) was a knock on his door.
He had been eating a tuna sandwich in front of the television when he heard a tentative knock, watching the tennis tournament. August set his food down on the plate below him and furrowed his brow. Certainly it wasn't a package or anything he'd ordered online, since he usually used Amazon these days, and they never needed package signatures anymore. He'd be willing to bet his life that it wasn't a visitor, either; Juliet's old friends and other military wives stopped coming with pre-made casseroles and Honeybaked hams a long time ago. He didn't have a clue who this could be, but he paused the sports anyway.
It's not already Girl Scout season, is it? It can't be. So many temporal things seemed to blend together these days. God. This better not be some kid selling magazines, or something. August hesitated one moment longer before begrudgingly standing up from his seat, grunting as he moved with soreness from that week's weightlifting schedule. Do they even do that anymore? He took his time in approaching the door, bracing himself to turn away a bright-eyed little kid bearing badges and sweets, or whatever it was that they sold these days. He felt old for not knowing.
What he did end up seeing pleasantly surprised him, but it also made him disappointed in himself: he'd put up the lost cat signs a couple days ago, and, quite frankly, he forgot Marmalade had been missing. His momentary concern faded into neutrality, which made it much easier to subconsciously appreciate the silence in the house and saved money on cat food. Oh my god. "Oh, wow." His voice sounded startlingly deep compared to those he'd just heard.
The two standing before him were definitely brothers--that much he could tell easily, but the age gap between them made him a little suspicious. He barely paid any attention to the older-looking of the two, but his gaze rested the most on the little boy holding the squirming box of Marmalade. August furrowed his brow deeper. As much as he'd enjoy having his sort of companion back with him, he also hated the idea of taking a kid's pet away. He put his hands on his hips, then scratched his head.
"This is--complicated," he said in a sigh, speaking to the older brother. "Yeah, Marm's my cat, but uh." He grimaced. "I don't really wanna take him away from that one, either," he elaborated, gesturing to the younger of the two. The cat's probably getting the attention he needs from this kid, anyway. Maybe he's in better hands now.
He paused, then opened the wooden door a little wider in a silent gesture. August briefly thought to the house and what had become of it in the last couple years. It was dark, yes, he didn't like too many of the windows and shades open like Juliet had, but it wasn't dirty; CIA training made him meticulous in that sense. Maybe now it was less cluttered, with fewer magazines on the tables and coupons and clippings on the fridge.
"Don't wanna keep you guys on the porch," he began. "There's uh. A lot to consider, I think. Do you have the time right now to come in and talk about this?"
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Post by shades on Jun 12, 2019 22:37:22 GMT -5
Joseph Szymanski (and Robert Szymanski) sometimes all you have left is family.
He had thought the world had ended nearly a year ago when he walked into their house on the outskirts of Detroit, Michigan. Unfortunately for the rest of the human population, only one person in the entire world thus far actually knew that their insignificant corner of the universe had come to an end (except maybe their father downing his fourth, possibly fifth, bottle of beer that day seeing his son’s face fall). Because really, the world had no business to ending on a good day like Friday, after a particularly good week. Naturally, Joseph Szymanski’s world was going to skid to a halt and fall into the abyss of Apocalypse after one of the better of Joe’s weeks in his hectic then-college life.
A year later, however, this was what the Apocalypse sounded like; not the guzzling noise of liquid drowning a throat, or even the sounds of metal scrunching at odd angles, or the beeps and flat-lines. It was the heavy footfalls of a tall man with dark hair steadily approaching his own door, and Joe being the unwanted guest. The cries of a cat and sniffling of his little brother as though they were of anguish as the drowning in lakes of fire. Or something like that.
Anxiety has a penchant for dramatic like that.
Holding his breath, he hoped for suffocation. It didn’t work, he only blew out the breath of air he consciously held and looked up (only slightly, but it still was intimidating). “I-It’s fine,” he tried to wave off.
Robert made sure his all-stars squeaked loudly when he stepped inside the house; Izzy meowed again. The sudden motion gave Joe a start, green eyes darting down in a fairly betrayed look. Joe took his own tentative step inside, surveying the house--it was meticulous and neat (something Joe wished of their own home, however, living a double job schedule and a school schedule often meant someone running around and leaving a Hansel & Gretel trail through the abode). Neatness was something he remembered when his mom was around, she dedicated mornings to house work; when Joe would return from basketball practice in high school the house smelled fresh and something was always cooking. This was all in Michigan; they had a new home and new memories to make. He snapped back to look up at their sort-of neighbor--who he absolutely had no idea who his name was--furrowing his brows.
“I’m Robert!” He was grinning ear-to-ear. “This is my brother Joe! We moved here a few months ago. We want Izzy, or Marm; he likes exploring, and he does tricks for treats. Well, we’re still working on roll-over”
The box meowed again, a bit louder.
Joe wanted to groan; instead he tried to hold his breath again, and crossed his hands in front of his body politely. He saw a seat, a tv, a plate.He heard the birds, a car, and the neighbors windchimes. He moved his toes, twitched his fingers, and scrunched his nose. Release breath.
