Heart of Steel Ch. 02

"Hey Dave." Tristan said, trying to sound cheerful.

"Good news brother," Dave roared loudly into the phone, "Tony likes your application. Can you come in for a debriefing tomorrow at noon?"

"Yeah man," Tristan exclaimed, his spirits raising slightly, "I've got nothing to do."

"Good, I'll be in class." Dave replied, referring to the community college in the neighboring city. "But Tony will be waiting for you. Congratulations, man!"

"Yeah, thanks Dave!" Tristan replied, hanging up the phone and feeling a bit better.

The rest of the night was spent in a confused state of mind, anger about the way he'd been treated, contentment about how well counseling had gone, and excitement about the prospect of a new job. He slept comfortably enough that night, watched over by his beloved poster. He had no dreams. That was odd, he'd anticipated, even feared, having nightmares, vivid nightmares, of his traumatic stay with the three girls, but nothing of the sort happened. / Good, that's the last thing I need to think about./

The next day, at noon, he arrived at Records, clad in his usual attire. His father had always told him how important it was to impress your boss with a professional facade, but given that the place of employment was Discs and Records, and the boss in question was Tony, Tristan felt that his usual black clothing was very suitable. Tony sat behind the counter of the shop in jeans, work boots, and a muscle-shirt, exposing tattoos on his arms, the most notable of which was a dragon that flew down the length of his left bicep.

"So, you're Tristan, right?"

"Yeah, uh yes sir, that's me." Tristan replied timidly.

"You're a scrawny kid, ain't you?" Tony noted, without any hint of malice.

"I uh... I guess so." Tristan muttered somewhat awkwardly.

"Ha, relax," Tony laughed, "I'm just fucking with you, kid. Anyway, nothing much to tell here, you're on shelf duty for now. Just see if any of the albums are out of stock on the shelves and replace them, if we have any, with copies from the storeroom, okay?"

"Yeah, okay, I can do that." Tristan replied.

"I sure as Hel hope you can do it." Tony laughed. "That's what you're getting paid for. Oh and, this goes without saying, but help out any customers you can, okay?"

"Yeah, absolutely."

Tony went back to reading the magazine he had laying before him on the counter. From the look of the semi-nude woman and the vintage vehicle on the front cover, Tristan could only assume it was not a critique of literary theory or anything of the sort. Tristan moved off to get the lay of the land, from the perspective of an employee. Like any music store, the albums were set up such that they could be easily viewed, with aisles between the rows for customers to move through. The store housed a selection of everything from classical to hip-hop, but it's "Rock and Metal" section was by far its dominating feature, both in CD's and old-school, vinyl records.

Tristan was walking down an aisle, looking down at a few albums. There was a Saxon album "Wheels of Steel," that caught his eye. Not that he'd never listened to it, he loved Saxon and much admired their role in the New Wave of British Heavy Metal. But he'd never actually owned the album, never done more than listen to it online. / Why not treat myself to a little First Day of Work Gift?/ He reached out to pick up the album, sliding it out of the stack of other Saxon albums. It was right behind a copy of "Long Arm of the Law." Then he heard the voice, a female voice.

"Hey."

Tristan turned, and almost screamed.

She was pale of skin, clad in black clothes, like your typical metalhead. Heavy boots, pants, a silver bullet-belt, and a long-sleeved Burzum shirt. She was looking at him. Tristan leapt back, holding the album close to him like... / Like/ /what?/ Like a shield? Like a sacred object to protect him, to keep him anchored here in this spot and not pulled away back to that awful room? Then he got a better look at his "attacker," and calmed considerably. She was shorter than any of the girls that had abducted him, and her features were gentle. She was slender and did not appear to have much in the way of musculature, though her eyes were a fierce, blazing green, and her moderate-length hair was a beautiful, fiery red.

"Sorry man," she laughed, her voice was of a pleasing pitch and quite melodious but not particularly soft or quiet, "I didn't mean to scare you or anything. Just wanted to grab that last copy of "Wheels of Steel" before you got it. I fucking love Saxon."

"Oh shit," Tristan replied, his heart still beating fast, "here, take it, I'll find another one in the storeroom for myself."

