Marcus Caravahlo (_caravahlo_) wrote in horror_story, @ 2012-12-25 21:54:00 |
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Entry tags: | bryant, charlie, complete, cycle002, marcus |
WHO: Marcus, Charlie, and Bryant
WHEN: 12/13/2012, 6:22 PM
WHERE: The Funeral Home
WHAT: Marcus goes over to the funeral home to make dinner. Charlie doesn't approve.
WARNING: None! Just a brief scene.
Marcus didn’t show up to Bryant’s until almost half-past six. After the sultry blonde had left the bar with his phone number, Marcus had stuck around for several more beers. He didn’t want her scent on him when he went to Bryant’s, nor did he want to be distracted with thoughts of her when the whole point of the night was to get the mortician out of his system. In fact, by the time he arrived at the funeral home, he was just drunk enough to start to feel guilty about the dalliance. He’d said six, after all, and hadn’t meant to be late, despite the posturing he’d done in front of Susie.
The guilt dissipated once he pulled up and saw the kid’s car, still parked near the fucking hearse. Five, Bryant had told him. the kid’s shift ended at five. Marcus had specifically told the older man to make sure that the fucking kid wasn’t around, too. Hadn’t he? He was fairly certain that he had.
Fuck. Maybe he should have stayed at the fucking bar... or followed the leggy blonde to The Eclipse. She was going to be a lot less complicated, he was sure. She tried to cultivate an air of mystery, but she hadn’t been excessive about that. What he’d glimpsed in the bar had all added up nicely. Her promises had been obvious, meticulously spelled out with every movement of her hips, the way her mouth could work itself around a shot. There certainly hadn’t been any kids cockblocking him there. He slammed the door of his car after popping the trunk, alerting the neighborhood of his presence, and took up the rolled up paper grocery bags. When he rang the bell, his foul mood had already etched itself into his features, as obvious as the fact that he’d been drinking. Already, the night wasn’t going as planned.
---
The day hadn’t truly gone as planned for Bryant, either... though he was certainly a tad more chipper about that than Marcus. Not that he was happy, exactly, to have a body brought in late afternoon. Of course, terrible about the deceased. Bryant knew her by sight, as he did most of the town. He hadn’t been entirely sure of her name until the death certificate had been brought over from the hospital, simply thought of her as the recluse living at the edge of the trailer park with the veritable mountain of cats.
So, no, ‘happy’ wasn’t really the emotion to attach to a relatively unknown woman who’d passed in her sleep... but it was always a drop intriguing to handle a corpse that had time to decompose a bit. Winter kept bodies well preserved, helped slow down the process of decay. It was simple protocol that had her going through the hospital morgue at all before winding up at the mortuary. With no family to speak of and no one that he knew of to claim the body, Bryant figured he’d be firing up the furnace in a few days’ time, allowing for the possibility that some long-lost relative might be informed and show up with plans other than cremation. ‘Til then, she was a respected specimen, ah... that is to say... a revered resident of his cold storage.
When Marcus didn’t show up on time -- which was rare but not cause for alarm; any number of things could have detained him -- Bryant took the time to peruse the results of the regulation autopsy done in the hospital morgue. Shoddy work but not incompetent. Just... lacking. Bryant doubled as official county coroner when needed but really any hospital morgue attendant could rubber stamp paperwork as long as a physician made the official proclamation of death. He flipped through the papers in his office as Charlie finished up a few things. If Marcus was going to be much later, Bryant would be half-tempted to have a closer look at the body. More than half-tempted.
But the doorbell rang and Bryant pulled his mind away from imagining rotted viscera toward the sound. It was unlikely to be anyone but Marcus, of course, but Bryant’s mind was still entrenched in his work. That more than anything else made him get Charlie’s attention, so the younger man would look at him. In their time working together, Bryant often asked Charlie to teach him some sign language and though he was far from proficient, he was capable enough to sign this as he spoke: “Someone is at the door, Charlie. Would you answer it?” If it was a client, potential client... Charlie knew the patter and would bring them back to the office. If it was Marcus, then Bryant would be able to dismiss Charlie for the day and actually have a chance at a good meal and good company. He loved his work, he truly did, but he’d learned that it was nicer to have someone to share things with. As hard as Bryant tried to ingratiate himself with other residents of Crows Landing, very few could he consider acquaintances, let alone friends. But he had young Charlie to rely on, and a... ah, well, a rather rich friendship with Marcus.
