The Beastly Hours [[BRANDON]]

[Alyce Ayers]

Alyce was tired. It was four AM. A beastly hour to awake, for sure. But her body was aching to move. She slowly rose from the old creaking twin bed she shared with a stuffed teddy named, "Friend." Stretching and giving a slight yawn as she came to a seated position. She opened her eyes, blinking against the darkness as she struggled to gain a hint of night vision that would come as her eyes adjusted. She touched her feet to the floor, listening to the crackles it emitted as she began to place weight on the worn wood.

Nearly naked except for a pair of pink panties, she reached down for a top she'd worn the night previous. It was pink as well, and overwhelmingly large for her tiny frame so it hung on her like drapery, covering her to her mid thighs. She then stopped to consider her mural she'd been working on since this all began. It was a beautiful mess, and had the situation been different, it probably would have been lauded as one of the great works of their time. As it was, it was painted on an old musty wallpapered wall with only the paste she could grind from flowers and the few old paints that had been gathered before this all started. She stepped towards it, her mind completely forgetting the bright green glass container she'd left open before she'd climbed into bed.

Of course her foot hit it, knocking it over onto the floor and breaking the glass. Scattering the perfect shade of green everywhere. She screamed, the sound of glass breaking sending shivers down her spine as she remembered old painful memories. A piece of the glass embedded itself in the bottom of her foot and she recoiled, backing away from the mess. She cursed loudly an unintelligible curse, as she was sure she'd woken Brandon up. Along with several others in their home.

[Brandon Mercer]

Nothing was moving. The hills were silent, dark and cold. Only the long grasses swayed with night vigor trying the patience sustained with this odd beauty and the only night coming from the stars high above. Brandon along with one other male stood on the front porch leaning against the banister their backs turned on the house where only the slightest winks of a single lantern lit up the foyer through the thin window pane. It was truly devoid of color. Brandon stood with one foot between the banister's railings, arms folded over each other on top his free foot inches from the Springfield rifle laying prone against the lowest rung. Nothing moved. It was quiet and oddly beautiful. Almost unnatural, so. Neither men spoke. Brandon's partner's shift would be over soon no doubt allowing somebody else to take his spot on the beaten porch. There hadn't been any movement as far as the infected went for the past few days. There was nothing to worry about. They remained relaxed. At least one of them had something to hide behind. Brandon turned his head, waving one hand in front of his face and squinting through the smoke.

"Those thing's 'ill kill ya."

"Gee, thanks 'Pa." The man grinned behind his smoke. Brandon shook his head dismissively. "Just sayin', hoss." Brandon shrugged his shoulders hunching over the banister. "Whatever floats yer boat as grandma always used to say." There came nothing from the fields the dandelions shrouded by the late night facade only a cough inches from his right shoulder. "Oh really? She get infected?" Brandon shook his head. "Who?" The man stretched his cancer pipe out in front of him as if offering it to Brandon. "Your grams, man." Brandon's shoulders quivered. "Don't know what your talking about." Brandon cocked his head, the faintest of confident smirks imprinted on his face. He turned leaning against the banister facing the house elbow propped up. "Maybe that smoke's getting to your head." Brandon poked the side of his head to prove his point his chill blue eyes tilted upward to compensate for the dipping of his face and his crooked posture. The man shook his head smiling wide. Brandon took a step forward snatching up his Springfield.

He paused shoulder to shoulder. "Seriously,between you and me, of everything that did not become scarce it had to be cigarettes. Talk about cliche." The man pushed his foot out. Brandon saw this attempt and quickly stepped forward smiling wide. "Your such an asshole." Brandon raised one hand in the form of an imaginary pistol, puckered his lips and cocked his thumb. He then entered through the front door into the dimly let front room where two members of the group sat on worn out couches playing poker. Brandon gripped the rifle around the front mount strap dangling around his wrist. Both players acknowledged Brandon's passing who he perceived the two gamblers with a tilt of his head. As he approached the kitchen which was adjacent to the bottom landing of the stairs leading up to the bedrooms the floor creaked, settling beneath him. One woman made her self known by bending sideways to peer through the arch. Brandon pressed two fingers to his forehead in a salute in which the woman smiled warmly, however coldly. As Brandon climbed the stairs the staircase creaked followed by a loud crashing and a scream. Brandon stopped and immediately looked up at the ceiling to determine the source. Chill blue eyes wide.