"Oh, you work here?"

"First day."

"Bad-ass," she declared, "this would be such a kick-ass place to work. I'm way too busy to work here though, with classes and homework and all that, you know?"

"Pine Ridge University?"

"Yeah, you too?"

"Indeed." Tristan sighed, somewhat sheepishly. "But I've been dropped this semester, for uh..."

"Being too fucking metal!" she loudly proclaimed, to alleviate the tension.

"Yeah, Hel yeah!" he cried in agreement, responding to her small, raised fist with his own in the classic "fist pound" gesture of the metalhead.

Tristan couldn't believe it, he was actually, so quickly, talking to a girl, a girl who appeared at least somewhat similar to his assailants. This felt so... odd. He should be afraid, right? He felt like he may have been in any other circumstance, but this girl was so disarming of his discomfort with her blunt but kind demeanor and boisterous charm.

"Hello," she called, knocking him out of his thoughts, "are you trancing out on me?"

Tristan flushed. In his thoughts, he'd gone silent, just standing there and staring dumbly.

"Oh shit, sorry." he exclaimed. "What were you saying?"

"That it's nice to find another kid from the university who likes good music," she reiterated, "and that we need to hang out and jam out to some real music some time."

"Oh, yeah, absolutely." Tristan agreed, before he could really think about it. "Just call me."

"What should I call you?"

"Huh?"

"I'm kidding." she laughed. "That sounds good. Just give me your number and uh... oh well your name, that would be important."

They both laughed somewhat awkwardly, nervously. / She's a little nervous too,/ he noted. It felt good to talk to a girl who had the capacity to feel nervous, to feel joy, to feel anything other than absolute control and tyrannical satisfaction.

"I'm Tristan." he informed her.

"Cool, I'm Molly." she said in response.

"Molly, huh?"

"Yeah," she sighed, "but I don't much like the name. So my friends all call me Maul."

"Maul, as in: you'll MAUL anyone who calls you Molly?"

"Precisely!" she exclaimed. "You catch on fast."

Another round of laughter, and then they exchanged phone numbers before Molly... or Maul, rather, had to go on about her business, apparently having a class later that day. Tristan wandered off to the store room to retrieve a copy of the Saxon album she'd taken, and to refill the stack of Metallica records, which had been rather depleted. But once inside the store room, he sat down on a step-ladder in the dim light of the room, and began to think.

/Maul, what an interesting character she is./ But had he done the right thing in opening himself up to her? She didn't seem like a bad person, just a friendly, gregarious metal chick. But... what if she... / What if she did what, exactly?/ Tristan didn't know, but now that they weren't together, talking and laughing and basking in the high that envelops metalheads when they find each other, he found himself feeling apprehensive, even a bit frightened at the prospect of some harm coming to him. / Stop thinking like this, you're not some misogynist who's afraid of all women,/ he commanded himself. But he was afraid. Of intimacy, of vulnerability.

"Hey kid," Tony's voice jerked Tristan from his thoughts, "you getting high back here or something?"

"What? No sir, just thinking." Tristan responded, leaping up and fetching some Metallica discs to fill in the empty spot on the store shelves.

"Whatever floats your boat, kid." Tony laughed, flicking a lighter on and lighting a cigarette.

"You getting high in here?" Tristan asked with a laugh.

"No, just don't like to make the rest of the store smell like cigarette smoke." Tony replied.

Tristan laughed and wandered back out to the store proper to restock the shelves. The day went uneventfully until Tristan's shift ended. He kept everything topped off as supplies allowed and helped a few customers find albums. Finally, it came time for Tristan to leave. Bidding Tony farewell, he made for home, calmed by a day's work, but his thoughts gradually returning to Maul. What would their friendship be like? Could he ever properly trust her? He knew he should, for there was no reason not to trust her, but his experiences just left him feeling... apprehensive. What could happen, realistically, did not play at all into what his mind feared could happen.