---
Working with Bryant was... comfortable- in a way Charlie had never experienced before with anyone but his immediate family and Teagan. Everyone he encountered in Crows Landing seemed to either pity him or find him annoying. As if it was such an imposition to ask that people be facing him while they talked. No one ever said anything about it directly to him but he knew that was simply because they didn’t want to appear insensitive. He never made the mistake of assuming their courtesy had anything to do with his own feelings. With Bryant, however, he finally knew what it was like to know more about something than someone else did.
It didn’t have anything to do with his actual duties at the home; his expertise was more so in the realm of the rumors and goings-on about the town that Bryant seemed to have a blind spot for. Nevermind that most of the gossip Charlie chose to share with his boss came directly from Teagan. He still knew enough about the people in the town to decide for himself whether what was being said about them could be believed. He doubted Bryant would be as adept at sniffing out a blatant lie when it came to one of the locals, especially one who was closer to Charlie’s age than his own. He liked being able to share stories with the older man and, gruesome details notwithstanding, he genuinely enjoyed his job. Which was why he never had a problem working later than expected and would even occasionally offer to do so without any prompting from the good doctor. This particular Thursday was one of those occasions; he didn’t have to pick Teagan up until later and he didn’t feel like going home in the interim so he’d decided to stick around. Bryant didn’t seem to mind.
He nodded when the other man asked him to answer the door and made his way silently to the front hall, wondering with no small amount of anxiety what news could be waiting behind it. It took a considerable chunk of his self-restraint not to narrow his eyes or frown when he pulled the door open and saw Marcus Call-a-whatever (he’d never bothered to ask for the spelling) standing at the front stoop. He made a weak attempt at a blank expression and looked the giant up and down quickly, still holding onto the doorknob in case he needed to slam the heavy wooden thing in Marcus’ face. Not that he’d ever do that.
“What do you want?” Charlie demanded without thinking.
---
Marcus disliked Charlie Patenaude, although it wasn’t because of the boy’s deafness. If anything, that was one of the kid’s better qualities. Working in the medical field, Marcus had accumulated nothing but patience for that sort of thing, and he certainly didn’t feel any pity for an otherwise healthy young man who just happened to be deaf. No, his problem with Charlie had absolutely nothing to do with the kid’s condition, and everything to do with his incessant presence. Ever since he’d been hired, it seemed like the kid was constantly at the funeral home. Like an obnoxious, yappy dog who had the audacity to look down on Marcus, which was rather laughable given that the boy stood a full foot shorter. Still, the disdain had not gone unnoticed, and Marcus was all about giving as good as he got in that respect.
His own expression was far from blank. Dark eyes narrowed into a dangerous glare. He wasn’t surprised that it was Charlie who’d answered the door. He’d seen the kid’s car, after all. Of course it would be Charlie Fucking Patenaude, standing in his way. The annoying, intrusive, uppity little pup. Fuck this kid, really. The tonal quality of his growl was, of course, lost on Charlie, but that didn’t mean Marcus didn’t put his all into it. “I’m here to see your fucking boss, kid. Get lost. You aren’t supposed to fucking be here.”
During his speech, Marcus signed one of the few signs he knew, which was essentially fuck off. After speaking (facing Charlie directly, and enunciating clearly the entire time), Marcus pushed his way into the funeral home. Even if Charlie had tried to shut the door, it wouldn’t have been much of a contest. All he’d needed was an opening.
---
“Excuse me, I work here,” Charlie called indignantly to the back of Marcus’ head. If he could have heard his own tone at that moment, he might have described it as ‘annoyed’, anyone else would use the word ‘bitchy’.
---
It was the tone that made Marcus stop, mid-step. While he would have liked to make the claim that he was better than that, that he wouldn’t threaten someone he suspected was still technically underage for any number of things, Marcus had a very difficult time swallowing that tone when it came from people who were his superiors. He wasn’t about to take it from a fucking kid. So he halted, and spun around to face Charlie again, tightening his grip on the large paper bag to keep himself from reaching out and actually grabbing the boy. He wouldn’t cross that line regardless of what Charlie said, or what tone he used. Marcus didn’t touch people.
