Link to article: No Longer, part 2.5.
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===== [[include :scp-wiki:component:preview text= Some answers are revealed, some questions are posed. ]] ===== [[>]] [[module rate]] [[/>]] [[=]] + Part 2.5: Travis Callaway [[/=]] Travis felt his heartbeat racing at a million miles an hour, trying his best to stay calm as he followed Quill downstairs. Every breath he took did nothing to quell the fire building in his stomach. He was livid, angry, scared, and sad; not for himself. What happened to Sprocke—Darius—was cruel and sickening. Travis had seen many ways people had lived and survived in the past, but thinking back to that night in Chicago, in that decrepit apartment, how sickly and on the verge of death Darius was, had burned a piece of his soul away. Once downstairs, Travis followed behind Quill until they reached the kitchen. Amelia was portioning out some of the food they had been cooking, which seemed to be lasagna and Texas toast. The light from the kitchen illuminated their short, curly brown hair, making it shine like honey lit by a flashlight. Amelia turned to face them, a glowing smile on their face. “Heya, Quill! Heya, Trav! I'm fixing up some food right now, and made Sprocket a smaller portion since being on the run and all, no consistent food; it might be better if they started to eat smaller amounts to make their stomach more used to a constant stream of food and—" “It’s Darius,” Travis said, cutting off Amelia with a slight hiss. They tended to ramble on, and Travis was having none of it right now. “They told us not to call them Sprocket anymore,” Quill said, placing a hand on Travis's shoulder, a silent reminder to take it easy. “They want to go by their real name. We appreciate all that you did for him, taking care and all. Right, Trav?” Travis exhaled deeply through his nose, his heart still beating against his ribs. "Yeah, right, thank you for looking after him. It means a lot to me." Travis stated. He was feeling guilty for snapping at Amelia. “You don’t have to thank me,” Amelia said as she laid out all the food on separate plates, not sloppily, but with care, as if an artist, carefully placing each food item with intense thought and consideration. “Not for that. We owe that kid the world, especially after we, well, you know…” They stopped placing food on the plate as they turned their head away from Travis and Quill. “I’m heartbroken too about their friends, but I promise you guys that I won’t make that mistake again,” Quill said. Travis shook his head. “Quill, it’s not your fault for what—" Quill snapped their fingers at him and did the zip-your-lips motion with their hand. “I am the leader of this coterie; it’s my ass on the line once I report back to M.V., and it is my fault for not making sure things were safe.” Travis was staring at Quill’s face, hardened, lacking emotion, like a statue given life. But he knew, they all did, that Quill always had a hard time showing his feelings, but his eyes, as Travis investigated them, were filled with so much sorrow and regret. Amelia took the plate with smaller portions of food, still not looking at both Travis and Quill. “I’m, uhm… going to go check on Darius now; food’s ready whenever you guys are.” With that, Amelia exited and headed upstairs. Travis knew the tension was too much for them, and how could he blame her? Since that night, animosity has been building among the group. “Come on, let’s head out back,” Quill said as they went to the door just past the kitchen, opening it and gesturing for Travis to head out first. Travis stepped into the backyard, and the sky was bleeding orange, blue, and purple as the sun set on the horizon, ready to take its last breath before disappearing. Travis squatted in the middle of the yard, his skin prickling as the anger inside him felt like an engine coolant pushing against a loosely sealed cap. The walls felt like they were pressing against him. His face burned with shame, his teeth clenched as if he were sanding wood. A low, constant ring filled his ears. Quill came up to Travis, crouching down to his level and placing a hand on his back. “I know, I get it. I do,” they said, rubbing Travis’s back to soothe them. “At least it wasn’t for nothing; at least we got Darius. That’s something we can be—not proud of—thankful for.” “They told me that they were thirteen when they started running… thirteen fucking years old. That’s—” Travis said. His body shook violently, and the tips of his fingers felt like needles; his mouth was parched. “He was just a kid, man…” “Trav, let’s take a deep breath and try to calm—” Travis stood up, taking a step back. He felt tears stream down his face, his nose scrunching up into a snarl as he pointed at Quill. “And what? Calm down? There is nothing to be calm about, Quill,” Travis said, shouting at them. “That kid was thirteen years old when he started running—are you not fucking listening to me? They never got a chance at life, to be a kid, or to have any meaningful experiences, and you are standing there, telling me to calm the fuck down? When I get my hands on those MTF, cocksucking, bootlicking fuckheads, I swear that I’m going to rip them to shreds.” Quill stood up and got into Travis's face, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and pulling him close. “That’s exactly what I’m telling you to do. I get that you’re hurt and that you want to inflict that same pain on those who cast the first stone, but you must remember that we aren’t like the rest of our brothers and sisters; we do not engage in unnecessary violence or revenge, especially now, when the Bookburners and Jailors are looking for reasons to annihilate us. That’s why we follow the ways of M.V.,” Quill said through jaded breaths. “He would not want this of us.” Travis shoved himself away from Quill’s grip. “Oh yeah? And what part of his teachings revolves around letting someone suffer as much as Darius has? You’ve seen the type of fear the Jailors put into people’s hearts, how most people prefer to kill themselves over being captured. Where, in any of that, is included in their way of thinking?” “None, but that’s not what this is about,” Quill said, shaking their head. “I know you’re still new to the sect, only been with us a little over a year, but you must remember that—and M.V. put it most delicately—once we’ve achieved our goal of creating a harmonious society, that we will have to live side by side with those we fought against. We must use that anger, that pain, to better lives rather than take it.” “How do you think that’s going to work out? Huh?” The words left Travis’s lips before he realized it. “You still think in the old ways, how the Serpent’s Hand used to operate, but that way of thinking or doing is dead,” Quill said after a long pause. “The leaderless, structureless ways are of the past. That’s why M.V. created