Katey-Did

Author's Notes

This particular story is a "fic" from a larger story. The main story is based off the table-top rp once played amongst my friends. We each own the rights to the works and characters and have given each other written permission to use each others' through a formed company, WIAB, a company of writers, artists and seamstresses. Those that haven't, I have changed/deleted their characters from their original standing. The character I played was TJ Katey, who was another character from a separate story, a gothic novella that is going under extreme editing now. He was written to be a Byronic-anti-hero, and was played as such, later even more of a villain. Lindy was never apart of the game. In fact, the story for the game was changed to allow a continuance into future events by the company.
The setting is Middle Tennessee in August 2012. The events that made this time and setting happen occurred in 2006, so none of this is meant to be a prediction of any sort and is not even connected to the "OMG WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE CAUSE IT'S 2012" issue. "Zombies" have popped up and runamuck; they aren't even the big issue though. People who were once dead are alive...-ish, and there are two entities that have been causing trouble Cora and Casander (aka "Unwanted Savior" and such). They've been trying to advocate deals with mortals to get desired effects. These characters are hinted at within this story. The main story is a Supernatural genre, but this particular work is Dark and dramatic. It gives a possibility of what occurred during a lapse in time in the game itself, and is hinted at throughout the main story, but is never subjected to canon.


FULL DISCLAIMER
The events and persons related in this story are entirely fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. Use of the characters without permission of the author is prohibited and punishable by law. All rights reserved: SB Patterson and the other members of the WIAB company who have requested to not be mentioned directly in this website for business and social reasons. This and related stories are CURRENTLY NON-PROFIT but are NOT FOR PUBLIC USE except where permitted by the company. Posting of this story and/or related stories owned by the company without consent is prohibited.

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Chapter One
Lakes and Liquor

The bug’s wings flicked, gleaming in the sunshine. Lindy focused her eyes on it and leaped forward. The bug had been watching her in secret and made the decision to flee the scene when her feet pivoted.

Lindy landed in the swaying grass and looked up in disappointment as the katydid sailed away into the blue sky.

TJ Katey, her elder brother by about three years, walked over to her with his hands in his shorts pockets, a smile on his face for his irritated sister. “Hey, mudbug,” he called to her. Lindy spun around letting her butt slam onto the grassy dirt. “Lake’s this way.”

Lindy began to stand up. As her feet became planted onto the ground, her body bent forward and her little fingers reached down. Her palms flattened on the grass and her toes gave her a push up towards the air. Lindy made her handstand and sloppily let her feet continue on forward. Her body seemed to contort for the moment, and she hit the ground with a giggle.

TJ reached his hand out to her and awaited the clutch of her slender fingers. “Okay!” she squealed with the pull of their wrists.

Together, they walked down a dirt path shaded by trees and vines. A fragrance of wildflowers and honeysuckle glittered the air with every one of their steps. Lindy was about to launch at a box turtle when TJ took her hand and kept her on the path by his side, not letting her hyperactive and playful intentions get the best of her. The glistening water could be seen as the trees lessened only four yards away.

This was the last time they would go to the lake together…or even at all.

*~*

Three years later…

Klinger was drunk, and Zasser had not called the nineteen-year-old Katey back. He didn’t feel like joining Coen Klinger and Roy Grimshaw in their drinking games because of the lack of bell-chimes from the cellphone. Also, to make things awkward and disappointing, Klinger found out Katey was male. Katey pretended to think Klinger was supposed to know, but he was aware of the muscle’s ignorance to his sex.

Katey had a sexual attraction to the soldier since the moment he had been grappled, knocked unconscious, and carried out on the "blond-god’s" shoulder. He also respected him for that, for kicking his ass. It was his way; he would follow those who were stronger than him. And it was this respect that kept Katey from groping Klinger’s inside thigh. It didn't help that Klinger was a true Adonis among men, at least to Katey's standards.

Elexander, knowing better than to stick around with booze and Katey near, left to investigate the compound. Beth and Flynn ran off somewhere, leaving the drunken EMT—Catherine—and the other three. (No one asked where the prostitute had gone.)

“Now, you said,” Catherine slurred between swigs of Wild Turkey and tried to focus on at least one of the Kateys in her vision, “they’re zombies, but Lex says they’re not—why would he?”

“False hope,” Katey murmured soberly, coldly. He found Lex annoying like all Catholic priests.

“I wouldn’t choose either for sure,” Grimshaw threw in his two-cents.

Katey didn’t pay much attention to him. His eyes were focused on the swaying Army grunt sitting across of him. He wondered if Klinger was going to fall off the bench. He also contemplated if he would be able to cop-a-feel from this far. Probably not, he summed.

Catherine looked a little ill so Grimshaw offered her a walk to the tent their odd gaggle had chosen to inhabit. As they left, Katey wondered if there was chemistry between the two—the EMT and the soldier- and if the chemicals would mix or reject each other. He had also wondered about Grimshaw and Klinger until he heard the story of their fight. There was probably not any chemistry there.

