Symbiotic

One of the men laughed, loudly. It was obscene, really, the way his muggy breath saturated what would-be sustainable air, with thick alcoholic vapors. The smaller man, built more like a tooth-pick than a spud, cringed as any sane man should have, swinging the large construction tool dramatically downward to rest, before the would-be ruins. Fancy, the little man showing all the bravado, with the timelessness of the tools they needed for this particular job. Though I can sense how most people seem to assume they know psychology. Give them this particular line-up: Four construction workers, each of a different build. The loud noisy one was the largest, a great dumb behemoth with the social intelligence of a meerkat—which is an extraordinary compliment from all angles. It was no mistake he found himself pouring whiskey breath all over his comrades, that teddy-bear like happiness was so fleeting, and he was lucky if it lasted past lunch time. The seriousness that enveloped him tighter as the sun dipped in its arch whispered songs of demons in his ears, and by the time the moon rose he felt such a seething hatred for the world it was a wonder his wife found any reason to love him. Still, he felt comforted in being allowed that much in his life, as most men of his nature seemed to take even what remained of their loves for granted. He prided himself in that he caught it before it was too late. The little one, with all the bravado, he's an odd one. Not a lot of social intelligence, but a lacking photographic memory. It's not constant, but it's enough in emotional situations to burn haunting images of past terrors into his mind. Even now, he could recall the face of his mother, leaving him at the doorstep of the orphanage. Abandoning him. Most children found comfort in that they could insert the belief that their Mothers had been distraught the moment they left their arms for the last time. His mother, well…she hadn't even kissed his forehead it seemed. Not that he could remember that part specifically, but how could she have, with a look of absolute relief resting in her smile as she practically skipped back into her life, without him? He couldn't lie to himself that she had loved him, any more than he could forget the tear stricken face of the only woman he'd felt any sort of compassion for since. And then there are the other two. One of them, the tall-for-a-female with the short explosion of crimson red at her jawline, has openly prided herself for her s****l tastes. I'm sure that were Sodom and Gomorrah still erect she'd have ruled them by now. You would think that a woman like that would sit about complaining, but it seems to be more that she enjoys relieving the extra energy. Strong for her size, the girl pulls just as much weight as her coworkers, seeming a sunshine idol for Charles' twenty year old daughter in all other aspects. A sarcasm Charles seldom commented on, as the two had never actually met. Charles was the oldest on the crew. With the behemoth maybe thirty-five, the smaller one only twenty-four, and the explosive ginger at forty-one, Charles was 67. Young for a human, though most were unfit and lazy by his age, he'd kept the strength needed in his muscles and been blessed by random chance with the gift of resilient bone structure. He'd seen these types before, those that were haunted by demons and angels alike. He learned through them as he taught, falling a little in love with every member of his crew, whether they stayed for a day or a year or longer. Through the young boy, he'd learned a respect for the clownish brute. It seemed the boy studied him, and understood his silences in the afternoons. Though neither of them seemed to have bared their hearts to the other, in some ways he didn't believe that they'd need too. Some people never had to explain themselves to each other—they just made sense. It was as if the larger man—Gill was his name—needed someone to look up to him, and remind him the necessity of honor in life. I'm getting derailed. Point is, you take these four f***s and line them up against the wall they're about to destroy, and ask anyone throughout history which one of them would be showing the most exuberance. Showing off, so to speak. They guess one of two: The Girl, over-compensating. Or the Brute, more prone to show-off, considering. But it was the Boy that took all initiative. His normal cold, calculative gaze was warmed by the still jovial energy Gill gave off, and a glint of quiet laughter flashed in his eyes as he swung. The old, seemingly ancient stone walls crumbled and fell. The first of many. Charles chuckled softly, watching as Lonna fell in suit, a womanly smile lighting her face the way a fire might light the woods. As always, he was the last. Noting how Gill naturally wandered to the boy's side, he smiled again to himself and picked up his own. The hours passed quickly, the fractures of sunlight glinting through the trees in the afternoon light. Gill glowered at a corner of brick, just high enough to reach