Celestia and DealerAnon Pt. 29

>Almost jumping out of your skin, you give a muffled yelp, hitting your head on the trunk of the tree behind you
>Straightening yourself with a throbbing pain in your head, you pull your right fist back to throw a punch, instinctively bringing your left up to your chin
>Holding your position for several seconds, you notice that the shape in front of you hasn't moved at all
>From the weak light of the street lamps filtering through the branches, you begin to make out some features in the formerly amorphous mass of gray before you
>From what you can tell, it's shorter than you, gray, and distinctly female, it's green eyes boring into yours with a look you can only describe as distant
>Clearing your throat, you drop your hands to your sides, still keeping a slight crouch in case whoever is in front of you tries anything
''Uh, hi?''
>The gray being stays quiet, her only reply to you a slow blink, and you start feeling distinctly unnerved
>Your eyes, now more accustomed to the darkness, show you that her hair is a dull color of purple, cleanly cut bangs ending just above her eyebrows
''What are you doing here?''
>In a slow, almost lazy tone, practically dripping with disinterest, she replies to you
>''Boulder wanted a walk.''
>Procuring a small, rounded stone from her pocket, she holds it out to you
>Jesus Christ
>That's school shooting material if you ever saw it
''Oh. Uh, heh, I'll just be going no-''
>''What are you doing here?''
>Cutting off your escape, she echoes your words, her eyes never leaving yours
''Who, me? Oh, uh, I'm just looking for a friend, yeah?''
>You grin nervously, not sure whether to stay or just run away
>Not gracing you with a reply, she gives another one of her blinks
>You remember hearing something about tectonic shifts in geography class
>Oddly enough, that is the only comparison you can think of
''Say, uh-''
>She blinks again, almost like a mountain range moving
>You feel yourself slowly calming down, despite the weirdo in front of you
''Uh, so, maybe you could help me find him?''
>The silence after your babbling seems heavy, in a way, like gravity itself would have strengthened
''M-my friend, that is.''
>You grin at her nervously, her face as stoic as ever
>After a second of silence, you sigh and brush past her
>''Who is your friend?''
>With the same slow drawl, she slowly turns to face you, stone still in hand, eyes again firmly locked onto yours
''Wha- uh, I mean, well-''
>You scratch your neck nervously and spit into the snow
>This was way too unnerving for you
>Collecting yourself, you stick your hands in your pockets, your right hand fiddling with your gun
>At least, if she tries to eat you, you can defend yourself
''Alright. So, he's fat, he's got a beard, he's really awkward, and he drives a dark green van.''
>With another slow blink, she points towards the direction you were driving, putting the stone into her slate gray jacket
>''Lawrence lives over there. I thought he didn't have any friends.''
''He does now. Thanks.''
>Turning around, she slowly trudges away, back straight as a ram rod
>''Boulder's cold. I have to go.''
''Uh, alright? Well, thanks again, Rocky.''
>You wave at her retreating form, the dark gray standing out against the blue of the nighttime snow
>She halts suddenly, and looks back at you, eyes now incredibly cold, her voice like tombstones falling into place
>''Never call me 'Rocky'.''
''Oh, I'm-''
>Ignoring your response, she resumes her march, her small gray form disappearing behind a tree
>You shake your head quietly and walk back to the car, muttering to yourself
''Jesus Christ…''

>Reaching the car and flinging open the door, you notice that your nerves feel much less frayed now
>Phew
>You didn't want anything tipping Ty and Santiago off, especially not an encounter with some psycho who took her pet rock out for walks
>Chuckling quietly at the thought, you slam the door behind you, the warmth of the car greeting you
>''Man, what the fuck is it with you and being gone for ages?''
''Sorry, bro. Got a bit caught up. Again.''
>''Oh yeah? And what is it this time? Some weirdo chick again?''
>You grin and give him an enthusiastic nod, your friend clearly annoyed
>He sighs deeply and rubs his eyes as Santiago starts the car
>''Man, I'm too sober for this shit. Is there any other motherfucker in this car that's wondering what the fuck is going on?''
