Un-Believable

Well this is different, a chapter in one character, a chapter in the other. I get the distinct feeling Tristan is feeling a bit like he's been caught with a guilty pleasure. His friends are strange, about as strange as he is.

I actually picked their names fairly carefully, but for Joseph, which just sort of came to me. He's probably the oddest of all and yes, these four are recurring characters in the story.

Before anyone cries foul: I am not bashing America or Americans, most of the characters aren't. Newlyn.... possibly. But he's an odd one, that one.

Read, Review and Enjoy.

EDITED: because for some reason Tristan's friends numbered three in the beginning of the chapter, and four later on.



Tristan stepped into the Rusty Cauldron. The pub was the local gathering place for a majority of the creative writing majors and thus, was the perfect place to meet and have discussions about any number of things without anyone bothering to eavesdrop. Several professors were talking to wide eyed freshmen in the corner by the fire place. The professors each had a mug of beer and they had little interest in their students. Instead they shared with the first year students as a boost to their egos. Megalomaniacs. Having an big ego made it easier to write, some said.

Personally, Tristan found that the bigger the ego, the stupider the person tended to be.

By the bar itself were the seniors who had completed their thesis work. These were the ones who were either waiting for a response to publication -and thus the passing of the final test before they graduated- or had the response letter before them and were getting entirely and thoroughly intoxicated before opening it. To this bar was one bartender whose soul job was supplying the seniors with drinks and keeping a running tab. Those who had the response letter with them, drank for free.

Through the central area were the general student population, mostly loners and pairs working on pieces. Each of the tables was equipped with a little candle that gave off enough light to see the tabletop but not enough to bother those sitting nearby. Like applying a blinder to a horse, it focused writers on the table instead of around them and what was going on.

Tristan walked past the center tables and ignored the inviting looks he received from the tables of groupies. They were the ones who sat by the bar and the outer wall. Anyone going to the coveted paranoia spot in the corner across from the professors had to pass the groupies. Just like rockstars and murderers, there were people who went around, seducing writers and hoping to gain something from their fame. Male, female, straight, bisexual, gay, they ran the entire spectrum of sex and any author at any time could get free, willing participants for any kind of fantasy they might have.

In the corner was where the loners tended to gather. People watchers and those who were so freaked out about people reading their stuff that they sat with their backs to the wall and glared at everyone in the pub. That night there were four others sitting at the table, each one of Tristan’s friends. To one side sat a dazed paranoid creeper who was, by the dilation of his pupils and the way his hand continually drifted to his crotch, was writing pornography.

He stopped just short of the table, took the free chair and spun it around, straddling it and setting his chin on the back of the chair. His arms, he wrapped around the back and settled by his chin. The others waited until he was resting comfortably before they each pulled out a little leather satchel and dumped the contents on the table.

“See you all got the message,” Tristan murmured, cracking his shoulders as the pub settled down into its routine, “that’s good, given how awkward it was and how late the time was.”

“All except Joseph,” murmured the only woman of their group, a fiery redhead named Maggy who had stormy gray eyes that seemed to change with her mood. Maggy was dressed in skin tight denim pants and a tank top that clearly showed her lack of a bra even as it dared the men at the table to steal a look. Her milky skin and fine features didn’t help the fact that Maggy didn’t like being touched. She didn’t even like wearing clothing most of the time, but put up with it to be in public. Clothing was too restraining, she always said, “he obviously didn’t receive the message. Though, it is hardly surprising that he, of all of us, is not here. Again.”

“Five ruin, six square, double charted over a racketed pigeon hold,” Emmitt said quietly. The man was older than Tristan by five years, taller than all of them and lean as could be. Unlike his sister, Maggy, Emmitt was not perfectly gorgeous, his nose was a bit too large for his face, his lips a little too small. It gave him a sort of pinched look. His hair was more of a brown than red and his eyes had bright blue around the iris and stretching outward, like little stars.

“Now is not the time,” Maggy said to Emmitt. The siblings shared a look across the table before both of them looked at Tristan, waiting for his decision.