Chapter 8: Princess of the Night

The week went by quickly, now that he had a routine to follow. Get up late, grab some lunch, go to work, return home, eat some dinner, listen to some music, and go to sleep. It was nice to have a routine, a simple pattern he could easily follow, something to give his life a touch of normality. He'd have counseling early the following Monday, but that was not at all unwelcome. In fact, Tristan found himself looking forward to it, excited to have someone to talk to about everything. Though that begged the question of why he could not simply tell more people, his friends, even his family. Ultimately, it all boiled down to the fear of not being believed, and not wanting to upset his family with the thoughts of his discomfort and distress.

It was Friday evening when his phone rang, while Tristan sat on his couch watching some sword-and-sorcery TV series based on a book, or something of the sort. The vibration and loud ring of the phone startled Tristan, and he hastily pulled it out. / Maul,/ read the Caller ID, as he'd entered her name (or nickname) and number the day they'd met.

"Hey Maul." he said, timidity rising to prominence in his voice.

"Hey Tristan," Maul said, chipper as ever, "I've got nothing to do tonight, can I maybe come over and jam with you?"

"Oh uh..." Tristan tried to think of something to say, anything.

"Is now a bad time?" she asked, not at all sounding disappointed or angry.

"No no," Tristan answered, once more disarmed by her friendliness, "I'm free, you can come over if you want."

"Where are you living again?"

"That apartment complex just north of the university," he responded, "apartment 201."

"Cool, see you soon."

/Why did I just do that?! Why did I tell her where I live? Why would I do /that?!/ Tristan berated himself for his folly, his inability to say no. / But why should I say no, what has she ever done to cause me harm? She's been nothing but nice to me. ... Then why do I feel so /scared?/ His mind warred with itself, wrestling his fears of the unknown and potentially awful with his enjoyment of Maul's company and his hatred of coming across as sexist for his fears. / Women are not bad, just because three people who happened to be women caused me pain,/ he scolded himself again and again. Then the knock came at the door.

Tristan rose, as if in a fog, a daze, gliding to the door as though drawn to it magnetically, against his own will. All of a sudden his politically-correct, progressive side was muted, all he felt and heard was his fear. / I don't want to be alone in my home with a woman, I don't want her, I don't want this./ But he just kept moving, like a piece in a machine whose role was to walk to the door and open it, smoothly, mechanically, free will not factoring into the matter in the least. Then he was drawing back the bolt, turning the knob, pulling the door open.

Black clothes, pale skin, a female shape, all of these features greeted him at the door and Tristan sprang back, not knowing what else he was expecting, but not expecting to have been so startled when he knew Maul was on the other side of the door. What was he expecting? Why was he startled when he saw her? The dark clothes and light skin gave her a resemblance to the girls who'd harmed him, but she was not any of them, she didn't really look like any of them, not with her short, slender stature, fiery hair, and piercing green eyes.

"Scared you again, huh?" she asked. "Who were you expecting?"

"I don't know, really." he admitted in a moment of total clarity as Maul sauntered in and made herself at home on his couch.

"You're jumpy." she noted. "Do you have any chips?"

"What?" Tristan asked as he closed and locked the door, taken aback by the non-sequitur. "Uh yeah, I have some chips."

"Sweet, I've had like nothing to eat all day." Maul graciously responded.

Tristan walked over to the kitchen, opening a cabinet and procuring some potato chips in a large bag held shut by a chip clip. He brought the bag over to Maul, who was sprawled out on the couch, her heavy-booted feet resting comfortably on the couch cushions. / She sure knows how to make herself at home,/ Tristan noted. Maul took the bag with a greedy but playful jerking motion, hugging the chips against herself possessively, in a purely comical manner. She sat up, sliding her feet off the couch so Tristan could sit down, which he did, keeping a little distance between himself and her. / Don't want to send the wrong message,/ he reminded himself. / But what message would that be, exactly?/

Maul opened the bag of chips, leaving it on the table, and began to eat from it. Tristan did as well. He watched her though, marveling at just how /small/ she was. Not unnaturally, but still just so short and so little. Her hands, even filled with greasy potato chips, seemed so little and delicate, even with her dark-maroon-painted nails. Maul must have noticed him after a moment.

"See something that interests you?" she asked casually.

"What?" Tristan all but yelped. "No, oh Gods no, I'm sorry. It's just, I mean you're so..."