I can think of some chemicals I’d like to mix with for a sizzling affect, Katey thought staring at Klinger, and maybe, if lucky, a product that’s explosive.

But the chemical at the moment was a bit unstable. Klinger fell backwards off the stool with a flailing of his arms.

Katey crawled over the table. “Are you alright?” he asked with suggested annoyance in his tone, peering down at the hulk of physical strength on the floor.

Klinger’s eyebrows raised and his head lolled trying to focus on one of the Katey’s above him; he knew the Wild Turkey shots would do that to him. “I…” he barely began, “Need to, hicka—, go to my b-bed…yeah…I should.”

Klinger picked himself up, but it was obvious that he wasn’t going to make it to his tent on his own. Katey sighed and stepped off the table. He took hold of Klinger’s tree trunk sized arm and guided him from the mess hall to the tent in the far corner of the underground compound in the middle of the subway station. The tent was filled with assorted weapons, which were all tempting to Katey, but he knew better. A bed of three mattresses, bigger and more comfortable than the cots Katey and his motley assortment of companions had been assigned, was sitting to the far side; probably, bartered or even looted from the upper levels. Katey walked him over to it.

“Thang—,” Klinger attempted gratitude but passed out in mid-word falling face forward onto the bed.

Katey stared at the sleeping man wanting to reach out and stroke the sweat from his brow and blonde scalp. He resisted. “Your welcome, babe,” he said walking out of the tent.


--
“I don’t hate him,” Elexander explained to Catherine and Beth. “Teri…just makes me nervous.”

“What’s to be nervous about?” Beth came to Katey’s defense. “I mean, the only reason for the tat on his forehead was so he’d get thrown out of Catholic school.”

“He grabbed me,” Lex’s voice became stern with annoyance and discomfort, “In a place one should not be grabbed.”

“When was this?!” Catherine questioned before sneaking another beer away from Grimshaw who was sitting against a cot across from them.

“In the elevator,” Lex replied.

Grimshaw, listening in on the conversation, laughed, “I remember that!”

Katey walked through the tent flap. He was carrying a cellphone and a bottle of Old Charter he had snatched from the mess hall. He swaggered over to his cot. He put the bottle of liquor behind him on the floor to could take off his trench coat.

Catherine grabbed the nozzle of the Old Charter and slowly slid it to herself. Katey didn’t stop her. Not that he didn’t notice; he didn’t care.

“Where’s Klinger?” Grimshaw questioned with concern. He remembered how he had left him.

“In his tent,” Katey answered coldly as he took his hat off and straightened his thick, black hair. It was tangled and becoming more and more difficult to tame as the weeks went on. He asked his own questions about Klinger. “So what’s the deal? You two, like, uh,” he extended his index and middle finger into the air and snapped them together at the sides then crossed—an old hand gesture symbolizing togetherness, an item, a couple.

“What?!” Grimshaw exclaimed, “No! We’re just friends, dude—totally platonic!”

“Whatever,” Katey mumbled as he fell onto the cot, “So then, what’s his deal?”

“Klinger,” Grimshaw started. “He’s just been through some shit is all.”

“Married?”

“Widower,” Grimshaw corrected what he thought was a statement.

“So,” Katey’s brow cringed, “Does he not wear his wedding band anymore or what?”

“Huh?” Grimshaw looked surprised at the question.

“Ye blond-god-of-hotness,” Katey nicknamed the soldier, “Doesn’t have his wedding band—you know, that piece of jewelry signifying love till death do they part—that thing. What, does he take the ‘death do we part’ shit seriously?”

“He loved his wife,” Grimshaw replied as if to hiss the statement with distaste.

“Was he the only one?” Katey said it, but he honestly had no idea where the question came from. Something subconscious recalling the memories of question Klinger had answered about Grimshaw and the scars they both carried, inflicted by one another.

The nozzle of the beer bottle slipped through Grimshaw’s fingers on accident. The bottle clashed into the concrete and shattered the beer’s abdomen. “Whoa! Damn. Butterfingers,” Grimshaw yelled in a fraudulent laugh as he began picking up the pieces. He felt like shoving the pieces down the kid’s homosexual throat. It was one of the few “smear-the-queer” moments he had in his life.

Katey rolled over onto his side to face a blank tent-wall. In the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a sleeping drug dealer on the cot across-vertical of his. “Whatever,” he replied to blank air as a reflex.

“Hey, Lex,” the hooker yelled at the priest, “He’s got his back turned—here’s your chance at revenge for grabbing your toys!”

Beth and Grimshaw laughed as Catherine sat drunk and silent; Lex sneered in disgust at them all.

Katey giggled as he dozed off into a dream, “That’s hawt…”