Prompt 132 -- Solid

Title: Realmspeaker
Genre: Urban fantasy
Characters: Farrel, Shellee, Libby, Russell, Brett
Prompt: 132 ~ Solid
Word Count: Approx. 1208
Rating: PG-13
Type: Series
Summary: Farrel's frustration grows.
Warnings: Stretched prompt, language, extreme stupidity, family angst

*

August 4, 2059
Ashfield Acres, Ashfall, New York

Out of every hundred people he knew, Farrel hated ninety-nine of them. Libby Shaw was that rare sort of person he could see himself liking. She was clever and fun and played a wicked guitar. She could drink men under the table and maintain her own sassy brand of feminine grace throughout. They'd been friends in high school--or at least as close to friends as Farrel ever got--and she'd made an effort to stay in touch, which said something considering who he was and what he was like with people. Libby had a way of looking at people like no one else existed, a way of making you feel important just for being alive and breathing; while most people defaulted to apathy, she defaulted to acceptance, appreciation. That killer body also helped. Not many people disliked her and certainly nobody hated her, which always made Farrel wonder why he didn't care much for her anymore.

But then he remembered that she was nailing his dad and that kind of answered the question. What did they even see in each other? A twenty year age difference wasn't something most people could get over just for the sake of attraction. Then again, Libby had a few physical traits--the brown hair, the slender build, the heart-shaped face--that were shared by Farrel's mother and maybe that had something to do with it on Brett's side. As for why Libby wanted to be with Brett, Farrel wasn't sure he wanted to know.

"Been awhile since Brett had you fetch a Walker. He hasn't made you do that since Stasia, right?" Annoyed, Farrel nodded. Figured that she'd mention Stasia, really. Brett was probably planning on pulling the same shit with Shellee.

Her bottle-auburn hair almost burgundy from her swim, Libby took a seat across from Farrel and smiled at Shellee beside her. "I'm Libby."

"Shellee." Farrel wasn't big on hitting women, but Shellee had that airy-fairy grin of utter brainlessness that always inspired the urge to punch the wearer in the stupid fucking face. God, he'd known her for maybe half an hour and he loathed her already. Either she was the most repulsive person he'd ever met or he was more of a prick than he realized. Or both. "What's a Walker?"

Libby raised an eyebrow. Farrel shrugged; at least there was someone else who could explain it now. "You mean these two idiots didn't tell you anything?"

Russell shook his head. "Farrel said that was Brett's problem."

Oh sure. Blame him. Why not? Everyone else always did. "Russell was too busy admiring the scenery."

Embarrassed, Russel stared down at the surface of the table. Libby rolled her eyes. "Boys. Anyway, it's kind of hard to explain. How do you feel about the supernatural?"

"Supernatural?" Shellee blinked a couple times, her mouth falling slightly agape as she tried to compute. Then, she smiled. "Oh, you mean like managing to look totally hot without any makeup or anything? God, I would kill to be able to pull that off!"

...Well. Fuck. "You see why I wanted Brett take care of it?"

"Ah, well... maybe it is a weird term." It wasn't and she knew it. How did she manage to stay patient in spite of such ignorance? Then again, being Brett's girlfriend probably required more patience than most people could ever fathom. "I guess I'll let Brett fill you in on the details later, since there's no point in knowing if you don't get the basics, but I can sum it up for you. Basically, we live in one of several overlapping dimensions and a Walker is someone who can travel amongst them."

"Oh."

Those blue eyes kept up with the rapid blinking. Farrel did something he rarely did and exchanged a quick glance with Russell. Wait for it... wait for it... "What?"

Wow. Just... wow. "Look, it's called Realmwalking, okay? You can create rifts in the dimensional barriers and use them to go back and forth--not that difficult of a concept. I can't believe we have to explain this to you anyway. If you're a Walker, then both of your parents must be at least Speakers, and they should have--"

"Speakers?"

Now it was Farrel's turn to blink. "You're fucking kidding me."

Beside him, Russell squinted, liking he was trying to think up some excuse. Idiot was probably enjoying this, not being the dumbest person around for once. Maybe that was what he saw in Shellee. "Maybe she's adopted?"

Yeah. Like any couple in their right minds would have adopted this bimbo. Anyway, Shellee shook her head. "Eww, no! Can you imagine, like, how much it would suck to be adopted?"

"I used to wish I was adopted," Farrel grumbled, but he doubted anyone heard. Fuck this. Fuck Shellee. Fuck Russell. Fuck Libby and Brett and their brat and fuck his mother and stepfather and all their screaming kids too. Fuck them all. One more word and he was out of here, back to his apartment with the only person in the world who gave a shit. He was sick of running around doing all these ridiculous errands for Brett and getting nothing in return. And he was an idiot for keeping it up.

Libby shot him a look that might have been meant as sympathy but felt more like pity. She then turned to Shellee with the same. "Sorry, it is a little tough to grasp if you weren't raised on the idea. Brett will make sure you get a more solid understanding."

Yeah. That was one thing Brett was good for--making people understand. Even if he didn't understand a damn thing himself.

"So you're back."

Speak of the devil. "Brett."

"Farrel." He didn't bother moving from the doorway, instead waiting for everyone to turn their heads and look at him. Typical. "This is Shellee?"

"Who do you think it is?" Brett didn't even blink. Farrel wasn't sure why he thought he might. "Good luck with this one, by the way. Doesn't even know what a Speaker is."

Brett sighed. "So Jesse never said a word. Why am I not surprised?"

Shellee's eyes bulged. "You know my father?"

"We've met. Sorry about your mother, by the way." Not that Farrel cared, but he didn't sound all that sorry. "Anyway, I was just about to run out, but I guess you need accommodation. I'd let you stay here, but we have a baby and another long-term house guest, so I guess you're stuck at Farrel's for now."

...Umm. What? "And I suppose Farrel doesn't get a say in this?"

"You suppose right."

Well, that confirmed his suspicions. Fucking Brett. Farrel rolled his eyes and pulled himself out of the chair. "Why do you hate me so much?"

Brett frowned, a glimmer of confusion in his eye. Did he really not get it? Was he really that fucking stupid? "I don't hate you."

Yeah. Sure. Farrel crossed to the other side of the table and yanked Shellee to her feet. He'd drag her all the way to the car if walking on her own was beyond the few braincells she had, just as long as it got him out of here. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, Dad."