“No one is going to hear,” Tristan leaned his head just slightly to the left and directed the group’s attention to two young women sitting at a table beside them.

Both had glasses, one had long hair, the other short. They might have been sisters. Each had a cooler in front of them, one was peeling at her label while the other was drinking awfully quick.

“Oh.” the one with the short hair looked up, “an engagement ring. On his wedding day. Have to get the bride at the same time.”

There was a very long pause before the one with the long hair shook her head, “too easy-”

“You roll a two.”

“Can I put poison on the ring?”

“Technically no.”

“Hmm.”

Tristan turned back to his friends, “no one is going to pay attention to what we say and you can’t do anything over a ricketed pigeon hold.”

“Racked pigeon hold.” Emmitt corrected, reaching to push the absent pair of glasses up his nose. His vision had been corrected less than a month before and he still tried to push glasses up his nose whenever he corrected someone.

“Oh, like you can use a racked pigeon hold over top of a five ruin?” Nikolai said, eyebrows waggling as he grinned, showing off a nearly perfect smile. The girls loved that smile, the little quirk of his lips and the dimples in his cheeks. Nikolai’s eyes were green, his hair a dirty blond that was cropped and ruffled just enough to be considered stylish. The hair was just the right length, it didn’t need any actual styling, Nikolai simply rolled out of bed and went on with his day. Of them all, Nikolai was the widest, he gained muscle easily.

The last member of their group had been considering his tiles the entire time. Black hair that hadn’t been cropped recently, streaked with white at the temples, the young man was teased constantly about how much older his hair made him look. Dark blue eyes resembled the colour of the night sky and held a keen intelligence that most undervalued because of the quiet demeanour of the gangly sixteen year old.

“Newlyn, you’ve been terribly quiet, what is your thought on the matter, brother?”

Those eyes snapped up to Tristan and narrowed to pinpoints. Newlyn considered how much he could get away with, given the fact that Tristan was his brother, and pressed his lips into a thing line as he slid one of his pieces into the center of the table. The others leaned in to see as Newlyn continued to consider Tristan.

His brother was young, young as could be, and barely of an allowable age to attend the university. But a fake identification and good grades had gotten Newlyn a coveted spot in the sciences program. Of them all, Newlyn was the only one not in the creative writing program. He was allowed into the Rusty Cauldron on a probationary trial. If he behaved, he could stay. If he caused any trouble, the bartenders would boot him immediately.

“You’ve been touching… an American,” Newlyn paused just briefly before he grimaced, “mother would not approve.”

“Mother is not here,” Tristan pulled Newlyn’s piece towards himself, “an elfin of moonship would destroy only one five ruin. That still leaves all the other pieces, Newlyn, try again. This time consider your pieces instead of what you see about me.”

Emmitt growled. Loudly, “I need five ruin for it to work. Four ruin converts the six square into a fourteen hexidecimal and the double charted converts to a carnivorous and eats the racked pigeon hold. Damn it.”

Newlyn leaned forward and swept the pieces towards himself, laying them out and studying them all, “had you played a five circle, six ruin, I would not have been able to topple your foundation unless I stole Tristan’s metromnic.”

“That is-” Tristan reached for his pocket and sighed out as he realised that his entire bag was gone, “Newlyn.” with all the irritation an older brother could muster against a younger brother who had yet again done something stupid.

A flick of Newlyn’s finger and the metromnic was at the center of the table, laying face down. There was no way for anyone but Tristan to use the piece, but for him to lose it would have been devastating. For it to be stolen, well, he would never be able to return home with his head held up high if he didn’t have that piece.

“You kissed an American.” Newlyn said.

Just as a waitress stepped up to the table with a tray. The look on her face said it all. She was American and patriotic and anyone with half a brain knew better than to call her nation bad things while she was around, “and what have ya’ll got against America?” Southern drawl. Tristan knew the waitress, he realised a moment later. She was new and she, like most of the staff, knew about Tristan’s friends, possibly even suspected what the pieces were for. The waitress was, like everyone else, screwing with Newlyn as a sort of initiation. As Newlyn’s brother, as the leader of their little group, Tristan should have put a stop to the initiations.

