Halloween is in a few days away and town marshal, Cobb Vanth, is already swamped.
Not only is he dealing with a reclusive farmer with anger issues and a mysterious miscreant who has been digging holes in the woods, but he's got to do it all while al...
A/N: My contribution to the DinCobb Fall Fest Mini Bang!
Bird is the AMAZING artist that I was paired up with and you should all check out their tumblr ASAP: Thank you so much Bird!!! You're input was invaluable and your art gives me the will to live <3 I stare at it constantly, 24/7, it's become a part of me <3 You captured the vibes of the scene so well, you indulged my silly story changes, gave me the most amazing art to stare at, and I couldn't be happier to have been paired up with you!
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Cobb's knee aches.
The right one, specifically. An uncomfortable, dull pressure beneath his kneecap that keeps forcing him sideways on his barstool to bend and stretch it out. The ache had been building all day, thickening like the clouds overhead as he trudged, squatted and knelt through the forest with his camera. By the time he'd printed the pictures and dragged himself to Taanti's bar, the clouds had cracked open and his knee was promising a very painful night.
The rain comes down like it has a vendetta against Taanti's furnace and the cozy way it wraps around Cobb, pummeling the panes like it's looking for a way in. The booths, tables, and barstools stretched out on either side of Cobb (sans one) are empty, and all but him, Taanti, and his deputy, Scott, are gone for the night. The smart thing to do, probably.
But the smell of nachos, citrus-cleaner, and body-odor is more welcoming than the hell on earth happening outside, and he has no inclination of barging out there and giving the rain what it wants. Let it try and find its way in. Taanti patches the roof himself, so it'll have its work cut out for it.
Still, if it keeps up like this until Saturday, as the weatherman predicts, it'll ruin all plans of trick-or-treating for the kids.
Cobb isn't one for dressing up in cooky costumes and going door-to-door for treats, not even as a child. His mother wasn't around to help with the tradition, and his father was too busy drinking himself into a stupor to do much besides yell at him to stop making so much noise. The costumes he'd cobbled together out of his father's old clothes weren't much in terms of quality—nor were his efforts appreciated by said father—and as soon as he hit 9 years old he dropped the holiday altogether.
The kids here in Free Town love it, though. Witnessing their delight for dressing up and harassing their neighbor's for candy fills a hole inside Cobb's heart he didn't realize had been empty since denouncing his father's scratchy safety-vests and cement-covered boots. He'd crumple the clouds in his fist and toss them away if he could. Anything to avoid confining the kids to a Halloween spent indoors.
For now, the best he can do is keep an eye on the weather channel and if things don't look up, they'll have to do their trick-or-treating early.
"So, how's it going?" The bartender, Taanti, asks, gesturing with one hand at the papers spread around Cobb, hanging a damp cloth over his shoulder as he tucks recently dried glasses under the counter. "Been staring at the same spot for a while now."
