Full Name: Clyde Noir aka red boxing gloves. Positive Traits: Loyal, driven, perceptive, emotional. Negative Traits: Impulsive, destructive, possessive. Occupation: Fulfilling his second combat tour alongside US troops and calling military bases his home. Personality: Can be vindictive and tends to not think of consequences when those he cares for are hurt.
I have sinned. Badly. Did a lot of wrong I can't make right.
― ✧ I'm truly terrible at these things, so let me say that you look snazzy af, and I would like to shower you in love and spoil you with headcanons. So, if you want to plot something heart-wrenching and soul destroying, I'm definitely your girl.
“The absolute lack of sense the two of you have displayed astounds me. It would almost be funny if this wasn’t such a sh*t show.” The woman’s voice was dripping in anger, the heat of it rolling off of her. She stood tall and straight, her auburn hair perfectly in a bun, not a strand out of place. How is it that even when she’s angry, she manages to look perfect? Odette thought, eyes bound to the woman before her. Tatiana was her name, one of the current overseers of The Room, effectively making her Odette’s boss. Her gaze found Odette’s and bore into her. “Well? Do either of you have anything to say?” Odette stayed silent, while her companion cleared his throat.
Standing beside her was her temporary partner, a man named Phillip. He was tall, skinny, and someone who Odette wanted to curse, maybe even physically fight. “Actually, yes,” he started, his voice causing Odette to scowl. “I would just like to point out that I was where I was supposed to be when transporting the prisoner. Perhaps if everyone were in their place,” he said the last word sharply, glancing to Odette, “things would have gone smoothly.”
She couldn’t hold her tongue at that. Odette let out a loud scoff, no longer trying to hide her disdain for her partner. “Really? So, you weren’t trying to flirt with one of the guards at the prison?” She crossed her arms, her attitude combative. “Maybe if you were less worried about finding a home for your c ock and more worried about our charge, he would still be here.” Phillip became red, opening his mouth for a retort when Tatiana raised her hand. “Enough. We do not have time for your childish banter. We must find the prisoner and transport him back to his world. Gods know where he jumped to.” She quickly turned to the desk behind her and rifled through several papers before coming to the two she needed. “Phillip, you will take this portal,” a paper was handed to him, “and Odette, this one. I will send for others to investigate various points of interest, but one of those two should be our best bet.” She waited a beat before clapping once, loudly. “Off you go. Do not disappoint.”
Odette found herself in front of the door of some world she didn’t care to remember the name of. The door was tall, with ornate patterns running down the sides. There was one large handle with the image of a dragon carved into it; an omen of what was to come? “Gods, I cannot handle another dragon right now. The last almost took my arm off.” Odette ran her hand over the handle, feeling the head, the wings, the tail of the beast. It was a beautiful door, as far as doors went in The Room. She glanced at the paper in her hand one last time, the file on the escaped prisoner, before handing it off to another Gatekeeper. She was a younger girl, new to the trade; she looked absolutely terrified. “Oh, don’t worry, love,” Odette reassured her, tucking a strand of hair behind the girl’s ear, “You’ll be seeing me again.” She turned back to the door and pulled on the handle, the wind from the portal rushing in. One step, and she was gone.
Odette always closed her eyes when she stepped through a portal; it helped with the dizziness that accompanied her traveling. Her other senses would pick up what kind of world she was on before her sight. This one was slightly cool, but not too cold. She could hear birds and scurrying, could feel a softness beneath her feet. She opened her eyes to woods; tall oak trees grew all around, the canopy of leaves blocking out most of the sun. Patches peeked through here and there, giving the woods an almost cozy quality. Odette’s dress picked up leaves and small sticks as she walked, but she didn’t care. She made her way to a tree and placed a hand on it, using her magic to get a sense of direction. She felt the prisoner’s presence, but it was faded, like a memory.
“S hit,” she whispered to herself, irritated. “He was here. Gods, why does this have to be difficult?” She was fully talking to herself, letting her legs guide her to where the man’s presence was last felt in the woods. “Not one damn thing can go my way, can it? Just transport a prisoner from one world to the next. Simple. A damn goblin could do it. But, of course, I have to be paired up with the biggest d*ck in The Room.” At this, she kicked an acorn as she walked. “It could have been anyone. Why did it have to be bloody Pervy Phillip!” She let out a yell, her frustrations boiling over. She was close to kicking a tree when she heard it: the sound of rocks falling, loud and sudden. Odette grabbed her skirt and ran in the direction of the noise, anxious of what she might find.
She stopped at the mouth of a cave, the noise coming from within. Odette peered inside, not seeing much past the few feet that let the sun in. With a few quiet words, she summoned a small, yet bright, orb of white light with her hand. She pushed it into the cave, following closely behind. She walked for several minutes, the only sound being that of her steps and her breathing; shallow, anxious. Suddenly, Odette felt a change in the air, an energy that she hadn’t felt at the mouth of the cave. “What?” she whispered to herself, goosebumps rising on her flesh. “Is this…a crack?”
