S-Duality: A Marauders Novella

S-Duality

A Marauders Novella

-o0o-

by
Lina Andersson

FREAK CIRCLE PRESS

S-Duality
©
Lina Andersson 2014

All Rights Reserved

Lina Andersson has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this book under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act 1988.

Cover art & Design by Kalle Andersson

Dedication

For Tony, Malin, Shara, Sofia, Sara, Jan, and Henrik.

-
o0o-

Acknowledgments

I can
’t in words describe how grateful I am for all the help and support I have received from Susan Fanetti, Jess Brooks, Shannon Flagg, and C.D. Breadner, but I’ll give it a try:

Thank you, Ladies! You make writing even more fun, and that’s pretty damn impressive if you ask me.

Any remaining errors and mistakes are my own.

S-Duality:
The idea of duality refers to the possibility of two different descriptions for the same thing. If two string theories are related by an S-duality, the one theory with a strong coupling constant is the same as the other with a weak coupling constant. In the theory with a weak coupling constant, the strings break and re-join easily, but in the other theory they hardly ever do that—they stay attached.

-
o0o-

5.

They scratch and laugh and mock me, they choke me in the scrimmage,

And are the very image

Of Cupid in a trouser-skirt;

And if they are Vandals, they are cunning little Vandals,

If hurricanes, then hurricanes that come on fairy sandals

In full daylight and cause no hurt.

“Marauders” - Gustaf Fröding

A short foreword

The main part of this book takes place in Seattle during the late eighties and early nineties, since that's where Sisco is from. To me, it's impossible to have a story take place then and there without mentioning the music scene, but although I sometimes refer to actual historical events (like a concert of festival, or the Green River Killer) it's not in anyway
based
on real people or events, just sometimes inspired by them.
But
all
the characters—along with their personalities and unique traits—are all a figment of my imagination.

Most importantly
: The story of Sisco and Trudy is
entirely
a product of my imagination, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

/ Lina Andersson

CHAPTER ONE:

-
o0o-

Present day, Greenville, Arizona

SISCO DIDN'T NEED TO
hear more than the first few tunes out of the speaker to know what fucking song it was. As always, his heart stopped, and he closed his eyes but knew three heads in the crowd snapped in his direction the second they recognized the song, too. The three Bs: Brick, Bear, and Bull.

By reflex, his hand moved up to stroke the right side of his chest and the tattoo he had there. He couldn’t help it. That's when someone changed the song, but it was too late, and not a full minute later Brick was seated next to him.

“Sorry, brother. Was a hang-around.”

“S'okay,” Sisco said with a shrug. “Just wasn't ready.”

He wondered when the fuck he would be ready for it. When the fuck it wouldn't tear him apart just to hear a damn song. But he knew it always would, because the song would always reminded him of Trudy, and he would never get over her.

The sheer force of his memories of her always caught him by surprise when they hit him.
He knew no one got more than one shot like that in their life. One chance to meet someone who was created just for them. It didn't mean an ever-loving bliss of calm and understanding. Trudy wasn't like that at all. She was a damn hurricane, and they fought like insane people at times, but she was still
his
perfect fit. He'd known it, and he still knew it, so he'd never get over her. Most of the time, he didn't even want to. The stabbing pain that came unexpectedly, or those tugs to his heartstrings—he wanted them. Because the next thing he remembered was always the good things; like her smile, how she felt lying next to him, or just her laughter. It was often her laughter.

He'd been thinking about her a lot lately, probably because Vi, one of the club kids, was pregnant. Pregnancies always made him think more about Trudy, but Vi was special. He was happy for her, but it had made a lot of the shit he'd pushed back resurface, and he'd missed Trudy more than usual lately.

It hadn't been a conventional relationship in any way, but it had worked for them. Sisco didn't do conventional, and nothing with Trudy was—not even how they'd met. Or rather, how she'd picked him up.

-o0o-

Seattle, Washington

SISCO DIDN'T CARE MUCH
for feminism or feminists. Not that he had anything against them; it simply wasn't something he spent a lot of time thinking about. But he'd somehow ended up in the middle of a party full of angry, man-bashing bitches, and he had no idea how the fuck that had happened.

Or, he had a general idea. Someone at the party had called him for some pot. When he dropped it off, he'd been invited. He'd sort of dodged the women, but was secretly pretty pleased with the number of bra-less tits he'd spotted on his way through the house. He'd also seen a woman in the living room doing some spoken word thing, yelling shitty poetry about hating men taking up space in her bed. He didn't understand spoken word stuff, at least not that kind. It just made him giggle, so he'd continued down into the basement.

