roseembolism (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
roseembolism) wrote2009-01-05 02:27 pm
roseembolism) wrote2009-01-05 02:27 pm
Entry tags:
(Story): the Coyote and the House
This was done in response to Jason Corley's fascinating The Best Changeling: The Lost Game Without Changelings idea, which involves human smugglers the World of Darkness, urban legends, magic, and well, Changeling: the Lost.
The story itself though turned out to have far less to do with Changeling: the Lost, and more to do with a character and some elements that I've been tossing around. And of corse this was a quick one-off, and I could definitely use some work on the vernacular and slang.
Still, I kinda like it. let me know what YOU think:
No man, I'm not going to go to the funeral. I'm just going to stay here and get drunk. You see, I'm not even sure...fuck. OK, I'll tell you. You're his cousin, I owe it to tell you what happened to El Jugo. Then you'll see why I'm getting shit faced.
It was back in 99 when we had that last dust-up with the Montes de Oca, nright before we got out of drugs and into the coyote business. We got caught in an ambush just south of the border, and thought we lost El Jugo. And maybe we did. According to El Jugo, he rabbited when the bullets started flying, and got turned around, ended up totally lost in the Sonora desert, couldn't find the Rio Magdelena, with a broke down jeep, and no water. That's when he says he found this old house out in the middle of nowhere, no roads nearby, where nobody had any right to be. He went in, and then his story never made much sense. Just that it was full of hallways and rooms filled with weird shit...and people. He didn't want to talk about the people. Anyway, he says he opened one of the doors, and he found himself in, no shit, San Diego. He said he didn't question his luck, just was jazzed that he was there- over three hundred miles in a couple of hours. He figured he had found the most incredible coyote tunnel ever.
But, the fuck of it was, when he got home, it was SIX MONTHS man. Six months when we thought he was dead. And when he tried to find the house again- he drove all over that stretch of desert and couldn't find it or the exit in El Paso. We figured he had just gotten heat strike or something, gone loco, done some bad weed....
Except...fuck, I don't know how to say it, but the fucker kept getting shit WRONG. Not big things, like he was a plant or something, but details. Like he thought I had been shot back in the shit that went down in 92. Or your brother Estaben, who he thought was a girl. And you remember that bitch Consuella? The one that Guillermo dumped? El Jugo thought that G was married to her. And once he tried to buy a ticked on Pan Am….
Fuck, you're too young, you don't even remember what a Pan Am is. Fucking Pan Am. Shit.
Thing is, whenever he said shit like that and we'd start laughing, he'd get this, this horrible LOST look in his eyes. Like everything was wrong, like WE were what was screwed up, not him. Don't get me wrong, he was still solid, but I didn't much mind when he started spending his free time in the Sonora. The only thing he would say was he was "looking for the right place", and somehow I don't think he meant that house.
So how did it end? I remember it, because I was there. We were in a safe house in Nogales two years ago, just El Jugo and me, waiting for our enganchadora to get us in touch with some chickens. El Jugo was in the bedroom, I was in the kitchen, and no shit, the bathroom door opens and this woman comes out. She was dressed like a business woman, young, kind of pretty but nothing special, and as I sat there, just like this, in shock, she asked- in a voice like that woman on the BBC, she asked for E Jugo, she had some business with him. So I start to draw on the bitch, because no way should she be there, but I went and I looked her in the eyes, just like this, just for a second. And fuck me if she didn't have something like the same look El Jugo would get, only like, for her it was normal. And for a second, I couldn't tell how old she was. So I got scared, I couldn't say nothing, and I just pointed to the bedroom. She thanked me, polite as shit, walked over to the bedroom, and went in.
I just sat there at that table for what seemed like forever. I could hear them talking quietly, but I couldn't make it out the rough the door. And then, no shit, I hear the door to the bedroom open and close, and I was looking right at it, AND IT DIDN'T FUCKING MOVE. So I jumped up, ran to the door, and yeah, there was nobody in there. No other door, the window was boarded up, and it was empty. I have no idea where they went, and frankly, I don't care.
That's why, when I heard this November they found El Jugo's bones out in the desert, I wasn't surprised. I wasn't even that surprised when they said that they must have been out there at least eight years, from right after the Montes de Oca shit. I don't know if that was the wrong El Jugo we had, or like, WE were wrong, if you know what I mean. Like I said, I don't care. But I'm not going to that funeral, because I'm not quite sure WHO is in that grave.
