Oregonal Sin

Ryan didn't go out as much as he used to, even this long after the attack. Whenever it got too cold, his ribs ached in a way that made him feel like he couldn't breathe no more, even if he always could. Sometimes a client said this or did that and he was back there, too, and it was all he could do not to try and get away from them. It happened less and less with time, but still, once in a while.

When he used to go out, before, he knew people were looking at him, staring sometimes, saying stuff behind his back, sometimes to his face. It hadn't ever mattered. Now he was paranoid, and he always walked fast through the streets, and kept checking over his shoulder that there wasn't nobody following him.

That was what he did that morning, until he got to the edge of town, and kept on walking 'til he hit the forest. Trees looked dead in the winter, but that was okay. They were still good to climb, and there were some pines here and there kept their needles, so he picked one of those, so he could feel as if he was hidden from the world up there in its branches.

When he heard steps coming his way, he peered down through the branches and needles, heart thudding hard in his chest, trying to see who it might be.

Doyle was careful. Still so very, very careful. People understood drinking, at least. But he couldn't be too drunk. Didn't want to be drunk at school or too hung over. So he spent very little time at the saloon during the week.

But these days, he had a stool that he spent most of Saturday night on. Sipping whiskey was still his favored drink, more expensive but worth it. He had one at the moment, only half drunk as he stared off into the middle distance. Not drunk yet. Not enough, at least. He blinked as someone took the seat next to him, picking up his glass. "Sorry. Do you need me to move?"

It had been four weeks since the flood. Four weeks of sweat, dirt, tears, aching muscles and aching hearts. There was still work to be done, and everyone was worried about supplies and rations, but the town was slowly getting back on its feet.

This afternoon there was a bit more reason to smile. The last of the major buildings ruined by the flood -- the warehouse -- was being raised again. The whole community had been invited to help out and a few soldiers with local roots had shown up to give a hand. The older folk who'd done this sort of thing before got tasked with being crew chiefs while anyone who could swing a hammer or hoist a beam was asked to. The women and girls saw to providing what water and food they could and younger boys were used to fetch parts and tools.

After all was said and done, everyone was given a chance to go home and clean up before coming back to celebrate under the new roof. Food was sparse but music was plentiful and the warehouse floor made a fine place to dance. The weather had cooperated as well and small groups clustered here and there outside to talk under clear, starry skies.

It felt as though it had been nonstop since the thaws. The school house was mostly cleaned up, though, though the tables and benches still needed to be taken out and cleaned. There were still other buildings that needed attention, though, so Doyle turned his focus to them and helping out as much as he could.

Today, though, he was spending the afternoon indoors. There really wasn't anything more that he could do out there, so he was in the front room of his home and thinking. The doors were open and his boots were on the porch, pretty much signaling to anybody that he was home.

The flooding, thankfully, hadn't touched Doyle's home. It was built just enough above the flood plain that the bottom steps to his porch got washed and that was it.

The schoolhouse, though, hadn't fared so well. It was connected to the church, after all.

The day after the waters receded enough for him to go over, Doyle pulled on some old work clothes, high boots and gloves. For the moment, he stood in the doorway of the school and stared at the damaged tables and benches, not to mention the inch of silt the water had left behind. "Well," he said aloud, not really noticing someone nearby behind him. "I suppose it's not as though I would be having students for a while now, anyway."

Harry was happily playing with a new experiment that had just arrived with the latest post when he heard the bell above his door ring. He looked up with a smile. "Good afternoon," he said, "How may I help you ... oh dear." Green foam was starting to ooze from the small bowl on the counter.

"Coffee," he told Doyle, just like those weren't the first words he'd ever sent Doyle's way. "Before we freeze to death."

It had been long enough, and he was fine now, really, apart from when he tried to bend back too much - yeah, he'd tried. So it was time, and Gemma was okay with it so long as he always ran clients by her before taking them up, and. He should've told Doyle, but he'd chickened out.

So he sat at the cathouse bar soon after opening, and waited to see which of his regulars would show up tonight. He was hoping for a regular, anyway.

He'd hesitated. A lot. Thought about God, and Brother Dan, and wondered why Doyle wasn't coming anymore and nobody had news and eventually, he plucked up enough courage to venture outside while it was still day, after school should end if there was school despite the flu, and go knock on Doyle's door. He had the Poe book in his hands and was fidgeting. A lot.