He turned, gripping the rifle to the gamblers and pressed his finger adamantly to his lips. They had thrown their cards down and were studying him. They grabbed their firearms as Brandon took up the stairs two at a time rifle cradled in his arms rocking back and forth. As he ascended up two flights stopping once on the second floor to wind back around to the opposite staircase doors began to open and heads popped out curiously. Brandon ignored these sentiments skirting around the edge of the banister, grabbing it and pulling himself back around. Once he reached the top floor he slowed to a walk. He puckered his lips stopping in the hallway feet from the door. He bowed his head and turned. He scratched his eyebrow and turned again. He reached for the doorknob and threw it open without knocking. "For Christ sake, A. You need to be careful. Who knows what's lurking outs-" he stopped himself when he saw the blood and the broken vase. "Figures." he said, his tongue tracing the inside lower right portion of his lip.

[Alyce Ayers]

Alyce shouldn't have been at all surprised at Brandon's intrusion. But she screamed anyways. Ever since her sister died, she'd been afraid of her own shadow. She quickly regained her composure as her brain registered it was Brandon. She attempted to stand and give him a roll of the eyes followed by something witty, but winced instead as her right foot hit the wooden floor and weight was applied. The piece of glass dug further into her foot and the pain showed on her face.

She tried to hide it from him by sitting down on her bed, but her face still read searing pain. Brandon was the very bane of her existence, and she wasn't about to show her weaknesses to him. Not when he already treated her like a five year old. If that meant keep the piece of glass in her foot until she was an old lady, so be it.

She settled into not looking directly at him so he couldn't see her face. The fact that the only light in the room came from the moonlight streaming in through the window and glinting against her pale legs helped her situation. She bit her bottom lip gently, not sure what to say.

"Don't you knock?" she asked, trying to insert some attitude in her voice, but she knew the pain lingered in her voice the same way it did in her eyes.

[Brandon Mercer]

It was clear now. Brandon shifted his weight letting both legs pertain equal amounts standing in the doorway now holding the rifle by it's butt. His eyes shifted when he noticed her sit down knowing only too well what she was acquiring. Oh, he had struck some nerve. "Oh, thousand apologies for failing to remember to knock. I'll try harder next time." he said, his voice carrying full sarcasm. He then turned on his heel facing the door which lay ajar. He bowed his head forward numb fingers going up to scratch a small portion on the back of his head somewhere near the center. "Dammit." he cursed under his breath. He turned back around. "Dammit, A." his tone holding the same amount of judgment than before. As he felt his impulses to just leave his arms were reaching down to lean the rifle against the frame of the door and he crossed towards the bed and sat down the bed creaked with both of their added weight.

"It's hard enough managing these people without something else going horribly wrong." he was afraid that there was some sympathy behind that tone. He threw his arms up finding that they comfortably lay on his thighs. "Alright." he honestly didn't know what to do. "Alright, let me look." he was also hesitant. About this whole situation.

[Alyce Ayers]

"No," Alyce replied bitterly, childishly. She was aware of how she sounded. But Brandon had made his opinion up on her long time ago and she no longer cared that he thought of her as a baby.

"I just knocked over a glass. I didn't endanger anyone but myself. I don't need the talk about how much pressure you're under. I'm there too, remember?" she added. It got under her skin how he always talked to her like he didn't share a leadership position. They had equal power over their small group, but the difference was, she didn't exercise as much control as he did. She didn't make decisions. She watched as Brandon made them. From the tough decision to the insignificant.

Her finger tips went down to her over sized shirt, tugging on it ever so slightly to cover more of her thighs. Feeling a bit naked and hoping the door would close on it's own so no one else would see her like this. She didn't mean to be the center of attention tonight and wasn't dressed appropriately at all for it.

[Brandon Mercer]

Brandon could only shrug at his own attempt. It failed. No surprise there. He stood without waiting for any response. He also found that he was incredibly itchy tonight and as he scratched his arm he could only bemuse himself. Why do I try? It might have been that he was self centered or just plainly wanted his people at fighting form status. Whatever the case was it stated quite plainly that sometimes he portrayed himself as some kind of jackass. He wasn't about to change for anybody. Not even if the missus had anything to do with it. He had reached the middle of the room, the part where the room felt saggy for some reason and he turned. "Well-," he said, his cheeks puffy, "I'm not going to make you want to make you want to show me how badly that injury is." his cheeks deflated as he raised two fingers arm stretched wide pointing at the crimson mess on the wooden floor. "It's your choice." he said raising bushy eyebrows and forcing himself to shrug really high, higher than his ears, so that his head looked small, moved his hands out in front of him theatrically and slapped them against thighs as they fell back down. He turned and approached the door stepping through the opening where he turned, grabbed the doorknob in a half-leaning-half-stretch and payed one more glance back into the room, mainly on Alice. He smiled and blinked once and closed the door. He took several steps down the hall. Turned and waited thirty seconds going as far as leaning against the wall and crossing his arms.

