Mad God's Love [Dark, enemies-to-lovers BL]

8 V 2

Plopped down next to gloomy-looking Almoner. He pretended to smile in a greeting. It didn't seem like just the mind-numbing boredom of an eight hour shift which must be coming to its end by now. Lingering yesterday's melancholy? Worry about the imminent attack? The gossip flying around town? Divine retribution? Secrets? So many problems to choose from. I ignored all of them.

And created my own. "I stole all your strawberry jam and you'll have to fight me for it," I announced mischievously.

Almoner was unperturbed, but the grin seemed happier, "No, you didn't." This confidence made me think that I had in fact overlooked something.

"The cellar," I said suspensefully, "is now empty."

Brawny blondey snorted, "No, it isn't." I was about to weave more lies, but he interrupted me with a permission, "You're welcome to it anyway, boney."

I pretended to be insulted, he pointed out how loose his clothes were on me. With such light-hearted banter we successfully kept our worries at bay, neither mentioning anything relevant. Sun started weighing heavy on the horizon and a bell sounded. Few seconds later a radio crackled, telling about an odd couple at one of the gates asking to talk to leadership.

I wanted to sit tight and miss out on the excitement, but at that exact moment shift change came and relieved Almoner. Since the kid wasn't yet cured of his youthful curiosity, we made our way towards one of the gates.

Plenty of armed friendlies gathered here to gawk. It was an overkill for mere two patiently waiting silhouettes.

The fortification was a little above my head, but there were mounds every few steps to... observe and fire back? I couldn't resist peeking over it either. The strangers wore camouflage. Clean and shaved. Didn't look like they spent days camping out in the woods, fighting off monsters. They were armed too, but stood relaxed. The bad news were, these people didn't look like bandits.

There wasn't much to speak of that way. Some saplings and an unused road. Even I could tell these people circled around. Will the assault start from the other side, then? Perhaps it was good choice to position myself at an opposite wall.

"What do you want?" a guy who wasn't Priest called back. Envy. He hung around the man often enough for me to think that maybe he did have the authority to do this. Surely everybody else thought so for nobody said a thing. This guy was older, perhaps oldest I have seen in the settlement. He wore leather jacket with patches, black bandana and sunglasses. The very image of Priest's biker crew, although I was yet to see any motorcycles.

"I am captain Spengla. I am empowered by our government to assess your settlement," taller of the questionable men shouted. "We are here to help."

"We don't need yer help," the gramps called back loudly.

They argued the point back and forth for bit, military man offering food, possible restoration of running water, sewage and electricity. The old man didn't give any details about just how fine the little town got by without any of those. And they truly did. Waste went into compost heaps, water came from the wells and lighting from the beeswax and alien innards. Whatever else they needed they successfully traded for.

"It is time we stood united, not scattered each to his own. You are still part of the country," soldiers implored, their approach changing towards appeals to a better human nature. There was none to be had. Faces around me were all frowning. We all knew what that really meant.

"Nice euphemism for taxes, but we aren't making any money," old coot said. Cash, of course, was the least interesting thing in a harsh world of hunger and survival. "Or does the local lord mandates we have to give up half of our potatoes now? Welcome back to feudalism, boys!" Villagers laughed grimly. They too thought granary was point of interest in this inspection. They weren't graced by thugs, but it was close enough.