Not until they touched him, first.
That was a fucking rule. But he could get awfully close to it. He pressed in close, invading Charlie’s personal space. Close enough for the younger man to smell the beer on him, as well as the scent of the soap he’d used. Hygiene was important to Marcus. He always made sure that he smelled nice when he went over to Bryant’s. Just in case. “Your shift is fucking over, perrito. I don’t fucking care if you do work here. Talk to me like that again, I’ll see you fucking neutered. Understand me?”
---
There was a full second before Marcus began his threat where Charlie was seriously worried for his own safety. He swallowed the fear with some difficulty and forced himself to focus on the anger instead. The nerve of this man, honestly. Barging into a funeral home and throwing around threats of violence at the slightest comment. That was why Charlie had such a problem with Marcus, besides his hair which was grossly long. Did he think that was attractive?
His mind raced with half-thought-out comebacks and one or two lame threats of his own but all that managed to escape his lips was a breathy, unconvincing “Whatever,” and he ducked to slip around Marcus. Abandoning any attempts to appear mature, Charlie hurried to Bryant’s office, determined to at least have the satisfaction of beating Marcus there.
---
Marcus scowled, watching the kid essentially scurry off to the office. He didn’t even bother immediately following, detouring to the kitchen first to set the bag on the counter, and then making his own way to the office, trying to compose himself. The kid had done nothing to smooth over his already foul mood, and even with the detour, Marcus was of half a mind to snap at Bryant as well, just for letting the kid hang around after hours. He’d specifically asked when little fucker would be gone for a reason, and he was feeling more than just a little lied to.
---
Charlie tried his best not to sound out of breath when he got to the office, especially since it was now obvious that Marcus had opted out of racing against him. The flush in his cheeks was as much from exertion as it was from embarrassment about his own behavior. Whatever though, he told himself, really, whatever because Marcus was a dick and Bryant didn’t need to stoop that low to find a friend in this town, singularly horse-having as it may be.
“That guy’s here,” he mumbled miserably to the back of Bryant’s head, hoping maybe if he sounded pathetic enough, Bryant would send Marcus away and the two of them could have tea and play chess or something. But that wasn’t going to happen.
---
It was indeed true that Bryant would know little of town gossip if not for Charlie’s influence. Oh, certainly, the mortician heard things now and again, and he wasn’t entirely oblivious of his surroundings... but he did tend to have blinders on sometimes. He so often focused on his work and all that went along with it. The subtle nuances of social interaction were beyond Bryant, much though he wished they weren’t. He wished to be a gregarious creature, easily able to endear and befriend. That was not the way things were, however. Thus he cherished the few people he could connect to. It meant Bryant listened with avid amusement to the nuggets of gossip Charlie passed along, to any stories about his friends and things going on around town.
And it meant that hearing that Marcus had finally arrived -- for who else could Charlie mean by ‘that guy’? -- caused Bryant to smile. He’d been in the process of straightening up his desk and had his back to the door when his assistant made the short-of-breath announcement. Bryant wasn’t wholly unaware of the pathetic tone in Charlie’s voice but didn’t necessarily understand it. He’d heard rumors about Marcus, of course, though as their friendship solidified, Bryant tried to politely indicate to Charlie that he didn’t appreciate such... slurs... against someone he liked and respected. It was slowly sinking in that perhaps Marcus and Charlie weren’t as friendly with each other as he was with both of them.
Before Marcus joined them, Bryant turned and looked at his assistant, seeing he was red-faced. “Thank you, Charlie,” he said, signing it. “You may go. Thanks for staying late.” Then, because he didn’t like to use sign language when he wasn’t quite sure what he was saying, he spoke the rest quietly, letting Charlie read his lips. “It, ah... it’s all right, Charlie. All is well.” A pause. “Perhaps tomorrow we could call for... pizza during our lunch hour and you can tell me how your friends are doing.” There. That was a friendly offer. Bryant was completely unaware of any jealousy that may or may not exist, of any true animosity, perhaps the full extent of Charlie’s protectiveness of him. Bryant certainly didn’t see himself as being better than anyone else or Marcus as unworthy of his time and attention. Everyone was worthy of time and attention. He smiled at Charlie, a much more comfortable version of his usual nervous half-grin. His employee was someone Bryant was at his ease with. “Have a good night, my boy.”
