Love and War - (Book 1)

Chapter 5 (Part 1 - The Followers)

There were shouts. Screams and shouting coming from outside. The dim light of dawn had brought people's raucous roars with it. James took a look outside the window, moving the curtains asunder. 'What the hell is going on?' he thought. James took a look to his left, towards where the people seem to be walking. The people seem to be in some formation. A riot? What ever for, though? The war had gotten bad and had worsened over the years, but as of late everything has been kept secret and for those higher up's ears only. 'Flaming torches, signs waving in the air, shouting. These rioters have gotten all the clichés, that's a certainty.'

James looks back to Scott. 'No need to bother him with this nonsense; I'll talk to someone outside still.' And so James leaves Scott in his somehow peaceful sleep. The bed covers strewn all over the bed, hanging over the edges. A bit like how Scott was resting. A bit like James and Lucas' lives.

James dresses himself in a sleeping gown and fluffy slippers; he didn't intend to spend much time out there. His hairy, dark and muscular chest exposed some. He opens the door adjust, peeking out to see them. 'Who are these pestering assholes?' he ponders. He ventures to go and find out...

As soon as James is out of the house, a woman spots him. She has bleached hair, as clear and pure as water, rose red lips, wondrous brown eyes and pinkish-white skin. Her hair short. "We weren't bothering you, now, were we?" she asks.
"Yes," James admits, too early and too tired for witticism.
"I apologise, but that's just me. Name's Holly, I'm, er... doesn't matter. I'm just doing some casual rioting for peace and to end this bloody war. Most people, you see, they don' know the 'alf of it. So, I do what I can. To raise awareness. What's your name?"
"James," says James, confused as to why she's bothering to explain herself to him. 'Maybe I still turn a few heads...' he guesses.
"And, James, do you do anything to help stop the war?"
"No, and neither do you. All you're doing is making a big bloody fuss over something that's out of your control."
"You don' even know who ya talking t'," she replies.
"Holly?" James jokes, playing it seriously. She smiles and looks down to the ground.
"Yeah, yeah. But I'm more than just Holly. In fact, I've gotta carry on with this. Maybe I'll see you around."
"Was that something suggestive... something that I can take out of context? Were you suggesting some form of a relationship between us?" James fusses.
"God, you don' 'alf moan, do ya? And yeah. Maybe it was." She winks and was about to head off, but James calls back to her.
"I'm gay and taken, sorry, love." For one of the first times in his life he told someone he was gay. He knows it shouldn't feel bad, but for some reason he always coward and shied from the concept of homosexuality, bisexuality and everything else. For some reason it was Lucas who always told the third-party of their relationship; James guessed it was because Lucas was so proud to have him as a boyfriend, which was part of the truth. However, this was the first time he told someone about his being in a relationship with someone, when that someone was Scott.
"I thought so," she called back, now marching with the rest of them.

'How could she...? Am I that obvious? Surely not...'

-Lucas-

It didn't take long for Jordan to identify to smell of weed emitting off Lucas, and not to mention his mental-state; cursing James' name all the way to the apartment and further. Jordan sits Lucas down on his bed, while Lucas stares blankly out of the window. Jordan was giving Lucas some form of a lecture, but the outside world was way too interesting: dozens of birds, gliding majestically across the sky and soaring through the winds; content couples, walking up and down the streets, arm in arm, or hand in hand; joggers striding past casual strollers-
"Lucas, are you fucking listening?!" His name caught his attention.
"Hmm? Oh, sorry, do continue."
"This is fucking serious, you twat! Lay the drugs aside, and fix yourself up, man. You know the harm and damage it does to you. That's why you've never even gone near drugs in your life before all this."
"You know, you should try some, man. It's great - you'll think it's... great." He smiles eerily at Jordan, and Jordan cannot tell if he's joking or being serious.
"I have tried some... in the past. I've had my fair share of drugs back when we met and became mates, you know this."
"Yeah, but your pussy-bitch-ass couldn't take it. And did what - gave up! Ha! I mean, what a little bitch you are, huh?"
"Like you're any tough guy: crying and moping over James all the fucking time. It's freaking annoying. Just stop already. He doesn't care. You don't care. It's just something for you to do, considering James isn't up your ass and telling you what to do in your life. Lazy fuck," Jordan spits, feeling anguished and relieved, but pities Lucas all the same.
"I am bloody tough. I've killed two men in my whole, entire life. And I still their haunting faces in the night."
"I've killed more. The life of being a soldier that is. You know what? I'm not gonna help ya. You can do this bollocks on your own. I was gonna try and help you as a friend, but since all you're going to do is fight me, I'll let you fix things yourself... as an adult should. Oh, and, you know what else? You're off my fucking bed as of tonight. I'm reclaiming it. That sofa is fucking uncomfortable, and now I want you to know how it feels. But do your drugs elsewhere, please."
"Yep," Lucas agrees. He proceeds to take himself to that ancient, dusty sofa Jordan had to sleep in the past few days.