She raised her hand, causing her light orb to rise. The energy Odette felt was the same that came from the portals in The Room—static electricity, a pulsing, living thing. She had heard of cracks in worlds—portals that would spring up out of nowhere, uncontrollable and dangerous—but she had never encountered one before. But that feeling of energy, that rush was unmistakable. She had stumbled into something far more dangerous than she expected.
Odette moved forward, sweat beginning to form on her brow. She was afraid of what would happen, but there was a sense of excitement as well; this was something new, something that others couldn’t say they experienced. Lost in her thoughts, her nervous wonder, Odette almost didn’t see the figure laying on the ground. She stopped suddenly, her orb of light whipping into place by her side, her left hand reaching for a dagger she kept in a sheath strapped to her thigh. It was a dirk, 12 inches long, with a lavishly decorated mount. She had stolen the dagger from a drunk man in a pub in Scotland. The blade had a beautiful design of a snake on it, elongated with its jaw wide open; it was her most prized possession. She had good control over her attack magic, but she was never one to turn down a more practical means of defense. “You,” Odette started, speaking loudly, “who are you?” She took a step towards the sprawled out figure, hand gripping her dagger’s hilt tightly, slightly shaking. “Get the hell up. You have some explaining to do.”
at the moment, i am beyond happy that there is americans there to taunt the pest that has plagued my time within this sh*tty military base. ignorant swine and genuine scum are all that live within the walls of the terrible place. i despise everyone i’ve met in this dump thus far, and the interactions could hardly be called that of a proper introduction. i see fortitude within my own headspace once he settles down atop the bunk, surrounded by a bunch of faggots and their abs and pretty eyes. i’m jealous despite having the same. i miss my mother even though she does not miss me. sleep begins to take me to a place of bliss once i tuck the crusty pillow back under my acing spinal column, but it is cut short when something hits me in the back of the cranium. i turn to look; disgusting tobacco products. i hate cigarettes about as much as i hate the man throwing them at me. i miss my meth pipe and dime bag, wishing for the time to rush ahead so i can f***ing drop a nuke in a jet already. sleeping will make things go by faster, but how can i f***ing do that when clyde is always up my goddamn ass so far, he could lick my prostate if he tried? ❛ i’m not a f***ing moron. i don’t smoke this toxic f***ing trash, dude. ❜ throwing them back onto the top bunk, i roll over towards the f***ing cinder block wall yet again in the search for a good rest. we’ll be woken up from our humble slumberland before the clock even brushes against five am sharp. it’s already ten pm and i am bewildered by the fact that our commander hasn’t called us out for being awake when the whole base is beginning to settle down betwixt lousy sheets. i find that falling asleep is hard when clyde is tempting me with the thought of murdering him when we’re in boot camp tomorrow morning. he keeps mentioning mama, and that pushes him closer and closer to death the more his wretched lips move. i’m ready to snap at any given second, so much so i’m biting into the cotton of this stupid pillow to keep myself from flying off the deep end in front of everyone in the base. i know i will never get where i want to get if i keep this behavior up. i cannot let this swine get to me like this. americans are f***ing wasting good oxygen when they breathe. it’s pitiful. i’m ready for this to all be over and ready to be where i came here for. up in the air, away from these stinky sh*t fucks. away from clyde noir.
my dreams were finally coming true... or so i believed. until i was stuck inside a canadian military bass outside of ottawa with a bunch of smelly dudes that had egos bigger than their c*cks. most seemed to be army division, but the air force was forced to share this base from time to time. army ain't nothing but a bunch of fags. rubbing d*cks in the shower was the favorite pastime, it seemed. i just want to fly a jet and drop a nuke or two... is that too much to ask? i find myself lying in my bunk at night, eyes fixated on a single spot in the ceiling while craving a fix. i've been sick as a dog -- no dope in the regime, which is something i didn't think of when going into this. it's not like i'm here because i actually give a f*** about the country or it's problems... right? i kept repeating the thought process that gets me through these hard nights when a t h u d brings me out of my lonesome. it's f***ing clyde... by far the worst of the monkies here at this base. i want to shoot myself before he even begins to speak. why he isn't asleep is beyond me. i try to drown him out with my own thoughts again, 'till something about my mother and his shaft was uttered into existence and that is when he truly became the bane of mine. ❛ f*** off... f***in' pig. ❜ i roll over, facing the cinder block wall. i try my best to contain myself. my lip is clasped betwixt teeth so tightly that my vice grip draws blood and i taste iron for the rest of the night, wishing that it belonged to him. if he keeps up the shenanigans, it very well may...
“That’ll be $17.76, Tracie.” Travis rolled her eyes as she reached into her back pocket for her wallet. The man at the counter of her local corner 7/11 Knew that her name was Travis, but just couldn’t seem to accept the fact that a woman could have such a ‘boyish’ name, as he had once said. “You got big plans tonight?” he asked, his calloused fingers brushing against her own as he grabbed her $20. “Oh, yeah. The biggest. I’m gonna go get railed by some dude I met on Craig’s List. It’s gonna be f uckin’ great!” She snatched back her change as the man’s eyes grew wide at her words. She knew the man liked her, always trying to steal a touch and flirting, but Travis wasn’t at all interested. So, whenever she could, she’d come up with some lie or story about having sex with random guys or going out to parties; anything to get the man to shut up, even if it was just for a few days.
