Post by mirandafan on May 11, 2007 22:32:49 GMT 9.5
The Crying Game: a fan fiction. These characters aren’t mine, but there just aren’t enough stories about them. So I made one up.
The room was dark, plain, only three rooms in the flats entirety. Jude leaned up against the dresser, her back to the mirror that reflected the image of the front door, which she faced, arms crossed over her chest, gun secured in her purse, hanging off her right shoulder. A small woman, hair thick and dark, touching her shoulders, she looked the part of a business women.
After a few seconds, keys made a sound in the doors lock. A jangle, followed by a click. The door squeaked, letting in a flood of light that cast across the floor in a tall rectangular shape that stopped at her feet.
“What are you doing here, Jude?” Fergus wasn’t happy to see her. He quickly shut the door behind him with a thud.
“You seemed thrilled to have company,” She grinned, pushing herself off the dresser to approach him. He stood where he stood, not bothering to move away as she touched the buttons to his plaid shirt. She didn’t undo them, her fingers just played with the tiny plastic pieces.
“I thought we might talk,” She suggested, looking up at the taller man. “It’s been a long time since we could do that.”
“We’ve had talks,” He still didn’t move. His expression, as usual, held a lazy, rather bored look.
Jude’s expression, smile having faded, but still a bit more alive, frowned up at him.
“You know, you were gone so fast, I actually though at one point you might have been planning it all along.”
Fergus shifted on his feet. “I never planned anything.”
Holding his fabric with her fingers, to be sure he wouldn’t turn away from her, Jude shook her head. “Did you even think about me, Fergus? Miss me? Care if I’d survived or not?”
“Of course I care, I’ve always cared,” His brow furrowed at this. It was a shock in his mind that she’d even question him this way. They’d been friends for years. More then friends for nearly half of one.
“I saw a chance to get out, and took it,” He went on with his explanation. “You would of done the same.”
“But you didn’t get out,” She reminded him, a brow raising diligently.
“Jude, please leave,” he sighed, his hands touching her waist to move her toward the door. She only pulled herself closer to him.
“Don’t you ever wonder why I plead for your clemency?” She asked him, so close he had to look down his chest to meet her eyes.
“I suppose because you care about me,” He guessed, with a matter-of-fact tone that she didn’t seem to appreciate.
But what killed her, was he was right. She let go of him, backing off just slightly.
“Del, how’d you meet her?” She questioned rigidly.
“I got my hair done.”
She cocked her head to one side, watching his face. “You know what that club you two go to all the time is, don‘t you?”
As she suspected he would, Fergus looked away, impatient. “Yeah, I know.”
She smiled at his discomfort. “It’s true then?”
“What is?” He breathed the question.
“She’s a man.” If Jude had been anyone else he would of knocked her across the face. Instead, he just nodded.
“You’re in love with a man, Furgie?” Jude was amused with him, he could tell.
“What’s the point of all this, Jude?” He questioned, getting angry.
“There’s no point,” She decided, fixing his shirt for him, straitening it’s wrinkles. “I just missed you.”
Fergus allowed himself to touch her hair, stroking it’s strands away from her face. If not to see if it wasn’t a wig, then just to remove the distraction from her eyes.
“I miss you sometimes,” he admitted, not fully realizing his admission.
“Perhaps you just miss the feel and taste of a woman,” She suggested, moving in for one of her brief kisses. Her lips snatched his, and for the first time since she’d presented herself in his flat those days earlier, he retuned the kiss.
She looked at him, his eyes open, watching her in return. Standing on her tip toes, hands now moving up his shoulder, she completed the kiss, tensely moving back in, eyes shutting almost meticulously with her movement. His own hands reached around her waist, pulling her in more passionately.
Jude felt herself stumble backward, catching herself against the dresser, her hands gripping it’s edges to steady them both. His hands traveled up her waist line, fingers finding their way all the way up back into her hair. He got tangled in the shoulder length strands, his head tilting with the movement of his tongue as they made out hungrily.
Peter Maguire paced the floor, checking his wrist watch, his opposite hand reaching up to stroke back dirty blond locks of his hair. The door opened, and he looked up at Jude with impertinence.
“Where’ve you been? You left an hour ago!” He snatched the grocery bag from her fist, digging in for the carton of cigarettes he’d sent her out for.
“I had to make a few other stops,” She tossed the car keys onto the bed in the middle of the motel room. “You’ve been smoking to much lately as it is anyway. You’re lungs deserved an hour break.”