mid-calf. He didn't raise his tool, only a large foot with barely any force. "This was a brittle building." He said softly, dragging a toe through the piles of stained glass as he passed them to join up with the others in the center of the room. "It's like how I imagine those old, one room churches in old England to look like." Lonna scoffed, "It might have been one of the first churches built in the America's for all we know." "This is Arizona.” She leveled her gaze to the boy, analytical but young. The haughtiness sparked in her eyes gave hints of wounded pride that someone she considered herself maternally superior too, had corrected her on such a fundamental rational. "Columbus didn't discover this place. He stole it." "Granted. But I highly doubt the nomadic cultures before him had any interest, even if they had the knowledge, to build old English structures like this." "…Children." All eyes rested on the oldest, the Father like figure that always smiled for the most obvious reasons. He ignored the biting 'my ass' comment, from none other than Gill, before assuming a more matter-of-fact tone. "It doesn't really matter what this place was, we're being paid to destroy it." A somber silence followed, the conversation over-ruled and deemed useless. It was Lonna that broke first, dusting the rock from her khaki-overalls as she backed away from the wreckage. The sun was nearly setting now, shining white crystal-like prisms over the mounds of wasted time. For them, at least. "At least we aren't wasting our time," Gill growled. "Just like a woman to be the first to give up." Lonna bristled at the abrasiveness of the remark, catching only wisps of humor in the man's otherwise twisted expression, and tossed it off as testosterone over-load. It must have riddled his head after he hit his second wind. Still miffed, she turned her nose up, shaking the dust and dirt from her waist-towel before wiping the sweat from her skin. As she reached the drinks she noted that the sound had lessened, and knelt to pick up two water bottles. As she turned, she allowed herself a moments hope--part of her wanted Gill to apologize for the initial sting of his remark--but it was the kid walking in her direction. "Go on, Gill," He taunted, a wide smile on his face, "Say somethin'." Lonna was so caught off guard that she didn't even pick up her own bottle. Charles froze for a moment, bated breath before he pushed himself out of it, crossing his arms and taking in the depth of the building he leaned against. He'd been told about the basement level of the building, but with how old it had been, he expected it to be the size of a crawl space. Instead, it was almost another floor. His companions had made considerable headway, but the sun was setting. His attention drifted back to Gill, still cleaving away at the stone. He always had to be the last one to finish. A reluctant smile lifted the corner of Charles' mouth just a little, at the childishness of the action. Quickly then, it lowered. Childish men rarely made more than one of two decisions with a barb like that, and he wasn't exactly comfortable in that he couldn't guess which might occur. Part of him questioned the validity of his concern on the matter, but it still didn't bode well for his instincts. It felt like the moments passed slower, though it was only until the boys smile found a natural rest in his cheeks that the brute held a silence, before stopping as well. An audible sigh of relief came from Charles when Gill smiled, and a sheepish apologetic grin lit his face. The younger man barely paid any mind, nearly oblivious as he rushed up to the kid. His stance was the kind of affronted dominance that might match Lonna's maternally wounded pride. The boy mimicked him, comically matching with that over-zealous bravado from before. "Geez, Gilbert, I think he looks scarier than you," She laughed, finally picking up, this time all four bottles. The first two she chucked directly at their heads--lightly. Gill's head jerked stiffly, just seconds enough to warn the boy in front of him to catch his. With cat-like grace he didn't even turn his head, he just lifted his hand exactly where it needed to be. Inhuman, that one. "Show off," Gill muttered, picking up his bottle just as Charles caught his. "I'm not a show off." To accent his point, he went back to the wall, tool in hand and bashing away at the stone like a mad-man, just for a couple seconds. The awkward silence that would have been was instead a cacophony of stone caving into what seemed to be a hollow space behind the basement walls of the old church. The dumbfounded silence let them question just how strange it was to find this in such an ancient place, before the boy shook the remaining dust from his hair, grinning to match his madness from before. Charles and Lonna shared a look of concern. Despite the innocent eagerness their youngest companion showed with his gait as he strode into the hall, Charles, Lonna, and Gill stayed in the main room. The sun had dipped low enough now that