Protecting Their Home (Lore Story) (Patreon)

(Hey all! This is the first lore story so I hope you enjoy it. My plan for Lucia's will be to write most of her in this diary format, because I think getting it from a first person POV with her able to reflect on how her experiences changed her will be really interesting. That being said, I had the diary idea mostly after this piece was finished, so except future pieces to involve more self-reflection than this one!)

Dear diary,

I’m going to tell you about the first time I had to defend our home.

We spent three goddamn years wandering streets stained with who-knows-what, forced to fight with rats for scraps as we made our beds in stinky dumpsters until we finally found a place to call home—a dingy apartment with broken windows, no door, and a roof that had enough holes to flood the place when it rained.

We didn’t care, though. We’d grown used to snoozin’ outside and freezing our butts off so just having walls around us, even if they were crappy and threatened to cave-in at any second, was awesome.

But then that day came.

I don’t think I’ve ever been so pissed off, or scared out my freakin’ socks, as I was that day when I got home from school and saw those damn bikers crowded around our stoop, chugging beers as they laughed their asses off, not caring who lived there or whose shit they were fucking up.

There were three of them, but only one dude was memorable. He was all muscle, with grotesquely bulging veins and a leather jacket that had flames embroidered onto it. His motorcycle was, of course, massive, and screamed I’m totally compensating for something. The other two dudes were totally forgettable. Cronies to follow his every beck and call.

When I spotted them, I told Max to hide. He put a trashcan on his head and said: “I have become a bush.” It worked, sure, but he kept making to much noise by walking into a wall, so I had to tell him to sit in it and wait instead. Kid’s so innocent, I wish he didn’t have grow up in a place like this.

Somehow I needed to get those dudes to buzz off—but I didn’t have a plan of attack. My gut said rush in and start shit, throw punches until they bite back or run off crying like the safety-in-numbers cowards they are. But I’d never been in a fight before. Sure, I’d smacked a jerk or two who said something I didn’t like, but having someone throw back at me? I didn’t know if I could handle it.

But shit, it was our home, y’know?

And we’d fought damn hard to find one after, well, everything…

If I wasn’t going to fight for it, what was I going to fight for?

I cracked my knuckles, took a deep breath, and said some swear words under my breath to help me feel more badass. Then I marched forward with my fists clenched and my teeth gritted, and before one of those bastards could even say a word I reared back and pounded my hand into his cheek. He stumbled backward, tooth clattering against the ground as blood dripped out his gums.

“What. The. Fuck!” he hissed.

I straightened my back and tried my hardest to scorch them with my glare. “This is my home!” I yelled. “I don’t give a damn who you punks think you are, but me and lil’ bro live here, so you’d better get the hell away!”

The geek I attacked immediately tried retaliating, lifting his fist and rushing at me—but the big dude, the one I presumed to be the leader, held his arm out and blocked his path, keeping his gaze trained on me. When the other dude got the hint and backed down, the leader took a step forward. Then, with blinding quickness, he removed a pistol and placed it square against my temple.

The world stopped as sweat poured down my cheeks. I thought for sure my goose was cooked, and in that moment all I thought about was Max. How would he survive without me? He was kind, too kind, and blissfully unaware of the world. He was my best friend, and the thought of leaving him alone…

It made me grit my teeth.

“You came in here with no damned plan,” he said, nodding. “Now you’ve got a gun to your head, and at any second I can pull this trigger and blow your brains against the ground. How do you feel about that?”

“It pisses me off because I can’t afford to die yet. My lil’ bro needs me.”

The leader nodded. There wasn’t an ounce of joy on his face. He was a stern teacher scolding a student who’d made a bad move. “You’re right. He does. This place sucks, but you’ve got no where else to go, right? It’s your home, you defended it, and I respect that. Next time, though, you won’t get someone as nice as me, so you gotta do it smarter. Come in knowing how you’re gonna win, got it? People are always gonna try to steal from you, but here in Panty’s Landing, everyone wants what they don’t have. Even you.”

He lowered the gun, then pulled a small bag of coins out his pocket and dropped it on the ground in front of me. “Buy yourself some doors. Get locks put on them. Fix the windows, too. And eat, girl. You’re skin and bones.”

“I don’t want your damn blood money.”

“All money is blood money, but you clean it by using it for something good, got it?”

He didn’t wait for my response—which was good, because I was too embarrassed to give one. I tried being hardcore and fighting for what I’d believed in and he’d made me look like a friggin’ idiot. Sitting there, watching them as they left, with the one I’d attacked glaring at me the whole time, all I could think about was how he could have killed me if he wanted to…

The bag taunted me, coins spilling lazily out the side, and I knew if I didn’t take them, someone else would. I’d spend it on food and keeping us safe—who knew what some rando would pump it into? I grabbed the bag, I squeezed it tight, and I stared at our apartment. It wasn’t much, but it was ours.

But that day it taught me a lesson I’ve never forgotten.

Protecting something isn’t important. We can lose money, or food, or a house.

Protecting us is. If Max loses me, or I lose him…

Well, that can’t be replaced.

Thanks for listening to my ramblings as always, diary.