>Turning to Santiago, Ty gives a frustrated sigh at the stoic Latino, face as calm as ever
>Still grinning, you wait for Ty to calm down while Santiago fiddles with the stereo
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XrSMX39E7pk
>Turning to you, Ty rubs his face, now calmed down
>''Alright. Alright. So, what the bitch say?''
>You shrug, a smile tugging on the corners of your mouth
''Not much. She was out walking her pet rock. Didn't talk much. Oh yeah, also, turns out our guy's name is Lawrence, and he lives just down the street.''
>As you burst into laughter at Ty's flabbergasted expression, Santiago joins in with a quiet chuckle
>''Man, this is- I mean, what the fuck? I been busting my ass, try'na find this chick for you, calling in favors, all that shit, and then some random chick hands it all to you on a plate?''
>''Ever heard of divine intervention, ese? Maybe this it.''
>''Man, if there is a God, then why he fucking it up for a brotha, man? I mean, Jesus was black, right? Come on big man, show some solidarity!''
>With a theatrical tone, Ty adopts the holiest expression he can manage, hands firmly clasped
>''God, if you can hear me, please, pretty please, wipe that shit eating grin off Anon's face, okay?''
''Shit, man. Whatever. Never took you for a spiritual guy, Tyler.''
>You manage to tone down your grin to tolerable levels, and Ty smiles in response, throwing his hands up in celebration
>''Woo! Jesus, my nigga! There is a God! Shit man, you think I should become a priest or something?''
''Why's that, man? Free wine at the communion? Blackmail in the confessionals?''
>Your teasing tone is not undetected by Ty, and he gives you the middle finger while shaking his head
>''First off, they got more water than wine in the cups there. Second, how much scrilla you think I'm gonna make if little Timmy comes to me and says he's been jerkin' it like a horny fucking animal-''
>You burst out in hysterical laughter, not able to contain it any more, and Santiago soon joins in, the Latino practically howling with laughter
>''And, instead of telling him that his white ass is gonna get tag-teamed in Hell by Satan and his goblins, I try to hustle his lunch money? Man, that shit won't fly.''
''Oh, shit. Bro, I never took you for a holy man.''
>Your laughter subsides, and you continue to chuckle quietly, reveling in the warmth of friendship
>To your surprise, Santiago gives you both a serious look, and turns to Ty
>''Ese, if you want to be a padre or some shift, your heart gotta be in it, you know? God don't want no fake soldiers.''
>''Man, who's saying anything about soldiers here? Just, like, a preacher or some shit, you know?''
>Santiago nods quietly and turns his eyes back to the road, slowly cruising along
''So, bro, why's that?''
>Ty sighs, suddenly serious
>''Man, it's just what that Kettle guy said-''
''Teapot, but I guess that's close enough.''
>You give a small chuckle and motion for Ty to go on
>''Alright, same shit, brother. Anyway, well, I guess he's kinda right, you know? Shit bro, I been living here for my whole life. Maybe it's time I start giving back, you know?''
>You nod, not sure of what to say
>Ty had always been a bit of a dreamer
>But you'd never have guessed that he'd want to be a priest, of all things
>Interrupting your thoughts, Ty continues his monologue as Santiago turns down the volume, clearly interested
>''Cause what that guy said, well…''
''Come on bro, don't let it get to you, aight? He's just some Hitler wannabe thinking he knows what's what.''
>Ty shakes his head in disagreement, drawing shapes into the vapor on the window
>''It ain't that, brother. It's just that I think he's kinda right. I mean, look at Slateside, man. Compare it to this place.''
>Ty waves at the houses outside, a sad look on his face
>''I mean, look. It's clean, man. What if Slateside was like this, man? What if I could actually help?''
>You shrug, still unsure of what to say
>To you, Slateside was still beautiful, although dangerous
>After all, the cancer eating at the district is the way you make your living
>But you can definitely see where Ty is coming from
>Slateside has always been his home, and he's been through the lowest of its lows
>From what he told you, the riots roughly five years ago was how he lost his parents
>They were shop owners, gunned down by a group of robbers with itchy trigger fingers
>After that, without any ties to Slateside, he planned to move away, and leave the painful memories behind
>He backed out, never telling you the reason why
>''Yo, Anon, this it?''