they should have been leaving in the truck. "I'll give him five minutes before I drag his sorry ass back out here." Gill muttered, almost growling as he spoke. "Children are children." Charles sighed, watching with scarcely hidden dismay. His wife had already been upset that he'd have to miss dinner for this project--their client had wanted it done by tomorrow night. Surely he wouldn't be too much longer. The halls were cold and branched out like catacombs, nothing but dirt tunnels held taught with apprentice buttresses. At first he thought to wander, but the further he went the more likely it seemed he might get lost at a seconds notice, even if he only continued forward. That he could see well enough to catch the edges, and hear well enough to guess by the rats skittering at their ends how long they might be, told him that there must be some source of light near-by. How long might it take him to find it, before going back? After all, why go back empty handed...ish...? Catacombs are still pretty cool, I think. Part of him wanted to turn back, if only to tell his coworkers to go on home--he'd find a ride, if one of them would just clock him out, please? His foot hadn't even shifted when a soft, broken female voice flitted through the back of his mind. He could feel the highs and lows of her tenor like fingertips dusting his primal cortex from the inside. That didn't even make sense...did it? 'But you're so close...' Had Lonna followed him back here? The voice seemed too soft and sweet to have been the club-crazy spit-fire of a woman. Then again he had never heard her sultry side, so who could say? The woman had freuidically dropped the term cougar twice out of context, and he wouldn't have been entirely disappointed if she'd tried. If only to prove that he was right. There was something unattractive to him about a woman that assumed a motherly stance, without invitation. He counted the seconds before deciding that, no, it wasn't Lonna after all. She couldn't have hidden herself for so long, without saying something to get her noticed. Really, she seemed too confident a woman to have hidden at all, on that note. The cold seemed to be pulling him now, further into the winding dirt paths. He'd forgotten his earlier decision not to wander, and had made a few hazy turns before realizing what he'd done. How long had he been down here, anyway? Surely it had only been about fifteen minutes or so. A tunnel wall curved down. A unique one, this time lined with what looked like soap-stone and a refreshing array of hung torches. He still couldn't understand why he could see so easily down here, but gratefully felt out the bottle of lighter fluid he'd brought with him during lunch to refill his Zippo. The old fluids that must have been used for the torches, had a strangely different odor, a sweet chemical scent rather than stark and hair-burning. He'd soaked the cloth with fresh fuel before setting it aflame...slowly. It took three good tries before the ember held long enough for the fire to spread throughout the whole of the wick. The light revealed that there was a thin trough, running at the same level as the rest of the torches, just at eye level for him. That would explain why it had been so pungent. The mixture lit easier than his method, burning long enough to set the rest of the torches into a deep, lasting ember. The fire seemed brighter than it should have been, burning a soft white glow at the hued edges like bright snow. The tiny pieces fluttering off of it looked very much like snowflakes. What kind of mixture had it been, to burn so smoothly? The fascination was only momentary, shifting to the large wooden door that had been revealed in the light. Heavy iron chains prevented it from opening. At least, it seemed that way at first glance. Why put the chains on this side, if the hinges were on the other side? Meaning, the door should open inwardly. It wasn't logical to lock a door backwards... The torch closest to the door snapped, sending a burning shard into the corner of his left eye. A moment of panic; the heel of his palm holding pressure in an irrational reflex that might have caused damage, were a blister truly about to raise. Yet, it didn't. Only his vision had been effected, a lasting blur making the knots and hanging segments of chain blur together in an almost human like figure. 'You found me...!' It wasn't in English. He imagined a fox trying to speak, gutteral, soft but high pitches in a racoon like chitter, but even that did little justice to the Angelic language. Thinking back, a part of him questioned whether it had been so before, either. What was it? Why did it make sense, yet was clearly non-sense? And why did it feel so much more...familiar? Regardless, the voice traced his cortex just as before, the way a woman might lightly drag her fingertips beneath a lovers chin, as though to lead him further. Further into the cold. Further into the dark dungeon before him. He had found her. And it seemed that she had been waiting for a very...very long time.