Untitled (Trick's story)

It has come to my attention that one of my characters, Trick, has no home story to speak of. So I'm fixing that.

This story will be told partly in first person, partly third person. First person sections are from Trick's point of view. I'm starting this as a school project, but I'm planning on continuing it for a while, so rping will probably slow down from me significantly, as right now Trick is my priority. He's not always easy to write.

Without further ado:

The Warning
[Transcribed from audio files]

[File starts with static. Eventually a voice speaks, a rough, hoarse tenor]

Lizzie’s damn lucky I’m still in poor shape. Because I’m more than a little pissed off that she got in my way.

I know I’m not dead because it’s too cool for hell. Then again, hell is supposed to be what you hate, and right now there is nothing more I hate than this… fucking… room. So maybe the devil’s just being a clever fuck.

I should probably get on topic. There is a reason I’m talking, and that’s mainly because I can barely fucking move out of bed. I guess my note spooked you ladies.

So instead of my dignified death, they’ve got me strapped to the bed and with my own personal bodyguard. Say hi to the nice people, Natty.

[A short pause]

He’s shy.

I want to say hello as well to the psychologists listening to my ramblings. I hope you find me interesting enough to grow the balls to visit me in person some time.

[He coughs violently, trying to clear his throat]

Be nice if you didn’t have me recording this. You know. Thyroid cancer is hard on the voice. It’s not like I’d stab myself or good Natty here with a pen.

Right, yes, on topic. Today’s topic of conversation is… fuck that. I’ll talk about what I want to talk about.

I’ll talk about… this room. Little bit archaic, this place itself. Old. Needs another coat of whitewash. Got enough equipment in it that you can’t hardly see the walls anyway. It’s a two person room, but of course I’m the only one in here. I’m on the side farthest from the door, and they’ve pulled the curtain across so I can’t even see the door.

They rigged the bed with straps to keep me… controlled. But at least they’ve provided me with company.

They introduced him as Nathaniel when he came in. Kid hasn’t spoken a word. I’d say early twenties at latest, toned, not muscled, dressing to try and look tough in his wifebeater. Shows off a tattoo on his arm, barbed wire, cliché. He’s trying too hard to be intimidating, but I’m sorry, it’s impossible to be intimidating with a name like Nathaniel.

Still not a word out of him. I’ll keep going. Let’s see, gun belted at his waist, well taken care of, but I’d wager he’s never actually fired the thing at someone. Killing a bit of a foreign concept to you, Natty? Probably wasn’t wise to have you in charge of watching someone like me. His clothes are cotton, nice and flammable, so that makes my job easier.

Oh put the fucking radio away, you p*ssy, I’m trying to fucking amuse myself in this shithole. Don’t tell me, I’m better at being intimidating strapped down than you are while armed? I’m touched, really.

Status update, doctors, Nathaniel seems a bit nervous. Grown pale and he’s calling for backup. Can’t imagine why – step the hell away from that.

You are keeping the recorder on, because I’m still talking. So back up while you wait for your buddies to shut me up, because the only reason I haven’t stuck you with enough anesthetic to stop your heart is because you’ve been on the other side of the room.

[There is a moment of silence, then hurried footsteps]

Finally. Imagine I don’t have much time before they switch this off and put me under again, so I’m going to be very. Very. Clear.

Sick or not, there are things I will not stand for, and one of many of them is this child in my room. I will not be babysat. And I will not be strapped to a bed like a mental patient. I’m perfectly aware that I’m crazy in your eyes. But if you want me not to cause trouble, playing mother with me is fucking counterproductive.

So I’ll make a deal. Get rid of the bodyguard, and the straps, or I’ll keep this up. You won’t get anything you ask me for, and I’ll find a way to set this room on fire before pulling the plug on myself. Your restraints won’t stop me. Not when you keep pissing me off.

[He falls silent, as footsteps echo in the room. Someone speaks, out of intelligible range of the recorder]

Is something wrong, miss?

[Recording cuts off]

[File starts with static]

So. Thanks for listening to me, Harrison. Our discussion was… delightful.

The straps are gone, same with the bodyguard, but there’s a camera now instead. Probably someone right outside my door, too. It’s hardly necessary.

I’m not even allowed to decide on my own treatment. Chemotherapy. Per Harrison’s orders. I suspect it’s less to treat me and more to keep me weakened. Well. It’s working. He should be proud.

I really doubt you actually want me alive and well, Harrison. So whatever all this is for… I’m lost. But I’m thinking about it. Work in progress.

Of course, all that’s I mentioned before is to keep me burning the place down. Continuing to speak like this required another deal, one that should be arriving in a few minutes now.

In the meantime… their prompt for today.

… “Recount a significant event from your childhood.”

[He laughs, his voice giving out on him a moment]

Well, misters, me pa used to take me out to the barn and have me strip for him – the hell sort of answer are you looking for? Some horrible tragedy that scarred the mind of this poor boy forever?

I got nothing of that sort.

What I did have was decently normal. Normal as things can get with the world blown to bits. Lucky for me, the rural Midwest wasn’t a prime nuclear target, so it wasn’t like there was much left over radiation to worry about.

It was your regular farming family. Parents, three boys, two girls. Five kids total. Daniel, Mary Anne, Ryan, Jack, Rose. Cute.

If there was anything significant out of that, it was probably near the end, when the place got burned to the ground.

Entire family was locked inside. They couldn’t even identify their remains. All they could tell was there were two scorched little girls, two scorched little boys, and a charred mommy and daddy. The last one was me.

[He pauses a moment, and a woman’s voice speaks, unintelligible]

There’s the other half of the deal. Fancy seeing you here, Lizzie.

[He continues to speak to the unheard third party]

…Oh I’m finished already. Ship it off. The whole exercise is fucking dull and invasive, I’m not doing more than I have to.

…I’m already well aware of who I am, it’s the lot of you that are struggling somehow. They’re trying to… to pin a fly to a corkboard.

But we’re here to talk about you, not me anymore. Your stories, now. You and Harrison and your grand, noble plans. Turn that off for me, will you?

[Recording cuts off]