Ok, my turn again. In light of things going on in my part of the world the prompt for this week is: Devastation

That's a worrying prompt, Kritter! If I may ask, are you in Asia? And, basically, keep well, wherever you are!

Originally posted by Kritter In light of things going on in my part of the world

My first thought was Texas. Still, I hope you're okay!

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Yeep TJ ...

You've painted quite the picture in just a couple of lines there, TJ, I'm really looking forward to reading the rest of this fic when it's posted.

Very chilling, TJ! Looking forward to the rest of the fir!

Nice start TJ..really nice.

I wanted to let you know that EW was correct I was referring to TX and I am fine. Thank you for being concerned though!

So sad, TJ...looking forward to reading your new fic! Glad you're ok, Kritter!

I'm thinking I might get to posting this one in Birdscramble next year...

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KT: Oh boy, time for Ken to call Joe and make him speak up!

I really hope Joe speaks up before Nabu does this.

Oh dear oh dear oh dear....

This is one of those times when somebody should speak up.... He is trying to do the right thing by her without having all the facts! Yikes!

This is not what I expected to write, as I had something else in mind. But...this is what I ended up with. Muses are weird. **************************************** Prompt #179 -Devastation Jun had come by the trailer a few days ago to help him go through Joe's belongings and couldn't manage walking three feet inside before breaking down into sobs. She turned and blindly felt her way back out and into his car. After a moment or two he followed her , locking the trailer door securely behind him. As soon as he climbed in the car, she threw herself against him, wrapping her arms about him. Soaking his shirt with her tears. He wasn't quite sure what to do, and he patted her back awkwardly. After a few minutes she pulled away, wiping her nose on the back of her hand, sniffling and apologizing, stating she'd have to come back for her motorcycle. In relative silence Ken drove her back to the Snack, and returned to his airfield. He tinkered around on one of the planes in the old hangar, but quickly lost interest in it, his mind elsewhere. Restless. He found himself sitting on the porch, just staring out into nothingness. And before he knew it he was watching the sun slowly set in the west. It went down in a great ball of orange fire. The end of another day. How many more days would there be like this? He wondered idly. His eyes settled on the beaten up chair next to his. These days couldn't last forever. He closed his eyes briefly for a moment, shielding them from the dust and dirt that had been kicked up by a sudden breeze blowing across the barren airfield. When he looked up, knuckling the grit out of them , there was Joe lazing about in the chair next to him. Slouched down, long legs stretched out , his feet resting on the dilapidated porch railing that needed painting. Ken openly gaped at him. Watched as Joe lifted a beer to lips, taking a long pull from the bottle. He could see a bead of sweat trickle down the side of his friend's face, down his neck, disappearing beneath the collar of his t-shirt. Joe sighed and rested his head against the back of his chair, then suddenly turned his gaze to Ken's. Those blue-grey eyes pierced his with frightening clarity. "What?" Joe asked with amusement, the corner of his mouth tipping up. "You look like you've seen a ghost..." Words stuck in Ken's throat, his mouth hanging open. But they wouldn't come. Joe let out a half huff/half snort and held his beer bottle up, scrutinizing it. "Dead soldier...." he muttered, rising from his chair with a grunt. As he passed Ken he reached out and clapped his shoulder, long strong fingers digging into his flesh. Ken stared at his hand. It was warm and alive. He could even see the old faded scar across the back of it that Joe had gotten when they were younger. From a lifetime ago. "Well , I'm getting another....want one....?" Joe didn't wait for an answer before he pulled open the rickety screen door and headed off for the kitchen. The door squeaked behind him as it closed, then a few moments later could hear Joe shouting his name, complaining about the crappy beer he had on hand. Ken 's eyes slid back to the place where his oldest friend had been sitting. Noticed the keys to the G2 resting on the arm of the chair. But where was the car? It wasn't parked in its usual spot under one of the few trees on the property. Maybe Joe left it around the other side of the house, in the shade. He did that sometimes. In the background he heard the thump of the fridge door closing, and the tinkling of bottles. A shaky hand raised to his head. It was warm out and he could probably use a beer himself .... But then came a loud bang, one that made him jump. And he heard someone faintly calling his name--as if coming from far away. Over and over. Joe? There was another bang, like an explosion had gone off right next to his head and suddenly he found himself gasping, blue eyes flying wide to the dark night around him. The blackness that threatened to suck him in, greedy and all consuming. He looked frantically about, white knuckled hands gripping the arms of his chair. It was raining. Tiny needle like drops that increased their intensity, pinging noisily off the tin roof of the porch. A clap of thunder sounded, it was as loud as his heart pounding in his ears. Thunder..... he thought leaning back in his seat. That was what woke him. So...he had been asleep.... He crazily wondered if he should feel relived or disappointed. However, he could still hear someone calling him, shouting his name. In confusion he glanced over his shoulder, but the lights were off inside his shack. It was a moment before he realized it was the bracelet. He glanced down at his wrist and noticed the face to it flashing madly. He tapped it, his voice a harsh croak as he responded. It was Jinpei. "Geez, where were you?! I've been trying to reach you forever!" he snapped. " Your phone isn't working again. Did you forget to pay your bill?" "I...I don't...t know... " he admitted, brain still slightly fuzzy. "Hey, are you alright?" the boy asked, but jabbered on without waiting for an answer. "Sis wanted me to let you know she'd be picking up her bike tomorrow..." "Oh, uh...okay...." "I'm gonna take her out there to get it, so you don't have to do it....." "Ri...right..." There was a pause. "Big-bro?" Jinpei asked more timidly. "Yeah?" "Are you sure you're ok....?" Ken gave the chair next to his a sidelong glance, and rubbed a hand over his mouth. "Yeah, Jinpei. I'm fine..." A flash of lightning lit up the airfield, leaving brief ghostly shadows burnt onto the backs of his eyelids. "O..okay. If you say so...." the kid said dubiously. He sounded like he wanted to ask more questions, but thankfully, didn't. "See ya tomorrow..." "Yeah. Tomorrow."