Peter shoot her a testy look, lighting himself up. “Don’t start with me.”
She moved toward the vanity, checking her reflection. “Have you herd anything?”
“No, nobody’s called,” He sat down at the table by the motel window, over looking the brick wall of a neighboring building. “Far as I know though, no one’s suspecting anything, and when the jobs finished we get clean cut ticket home.”
Sitting down on the edge of the bed, facing Peter, Jude fished one of the cigarettes out of the carton. “Good to hear what I already know,” She leaned toward him, cigarette held to her mouth. He lit his lighter, and held the flame toward her lips.
“They’re not gonna contact us now. Not even if there’s something we should know. We’ve got to figure it out on our own, you know that,” She blew smoke up, and rolled her eyes.
“You ever wonder what it would have been like if we’d gone off like Fergus? You, know, tried a run for it?”
“We’d be killed,” He announced flatly.
“Suppose so,” She watched as he knocked a few ashes into the glass tray on the middle of the table. “Maybe it would have been worth the try, though.”
Peter gave her a steady hard gaze. “You’ve been to see him, haven’t you.”
“You know that,” She took a tight drag.
“Off the record. He near as good as he used to be?”
She glared. “Better.”
Peter never liked the idea of she and Fergus. Maybe he was jealous, maybe he was uncomfortable with the idea of it alone, or maybe it was the simple fact that he just didn’t like Fergus.
“You know he’s not gonna survive this?” Peter asked her. If he did care for anyone he worked along side it was Jude. She was never sure why, and had figured it was probably the fact she was younger, and a women. She strived to keep her more feminine side to herself, however, and so finged a nonchalant shrug.
Fergus turned from the window once Del’s small figure was out of sight. There were sirens already rumbling up the streets. He figured someone had herd the gun shots and called the police. Strutting back, further into the apartment, he saw Jude’s limp body, still lying against the door frame, blood coming forth a steady flow, draining onto the floor beneath her, soaking into the fabric of her blouse. Her eyes were open, starring him down with a cold stiff glare.
He shut his eyes to the image, still his mind was gripping at the distant idea that this was not really happening. Opening them again, he‘d kneeled down beside her frame, the sent of her perfume still strong and alive. With two fingers, he shut her eyes, then letting his hand stroke her soft cool skin, and touch again the soft thick strands of her hair. This isn’t how he’d wanted it to end.
The room was dark, plain, only three rooms in the flats entirety. Jude leaned up against the dresser, her back to the mirror that reflected the image of the front door, which she faced, arms crossed over her chest, gun secured in her purse, hanging off her right shoulder. A small woman, hair thick and dark, touching her shoulders, she looked the part of a business women.
After a few seconds, keys made a sound in the doors lock. A jangle, followed by a click. The door squeaked, letting in a flood of light that cast across the floor in a tall rectangular shape that stopped at her feet.
“What are you doing here, Jude?” Fergus wasn’t happy to see her. He quickly shut the door behind him with a thud.
“You seemed thrilled to have company,” She grinned, pushing herself off the dresser to approach him. He stood where he stood, not bothering to move away as she touched the buttons to his plaid shirt. She didn’t undo them, her fingers just played with the tiny plastic pieces.
“I thought we might talk,” She suggested, looking up at the taller man. “It’s been a long time since we could do that.”
“We’ve had talks,” He still didn’t move. His expression, as usual, held a lazy, rather bored look.
Jude’s expression, smile having faded, but still a bit more alive, frowned up at him.
“You know, you were gone so fast, I actually though at one point you might have been planning it all along.”
Fergus shifted on his feet. “I never planned anything.”
Holding his fabric with her fingers, to be sure he wouldn’t turn away from her, Jude shook her head. “Did you even think about me, Fergus? Miss me? Care if I’d survived or not?”
“Of course I care, I’ve always cared,” His brow furrowed at this. It was a shock in his mind that she’d even question him this way. They’d been friends for years. More then friends for nearly half of one.
“I saw a chance to get out, and took it,” He went on with his explanation. “You would of done the same.”
“But you didn’t get out,” She reminded him, a brow raising diligently.
“Jude, please leave,” he sighed, his hands touching her waist to move her toward the door. She only pulled herself closer to him.
“Don’t you ever wonder why I plead for your clemency?” She asked him, so close he had to look down his chest to meet her eyes.
“I suppose because you care about me,” He guessed, with a matter-of-fact tone that she didn’t seem to appreciate.
But what killed her, was he was right. She let go of him, backing off just slightly.
