The necessary shit. (If that sounded disdainful, it was.)

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblances to actual events, characters, persons, alive or dead, or beings of Earth, parallel universes, or the multiverse, past, present or future, is purely coincidental. Unless, of course, I'm psychic. In which case this a work of non-fiction. But I highly doubt that, I'm not that attuned. I mean if I was, I’d have won Powerball by now and been able to afford creative writing classes and a proofreader.

Be forewarned, these writings, may trigger some issue, or issues, you have. Either by the language used or it’s content in general. If you are one to get bothered by every little thing, just close it now and step away, from wherever the hell it is that you are reading this.

All the participants are of legal age, in any state or country, in regards to the actions and experiences they have or go through.

No animals were harmed in the making of this tale, except maybe a couple of Hominini of the Sapien variety, and, trust me, they had it coming.

by Stonesoul

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C1 - Thursday /

{It Would Be Fun…} (The One Who Took A Key)

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Everything was aglow in the gold of the late morning sun.

It forged a sharpness to my mind. Compared to the last few hours of my life. Which were mostly hazy. Spotted. A mix of half sleep and blurred scenery, with only one or two pinpoints of salient clarity thrown in the mix. But now, I found myself, enthralled. Standing in a lobby of a centuries old inn.

Oblivious, to the chaos around me.

The aged oak and pine, of the floors and walls, had a vibrant, musky smokiness, that hinted of history. It awakened a sense in me. An appetite. An all encompassing, adrenaline driven surge, of perseverance, endurance and a pulse rush called survival.

I breathed this building's character in, with one, long, slow, drawn out, sniff.

I could taste the fermentation of the centuries of life, that filtered through this monument of grit and determination. It's incense built on the back of my tongue. Coursing my blood.

A primal headiness stoked into my being. And I suddenly felt a deep seated need to celebrate all of my air out. With a howl.

It was an ancient invocation. Untamed. Feral.

It built in my spine and tempted up quietly. Taunting me. Inciting me to send out that call.

So, I just let it burst forth. From the bottom of my soul through the top of my head.

Loud of spirit. But silent to the ear.

It brought back memories.

It felt like...

Home.

There were tables and chairs made of branches and rough hewn wood. Five big picture-windows framed a captivating view, of a distinctly Adirondak regional scene. Directly above them, lightly arched, four invocations, on stained glass, captured the essence of an early settlement's lifestyle. From hunting and fishing, to farming and harvest celebrations, it was all brought to life in a glorious, prismatic brilliance. The vibrant colors, diffused through the room, softly tinting on the atmosphere. And the disparate group of people wandering aimlessly around me.

Trophy mounts were scattered on the walls. A prized moose head, the centerpiece, displayed proudly over a massive stone fireplace.

Those were the first things to garner my attention.

The next… was the chatter

Or, to put it more accurately, the incessant drone of strangers thrust together in an attempt to fashion a familiarity.

Forty, or so, individual souls, danced through a maze of bodies and chairs. Seeking a bond. Of one sort or another.

It was a stark contrast to this place, that, by it's very existence, was a testament, that bonds were not chosen or picked, but were earned, forged and fought for. Sometimes, in the unlikeliest combination of personalities.

This cast had been sent here, by our prospective employer, as a kind of a secondary job interview. The magazine, we all had applied to, had expanded their offices to the east coast, bringing their new-age ideology of the weird coast with them.

They had bused us up to this place, a colonial born lodge, from New York City, and now WE were tasked with divvying up our own room assignments. Most of the cattle here were in their mid twenties, barely out of college, and still wrapped up in their petty, insular bullshit. High School three point oh.

And Yes. I was among the cattle.

G&G save Me.

Who was Me? Well, at the time, I was forty three and had just left my job, at another magazine, where I photographed strippers.

One evening, at the proof table, I got a tickle, that I had to follow. You see, I had found myself, for some time, doing nothing more than documenting young women with dreams wasting away into addictions and abuse. Changing their bodies because they didn't live up. The money being tossed at them was dwindling, the audience's attention had laxed. They weren't exciting anymore. They weren't new. Film at 11.

