RONAN MURPHY: MARS (ronan_murphy) wrote in marvel_mashup, @ 2016-12-04 16:57:00 |
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Entry tags: | @legacy, murphy: ronan |
Legacy
CHARACTERS: Mars.
TOPIC: Ricktatorship.
DATE & TIME: Thursday, November 24th, afternoon.
LOCATION: New Salem.
RATING: M.
She told you she loved you, then she left. The sleepy hamlet of New Salem fell even quieter on Thanksgiving. Ronan barely noticed another soul on the street, and only a sparse few cars. The center of the city was shut down and that suited him just fine. He was unsure what he was doing out, except for the fact that he found solace in motion - kept his mind distracted.
Mars turned and looked back slightly to the intersection he'd just passed. A black Mercedes, the only car waiting at the traffic signal. He thought he'd seen it before, from the other direction. What was the license plate? Why didn't he get the license plate? His pace increased slightly, and he watched for a place to duck into. He noticed a scrubby little bar that laid on his right just when the light turned green and the car started to approach. Was it driving slower than normal? He couldn't tell, he felt the anxiety build in his body and release when he disappeared into the bar. He spied the car through the stained glass, it crept away ominously, and a sigh of relief escaped the Irishman's lungs. He took quick inventory of the bar and walked straight for the stool at the far end. It was where he could keep his back against the wall and watch the door. Only a few bar flies buzzed around on this Thanksgiving afternoon, and most of them sat near the TVs that were showing an American football game. Ronan sat, and the bartender wandered over.
"What can I get ya?" The man who reminded him of Kiernan asked, then placed a coaster on the bar.
"A beer... in a bottle." Ronan answered without eye contact, he was still focused on the door. But he did turn in time to stop the bartender from opening the beer. "No." Mars said with a level of authority that even surprised him.
"Suit yourself, pal. Happy turkey day." His tone made it clear he probably wouldn't be back anytime soon. Definitely, Kiernan. Ronan took the bottle and brought it to the butt of his gun, which lived just inside his jacket. He used the weapon to pop the metal cap from the beer and took a sip. "Ugh, Budweiser." Didn't matter, he was just trying to blend for a minute. Wait until the coast was clear...
He wondered what these other people were doing here... She told you she loved you, then she left. His fingers reached into his pocket and he found his pack of cigarettes. He pulled one of them out, be then hesitated. Had he left these anywhere? They were with him the whole time, right? She told you she loved you, then she left. He dropped the pack on the bar and ran his fingers through his hair. The car, the bottle, the cigarettes... Fuck, the realization hit him like... Zap's text message had. Ronan searched his pockets in vain, he didn't have any pills on him - he hadn't carried any in years. He took one big swig of his beer then slid off the stool. He tossed a twenty on the bar, only because he didn't want look for a smaller bill. Wait, he thought... the front? If they were out there... Fuck. Ronan inhaled and steadied himself. One of the random bar patrons knocked shoulders with Ronan, and Mars attacked. He shoved the man away and into a bank of empty chairs. Next he expected every person there to be upon him, but they remained still. It wasn't until Ronan realized his gun had been drawn and pointed toward the hapless man he understood why. Without a word, Mars backed himself toward the door, gun pointed slightly lower, when he reached the door he slowly put the pistol back into it's holster and silently made his exit.
When Ronan Murphy arrived at the motel, he was greeted with a full holiday parking lot and had to actively avoid checking the cars for a menacing black Mercedes. Normally, he went into the office and kept up the appearance that he was an FBI agent on extended duty here, but he didn't dare interact with people now. Briskly, he walked past the doors of the road side motel, until one of the doors opened unexpectedly in front of him. A large man in a winter coat exited, Ronan nearly bowled the other man over, and even after the collision, the other man apologized. Mars politely asked the tourist to fuck off and sprinted away. He pulled out his key-card, swiped it and on green slithered into his room.
The darkened, but familiar space instilled him with very little comfort. His back was glued to the door, because as terrifying as the opening was, being trapped inside was almost worse. He looked around to see if anything looked out of place. If everything was as he remembered it. Empty pack of cigarettes, phone charger, remote control... he noticed one of his ties on the ground. Was that there? Did it fall off the hanger? He wasn't sure. He reached into his coat and pulled out his pistol once more. It was a motel bed, so no one could be underneath it... the closet was open... but the bathroom. Ronan crept toward the entrance, both hands on his weapon, until he reached the only separate room in the small living space. He turned the corner and pointed his gun into an empty toilet. He sighed, then he opened the medicine cabinet and grabbed the brown bottle of pills he'd come for. But how could he trust them? She told you she loved you, then she left.
Just as with the gun being drawn in the bar, he hadn't realized there were tears on his cheeks until after it was too late. He mindless tossed the pistol onto the sink and paced back into the bedroom. He remembered his first break... the diagnosis. How coldly and callously the doctor said it. It was normal for younger children who lost both parents to develop PPD - paranoid personality disorder. Ironically, it helped Ronan. Kept him alive... but when it got bad... When it got bad, ice cubes had glass in them and the mailman was an assassin here to kill him. Friends were enemies and family... they were barely friends. Ronan looked at the bottle again. "It's fine. They aren't poisoned." he said aloud, as if hearing it would help. But Eva loved him and was going to leave her husband.
His nostrils flared, then before he could stop himself his arms had pushed everything off the dresser. The TV grew wings and flew across the room, then Ronan's knife was impaled into the mattress. The deep slashes insured the bed would not recover.
Exhausted by his fit of rage, Ronan fell to the ground and leaned back against the dresser. Pills still in his hand, he twisted off the cap. "Fuck you." He told the bottle and pulled one sedative from the group. He placed the pill on his tongue and swallowed. Next he found his cigarettes and lighter, he lit one and took a long drag. Maybe they were poisoned. Maybe the shadows on the windows were coming to get him... he didn't know. But if they were out to get him he didn't care anymore, because Eva told him she loved him, then left. If he did wake tomorrow, he'd plan. And Warren would soon discover that hell was empty, and all the devils were here...