Last Drink;Chauvin's Funeral[Story]

(it goes with this song right here )



He wasn’t going to settle for anything less than a proper burial.

Though, by “proper” Luke meant to be sure that there was nothing left to bury at all.

He had been lucky to find any sort of lighter fluid at all, especially keeping an eye on Chauvin like he had been. No blasted dog or bird was going to get remotely close to taking him. Luke had stumbled around half delirious with pain for hours collecting what he needed.

He had been lucky, lucky enough to make him grin like a damned fool but not enough to unknot the crease in his brow, the only involuntary show of what he really thought. The materials he had acquired, though, they would make a fine pyre. The best damned pyre he'd ever build(though he hoped it the last he knew that was such wishful, foolish thinking).

He spent a careful amount of time putting everything together, cutting the cardboard tubes and mixing the right powders and never knowing how or why he knew exactly what to do. It was almost completely automatic, just like the first time when he put the Old Man to rest. That time though, there had been no pyramid of colorful cardboard surrounding him, just piled up two-by-fours and brush.

Back then luck had been a lot more scarce… the Old Man didn’t have any left after so long, otherwise he wouldn’t have wound up in this godforsaken, rusted-to-hell city.

Inversely, even in death Jean Chauvin seemed to be gifted with the Devil’s own luck.

It was done. Constructed. The final end, a small and temporary monument. Luke was dizzy, pained by the separation of his partner. It was so much like a guillotine had cut the lines from tick to tick, from man to man, and it felt like the times they had stretched their boundaries, tested how far they could venture before they came back sick and hurting.

“Ain’t no wall you can climb over n’ come back from now. Yer free, though, n’ that’s. Best.” He spread the last of the powder over the pyre, let the sunset shine yellow and orange through the stream of amber liquid pouring from the steel flash he had on hand.

The last of the whiskey from the store they’d sacked. Had it been a month ago? He smiled again, put the flask to his lips and took the final drought of the smoky alcohol.

One last drink. Almost done. The smell of the whiskey blended with the phosphor tang of three matched lit at once, three matches lit…

He let his mind loose, shook the air to vibrating, let the friction catch a trail of flame, lead the flame to the pyre and held it as he tore the ground up running for cover.

Fountains of sparks of every color ripped from the pyramid, whistles and explosions and let the damn monsters come and find them, they could enjoy the show too for all he cared, too. He whipped the sparks up, commanded the flames into a deadly whirl, and let the wind take what remained. Smoke meandered away, taking its sweet time and holding the last tones of the sun captive.

“Adios, Jean Chauvin. Gonna head on fer th’ both of us now.” He thrust his hand into his pocket and felt a pang in his arm, in his chest, when his bare fingers brushed a roll of paper and tobacco. He hadn’t remembered having any of the little bastards left. “Guess you left me one, eh…? Heh.”

He turned his back on the scorched ground, cigarette smoke trailing behind him to catch the sunlight.
The smell of phosphor and sulfur and burnt flesh and strong whiskey clung to him, no different than usual he supposed, except this time there was no swagger in his heavy step, there was no sparking grin.

He missed the cheeky bastard already.

It wasn’t long before the sun was gone and Luke was up in the canopy again, staring into the flames of a burn barrel and watching them blur with the pain, occasionally prodding at the lead weight in his chest with a memory or two.

It had been a full day, he’d done what he’d set out that morning to do; it was the nature of the task that left him heavy now. No point in letting it all drag him any further. He tilted his hat over his eyes and let the taste of ash in his mouth become the grey of deathlike soldier-sleep.