>Santiago's hoarse voice derails your train of thought, and you notice that the car isn't moving anymore
>Upon seeing the worn-out dark green Hiace, your mouth dries up
>Turning to you, Santiago raises his eyebrow with a quizzical look on his face
''Y-yeah. I think so.''
>Staring at the door of the house, your stomach knots up
>You have no idea if she's there
>You can only hope
>Shit
>Suddenly, you notice how badly your plan is formulated
>You have idea what to do to the kidnapper
>What if Celestia's hurt?
>How are you going to take care of her?
>Why would she even want to stay with you after everything you've done?
>What if the cops come?
>What if the kidnapper isn't alone?
>What about witnesses?
>Jesus Christ
>You sigh loudly and rub your head, trying to come up with something, anything that would help
''Hey, Santiago?''
>''What you need, homes?''
>Pointing your finger down the road, you swallow nervously, still not sure of what to do
''Park the car 'round the corner. I'll jump out, do some recon, and come get you.''
>Nodding quietly, Santiago restarts the engine
>From the meager light provided by the street lights, you see that Ty's looking just as nervous as you
>The only calm one in the car is Santiago, still as stoic as ever
>You don't know why, but you have a feeling that he's done this before
>Shuddering briefly, you turn your attention back to the street, houses flitting by in rapid succession
>The fog is getting thicker now, the gray tendrils dancing languidly in the yellow light
>The scene is dreamlike, almost surreal
>Despite the calm weather, you can't help feeling unwelcome
>You feel like you don't belong here at all, the imposing facades of the buildings around you like ancient guardians
>Rounding the corner, Santiago slows down and parks the car along the side of the road, the engine rumbling to a halt
''Be right back, okay?''
>''Sure thing, brother.''
>Ty gives you a nervous grin, Santiago not bothering to give you more than a calm nod
>Jumping out and walking through the trees, you feel decidedly nervous
>Sneaking through a back yard, the lights from inside casting a warm, golden glow on the snow, you almost jump out of your skin from a sudden beep
>Calming yourself, you crouch behind a hedge, procuring your phone
>The fluorescent light from the smartphone sears your eyes as you flip through your notifications
>You curse quietly and open Facebook
>The Scootaloo girl from before evidently found your account, and sent you a friend request, along with some messages
>Pressing 'accept', you put the phone on vibrate and stow it inside your pocket, not bothering to read whatever she wrote
>Thank God you noticed it now, and not later
>Your phone ringing while inside could ruin your whole plan
>Creeping through the backyards, occasionally coming to a halt behind a bush or a gazebo, you start feeling nervous again
>There's something in the air, something oppressive
>You're not sure if you're just being paranoid or not, but despite your best efforts, it's getting to you, the hairs on your neck standing on end
>Shit
>You sigh quietly and crouch behind a convenient bush, procuring the baggie

>Clearing your nose with a quiet snort, you hold the now-empty baggie in one hand as you creep onward
>The cocaine is definitely working, the oppressive feeling now just a quiet nagging in the back of your head
>Moving as quickly as you can while keeping the crunching sound of snow to a minimum, you soon reach the familiar-looking house
>Seeing that the spacious back yard is completely devoid of people, you take off in a crouched jog, your shoes leaving prints in the shallow snow
>Leaning up against the chipped, grayish-white wall, you take a moment to catch your breath and calm your beating heart
>Looking at the darkened windows, you get a feeling that the house is practically empty
>Having calmed down a bit, you slowly shimmy along the wall, the only sound in the suburb the rustling of the wind and your shoes crunching on the snow
>Shit
>The crunching of the snow felt like it was practically filling your ears, proclaiming your guilt to the world
>Rounding a corner, you keep yourself pressed to the wall, the darkened windows staring out into the snow-covered yard
>Your heart is beating a million miles a minute, and your hands are cold and clammy
>To be honest, you'd want to be anywhere but here at this moment
>There's something in the air around the house
>You can't quite put your finger on it, but there's something wrong about the place
>Compared to the rest of the homes on the street, it's dirty, almost neglected in a way, the old Halloween decorations and chipping paint giving the home an eerie atmosphere
>There is a feeling of decay around it, like something that had been left out for too long
>Decay, rot, and something almost evil
>Whether it's just your mind playing tricks on you, you don't know