Someone was coming up the stairs where they turned the banister and handed Brandon some napkins in which, unbecoming, Brandon shooed him away with a nod. Brandon kicked off the wall and approached Alice's door stuffing the napkins in his back pocket and pulled his shirt over it to conceal the bulge. He ran a hand over his chin and knocked with the other. "Alice, hunny?" he said softly. He gingerly opened the door and poked his head in placing one open hand against the outside wall. "I forget something. Wait.. wait.. Don't tell me." There was an advantage to being the one with napkins when the other person in the room is leaking their own blood all over their bed, floor and pretty paintings which Brandon cast his glance over as if trying to locate his rifle which was far from being stuck to the murals or whatever she called them.

His eyes fell on Alice. "You know, someone is going to have to come in here eventually. Blood tends to dry and becomes a pain in the ass to clean." his arm drifted to his ass. "..and look! I brought nappies!" he pulled the majority from his back pocket. There was also an advantage to be being a straight up Rockey Mountain canary. You never knew which way the pendulum would swing.

[Alyce Ayers]

Alyce gave him a death glare as he left her room, closing the door behind him. She sighed deeply once he was gone, pondering on how best to remove the three inch piece of glass that had worked it's way it the sole of her right foot. She pulled her foot up for her to look at, her dancer's flexibility affording her the the opportunity. The moonlight glinted off the pesky piece of glass as she stared it down.

Then the door opened again, Brandon's voice floating inside again. She was laying back of the bed, her little pink panties covered in a lacy material were easily visible. She remedied that by quickly sitting up, careful to not let her foot hit the floor. 'Napies? He is offering me nappies?' she thought, plucking them from his hands. And then did something incredibly unladylike and rude. She spat at him. Being careful to miss him, but conveying her point. She was in no mood for him tonight, and possibly looking for a fight.

[Brandon Mercer]

It was his greatest honor to have the napkins pulled from his hands. Venturing this close to Alice, especially when something was jammed straight into her foot which tended to cause anger, usually because of the pain, was asking for it. Brandon knew as much as he ventured forth standing back to admire Alice while she cleaned herself up. To what he thought would be her cleaning up, actually. When she looked back at him Brandon was actually sad to expect to see some sliver of gratitude. His face sunk. That look was so venomous it would cut Demon Kashi in half. Brandon's eyebrows quivered as he began to find himself wondering who Demon Kashi was just as her projectile composed mainly of angst landed next to his sneaker. He scoffed which sounded more like an 'aha'. He puckered his lips. He got the message as he uncrossed his arms and stood erect in front of her where he sucked in a rehabilitating breath. He turned walking for the door.

He stopped at his rifle staring at it and found himself smiling. He traced his fingers down to the rifle and scooped it up. She was looking for a fight. Not tonight. Tonight would be peaceful. Tonight she wouldn't let her get to him. He slung the rifle over his shoulder and turned. "You are one cranky person. I know this doesn't mean much to you in terms of-" he didn't know where he was going with it. "I was only trying to help." his bottom lip disappeared underneath his upper. His hand gripped the strap hugging his shoulder as he turned to leave. There was a bounce in his step. He turned in the door frame. Paused and then turned. "Oh, uh, that reminds me. Levy says the generator is running out of fuel. I would go to the shed myself but I'm on late watch. So-" Brandon moved his hand around sporadically to notion the "when you get past your injury we need that done" semantic. He bobbed on his feet once. "Okay." he said matter-o-factly and turned disappearing into the hallway. He was gone for several seconds before he poked his head back in. "Oh, and Alice, you should have made that shot count." he smiled and dropped back behind the wall. His footsteps retreated back to the stairwell.

"Mom, okay?"

Brandon turned to the concerned speaker. "Yeah,yeah. She's just having one of her Seminole girly problems. Nothing I can do to help." he descended three steps and turned back to the speaker as if wanting to add something. "Ifshe screams she's not giving birth." Brandon raised his voice and descended the entire way.

[Alyce Ayers]

Alyce had to force herself to not be nice to him after he had softened to help her. It was sweet really, but she was in an awful mood and he had annoyed her for little to no reason. After he left for good the last time, she heard him make a bit of a snide comment to the people downstairs. Her people. She got up and wobbled over to the door, opening it and stepping through. She stood at the top of the stair, her blood trailing and pooling beneath her slightly lifted foot.

She had a shoe in her hand. An old sneaker. Had picked it up off the floor on her way out and now she head it close to her head. And then she threw it overhand at the back of Brandon's head with as much strength as she could muster. She then made a small huff noise before hobbling back into her room and slamming the door.

She threw herself on the bed again, lifting her foot into her lap and quickly pulling the shard out, then applying pressure to the area with the nappies Brandon had given her. She curse a few times, the pain almost numbing. She looked around her room. Blood was all over the floor. Like a macabre painting. The look and smell of it made her shiver.