Doyle had thought he was doing quite well, in all honesty. When he'd left the tavern and Ryan last, he'd expected there only to be a few more days before he could start classes again.

Then the fever had come back, laying the school teacher flat out. It raged for a week, leaving Doyle weakened with disjointed, half remembered fever dreams of fire and loss. He knew at least one and probably several had revolved around the cathouse and Ryan in particular. He only hoped he hadn't said anything that could have been misconstrued.

Today was the first day he was well enough to be out of bed, though his housekeeper fussed and wouldn't allow him to go far. It was just as well as his porch was about as far as his legs would carry him. So there he sat, blankets bundled around his thin frame, hands folded around a steaming cup of tea and watching the town as they passed. He nodded as someone approached, smiling slightly. "Good day," he said, voice raspy.

Three weeks, going on a month since the incident, and Beth was finally free of the damn sling. Free of most of the bruises and soreness, if not the guilt, and definitely not the worry about Ryan. Still, it was enough time, and she was back to work, corsets laced a little looser than usual, or could be that she'd just had less appetite of late.

She found a familiar face and an old smile, and slid into a free chair at their table. "Buy a girl a drink?"

It wasn't the first time that Doyle had come in to check on Ryan. Wasn't even the first time he'd been upstairs to see the young man. He stopped downstairs long enough to get waved up by Gemma. He tipped his hat and headed up, tightening his hands at his sides before he knocked.

He wasn't expecting a response. Every time he'd been by before, Ryan had been drugged asleep. So he only paused a breath or so before pushing the door open. Just a few minutes to make sure he was still okay. That was all he really wanted.

Note - please please make sure you've read all threads and checked on character locations and what you can find out from the 'crowd' before posting a thread or tag, so we can keep everyone in one place at one time without cloning! Thank you! Ryan and Beth have now gone from the scene but please feel free to keep on playing threads set before then or reactions after.

It had been a bad idea. Beth had known it was a bad idea, felt it, but the preacher had been so insistent and Gemma had just shrugged and said it wasn't her business what the girls did with their time off and Ryan had said he'd go with her, so Beth had gone to the church pot luck. And it had been a bad idea.

( And now )

The air was a little cooler than might have been ideal for an outdoor gathering, but hovering in the low 60s, it wasn't so bad.

There was a tent set up in the yard beside the church, a few tables put together, to make a long row, and chairs. Brother Dan has announced the last couple of weeks in church that there would be a pot luck today, everyone invited. No preaching, just community dinner. Now it was up to everyone else to show up. With food, if they wanted to and could.

The stable doors were ajar.

From inside, timed perfectly with someone passing in front of them, came a dull thump followed by absolutely unholy and inhuman sound. Rough, broken, strangled, and unmistakable though mangled, the words: "Mother fucking son of a bitch."

Most days, Doyle was seen around town in a suit and tie. People were used to him dressing that way, knew who belonged to the suit and sharp hat. Which was why he wasn't dressed that way now. Dungarees and a button down shirt weren't all that unusual for him, since Doyle pitched in to help at the odd barn raising or when the school building needed fixing. Cover that with a coat to ward off the chill of early autumn and it definitely wasn't his everyday wear. It afforded him a moment of being overlooked in the town.

He stepped into the saloon, running his fingers back through his dark hair as he glanced around. He nodded to Gemma and her girls before going to Jax and ordering a sipping whiskey. It wouldn't be difficult to keep himself to just the one while he waited.

John was glad to see Doyle. He had an easier time communicating with the school teacher than a lot of the town -- at least the man knew how to read, and that saved John a lot of effort with communication.

Of course there was always mouthing words, which usually worked, but when clearing up communication nothing helped more than being able to *write it down* and get it cleared up in a hurry. Definitely beat the hell out of a lot of hand gestures and frustration.

'New kids?' he asked as he handed Doyle a cup of coffee. Seemed like everyone was tripping over new people these days. It wasn't so long ago that they *were* the new people, but it still made John feel like they were being invaded. Which was fun, in a way -- new blood, new news -- but was also just a little bit paranoia inducing.

Or maybe that was just him.