connor-rourke-session-two

Connor – Session Two

What the fuck, Da? I know, were ya here, you’d give me a good hidin for swearin at ya, but I think I’ve a right to be angry. I’m out here, standin in nothin but me trousers, prayin for rain, and you know I hate water, but it seems I’ll be needin it since I TURN INTO A HOMICIDAL MR. HYDE FUCKER! Honestly, Da, did ya not think it was somethin I needed to know? 
I was goin to beat that woman’s fuckin head in. It was only by the grace of God or whoever that she’s some sort of demon vampire thing who can take a hit and shrug it off. Any other girl would be Auntie Margaret’s damson jam and I’d be deported and banged up in ​Maghaberry. 
So now a group of spooky types who eat and breathe this supernatural shite, who didn’t much take me seriously to begin with, by the way, must think I’m a rabid hound in need of puttin down or a fuckin liability. 
So the (she says Indian, feather Indian, mind you) girl who was gonna get me end away is all teed up when some bloke walks in. My “Morrivision” shows me he has the same infinite strands of fate connected to him as Morimoto’s da, so same person, I gather. He offers help again, this time intriguin the girl. He says she has to wake some beast, some creature that her kind locked away and keep docile now by feedin the fucker when they feed on other people. I think. Somethin like that. I was more concerned with the fact I was in my pants and suddenly everyone is gathered around like it’s fuckin Jackanory. The frigid bird, who I’ve nicknamed Strike 2, is still lurkin in the shadows like she’s expecting someone to reach out of nowhere and drag her screamin to hell. The one who dresses like she constantly travels between London 1910 and Paris 2013, Strike 1, is acting like Morimoto Senior has nothin to say that she hasn’t heard, but clearly she’s interested. 
So a lot of jawin later (during which they talked about the Indian girl eating me soul through me todger, or somethin), they decide it’s scare the pikey day  and take me into a basement to draw circles and shite and cut on each other (and me, for Christ’ sake) and then, before ya know it, Morry Sr. drinks our blood from a silver spoon (which fuckin dissolves, Da!), then we’re in the middle of some trees, hill and dale. I’m dressed like a fuckin extra in Braveheart (“It’s MY island!”) with a shillelagh strapped to me back and the Indian is dressed like royalty. Morimoto is dressed like hisself, which is fine, but his fuckin da is a fuckin ten foot fuck off demon with a mouth like forty miles of bad fuckin railroad. 
So the fuckin Predator says, “Go”  and we’re herded to a cave. I feel around for a while and it’s real dark, but when I see, I wish I couldn’t again. Here’s this foul fuckin lump of jelly with mouths over every inch of it, snorin away. So they do the last thing they should fuckin do and wake the fucker up somehow. It then vomits out some bloke who’s naked, except he’s not since he has bone armor all over hisself. The girl makes a deal with him to get the trick she needs to suck up my mojo and spoon feed the fox lady (ok, so maybe i was payin SOME attention. He makes it clear the price is to be steep, but we’re young and stupid so the girl decides “what he fuck,” I reckon, and goes on with it.
So, we get back to the room with the circles and shite somehow, and well then it’s time to get down to business. Me and the Indian go back to the Fox Lady’s room and bonk. I’ll spare you the details except to say she was somethin pretty special, even in my large pool of experience. And that’s where the good part ends.
You know he next bit, Da. You knew when i was a young’un and you said shite about it to me. So I had to find out like this. I had to lose my rag on some girl who was just tryin to have a bit of fun with me. I put her in a wall and she’s laughin it off and lickin her lips like it’s time for rounds two through twenty-two, and that somehow makes it worse. Morry hosed me down with his own blood to get me straight. What if I’d been at a bar and murdered some random bloke, Da? What if it’d been some little’un? You’ve always done right by me, Da, but now I look back and think you did it to make up for not havin the bollocks to tell me about this. It doesn’t make up for it, Da. Not even a little bit. 

connor-rourke-session-two

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