And I, had gotten tired of it. So, I went looking for something outdoorsy, more nature based. Less commercial. Something, way outside the wheelhouse.

Which! Is what led me to this.

Now, why a photographer would need to be part of this little bit of weirdness, I don't know. Most I've met, including myself, tended to be solitary observers. But the company execs liked my stage photos, and after inquiring about my work ethic, and finding it satisfactory, insisted I attend.

"It would be fun." They said.

I know! I know! Right about now Doctor Who would be staring at his sonic screwdriver with a look of trepidation, shouting just one command, "RUN!"

But I didn't.

So, there I sat. On a time-worn, butt smoothed bench. Watching the cliches and the cliques all finding each other. Separating themselves into little cabals.

That's when She took my notice, for the second time.

She was sitting on a bench a few feet from me. At a slight angle to my vision. To my left, twenty, maybe thirty degrees. Or, at my eleven o'clock, if you're so inclined.

She was a little taller than the other girls. Five eight, five nine. With an uncoordinated poise. A little thick of build. She sported lightly tinted, black framed glasses. A touch nerdy. Without the tape. Her movements were purposeful and methodical.

Her attire was all business. An oversized, white cotton, button down, shirt. A black, mid-calf, Accordion skirt. Both of which had a subtle, elegant motion, when she turned, or searched through her computer bag. Her glasses were down.

She watched everyone around the room, casually. Sometimes she'd smile, a couple of times she grimaced. She was getting a feel for the place, and the people.

When she had taken it all in, she put up her glasses, reached in to her knapsack and grabbed her laptop. She powered it up, summoned her personal space, and clicked away at the keys, getting lost in the ones and zeroes of her digital world.

Clear dark eyes.

Full eyebrows.

A rather interesting nose.

A rather curious, intelligent gaze.

Her hair was shifting in waves, just below her shoulders. Black, with a prismatic refraction to the sheen. She was beautiful, in a geeky, girl next door, kinda way.

After some time, she pulled her attention away from the screen. Her back arched. She rolled the tension from her neck. broadened her vision and let it stray. She found my eyes and connected with them. There was a softness, a sadness and a strength beyond her years. It emanated from within those glistening brown orbs.

They smiled, 'Hi'. Then, cordially, she turned their focus back to the screen.

The first time I had noticed her she was getting on the bus. She was quiet and reserved, looking to the ground, like she was in another thought, or trying to remain undetected to some unseen force. Barely establishing eye contact with anyone. Til she sat. The couple of times I heard her talk she seemed to stutter. And that appeared to make the, barely adult aged, majority of the group edgy. Most stopped talking to her altogether, about fifteen minutes into the trip.

She seemed like she was okay with that. Not like she was happy about it, more like it was her norm. She was used to it.

Been there. Feel that.

But, that was then. Now. She was sitting with a quiet intensity. The scrolling lines of code commanding her attention, drawing forth a creative flow of energy.

The others? They were mindlessly mingling. Chit chatting. Finding a fit.

I didn't fit. And honestly, I didn't want to. So, I just waited to see who was left to share a room with. Maybe I'd get lucky and get one to myself, or luckier and get someone comfortable and quiet. Or not, and get stuck with a shit brick.

As time moved by the chaff were pairing up and the room was steadily thinning out. Two by two they set off to their own destinies. The room grew quieter, the pulse waned. And then, the air grew thick and clammy.

A narcissistic gust blew in. Introduced by the heralding scent of Axe. He strut up to me, with this false air of importance. I think his name was Jeremy or Jaime or Jeffery... Whatever... He said it often, and loud. Loud enough that it sounded like you should have known him. It just made me, Not, want to pay attention.

He walked right past the quiet girl on the bench, right through her field. His elbow barely missing her head, and he continued, peacocking, right up to me.