Ugh, didn't post correctly--here's part two: ******************* But he didn't see them the next day. He had no desire to witness another one of Jun's breakdowns, or to deal with Jinpei asking him how he was doing especially when he had no answer for him. He wondered if he was going to suffer a breakdown himself. Considering his crazy dream the other night, perhaps he already was. So, he distanced himself a little from his teammates, popped into the Snack infrequently, and when his mind had cleared and he felt more centered, he went back to the trailer by himself. After the customary inspection, it looked pretty much like how he had left it from the last time he was there. Except it seemed the fridge had been cleaned out, for there was nothing left inside. Ken assumed that had been Jinpei's doing. He wasn't even sure where to begin. How do you go through the trappings of someone else's life? How could a man who lived and played hard, who sacrificed so much....how could his entire existence boil down to one small trailer and its contents? How could those things be catalogued and placed in neatly labeled little boxes? Grimacing, at the prospect of the task ahead, Ken ran a hand through his shaggy hair. He decided on the long footlocker that sat at the end of the bed. It was padlocked shut, but he was able to make short work of it. He knelt down, flipping open the top to inspect the contents. Not surprisingly, he found the usual suspects inside. It was mostly filled with ammo clips, shuriken, and other such weapons . He spied a folder full of newspaper clippings from races Joe had won. And buried at the bottom with a few spare T-shirts thrown over them , was a box. A small line appeared between Ken's eyebrows as he carefully pulled it out. He stared at it a few moments, conflicted as to whether he should open it. It could contain personal stuff he had no business seeing for all he knew. After a moment or so, practicality won out over sentiment and he lifted the cover off. It was a box of photographs. Ken lifted out a few. Joe's parents when they were young and happy, maybe even from before they joined Galactor. A photo of Guiseppe holding a very young Joe, wrapped up in a blanket out in a garden. Ken could definitely see where his friend got most of his looks from . There were a few shots of a family vacation, tattered at the edges, the pictures faded with time. Despite his family being taken from him in such a violent, Ken envied Joe, for at least he had some memories of his father, whereas he had almost none. Well, none that were good anyway..... Getting an uncomfortable feeling he was intruding, he set the pictures aside and reached inside the box again. This time his fingers touched an envelope. Joe's name was written across the front, in a handwriting he didn't recognize. Curiosity piqued , Ken opened the clasp and slid the contents out. There were three pictures tucked inside. The first was a picture of Joe working on his car with the hood propped open. His shirt was dirty as were his hands. One rested on the body of the car while the other disappeared into the depths of the engine compartment. A frown marred his forehead and a ratchet was tucked into the rear pocket of his jeans. The next one he was still working on the car, and looking up over his shoulder, toward the camera, a wrench in his hand, like someone had called his name, catching him by surprise. A genuine smile on his face, eyes shining. It was a striking picture. Ken wondered who snapped it. The final photo was again, one of Joe, leaning against the G2. Grease worked into his hands and broad smears of it on his shirt, as well as a slight smudge along a cheekbone. A ratty red shop rag casually thrown over his shoulder. His hair was tousled, and he was giving the person behind the camera a patented Condor smirk. An open bottle of beer sat on the hood of the car behind him. Ken laid them out on the floor and studied them for a few moments. He cleared his throat, feeling a tightness in his chest and flipped the pictures over, looking for a name or an photographers identifying mark, but found none. He quickly yet carefully returned them to the envelope. He rose from the floor taking the box and its contents with him. There was more within, he just didn't want to go through them in his dead friends home. It was too much.... He stuck his head into the tiny bathroom. It held the normal various accouterments, shampoo, soap, toothpaste. Bottles of aftershave and cologne sat on a small shelf above the sink. How as he supposed to go through all of it? He leaned bonelessly against the doorjamb, looking weakly around the trailer. Everything was right where Joe had left it. Everything looked as if he could come walking in the door any moment with a cocky grin on his face. Ken was almost sure if he waited long enough, he would hear the roar of the G2' s engine as it pulled up outside. Porn magazines and car magazines were left by the couch. A dented blue metal toolbox by the door. An open bottle of Johnny Walker Black sat on the kitchen counter. A dog eared copy of Hemmings ,with oil stains across the front cover on the kitchen table. A leather coat. A bag of laundry. More spare shuriken. His aviator sunglasses. Ken swallowed, drawing in a deep shaky breath. They would feel the devastation of Joe's loss for a long time. Would it ever really go away? He didn't think so. It was a scar they would all carry for the rest of their lives, one that might fade with time, but grows with age. He himself hadn't cried. At least not yet. Everything was too fresh, too new. Cut way too deep. And he was numb. He had gone to the Snack the other night, how he ended up there he had no idea. He didn't even remember driving there. Jun had yelled at him, tears running down her face, that she didn't understand, how could he sound so unfeeling, so cold, so collected. He could only stare silently at her makeup streaked face. He didn't know. He felt like he had lost an anchor, and was drifting about aimlessly, so strongly did he feel the loss. Jun's mood would swing from pragmatism one moment to hysterics the next. You never knew when one of her crying jags would hit. Jinpei was sullen and snapping at everyone, which was unlike the happy-go lucky kid. Ryu, his steadfast pilot, turned inward and pensive and refused to even mention Joe's name. He had stopped coming around the Snack so often and it was wearing on Jinpei. The kid had lost one brother, only to lose his closest friend. Just like he had.

Redbird: *snifflesob* *honks and blows nose*

Dang RB... I just wanna hold the poor Eagle and comfort him...