Veneration of Dreams // Ransom Drysdale

seven // #hangry

With one of his arms draped over Katarina Lago's shoulders, Ransom Drysdale hustled through the empty streets with a strange, almost unwarranted, sense of confidence. The odour of pungent cigarette smoke and cheap liquor radiated from the pair, due in part to the car but also the mini bottle of liquor he found in the suitcase, a gift from his past self. Katarina refrained from the drink at first but he had been pleased to see her give in and finish it for him after barely a moment's hesitation. Perhaps it was because of this that they decided to risk everything for a pit stop but hey, no one had stopped them yet.

Although, as Katarina neared the shabby diner they had chosen with the faded sign boasting "Macy's Bar" and windows covered in black and red graffiti, she began to have second thoughts. The interior was no better than she expected. The pale cream walls were cold and bare, fruitlessly decorated with tattered posters and framed abstract artworks while the floor resembled a scene from Saw, with splintered wood panels and broken glass under several tables. Still, as she slid into a red booth across from her supposed partner and felt the weight lift off her shoulders, her own hunger for greasy bar food surprised her. After nearly twenty four hours on the road, the feeling of suffocation from her close scrape with the police force had worn away and as her body began to acclimatise to the stress of her present situation, she barely worried over what was to come. 

Katarina knew Ransom had his fair share of secrets but what she had to hide, the reason she suspected her friend Matthew tried to kill her, would surprise him. She wondered why he hadn't asked after that occassion yet and what she would tell him when he did but, after ordering a plate of fries for the table, he lapsed back into an uncharacteristic silence. He didn't need to worry. She had as much reason to stay hidden as he did, especially until she figured this out. Just how much did Matthew know, and what could she do about it?

As the bowl of hot chips, drizzled with chilli sauce and melted cheese landed on the table with the waitor's compliments, she snapped out of her thoughts. They ate without a word between them, Katarina glancing fretfully at the door every time the bell jingled and Ransom observing his whiskey like it was about to combust.

"Didn't realise you'd been fasting." He finally said, when she demolished her side within seconds and sipped at her beer, waiting for him.

"Not my fault all I had was your bullshit."

Ransom scoffed, downing the glass and picking at his food with a fork. He admired her snark more than he let on but when she sat down her drink and stood abruptly, his eyes darkened.

"Where are you going?" He said gruffly, hoping she wasn't about to throw up all over him like Marta had. It didn't help when she rolled her eyes or when she ignored him, clearly intoxicated.

Katarina shuffled out from the booth and attempted to speedwalk past him when his hand latched out and grabbed her wrist, fingers landing on her bruises. She drew in a sharp breath but didn't seem to notice, jumping to his feet and jerking her back.

"On a cruise to the Bahamas," She snapped, attempting to tug her hand away.

She hated how he towered over her but stayed quiet, afraid to attract attention with their faces plastered all over the TV.

"I asked you a question," He said, stepping forward.

Katarina could see the bulge of the gun in his pocket but she mirrored his advance, more than slightly buzzed and refusing to fall for such a cheap intimidation tactic as she closed the distance between them and pointed her chin upwards.

"I didn't realise I needed your permission to use the toilet."

Clenching his fist, Ransom's jaw twitched but he returned to his seat after a few sparse words, collecting the beer from her side of the table and chugging away in childlike retaliation.

"Make it quick,"

She barely heard him, crossing the floor in a few long strides but in her haste to get away, she stumbled into a clearly inebriated man, spilling his drink down the front of his shirt and onto the floor. Her eyes widened in horror but as the guy who looked like he'd coined the term 'beerbelly' shoved her backwards, the apology died on her lips.

"Watch it, bitch."

She barely caught herself on the side of a table as his narrowed eyes met hers in a fit of rage. In a crowded bar, the last thing she expected was for him to continue his assault but when he took two quick steps forward, she swore.

"Fuckin'......taco....." He slurred and if not for the fact that he could literally crush her, Katarina might have laughed. She ducked out of the way as he tried to grab a fistful of her tank and the glass fell from his hands, shattering into a thousand pieces as she glanced at her booth in fear.

Empty.

Ransom was gone. He had seen she was in trouble and fled.

Katarina couldn't decide whether she was more angry or disappointed as she started in the other direction, only to find herself cornered against a wall. Her attacker was shorter than Ransom and she was sure she had the skills to handle herself, at least sober, but her current drunkeness and fear of gathering more attention than she already had, urged her to be cautious. A glance at the other patrons told her they would be of no use and as for the bartender, he was a skinny, young man who had decided to pretend they didn't exist.

"What did you say?" The man asked and she raised her forearms defensively, unable to remember whether she really had done something to offend him, beyond a simple mistake. Her mumbled response only seemed to irritate him further.

As his open palm flew in her direction, she raised her elbow to block it but a familiar hand caught the blow in her place.

"I think she said fuck you, asshole."

a/n

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