He sat down on a couch, lit a joint, and opened the beer he'd taken from the fridge.

“So,” a girl next to him said, “what unsigned,
super-cool band that I just have to hear are you in?”

He turned and looked at her and wondered how the fuck he'd missed her when he sat down, because she was hot, and she had the most awesome sarcastic smile on her lips.

“I'm not in a band.”

“Really? Because the flannel
, beard, and greasy long hair are usually a dead giveaway.”

He shook his head with a laugh and offered her his joint as he took a closer look. She had straight, light brown hair with bangs, and a lot of
eyeliner. She wore jeans, a gray t-shirt, and Martens of course—but no bra. The lack of bra revealed the cockiest fucking nipples he'd ever seen. They were standing at attention, just daring him to pinch them.

“No. Used to be a roadie until about six months ago.”

“Any band I've heard of?”

“Probably not. They don't exist anymore and mostly did squats in Europe.”

“Squats?” she asked and handed back his joint.

“Yeah. People take over some shitty old house, build a stage, and invite bands to play.”

“You get paid for that?”

“Sort of. Usually get a cut of the door fee, but sometimes it's just gas and beer. It doesn't pay
well
.”

“Bet you had a lot of fun,” she said with an even bigger smile that revealed a slight gap between her front teeth. Not big, just a small, really cute one.

“We did.”

He handed her the joint again, and once again she accepted it.

They'd had a lot of fun and a lot of shitty times as well. Like when he'd ended up decking his best friend, Pete, just outside a small German village in the middle of the night, since he was high as a fucking kite and kept trying to climb up on the roof of their shitty van—
while
Sisco was driving it. It was funny when he thought about it now, but at the time he would've shot Pete if he'd had a gun. Thirty hours without sleep while driving shitty roads, getting lost in a country where no one spoke English, all with Pete behind him who just wouldn't shut the fuck up—it wasn't fun while you were in the middle of it. But they'd had a lot of fun, too. Definitely.

“So what do you do now?” she asked after another drag on his joint. She'd inhaled deeply, and when her chest expanded, his eyes got stuck on her nipples for a few seconds too long.

“Uhm,” he said and tore his eyes from her tits. She winked at him, very aware of where his focus had been. “Not much.”

She stood up
, took his beer, and emptied it. Just downed the almost full beer. Then she put it down on the table and held out a hand.

“Wanna get the fuck out of here?”

“You don't even know my name,” he laughed.

“What's your name?”

“You can call me Sisco.”

“As in Cisco the Kid?”

“No, as in a small commune on Corsica. It's Sisco with an s.”

“Fuck!
” She stared at him. “I bet there's a really good story behind that.”

“Not really. I was arrested in Sisco after peeing on the Chapel of San Michele.” He took a deep breath. “You really wanna leave with me?”

She looked at him and laughed. “Do I wanna leave this boring party with a guy who was arrested after peeing on a chapel? Hell yeah!” She took his hand. “Come on.”

“Girl,” he said as he stood up, “has anyone told you you're butt-fucking crazy?”

“Admit it, you think that's the most exciting part about following me out of here.”

“Since I think it pretty much ensures me getting laid—absolutely.”

As she lead him out of the house, he was still shell-shocked, and it didn't hit him until they were at the end of the block that he'd left his bike outside the house. He grabbed her hand more firmly and halted her dragging him along.

“Hey! I got a bike.”

She turned around. “As in a Harley?”

“Yeah...”

“Wow! Sisco, you might be the first guy in years that gets to know my name on the first date.”

“Date?”

“Sounds better than 'first fuck.'”

Sisco was trying to determine if this girl would get him laid or stabbed, because she was obviously a complete nut
job, but she was the most interesting bitch he'd come across in months, maybe years, and he figured it was worth the risk.

“You don't tell guys your name?”

“I hate my name.”

They were at his bike, and he handed her his helmet. “Where to?”

“Wherever you live, Sisco with an s.”

He shook his head in a laugh. Miss Cocky Nipples was definitely the craziest chick he'd met in a long while, and he was glad he'd found her before she followed a serial killer to his house and ended up chopped up and dumped in the Green River, because it seemed likely that's how she'd end her days.

It wasn't her first time on a bike, that much was obvious, and when they stopped outside the house he shared with Pete and another guy, she jumped off and handed him the helmet.

“Just to make sure,” he said as they walked towards the house, “how old are you?”