Upon his arrival, he feels his bruises ache. A reminder to his aching past with Alexander, which led to the worst pain of all: James' leaving him.

Lucas ends up spending the rest of the day on the sofa, looking up to the cracked and filthy, stained blue ceiling. Jordan walks around some, but spends most of the time in his bedroom.

The night had come and gone, and Lucas and Jordan both awoke to the sounds of mobs on the streets. Riots. Screams and shouts. A great disturbance for the both. Not the just rioting, but the fact that the two were now both awake, with cleared heads and clear memories of their latest conversation... or latest quarrel. The two ignore one another, and return to their respective beds. Lucas, however, is unable to delve deep into an unconscious state, so goes wandering off down the steps of the block of flats, in the same clothes he wore when he last went up them.

-Alexander-

A victory builds up Alex's confidence. Perhaps too much. Alexander's ego only enlarges with each victory rather than become damaged, when the latter would be seen as the better of the two. Alexander amiably disagrees.

Alex does, however, tie up his new prisoners and place them in rooms for his personal punching bags. "These good old traditions don't die easy with you, do they, Alex?" Jonathan jests with him.
"How could they?" his brown eyes gaze at his new prisoners, looking as if they mean no ill will. "The cunts will want a fight. So I fight them. I take them down with everything I have, everything I have in my power, I will use to crush those fucking Rebels."
"I've never known a stronger hate between you and them."
"Nor will you. They will face my wrath in open battles. They will be annihilated. Wiped out. Gone from the face of this planet - Jonathan! Where is the next closest Rebel base? I have a thirst," Alex demands, showing his hatred by blowing a punch to the Rebel's stomach, causing him to wheeze.
"Not too far, in truth. Are we leaving any men here?" Jonathan questions, curiously.
"Indeed we are, friend. We must always post a few of our men, however many we can spare, at every base. Just so we know we've conquered it. But what to do about the prisoners. A trade? No, they haven't got any of us, so we should we hand over their useless soldiers. You know me well enough not to spare their lives, so I have no choice but to have them killed. I don't want a bloody mess, Jonathan, but see to it done, while I plan our next move."
"I would be so honoured, Sir," Jonathan proclaims, and drags the Rebel soldier out of the chair and has him and his friends shot outside.

Alexander finds Alastair in a room upstairs on his own, writing something down in some notepad or journal. "What are you writing?" he asks.
"Hello, Sir. I, er... seem to have taken up a hobby of writing me thoughts and everything down on paper. In the form of a diary, Sir," he replies, having seemed to be startled by Alex's sudden arrival.
"I see. And your diary... it's all personal, right?" Alastair nods. "So I don't get the honour of reading my best and favourite soldier's journal? To read about his glory in the battlefields?"
"N-no..." Alastair stutters, unsure how to respond.
"I'm screwing with you. Don't worry, I haven't the slightest interest in reading, let alone somebody's bloody diary. Now, we must gather together, as we are already planning our next move."
"Ah, excellent. I cannae wait much longer for the next time blood is shed. Especially Rebel blood."
"Quite."

-James-

Closing the door on the rioters, James finds Scott stumbling down the stairs in a tired state. "What was that out there? The Followers?" Scott asks.
"The what?" James asks back, perplexed. He takes off his slippers and undoes his sleeping gown, revealing more of his hairy and muscular body.
"The Followers. Have you not heard the phrase, well, evidently not. That's what everyone calls the rioters these days. They just follow the soldiers, demanding peace in nonsensical ways. Just like, but as not as bad as, what the Government and the Rebels are doing. They're essentially the fourth party of the war."
"Oh, right. I guess I spent too much time wishing Lucas back and getting to know you, while all this shit happens right on our doorstep," James strolls over to Scott. "And now that we're both up... I suppose we could mess those sheets up a bit more. Let's see if I last longer this time around," James begins nibbling on Scott's neck and ear.

Scott leads James back to their bed, whilst the Followers walk through the streets, demanding peace and receiving no response.