“Del, how’d you meet her?” She questioned rigidly.
“I got my hair done.”
She cocked her head to one side, watching his face. “You know what that club you two go to all the time is, don‘t you?”
As she suspected he would, Fergus looked away, impatient. “Yeah, I know.”
She smiled at his discomfort. “It’s true then?”
“What is?” He breathed the question.
“She’s a man.” If Jude had been anyone else he would of knocked her across the face. Instead, he just nodded.
“You’re in love with a man, Furgie?” Jude was amused with him, he could tell.
“What’s the point of all this, Jude?” He questioned, getting angry.
“There’s no point,” She decided, fixing his shirt for him, straitening it’s wrinkles. “I just missed you.”
Fergus allowed himself to touch her hair, stroking it’s strands away from her face. If not to see if it wasn’t a wig, then just to remove the distraction from her eyes.
“I miss you sometimes,” he admitted, not fully realizing his admission.
“Perhaps you just miss the feel and taste of a woman,” She suggested, moving in for one of her brief kisses. Her lips snatched his, and for the first time since she’d presented herself in his flat those days earlier, he retuned the kiss.
She looked at him, his eyes open, watching her in return. Standing on her tip toes, hands now moving up his shoulder, she completed the kiss, tensely moving back in, eyes shutting almost meticulously with her movement. His own hands reached around her waist, pulling her in more passionately.
Jude felt herself stumble backward, catching herself against the dresser, her hands gripping it’s edges to steady them both. His hands traveled up her waist line, fingers finding their way all the way up back into her hair. He got tangled in the shoulder length strands, his head tilting with the movement of his tongue as they made out hungrily.
Peter Maguire paced the floor, checking his wrist watch, his opposite hand reaching up to stroke back dirty blond locks of his hair. The door opened, and he looked up at Jude with impertinence.
“Where’ve you been? You left an hour ago!” He snatched the grocery bag from her fist, digging in for the carton of cigarettes he’d sent her out for.
“I had to make a few other stops,” She tossed the car keys onto the bed in the middle of the motel room. “You’ve been smoking to much lately as it is anyway. You’re lungs deserved an hour break.”
Peter shoot her a testy look, lighting himself up. “Don’t start with me.”
She moved toward the vanity, checking her reflection. “Have you herd anything?”
“No, nobody’s called,” He sat down at the table by the motel window, over looking the brick wall of a neighboring building. “Far as I know though, no one’s suspecting anything, and when the jobs finished we get clean cut ticket home.”
Sitting down on the edge of the bed, facing Peter, Jude fished one of the cigarettes out of the carton. “Good to hear what I already know,” She leaned toward him, cigarette held to her mouth. He lit his lighter, and held the flame toward her lips.
“They’re not gonna contact us now. Not even if there’s something we should know. We’ve got to figure it out on our own, you know that,” She blew smoke up, and rolled her eyes.
“You ever wonder what it would have been like if we’d gone off like Fergus? You, know, tried a run for it?”
“We’d be killed,” He announced flatly.
“Suppose so,” She watched as he knocked a few ashes into the glass tray on the middle of the table. “Maybe it would have been worth the try, though.”
Peter gave her a steady hard gaze. “You’ve been to see him, haven’t you.”
“You know that,” She took a tight drag.
“Off the record. He near as good as he used to be?”
She glared. “Better.”
Peter never liked the idea of she and Fergus. Maybe he was jealous, maybe he was uncomfortable with the idea of it alone, or maybe it was the simple fact that he just didn’t like Fergus.
“You know he’s not gonna survive this?” Peter asked her. If he did care for anyone he worked along side it was Jude. She was never sure why, and had figured it was probably the fact she was younger, and a women. She strived to keep her more feminine side to herself, however, and so finged a nonchalant shrug.
Fergus turned from the window once Del’s small figure was out of sight. There were sirens already rumbling up the streets. He figured someone had herd the gun shots and called the police. Strutting back, further into the apartment, he saw Jude’s limp body, still lying against the door frame, blood coming forth a steady flow, draining onto the floor beneath her, soaking into the fabric of her blouse. Her eyes were open, starring him down with a cold stiff glare.
He shut his eyes to the image, still his mind was gripping at the distant idea that this was not really happening. Opening them again, he‘d kneeled down beside her frame, the sent of her perfume still strong and alive. With two fingers, he shut her eyes, then letting his hand stroke her soft cool skin, and touch again the soft thick strands of her hair. This isn’t how he’d wanted it to end.