>What you do know is that you are feeling incredibly nervous, and the only reason you don't bolt and run is the possibility of finding Celestia
>Shimmying along the wall, you almost jump out of your skin as the light turns on inside the house, the sickly, yellowish light filtering through the worn-down blinds in the windows
>Stifling the yelp in your throat, you press yourself against the wall with even more fervor than before, practically fusing with the gray wooden exterior
>Despite every fiber in your body screaming at you to run away, you force yourself closer to the source of the light
>Halting under the window, blowing out a nervous puff of air, you notice that you really need a cigarette
>Putting the thought aside for later, you almost get a second heart attack as the eerie silence is broken by a sudden noise from inside
>Straining your ears despite the panicked knot in your stomach, something like the clanging of metal on metal fills the air
>Hands shaking and knees weak, you finally gather up enough courage to take a quick peek
>You let out a nervous sigh as you look inside
>Truth be told, it's not half as bad as you thought
>Peering in through the half-opened blinds, you see a small kitchen containing an elderly woman hunched over the stove, her back turned to you
>Judging from what you see, the frail-looking woman is cooking something with great speed, halting only to fiddle with a small, beat-up radio on the counter
>Satisfied with the channel, she raises the volume, the muffled tones filtering through the window to your ears
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8IJzYAda1wA
>Bringing her shaking hands back to the pot, she resumes working on what you can only assume is macaroni and cheese
>Looking a the woman in profile, you see that she looks incredibly frail
>Her hunched-over pose, nervous demeanor, gray hair and almost bird-like nose give her the appearance of a sick pigeon
>Leaving the pot to boil, the woman waddles away, absent-mindedly wringing her hands, gaze locked onto the linoleum floor
>Crouching back down, you quickly shimmy away, stopping about ten feet from the front door
>From the meager light emanating from the house, you see the name 'Fairfax' painted on the grayish door
>Well, that's one more clue
>Crouch-walking softly down to the garage door, you halt behind the forest green Hiace, the car clearly having seen better days
>The paint, not unlike the house, is chipped, the multiple dents on it's doors partially covered up by dirt and dried mud
>It's darkened windows have more than a few cracks, white spots of bird shit flecking the hood and windows
>Truth be told, it's probably one of the ugliest cars you've ever seen
>Your legs ready to launch you into a run, you slowly bring your hand to the back door of the car
>Expecting the alarm to sound at any moment, you are pleasantly surprised when the door swings open with little more than a soft click
>Peering inside, the darkness making it hard to see, you manage to make out some of the shapes on the floor
>A few plastic jugs of what you assume to be lye, a small length of rope, and a large, rusted shovel litter the trunk of the car
>Shutting the door as quietly as you can, you decide to leave for the Impala, the muffled sounds of the trumpet now gone, leaving you alone with the whistling of the wind
>You start feeling nervous again, for some reason
>Glancing back at the house, the gray monstrosity towering over you, you give a nervous gulp
>There is something overbearing about the house, something taunting, almost evil
>Somehow, it reminds you of your childhood
>Almost like a night-time monster come to life, something you can only describe as a presence in the back of your head
>The nagging feeling of something being incredibly off about the place
>The feeling of not being alone despite nobody being in sight, constantly expecting a cold, wet hand to grab you from behind
>The felling of being watched, the darkened windows staring at you like hollow, empty eye sockets
>Staring nervously at the windows, your mind is going on overdrive
>Every second, you expect something to pop out of the window, something so fearsome only a child's mind can conjure it up
>You want to turn away and be gone as quickly as you can
>But you can't shake the feeling that the house is just waiting for your attention to drift elsewhere
>Shuddering quietly, you finally turn away, expecting something to appear in front of you
>The yard is, nevertheless, as empty as ever, and with a parting glance to make sure nothing is following you, you jog out towards the road, the feeling of being chased turning your jog into a panicked run
>Only three houses down do you slow down, the oppressive feeling now mostly gone
>You have no idea why anyone would live near a place like that, let alone in it