(In this story, I explored ways to write about non-consent/reluctance via non-graphic means.)
Rain must have stopped, for the leaves had ceased rustling and birds were out again.
Lucy followed the men, eyeing any hazard at foot. When they set off she was right between them; in time the gap narrowed and edged her out. Now she had to prick up her ears.
They were talking about the Roman Emperors.
"Ravaged! Even his own three sisters! 'When sitting between two of them at a banquet he openly boasted to have enjoyed both the prior night.' Supposedly Drusilla was his favorite. But you know, I've had another theory..."
"Your famous paper on Suetonius," Richard chuckled.
"Many a hard night's work went into its making. A masterpiece it was! I had such hope. But that old Cambridge fool didn't appreciate my wit." He spat in tall grass, "I was a disappointed man."
Lucy knew why Bill's here. He'd come to beg again.
And Richard would give it to him. Money, sympathy; whatever he asked. All because that one time he saved Richard's life on an unsupervised fishing trip when they were both 13.
And Bill was a war hero now. Richard felt obliged for his wellbeing.
"And the 'good ones'! They were no better. A warmonger, a pervert, and a sleeper of reason who bore monster from his loins..."
"Even the best ones were cruel at heart." Richard concurred.
They were walking so fast, their granite voices jarring in the quiet of woods. The ferns were fiercely green. If only they'd slow down and take a look.
Overcoming a bend Lucy saw some cobwebs.
No, gossamers, shrouded over prone bush all silvery, still hanging drops of rain. She never noticed them before. A chill made her wrap her gown tighter around her belly.
"Guys," She called, and the men stopped.
"Fascinating," Richard bent down to inspect it. "Lucy has an eye for beauty in small things."
"Beautiful," Bill nodded. "Unless you got tiny wings. Then you're dinner. The more you struggle the faster they'll ring the bell..."
"Remember little Johnny?" Richard said. "He was mortally afraid of spiders."
"That retard kid?" Bill perked up. "What trouble's he up to these days?"
"Not at all, actually. Last I heard he took over his old man's factory. He's quite a man of responsibility now."
"That's one fucking surprise."
"The good kind." Richard said. "Lucy, you won't believe what kind of pranks we used to play on the poor kid. Quite shameful really, now that I think of it."
Bill made a dry laugh. "Yes. Once we left him in the woods for a whole night. We just read Beowulf in school. So little Johnny stayed up all night under a rock; thought Grendel and his mother were creeping up to gnaw on his ribs."
"That's terrible." Said Lucy.
"There's more. Later Johnny said he heard demons. Crying around him all night long! Of course that was just the red foxes." Bill turned back to eye her with a curious look. "Have you ever heard foxes at night, Lucy?"
"Just the other day we heard one not far from the house." Richard said.
"I'll never get used to them." She answered. For several nights she thought someone was being skinned alive in the woods. She never told Richard that.
They passed a brook and the men commented on the peculiar rock formation.
"How's the book coming along, Lucy?" Asked Bill.
"It's taking its time." She said.
"Right. Can't make short work of a masterpiece. Anyway you are probably drowning in ideas. All these trees and wilderness! Monsters. Definitely write about monsters."
"She's studying the Spanish in Cuba." Richard said.
"The Tainos," she corrected him.