Why, do they always pick me?

She looked up intently, to see who had disturbed her zone, saw him, made a face, shadowed her personal space in a darker aura, and went right back to doing her thing. Her eyes darted sporadically, between the scene I was now part of and the refuge of her screen. She walled herself off within her bags and black plastic tech fortress.

He sauntered up and stopped, practically standing on my boots. He tilted his head back. "Yo. Wanna room up bro?"

Now. Sometimes. In life. You gotta make a choice. And take your own luck, in your own hands. However that dice may turn. And I got a nudge, a big one, and it said, 'Roll!.. NOW! Dummass'.

"Sorry. I have need of a modicum of quiet around me. So, no. But thanks for asking... Brah."

Yes. I can be an asshole at times too. I'd never deny that. It's the human condition. And even if you are the most patient, kind, caring, most saintliest person on this ball of water and dirt, don't deny it either. There will come, one of those days, when you find yourself with that label. Well earned or not, if even just for a minute. You don't know. That's the beauty of this thing we call life.

The girl on the bench eyed our conversation and hooked my attention. Catching my perception with an anxious expression.

I looked at her and nodded a request. She nodded back, an allayed mmhmm.

I offered, "Joe."

She accorded, "Emm-mily."

Two words and it was sealed. Names have power.

An adventure had begun. The quest, unknown. But whatever fate lay before us, it was of both of our choosing.

I picked up my stuff and went to the front desk, retrieved two keys, made my way back and presented her with one. She looked at the key peculiarly, then took it as a matter of fact. Almost relieved. She gathered her things and stood up. I pointed at the biggest suitcase and held out my hand. She handed it to me with a surprised, but grateful look. We made our way passed the reception desk, to the left, down the hall, finally standing before the last room on the right.

"I sleep nude."

She looked humourously puzzled, but not put off, unlocked the door, and held it open for me.

"I have shorts. For trips."

"Mhmh," she shyly grinned, hiding her face away while shutting the door behind us. Closing that world away.

Since this was the first day, of this week long curiosity, it was pretty much just settling in. There was nothing to do but take in the surroundings, get the lay of the land and make yourself home. So, I took quick stock of the room.

It was a little more spacious than most of the hotels I had stayed in during my travels. And a whole lot cleaner, more cared for, than some. It had the same wood floors and walls as the lobby, except these walls were pickled in a mission-maple. A three foot high by eight foot wide window overlooked the mountains edge. You could just catch the sparkling ripples, of the far edge of the Hudson, and the street lines and buildings of the sporadic villages and towns in the country side beyond it.

The bed situation was a bit odd. One was a single the other a double. They both had deep maple foot and headboards, down pillows and knit comforters. And, you could tell, plenty of stories.

They had a certain creak.

The bathroom was to the right, walking in. It's door was at a complementary angle to the room. It was an odd shape, but I could see it in a future home.

The decor was more of a country style bed and breakfast than that of a big box motel.

It was the second time I felt positive about my decision to come to this place. It had that, after a hard days work, restful air to it. It was comfortable, warm, inviting.

I was just about to ask which bed she wanted when I noticed her stuff on the single. 'Easy enough,' I thought, as I placed her suitcase on the valet at the foot of her bed.

"Thhhank yyyoou, Joe."

"My pleasure, Em. You don't mind being called that, do you?"

"Nno. I llIike it. It's," she softened, nostalgic to a memory, "fffammmiliar."

I put my kit bag on the stand, by the wall near the double, tossed my duffle on the floor at the foot of the bed then turned to take in our view.

And I see... Her... Looking out the window.

The sunlight touched upon her face with softness. It chased the shadows from her neck and illuminated through her shirt, revealing the enticing curve and slope of a delightful set of breasts and the feminine fullness of a very smooth, sturdy stomach. She turned and caught me looking. Her expression didn't change. It didn't seem to me like it had registered what had caught my eye. She hesitated from breaking the contact. Then she coyed away, turning her eyes back to the glass, looking out with a genuine admiration.