But sometimes Newlyn just pissed him off.

“Nothing, nothing against America, just he went and kissed an American girl’s boyfriend and American girlfriends aren’t like other girlfriends, she’ll encase your feet in concrete and stick you in an oil barrel, then fill the barrel with army ants and watch you scream yourself to death,” Newlyn, voice breaking halfway through and at such a speed that it took even Tristan a moment to understand what had been said.

“The usual for me,” Tristan said.

“Alright, sweetie, but you got to keep that one on a leash,” and off the waitress went, smiling as if nothing had ever happened.

Tristan reached across the table and snatched up the piece. He slid it back into his pocket and licked his lips, “that. Is not funny, it is not acceptable and so help me, if you do it again, you will have mother so far down your throat, she’ll be considered up your ass. You are here because you are smart, book smart, but that doesn’t make you capable and certainly does. Not. Mean that I will allow you to do such things simply because you are my brother.”

“I can unhand any of you,” Newlyn grumbled.

He was too young to fully understand what was going on. He thought it was still fun and games and that nothing would ever get serious. There wasn’t time for him to make the usual mistakes and stumble through like the rest of them had.

“Unhand him?” Tristan motioned his head to his right side, where Joseph was supposed to be. The moment he realised that Joseph wasn’t there, Tristan swore, “where is he, exactly, that he’s too busy to make it?”

“With his … American girlfriend,” Maggy said, her voice annoyed, yet prim an proper, “if you hadn’t made that stupid rule, he would be here. With me. But no, I’m here, by myself while he is off with some skank he met at a bar. So. Dips hit.”

Tristan had to do a double take. Maggy slurred together the two words, almost saying the word, almost crossing that line but not quite, “dating within the group is not only stupid, it’s dangerous, Maggy. He’s just getting it out of his system. He’ll be back later and in a few years when he graduates, then you can jump his bones, not before.”

“Just like you will get it out of your system?” Maggy asked, laying a piece down on the table and flipping one of Newlyn’s into the mix, “we should register him now. Before we get too involved in something and he happens to stumble in on us looking for nookie.”

“Nookie is not a word, the word is sex,” Tristan said, laying out pieces to counteract Maggy’s “and he won’t be stumbling into anything.”

“Maggy is right,” Nickolai murmured, peering at the pieces before he slid one of his own across the table, “you know she is, Tristan, she almost always is. Except when it comes to dating within the group,” this last comment earned Nikolai a glare from Maggy, “we should register this American. Obviously, male.”

“What, blond? Blue, petite.”

“More like brown, gray and a little lanky,” Tristan muttered, flipping a piece over and causing the group to groan as he cancelled out their pieces. It wasn’t until he collected and sorted his new pieces that he realised that the groan had not been about him winning, “what?”

“Brown, as in brown hair with light brown highlights cropped like an outgrown buzz cut? Gray eyes with speckles of slate in them. Always seems to have that pissed off look on his face and no flesh on him because he never eats. Ever…” Maggy asked.

“Usually the idea is more cushion for the pushing,” Emmitt said quietly, “that one, has no flesh to him.”

“You’re forgetting he’s an asshole,” Maggy said, “he came at Nikolai with a frying pan! Where did he even find a frying pan in that room?”

“He keeps it by the door in case there’s a riot or something, to protect himself,” Tristan said, “and. It was just a kiss, it doesn’t mean anything. Besides, who I date, sleep with or kiss. So long as it is no one in the group.”

“We should register him,” Maggy said, insistent, “before he comes in during something and we have to register him mid-whatever.”

“I am not registering him, Maggy. He’s my roommate and we have almost nothing to do with each other’s lives. Besides my contractual agreement with his father to try to sort him out and bring him out of his shell. But that doesn’t include bringing him along on any sort of adventure or trial or what have you. Now. Could you all shut up and concentrate on what we’re doing here?”

.