Volume IX: The Art of Sauntering Vaguely

4. Chain of Command

I talked with Colt more. I don’t know why he was easier to relate to. His brother, Dusk, was more involved in the show. He had his girls, his drinks and drugs - he was a hazard to my health. I knew this when I met him. I kept my distance. If anything went wrong, I went to Colt. He was just more...sedate. Like he was above and beyond all this. He was protective of me for some reason. The fact that I had no home, no family, no past...it was the typical lost puppy syndrome. I don’t know why I took comfort in him really. I never needed or wanted comfort before. But it was nice to have. Security. Something to fall back on. And when things with his brother got...complicated, he had me relocated to an apartment in his building. I didn’t know what to do with all the empty space, living alone. It was just...different.

Things seemed to be moving fast. Or maybe I seem to be vague. In my mind, there were no important details. I was a girl from the mist - I had nothing to return to. I was going nowhere fast and I didn’t care. I was headed in any direction the wind took me. And I seldom stayed in the same place for too long. Being I was here, being I had security, I decided to start keeping track, to write things down. This’ as far as I’ve gotten. I still play on the street for money, I still help out the circus push comes to shove. But for the most part, Colt takes care of me. But I can’t stand the dependency - I need to have my own life. My own income. Hence, I work. I have morals, contrary to popular belief. I had limits, just like everybody else.

I was sitting in the empty apartment one of the many nights I spent at home. I worked during the days for the most part. I tried to keep a constant sleep schedule, but to no avail. When I wasn’t writing, I was playing. When I wasn’t playing, I was coming up with more to do. I stayed outside the bar mostly, where it was safe. There was a gang war coming, the first in a long time. There hadn’t been one in ages. Since the Fallen passed on. Since Cicero Merrick died. There was no competition. There was the ongoing cycle. Here, now, where the gangs have no names and there are only us and them...this is the new world. This is the new war.

For generations, there was peace. For years, ages, there was a calm. I am on the side of the field that I just happened to stumble onto. There is nothing to say that where I am is wrong or right. But I am here. And here I shall stay. Not because I don’t know any better. Or because I don’t care. No. Because I find comfort here. This side is the side of the constant. The side of the ongoing cycle. We continue the trend where others have faltered. I say “we” as though I belong - I am an outsider. I am not from here. A foreigner. And yet, Colt has made me feel welcome. At home. I belong here. I wrote until I was bored then put the pencil down, looking around aimlessly. After I’d smoked a few, I gave up trying to come up with new ideas. And I trooped upstairs to see what Colt was up to.

I knocked on the door, not too loud, not too soft. I didn’t want to be too obvious. I didn’t want to alarm him or anything. I heard some scuffling before the knob twisted slowly. He looked behind me before looking me in the eye.

“Hey kid, what’s up?”

“Nothing...busy?”

He took a look inside, thought about it, then shrugged. “Not really, come on in.” He stepped aside, letting me sneak by him. I counted the seconds in my head, how long he’d wait until closing the door. Checking the halls. He was especially nervous these days. I looked around a little, coming to a canvas standing against a wall, painted in parts and pieces. I wheeled around, realizing just now that Colt was covered in paint. He gave me a sheepish smile.

“They sent me to a therapist once...he said I needed an outlet for my emotions. Anger especially. He said I should get involved in the arts. So...I paint. Usually when I’m trying to clear my mind. I guess it’s a hobby.”