Rainbow Brite And El Camino Part 9b

Fandom: Original
Setting: Deedee’s/Camino’s yard
Summary: Camino makes some decisions. But Brite doesn’t know what they are yet.
Rating: R for language
Owned by: Me
Rainbow Brite & El Camino Part 9b

Soup and Dusk
Camino positioned himself propped up on the arm on the old leather lazy boy in front of Deedee’s T.V. He immediately regretted  the move feeling hard wood chafe him where the upholstery was torn. The camera swiveled into position in between him and the entrance to the room, locking onto his face. It watched motionless as he worked his tongue inside his thick lips, giving his face a chiseled somewhat skeletal other worldly appearance. Then it seemed to come to life with a noticeable blink, and shut off.
　
　
That’s freaky. Thought Brite. There’s that weird feeling we’re being watched again. Huh. I must be inhaling too many fumes.

What she said was, “Hey Jagger Junior.” “What’s with the thinking man stance over there?”
“Yeah, don’t hurt yourself, drifter.” Deedee laughed as she enunciated the words. It made her feel foreign, but she was disrespectful before and wanted to repair that in some small way.

“Not here. But later.”
“Okay.”Deedee sent them off shortly thereafter with a wave, a smile and a heavy sigh

“Child, they is not gon‘ make it.” she said, as they exited her yard.

He steered the car toward Fort Lonesome, the camera capturing two gently rolling heads as they headed down the road at dusk. Purples, pinks and oranges coloring the sky in soft watercolors as the sun went down again.

When they left Deedee’s that afternoon, something was foreboding. Pressing, like weighted down air. Thick planks of the element surrounding their heads. Brite could tell and she wasn’t the type to wait things out type. He had driven to his mother’s house with her but was silent. She came to the door with a suitcase in 1 hand, some cash in her other. She gave him a teary smile and a hug but also said nothing.


Like mother like son I guess. Brite looked at him with eyebrows knotted through the caked windshield.

Camino bounded from the steps with a smile and wave of his own. He put the suitcase in the car’s bed and walked back around to the driver’s side. But before that he caught a glint off the yellow pinstripe on the side of the vehicle. It was extra long due to the extended cab which was implemented to make room for the back seat. At least the bullshit story he told Brite. The truth was he wanted that stripe to be just the right length. And damn if it wasn’t. He smiled to himself with his head down. Shit. Let me get in a good look since this is the last time.　
　
　

Rainbow Brite And El Camino Part 9a

Fandom: Original
Pairing: Camino/Brite
Setting: Camino’s head/Deedee’s living room
Summary: Camino looks inward and doesn’t like what he sees.
Rating: V for violent depictions or NC-17 if you prefer.
Owned by: Me. Duh.
Rainbow Brite And El Camino Part 9a
　
Camino sat in the wobbly chair in Deedee’s kitchen, balancing himself with his left leg extended outward on the scarred linoleum floor. Although used today for a specific purpose, it was a familiar posture. His mother used to pick on him over it. Then when he started “bringing that Bright girl around” as she called it, she thought it was cruel the way he forced her to balance there. It was like he was a broom horse on an incline and admittedly he got off on it. The way she fall off his leg sideways, pitching over. Then in a desperate attempt to catch herself she’d get all wide eyed, put her hands out and either bend her fingers back, roll her shoulder, or land on her face or head. He honestly thought it was funny until he saw blood. Bumps. Bruises. Hitching or limping.
His own capacity for causing pain was shocking, true.
But why did she put up with it? Why would anyone?
He watched Deedee and Brite in the living room chattering on about nothing as women do. Deedee proudly solved a puzzle on “Wheel of Fortune.”
The camera leaving his minds’ eye and the memories to sit and taunt him.
He dumped the remains of his soup, rinsing the bowl and placing it in the sink. He followed the wide angled lens as it entered the dusty room, motes floating visibly in the light shafts cast into the room through the windows.
This place needs ventilation. He thought. And a humidifier. Suddenly I can’t breathe. Shit dude. What the puck is wrong with me? Are panic attacks like germs?