![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
okaywolfYou&& (working title) is a queer novella about when home is other people, including the monsters lurking in the woods. Check out the about page here. You&& is a sequel to Sometimes The Mountain Buries You.
Built for a family, Basin's small cabin had two bedrooms that barely fit beds, a bathroom that barely fit a bathtub, a living room with ample-cushioned ample seating, and a kitchen laid out to accommodate an entire six-person table with all the space around it for chairs. While at times Basin's cabin contained six people—at times it contained more—they had instead opted for a broken cafe table tossed out of the back of a long-established restaurant from the decent town, and an assortment of equally eclectically acquired chairs.
The asphalt tiles of the kitchen were black and white and mint, speckled and glittery. They were easy to maintain, easy to clean. Combined with the assortment of chairs, the asphalt tiles made the ample space of the kitchen ideal for tattooing and medical care. The nearest peeling-veneer cabinet was well-stocked for the types of injuries Basin was comfortable treating and the ones they would rather not but did.
Mostly people got scrapes and sprains. Most anything else Basin sent packing to the hospital.
What arrives in their kitchen late in the afternoon is worse than a scrape and sprain, and won't be sent packing to the hospital.
The speeding, heavily-laden old small pickup truck audibly churns the rock of the dusty road supporting the strip of cabins. Like any other sign of people coming and going, Basin makes note of the approaching vehicle, sitting on ample cushion reading trash from the secondhand bookstore.
They get up when the truck stops and open the door to Jared running at them across trimmed down dead grass.
Heather is already throwing the truck in reverse, her head out the window for instructions to pull in closer to the cabin. The step that is Jared announcing their arrival and asking if Basin can help is lost entirely; Basin is already guiding Heather's old small pickup truck with waves. They focus for the moment is on the guiding Heather's old small pickup truck until their hand closes in a braking fist, then finally they let their eyes fall again on what they can't believe they are seeing.
Heather is in such a rush she doesn't even close her truck door, but Basin is already ahead of her.
"We're going to move it inside."
"Is that— They don't look good. I stopped here because I don't think they'd make it to the hospital."
Basin can't fathom what would happen if what was in the bed of Heather's old small pickup truck made it to the hospital. "It's not as bad as it looks."
Basin is not a figure that one might presume possesses great physical strength but—short, round, soft, and sturdy—they grew up hauling feed and the animals that fed on it, and had returned to hauling animals after several years mostly hauling themself across the land. With Basin's help and particular expertise handling this particular animal, what was in the bed of Heather's old small pickup truck becomes what is in Basin's kitchen.
Heather watches as the person they hadn't thought much of manoeuvred limbs she had made little sense of with ease, pulls supplies from the peeling-veneer cabinet with a distinct certainty, and prepares with all the confidence of experience to execute a level of first aid Heather hoped she would never have to. Having only known Basin on weekends and school breaks, Heather's impression of them had mostly been the hope that Jared didn't think the piercings and tattoos were cool.
Aware that there are two people who don't know what the thing in Basin's kitchen is, Basin looks up from needle, driver, and pliers to Heather standing at the ready then Jared placed further back in the comforting space of the living room. "You don't have to stick around."
Heather frowns. Basin stills their gloved hands, holding Heather's eyes for a moment before again switching their gaze to Jared with a directional intent.
"I've got this handled." You might want to handle your own person depending on you.
Once Heather has ushered Jared out of the cabin and the truck audibly churns the rock of the dusty road winding towards her cabin hidden from the highway, Basin gets to work pulling out spines before suturing muscle together the way they had been taught to with little shock and awe.
They don't look forward to the aftermath of Heather and Jared's shock and awe.
Built for a family, Basin's small cabin had two bedrooms that barely fit beds, a bathroom that barely fit a bathtub, a living room with ample-cushioned ample seating, and a kitchen laid out to accommodate an entire six-person table with all the space around it for chairs. While at times Basin's cabin contained six people—at times it contained more—they had instead opted for a broken cafe table tossed out of the back of a long-established restaurant from the decent town, and an assortment of equally eclectically acquired chairs.
The asphalt tiles of the kitchen were black and white and mint, speckled and glittery. They were easy to maintain, easy to clean. Combined with the assortment of chairs, the asphalt tiles made the ample space of the kitchen ideal for tattooing and medical care. The nearest peeling-veneer cabinet was well-stocked for the types of injuries Basin was comfortable treating and the ones they would rather not but did.
Mostly people got scrapes and sprains. Most anything else Basin sent packing to the hospital.
What arrives in their kitchen late in the afternoon is worse than a scrape and sprain, and won't be sent packing to the hospital.
The speeding, heavily-laden old small pickup truck audibly churns the rock of the dusty road supporting the strip of cabins. Like any other sign of people coming and going, Basin makes note of the approaching vehicle, sitting on ample cushion reading trash from the secondhand bookstore.
They get up when the truck stops and open the door to Jared running at them across trimmed down dead grass.
Heather is already throwing the truck in reverse, her head out the window for instructions to pull in closer to the cabin. The step that is Jared announcing their arrival and asking if Basin can help is lost entirely; Basin is already guiding Heather's old small pickup truck with waves. They focus for the moment is on the guiding Heather's old small pickup truck until their hand closes in a braking fist, then finally they let their eyes fall again on what they can't believe they are seeing.
Heather is in such a rush she doesn't even close her truck door, but Basin is already ahead of her.
"We're going to move it inside."
"Is that— They don't look good. I stopped here because I don't think they'd make it to the hospital."
Basin can't fathom what would happen if what was in the bed of Heather's old small pickup truck made it to the hospital. "It's not as bad as it looks."
Basin is not a figure that one might presume possesses great physical strength but—short, round, soft, and sturdy—they grew up hauling feed and the animals that fed on it, and had returned to hauling animals after several years mostly hauling themself across the land. With Basin's help and particular expertise handling this particular animal, what was in the bed of Heather's old small pickup truck becomes what is in Basin's kitchen.
Heather watches as the person they hadn't thought much of manoeuvred limbs she had made little sense of with ease, pulls supplies from the peeling-veneer cabinet with a distinct certainty, and prepares with all the confidence of experience to execute a level of first aid Heather hoped she would never have to. Having only known Basin on weekends and school breaks, Heather's impression of them had mostly been the hope that Jared didn't think the piercings and tattoos were cool.
Aware that there are two people who don't know what the thing in Basin's kitchen is, Basin looks up from needle, driver, and pliers to Heather standing at the ready then Jared placed further back in the comforting space of the living room. "You don't have to stick around."
Heather frowns. Basin stills their gloved hands, holding Heather's eyes for a moment before again switching their gaze to Jared with a directional intent.
"I've got this handled." You might want to handle your own person depending on you.
Once Heather has ushered Jared out of the cabin and the truck audibly churns the rock of the dusty road winding towards her cabin hidden from the highway, Basin gets to work pulling out spines before suturing muscle together the way they had been taught to with little shock and awe.
They don't look forward to the aftermath of Heather and Jared's shock and awe.