Then Marcus made it to the office and Bryant beamed at him. “Marcus! Terribly glad to see you. I’m sorry to be late; we had a last-minute, ah, client.” There was no mention of Marcus’ lateness, largely because he saw no rudeness in it and more or less let it go, in the face of looking forward to a nice quiet evening with his friend. With a sheepish start, Bryant hastily moved his fingertips to the knot in his necktie and loosened it. “I, ah, I... there was no time for me to... that is to say... I’m sorry about not being properly attired.” Much of Bryant’s wardrobe was sober-colored two- and three-piece suits with solid dark ties, crisp white shirts. He wore a four-button black suit and tie for viewings, without fail. Tonight he was in a charcoal three-piece suit, the jacket of which was on a coat rack in the corner. If Charlie had told him a client was here, Bryant would’ve hastily put on the jacket.
Since it was Marcus, he stayed in his shirtsleeves. The mortician peered a little closer at Marcus, wondering if something wasn’t quite right, wondering if he’d perhaps missed something in the way Charlie had announced his visitor. Bryant head tilted inquisitively.
---
There it was. The way the older man's face lit up when he said the name. Every single fucking time. It was what kept Marcus coming around, that expression. That tone. Like Bryant really was just happy to see him. A pure fact. Unsullied by ulterior motives, judgment and expectations. There wasn’t a single person in the whole damn town that looked at Marcus the way Bryant did, with such honest, unabashed delight. Not even Jon, who was the closest thing Marcus had to family, as far as he was concerned. Certainly none of the frequenters of The Brass Key, or his co-workers at the hospital. It was addictive.
It was also incredibly difficult to stay irritated at. Marcus halted, blinked once, and was forced to reconsider his approach.
A last-minute client. Someone had died. Well, shit, that was an unfortunate and un-fucking-predictable occurrence, wasn’t it? It didn’t entirely kill his irritation, but it took his temper down a notch. The hand that flew to loosen the tie also helped. At least Bryant remembered the texts. There’d just been complications. Keeping the kid around hadn’t been a deliberate move on Bryant’s part to frustrate him. They’d had to work late, so the kid was just still there. Obnoxious, but understandable.
Marcus shrugged a little, rolling his shoulders back as if to unruffle invisible feathers. He forced his expression into a more neutral smirk, and deliberately waited until Charlie was looking at Bryant before replying, so that the boy wouldn’t catch his words. “S’cool, mijo. You got time to shower if you want. Food’ll take me a while.”
---
The smile Bryant gave upon hearing of Marcus’ arrival evoked no small amount of dismay in the younger man. It went without saying that Charlie had a great amount of affection and respect for his boss but he could not, for the life of him, understand what it was about Marcus Caravahlo that made the doctor smile like that. Especially since he mostly just made Charlie want to take a shower. He supposed, though, that one of the things that endeared Bryant to him was his reluctance to pass judgment on anyone, even if it did tick him off just a little when he refused to hear about the newest rumors flying around about the long-haired ruffian.
His apparent inability to sense the hostility between the two of them was another thing that won him points in Charlie’s book and he was glad that Marcus at least had the decency to hide their squabbling when Bryant was around. He could play civil if it meant he wouldn’t have to deal with his boss’ disappointment.
Charlie knew the offer of pizza and a friendly chat was made with good intentions but it did make him feel much younger than he wanted to. It didn’t help that, when Marcus entered the room and Bryant stood up, he was shorter than both of them by almost a foot. He was reluctant to leave the two of them alone together but, having already been politely dismissed and with no excuse to stick around, there wasn’t much he could do about it. He caught the tail end of Marcus’ comment and bit back a heated remark about how very rude it was to purposely prevent a deaf person from reading one’s lips. Ignoring Marcus completely, Charlie gave Bryant a nod, retrieved his coat from the back of a nearby chair and grudgingly took his leave.