the sect, the Caretakers, because he knew that to change people’s minds about the anomalous, we mustn’t throw the whole book at their face and say, 'Here is how the world is, good luck.' We need to be the gentle hand to change people’s hearts first. And to do that, we must work as a whole and do so without violence unless the time calls for it.” Travis turned away from Quill’s intense gaze that had been burning a hole in his mind. He knew they were right about everything. He understood that the Serpent’s Hand had gained a bad reputation ever since they began clashing with the Bookburners and Jailors; all they wanted was peace, to live and love. But it was jarring to him—the quick transformation of the Serpent’s Hand, from scattered groups around the world to a unified community, from violence and guerrilla warfare to diplomacy, was sudden and swift. And because of the new sect, the Serpent’s Hand was divided: those who believed in the old ways and those who believed in the ways of M.V. “I know,” Travis said as he returned his gaze to Quill. “I’m sorry for yelling at you. It's just heartbreaking what happened to Darius.” “I get it, I do. And I didn’t bring you out here to scold you—sorry that I did. I brought you out here to tell you that we found out how the Jailors knew about the escape plan, or, well, how Milo found out about it.” Quill said. “Wait, Milo knows about what happened?” Travis said, his brows furrowing into a trench, as he took a step towards Quill. “Thanks to a heads-up from one of the sect members, they found a Magpie hiding out in the library, broken and on the verge of tears, talking about how the Jailors used their family to coerce them into ‘destroying the lives of young ones,’” Quill said as they watched the bleeding sky grow dimmer with every second that the sun began to drown in the horizon. “If it is them, then we have our spy. But…” “The Jailors were using other GOIs to hunt them down,” Travis said, sucking in air fast, knowing that nowadays, it wasn’t uncommon to hear about the Jailors or Bookburners forcing others to help them in their goals. “Damn them…” Travis knew that because of the sect of the Serpent’s Hand he belonged to, the Caretakers, the division it caused within the movement made it an easy target for groups like the Jailors or Bookburners, who moved in and started wiping out other members at an unprecedented rate. The Bookburners had even broken into the Library once more, thankfully causing less destruction than before. However, they had only done so with the help of Magpies. Travis wondered what kind of control the Jailors and Bookburners exerted over them to make them subservient. “A few of the sect members have this Magpie held up in a warehouse not too far from here—you know the one, right across from the Scheels on MacArthur. They are going to get this magpie to talk, but seeing the state they were in, I believe that they were going to regardless.” Quill said, crossing their arms as they began to pace. “Is that where Milo is going?” Travis said, now realizing what Quill had said earlier about them heading out for a few hours. If it was true, then he was worried sick and wore it on his face like a gigantic sign. The silence from Quill after he had asked them was enough to know. “Jesus Christ, Quill. She’s going to kill them,” Travis said, his speech exacerbated, rubbing the back of their neck and shaking their head. “You've got to tell her to come back to the house now! You know how Milo is; you've got to do something.” “I can’t.” “You can’t, or you won’t?” Travis Maddogged Quill as another long stretch of silence fell over them, the tension in the air almost visible, as Quill was positioned in the shade of the sun, and the shadows of the fence blocked most of their facial features, except for their amber eyes, brighter than anything the sun was able to conjure, the silver in their beard washed out. Travis saw the look of acceptance on their face. No, more akin to turning one's cheek. Travis shook his head, scoffing. “Weren’t you the one telling me that we, the Serpent’s Hand of Oregon, or the Caretakers as M.V. calls us, shouldn’t engage in acts of violence or revenge? You just said it to me, but clearly you don’t even follow your own—” “I said unnecessary violence,” Quill said, cutting him off. However, they were not snapping at Travis nor raising their voice against him. “Sometimes we must do what is called for to protect us and to protect the people we save. I know this Magpie did what they did under duress, with those they loved likely held hostage, but they cost the lives of Darius’ friends, and that blood must be answered for and repaid.” Travis hated when Quill was right, but they were. He knew that Darius had lost everything he held onto, cherished, and loved with all his heart, which soon shattered in his chest—a part of him agreed to the magpie’s execution. Just trying to imagine the pain Darius was going through was making Travis’s stomach churn like a million knives stabbing him. Quill was right; something like this was never going to go unanswered. Travis just wondered if there would be anything left of the Magpie once Milo was done with them. “I don’t enjoy taking lives, but sometimes we must, and I carry the pain of all those whom I have slain or had others do,” Quill said, letting out a shaky breath. “A necessary evil I loathe.” Travis walked up to Quill, placing a hand on their shoulder, seeing the pain on their face. “You’re a good man, Quill. I know we argue a lot, but I look up to you like a father figure and respect you as such. I know these are hard times, not just for us, but for the sect. But it’s people like you, people the M.V. trusted to manage all these different coteries across the country, who are the reason why we are strong. I know I came from the other side of the Serpent’s Hand, but I trust you, and as such, I trust what we do.” Travis watched as a single tear rolled down Quill’s face, leaving a stain on that hardened shell of a visage. “We should head back inside,” Quill said, not wiping away the tear. “Amelia will kill us if we let her food go cold.” Travis let out a small laugh, knowing it was best not to push this any further. “Right, wouldn’t want her to be angry. Come on, let’s go.” Travis went over to the back door that led into the kitchen, this time holding it open for Quill. Quill, just before they went through the door, gave him a small pat on his arm and a quiet thank you before disappearing into the kitchen. Travis returned his gaze to the sun one final time, watching as the last sliver of light fell beneath the ocean of green, drowning the brilliant sky in the black of night. The work was going to be difficult, but it was going to be done, for Darius' sake. Travis walked back inside and closed the door. [[include :scp-wiki:component:license-box]] [[include :scp-wiki:component:license-box-end]]