And if I ever see a house out where there shouldn't be shit, I'm not going in, I don't care how bad off I am. Same goes for you, primos; stay safe, OK?
And that's it. Any criticism, good or bad, welcomed.
The story itself though turned out to have far less to do with Changeling: the Lost, and more to do with a character and some elements that I've been tossing around. And of corse this was a quick one-off, and I could definitely use some work on the vernacular and slang.
Still, I kinda like it. let me know what YOU think:
No man, I'm not going to go to the funeral. I'm just going to stay here and get drunk. You see, I'm not even sure...fuck. OK, I'll tell you. You're his cousin, I owe it to tell you what happened to El Jugo. Then you'll see why I'm getting shit faced.
It was back in 99 when we had that last dust-up with the Montes de Oca, nright before we got out of drugs and into the coyote business. We got caught in an ambush just south of the border, and thought we lost El Jugo. And maybe we did. According to El Jugo, he rabbited when the bullets started flying, and got turned around, ended up totally lost in the Sonora desert, couldn't find the Rio Magdelena, with a broke down jeep, and no water. That's when he says he found this old house out in the middle of nowhere, no roads nearby, where nobody had any right to be. He went in, and then his story never made much sense. Just that it was full of hallways and rooms filled with weird shit...and people. He didn't want to talk about the people. Anyway, he says he opened one of the doors, and he found himself in, no shit, San Diego. He said he didn't question his luck, just was jazzed that he was there- over three hundred miles in a couple of hours. He figured he had found the most incredible coyote tunnel ever.
But, the fuck of it was, when he got home, it was SIX MONTHS man. Six months when we thought he was dead. And when he tried to find the house again- he drove all over that stretch of desert and couldn't find it or the exit in El Paso. We figured he had just gotten heat strike or something, gone loco, done some bad weed....
Except...fuck, I don't know how to say it, but the fucker kept getting shit WRONG. Not big things, like he was a plant or something, but details. Like he thought I had been shot back in the shit that went down in 92. Or your brother Estaben, who he thought was a girl. And you remember that bitch Consuella? The one that Guillermo dumped? El Jugo thought that G was married to her. And once he tried to buy a ticked on Pan Am….
Fuck, you're too young, you don't even remember what a Pan Am is. Fucking Pan Am. Shit.
Thing is, whenever he said shit like that and we'd start laughing, he'd get this, this horrible LOST look in his eyes. Like everything was wrong, like WE were what was screwed up, not him. Don't get me wrong, he was still solid, but I didn't much mind when he started spending his free time in the Sonora. The only thing he would say was he was "looking for the right place", and somehow I don't think he meant that house.
So how did it end? I remember it, because I was there. We were in a safe house in Nogales two years ago, just El Jugo and me, waiting for our enganchadora to get us in touch with some chickens. El Jugo was in the bedroom, I was in the kitchen, and no shit, the bathroom door opens and this woman comes out. She was dressed like a business woman, young, kind of pretty but nothing special, and as I sat there, just like this, in shock, she asked- in a voice like that woman on the BBC, she asked for E Jugo, she had some business with him. So I start to draw on the bitch, because no way should she be there, but I went and I looked her in the eyes, just like this, just for a second. And fuck me if she didn't have something like the same look El Jugo would get, only like, for her it was normal. And for a second, I couldn't tell how old she was. So I got scared, I couldn't say nothing, and I just pointed to the bedroom. She thanked me, polite as shit, walked over to the bedroom, and went in.
I just sat there at that table for what seemed like forever. I could hear them talking quietly, but I couldn't make it out the rough the door. And then, no shit, I hear the door to the bedroom open and close, and I was looking right at it, AND IT DIDN'T FUCKING MOVE. So I jumped up, ran to the door, and yeah, there was nobody in there. No other door, the window was boarded up, and it was empty. I have no idea where they went, and frankly, I don't care.
That's why, when I heard this November they found El Jugo's bones out in the desert, I wasn't surprised. I wasn't even that surprised when they said that they must have been out there at least eight years, from right after the Montes de Oca shit. I don't know if that was the wrong El Jugo we had, or like, WE were wrong, if you know what I mean. Like I said, I don't care. But I'm not going to that funeral, because I'm not quite sure WHO is in that grave.
And if I ever see a house out where there shouldn't be shit, I'm not going in, I don't care how bad off I am. Same goes for you, primos; stay safe, OK?
And that's it. Any criticism, good or bad, welcomed.