[Brandon Mercer]

The floor creaked upon stepping down off the bottom stair. In all regards to the entire house being ancient. Every eye that had been on him since he first entered and encountered that magnificent clash that should have, really, bled the woman to death were now turned to their respective commodities. The woman in the kitchen had gone. There was somebody else playing cards with one the only original gambler that was left at the table. Everything was as it should be. Except for the shoe that came flying down the stairs and caught Brandon in the back of the head. In certain situations when there is some form of sneaker being chucked at the back of one's head it would be wise to at least try and move. Nobody had warned Brandon that it would be used as a weapon and when it caught him in the back of the head he was pleasantly surprised. More so when he found himself on the floor and then being picked up by the two gamblers Brandon shoved them off. He stood up composing himself and handed his rifle to one of the men nearby. "I might kill her." he warned brushing himself off.

When he was done he found himself looking up the staircase. Lovely. She had used a shoe to disable him. "Jameson, take my shift." he exploded up the stairs not bothering to appear subtle. When he reached the top floor he walked past the door and stumbled into Alice's room. "Okay." he huffed, clenching his fists. "What?" he strained his voice not bothering to be subtle. "If you want me to take care of that generator, I will. If you need three weeks off to compose yourself after stepping on your little vase, gee-" he spread his arms. "So tell me-" his arms went up to his chin. "What the fuck is it?"

[Alyce Ayers]

"You're an asshole!" she yelled at him, answering nearly none of his questions and probably raising a few more. She reached down by her bed with the hand that wasn't pressing a bandage to her foot and picked up another sneaker. She chucked it at him again. She aimed right for his head. But throwing it at him when he was looking at her gave him the easy opportunity to avoid it this time.

Her eyes were narrowed at him, a death glare for sure. She reached down again for another worn shoe. This time a hot pink heel. She readied her aim to throw it, and released it at him, the force of her skinny arm behind it.

[Brandon Mercer]

Brandon had to admit he was at a full disadvantage. Even when he blurted it out he didn't have all the information required for something this large of a fit. In retrospect, it might have been better to press a few more buttons. Only when she raised another shoe to toss at him Brandon shot his arms up in clean defense. It landed short rolling and then skidding somewhere in between. "Tell me something I don't know." Oh great, another shoe. Brandon managed to reach his arm out and catch the pink heel in transit which upon catching it he looked at her and then realized the complexity of the situation. "What do you need heels for?" he said more to himself quizzically and then tossed it blindly over his shoulder. "Look sweetie munchkin pie, something is clearly bothering you. Enough for random, sporadic fits of violence." his hands had gone to his head as if trying to determine the solution to the world's hardest math problem. "Quite frankly you need to get over your hormonal rise to power. Its getting to your head." Brandon raised his hands expecting another shoe to come from the ceiling.

"I need you clear headed and vaccinated. Hell, I don't need you, but, those people downstairs sure as hell do. They look up to you for moral support and guidance especially the women. I know I may be a dipshit given the proper negligence but this is stupid. We can't be fighting. The fighting is out there and no I am not going to cross this line. Now if its a boxing match you want I wouldn't mind giving that to you." Brandon paused. "That's completely eluding the point. If you have something on your mind tell me or I am moving you to the basement." he crossed his arms.

[Alyce Ayers]

She sat there seething as he mocked her heels and her 'hormonal rise to power.' She grated her teeth against each other in anger, her slender hands welcoming fists with angry white knuckles.

And then he began one of his long-winded speeches. Perhaps the worst thing he could have done. They annoyed her more than anything on this planet. She felt like she was going to explode when he decided to add in the extra threat of throwing him into the basement.

She'd had it. She rose from the bed, wincing but largely ignoring the pain in her foot. She stared at him for a few seconds before rushing all one hundred and ten pounds of herself at him. She intended to tackle him. But she hadn't really thought as far as what to do once she had accomplished that. If she could accomplish that.

[Brandon Mercer]

Everything had their smashing point and being the cancerous open sore that Brandon was it happened to be very unsurprising that somebody would reach their boiling point incredibly fast being around Brandon as it were. He placed all of his weight entirely on his back foot seeing the quickening advance Alice was taking and spread his legs to evenly compensate for the impact which was inevitable to the weary eye it looked as it he had just flinched and once the frail arms started flying Brandon was quick to catch the mace like twigs flying every which way trying to find some purchase in his face. "Okay, okay," one of the arms managed to catch him across the face forcing him to bend slightly backwards. "Jesus!" he barked. "Alright, I'm sorry." which wasn't going to cut it therefore he scooped Alice up in his arms and placed her on her bed and quickly retreated. Soon there would be people lining up right outside the door with the smell of fresh popcorn niggling the stale air.

Brandon intended to be done with it before that happened.