“Robert,.” Joe offered a tentative smile to their strange sort-of neighbor. “Maybe we can let him out of the box.”
“Oh!” Robert sat down, opening the box; a large orange tabby hunched and leaped out, nose scrunched in distaste, eyes narrowed. The cat rubbed up against Robert, then their original owner, and finally Joe.
“We found him a few weeks, maybe a month and a half ago,” Joe began to explain.
“I did.” Robert interjected.
“He looked a little dishevelled, but otherwise fine. Honestly, he didn’t go away; sat on the porch, waiting for someone to come home, got a scratch on the ears and seemed happy enough with that.”
“He wanted to come inside, so I let him in.” Robert shrugged.
“Eventually he just began staying longer and longer, sleeping on the couch, crawling into bed, getting under our feet.”
“He’s a Szymanski now,” Robert pulled out the lackluster dollar store collar with a little tag on it, showing it to August.
Joe’s eyes wandered to where the cat (whatever it is called now, because really, Joe called him ‘cat’ more then the name they chose) was sniffing the tuna sandwich; which honestly, Joe had a thought to warn about the possible thievery. However, tuna sandwiches were criminal in the mind of Joseph Szymanski, so he turned away quick as he saw and brought his eyes back up the single curl of hair that fell from August’s head.
“We can share him.” Joe blurted; because he wasn’t trying to share Robert. Despite their being five rejected calls on his cell and three left voicemails from a number in Michigan that Joe may have deleted as a contact, but he knew the number by heart. He can share a cat, however. Maybe that was a baby-step; if he had a therapist in Virginia, maybe they would be proud.
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Post by Deleted on Jun 17, 2019 22:09:16 GMT -5
August Decker strange scenarios.
It typically took a lot to soften up the man's heart, but for some reason--maybe it was the weather, maybe he was in an inexplicably lifted mood now that Marmalade had returned to him, alive and well--but this young boy rattled his cold exterior enough to coax a small smirk out of him. The expression on his face was mostly still, but the corners of his eyes crinkled with the small, close-lipped smile he let loose; it was the kind that hinted that he was once kinder.
"Hello Robert, hello Joe," he answered, just a touch warmer than before. "I'm August. Nice to meet you both. Strange situation though," he added last minute, albeit softly, almost under his breath. This was probably the strangest way to meet someone, anyone, that he could have dreamed of. He probably couldn't have even dreamed this--his mind was a little leashed, but also a little afraid to tug at it.
He listened to the two piece together the epic of this traveling cat, becoming slightly overwhelmed as he struggled to keep up with the brothers stumbling over each other. His steely gaze flickered between the two faces, nearly identical in most obvious features, bouncing back and forth with each sentence. Maybe the structure of it all was foreign to him, and in fact, it was: the government was obsessive with its planning and exactness, especially where he worked, so people rarely interjected, save the occasional heated meeting. Eventually, August sighed, considering everything he'd heard and silently aligning his thoughts.
A few things rose to the surface of his mind as he took a moment to consider it all, the first and strongest of which was guilt. How could he have done this? Marmalade had always been content to rest at home, this home, when Juliet was alive. Needless to say, everything changed, and August considered that Marm wasn't getting what he needed anymore from this place, so he literally moved to find that. All the poor thing wanted was some attention more than anything, according to these two boys. It saddened him. That much was simple enough to provide for this animal that he really ought to have cared about more.
Maybe he really is better off with them, he considered. He watched the striped orange cat make his way out from doing figure eights between Rober's skinny legs, then disappear to somewhere off and behind him. Probably to his window perch, in the sun. But he looked good and vibrant; August had been letting his usual grooming routine go a bit. All that being said, though, the idea of parting with Marmalade forever killed him. Even if the two were physical polar opposites, he thought of the cat as an extension of his late wife, a manifestation of her personality and love. And that was too much to let go forever, at least for now.
Let's share him. That was actually a... Really good idea. He'd get the playtime he needed with a kid, who could give him all the attention and snuggles that he wanted, and then spend a couple days in his presence, soaking up all the home that was left. August's eyes met Joe's. "Yeah. Ok," he answered, "I really like that. Let's do it."
Then all of the sudden, he heard a clinking of glassware from behind him, where he'd been sitting in the living room. August turned around, only to see the orange bastard face deep in his tuna sandwich, hind paws on the ground, front paws propping him up on the table ledge. "Hey!" Marmalade briefly paused, ears swiveling back--an acknowledgement that he'd definitely heard him--then continued to gorge himself, bread and all. He sighed. "Guess he deserves it. I haven't been the best to him lately."
"Um." He looked to the older of the two once more. "Thank you for bringing him back though, I really appreciate it. Let's definitely share him." August paused, contemplating sending the two back on their way after exchanging cell numbers, but then he thought better of it. They'd gone out of their way for him. "... Can I get either of you two something to eat, while you're here? Or something to drink? I'm not sure how far y'all drove to get here, but... It's the least I can do."
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