She grabbed her bag of goods — some off brand salt & vinegar chips, a couple of red bulls, a package of twizzlers, a pint of the cheapest vodka, and a pack of Marb reds — and headed towards the door, already rustling through the bag for her drink. Travis was met with a cold wind as she stepped out, the warmth of the 7/11 fading from her as the sliding doors closed. F***, she thought, finally grabbing her red bull and popping the tab. It was going to be a long night, a painfully sober night until her companion got what he was searching for; the energy drinks would take the edge off for her, at least for the time being. Travis took several sips from her can before letting out a deep belch, her fingers keeping a tight grip. She let the plastic bag fall into the crook of her arm as she pulled her phone from her pocket. She checked the time and let out a sigh, knowing that if she wanted to make it to the abandoned hospital on time, she’d have to start her walk now. “F*** it, dude. Lets go,” she mumbled to herself, her feet moving heavily across the pavement.
Travis knew that for a woman, it was dangerous to be walking alone this late at night; she didn’t care. She wasn’t someone who wanted to die or get hurt by any means, but she also had no regard for her own safety. Reckless would be a good word for her. She didn’t fear death like normal people; she wasn’t normal herself. Being able to communicate and interact with those already dead had changed Travis’ perspective on things. She was terrified, of course, when it had first started. The whispers and shadows, the feeling of a veil being lifted from her mind, the Sight coming to her. It was overwhelming and terrifying and not something meant for her. Travis was no savior, not someone who could help those poor souls left behind; she was an addict, a disappointment, someone who was barely a thought to many. So why her? Why me? She had asked that a lot for the first year or so she started to experience things; the spirits never could answer her. Pricks.
2:48 AM Travis had finally made it to the hospital, so big and ominous against the night sky, like a dark thumbprint. “Sh*t, how the hell am I supposed to get in there?” At this point, being without any drugs or drink, had begun to bring out sober, irritated Travis. She began pacing back and forth, absentmindedly picking at her nails. “Is this dude here yet? Did he get in?” she checked her phone for a text, but nothing. She was about to say f*** the whole thing and chug that pint that was practically burning a hole in her plastic bag when she heard it, almost lost to her in the wind. “Here, sweetheart.” The damn whisper. It had started even before getting into the building. It was a man’s voice, rough but with a tone of concern. “It’s too cold out there. You should get in, get warm. Ain’t no one here right now but us.”
Travis looked up and saw him, the moon casting light onto the shadow of a man. He was older, likely early 50’s with grey hair and stubble; he was in a soldier’s uniform, surely some high ranking officer, but Travis couldn't be sure. He stood behind the fence, but to the right of him, Travis noticed a hole. It was probably caused by some teens who wanted to stay the night at some point. Thank god for heathens, Travis thought, heading towards the hole.
“Uh, thanks. Sir.” She directed towards the soldier who responded with a smile. For someone who was dead, and for what seemed like quite some time, the smile was surprisingly warm. “You see the door there?” he pointed, Travis looking eagerly. “That’ll lead you right inside. No one’s really pokin’ around yet, but I’m sure you’ll have some company soon enough.” Travis nodded, heading towards the door before turning back to the man; he was already gone, his duty for the time being finished.
Travis pulled out her phone and turned on her flashlight. The hospital was dark and quiet and had that smell that only abandoned places seem to have: damp and earthy and maybe even coppery? Travis had heard the stories of murders, horrible tragedies, done in this place, so the copper might be blood left behind. She shuddered, whether from the odd vibe or the cold she couldn’t place. Or, maybe, the fact that she was an addict who had gone too long without her fix. She couldn’t have anything, not yet. Not if she wanted to hear the whispers and see the specters that she was going to get paid to seek out.
Travis walked through hallway after hallway, her irritation growing. “Where is this f ucker? God, he better not be some creep. I’ll break his damn nose.” She stopped, suddenly hearing a sound in the distance. It wasn’t a whisper, but it was definitely someone walking. Hell, finally. Travis slowed her steps, hoping to get a glimpse of her client? companion? before he saw her. She wanted to see if she could pick up anything from him before having to do the awkward ‘hey, nice to meet you, let’s see some ghosts’ conversation.
It’s definitely him, she thought, as she watched him from behind. He had a rather large duffel bag with him, and a flashlight that was bringing everything in front of him into focus. Hm, he’s tall. I could still take ‘em, though, Travis thought, her phone’s light off now. As she followed him quietly, she wondered how to greet him. Did she want to be a d*ck and scare him? Or try to get his attention in a softer way, as not to alarm him? Travis never did see herself as very considerate, though.
“What’s up, ghostbuster?” She said loudly, popping open her second can of red bull as she did. She grinned wickedly before taking a sip. “What’s in the bag?”