I turned my gaze out the window and I realized, a bit freudianly, "That sunrise! Is gonna be absolute tits."

"Mmhmmm," She agreeably replied. A hint of amusement tittering her cadence.

After a few, quiet, moments we let the enchantment fade and came back to our purpose, making ourselves at home and organizing our belongings, using our free time wisely. There was an orientation that started at eight. Til then, and after, we were on our own. Seven o'clock came and my stomach was rumbling.

It had been four hours since I last ate, and that was just some beef jerky and a bag of chips shortly after we settled in, so I was starving.

"You hungry, Em?"

"A lll-ittle,"

"Care to be my dinner date?"

She gave me an odd look, nodded, with a slight tilt to the side, "Mmhmm."

We went to the lobby and grabbed some food, from the team-builder's table, took it outside and sat on a rock. We ate, more cordially than casual, sharing the view, listening to everything around us. The conversation was quiet and sparse. Mostly the getting to know each other banter. Without the first-date uneasiness. Or the empty need to impress. She was very well spoken despite the break in her speech. Her stutter was measured and lyrical. It was never unnerving, or off putting, to listen to. Interestingly enough, I found it had a cadence. A rhythm that made it a touch on the charming side. Enjoyable. Like it pleasurably, intermingled with my brain somehow. Kind of like when a certain, consistent, frequency of sound, like a stream or the cooing of a dove, sends a wave of calm through you.

Her answers were short. Her questions, mostly just, "Yyyou?"

Hums and eye movements were her real conversation. Her looks and shoulder gestures had a way of telling her story for her. She was warm, accepting and engaging.

With a few minutes to spare we made our way to the orientation. After we found out what was planned for the week, no I'm not going to bore you with it, we left and headed on back to our room.

I grabbed my camera bag and tripod, told her I was going for a walk and that if she cared to join me she was more than welcome. She gave me another probing glance. Not suspicious, but a bit puzzled. Then she picked herself up and got the door out.

We walked to the end of the property, stopping by the head of a trail that seemed to fade out across the mountainside.

I set my stuff up by an old rock wall, that looked like it could have been there since, well before, the Revolutionary War. She sat on the ledge. Her legs parted delicately, as much as the skirt would allow. Back turned sideways, looking out to the water, over her right shoulder. She looked like a woman with a lot on her mind.

As the sky became more alive, in star speckled brilliance, the weight slowly lifted, the vision around her stole her focus. She was sitting perfectly still. Rapt in the scenery.

I snapped some shots of the stars, the river, and the dotted town lights on the water's other bank. I turned my camera in her direction and took some candids. Her silhouette, against the full force of a brilliant twilight sky.

She noticed that I was taking her picture, blushed and shied away.

"It was really nice imagery. The light up here just warms up the scenery. And you looked like you were at peace there. I'll show them to you when we get back."

"Ittts ohh-kay, I'm jjust nnot use, to theee the aaa-ttention."

She didn't hide, when I took a couple more. But she seemed to try and pretend it wasn't really happening. Not in an uncomfortable way. Or even an, if I ignore it it will go away, way. More of an amused, why, sort of way. Intrigued, I guess you could say.

We stayed in silence, while I gathered my equipment, then walked back toward our room. Stopping, to scent a name, or listen to a call.

There was hickory, applewood and maple tones, coming from the kitchen, with a heavy pull of wood fired meat. There was lilac, a hint of mushroom and moss, the last remnants of rotting leaves, and the subtlest undertone of water weed.

And the faintest hint of... horse shit.

Owl. Frog. Deer. Bat. Cat. Coyote, maybe. No, that sounds more like somebody's hound. "Hmm? That one sounded like... a cougar?"

Hours had flown by without their normal beat and by the time we got back to our room it was late. We found our ways to bed and called it a day.

"Joe."

"Em."

"Tthanks."

"It was a pleasure. And, Thank You, too."

"Mm-hmMM."