"Little, right?"

"I've offended you already, haven't I?" Tristan muttered, shamefacedly.

"Ha, no it's okay." she laughed. "Yeah I'm small, five feet even. But I am a mighty force."

Maul leapt up onto the couch now, dramatically gazing down at Tristan.

"See how in a moment I bound to such great heights." she exclaimed theatrically. "And what great strength may the Gods have placed in this tiny frame?! I am the warrior! I am awesome!"

"Right, right," Tristan said, amidst a genuine bout of laughter, "you have a heart of steel, and all that!"

"Don't you forget it." she replied proudly, plopping back down on the couch.

Tristan was already relaxing. How could he have been scared of Maul? /She's so little, and silly, and nice, and cute!/ And her personality was so much like Tristan's own, albeit a far more extroverted Tristan. But they shared the same love of theatrics, the same musical tastes, it was so nice. He liked being able to relate to her. Already were his fears so distant that they seemed a dream, a distant and impossible nightmare. This little, sweet, peculiar girl couldn't possibly want to harm him, and the very thought of her doing so was foolish. Not just because she was tiny, but because she was so warm, so kind.

"So what are we listening to exactly?" queried Maul.

The stereo was spinning a copy of Hortus Animae's "Waltzing Mephisto," an album that Tristan felt was just perfectly atmospheric, with a certain dark elegance to it. And the cover of Mayhem's "Freezing Moon" present on this album simply could not be beat. Tristan passed this information along to Maul, who sat and listened for a while, staring at the stereo.

"I'd say," she mused in a serious, scholarly tone, "that this version of Freezing Moon is definitely more adept from a technical standpoint and it is altogether more well orchestrated and artfully blended with those other songs they fused into it."

"Right?" Tristan encouraged her to continue.

"But," she added, "it's just not the same, as far as atmosphere and significance goes. Mayhem's more loosely put together, poorly produced version just has a simpler, more raw ambience to it. This version belongs in an epic horror film, Mayhem's version belongs at a Satanic ritual in the woods."

Tristan laughed appreciatively. Finally, someone else got it. Maul beamed, for she could read the praise in his acknowledging laugh, his pleased smile. She had struck a resonant chord with Tristan. They sat together in silence and let the progressive black metal wash over them for a while. Then Maul started upright and reached for her backpack, which sat on the ground by her feet.

"I brought you something." she said. "A gift for letting me come over."

From the bag, Maul produced a bottle of spiced rum and a six pack of Cokes, which she set on the table. Tristan eyed the beverages, the gift.

"How did you get the rum?" he asked.

"Oh yeah, that," she explained readily, "I have a friend who works at a liquor store and never cards me."

"Bad-ass."

And it was a nice gift, truly it was. / But can I really afford to get drunk, to lose control of my senses?/ Tristan thought about this for a while, before reason caught up with him. / I was just a moment ago saying how sweet and harmless she was, I can't go back to being afraid!/ Easier said than done. But it was a nice gift and he owed her at least the politeness of enjoying it with her. And he did love a good rum and Coke. / Who/ /doesn't?/ And so he went to his cabinet and procured two glasses, which he returned to the table.

"Allow me." said Maul, taking the bottle of rum and a can of Coke.

She mixed a drink for each of them, a bit more rum than Coke, but that was hardly a bad thing. Tristan was far from a drink snob, he just liked anything that tasted good, and the sweet, burning sensation of the spiced rum mixed with the carbonation of the Coke was definitely delicious. It was also potent. Tristan had a tendency to drink quickly, and with such a heavy-handed mix, he found the rum was quickly taking hold of him. He hadn't eaten much this day, and it was a strong drink. Already, by the bottom of the glass, he felt a bit foggy-headed. Not much, but a bit.

"Another?" Maul offered.

"Sure." Tristan accepted as the warmth of the drink flooded his body, radiating outward from his belly.

Maul mixed them each another and they sat together, drinking and listening to music. It was peaceful, Tristan felt as though they really were content just to sit in each other's company, to do nothing but enjoy the metal.

"Hey Maul," he slurred a few drinks later in that sort of drunken pseudo-seriousness, "did I hurt your feelings earlier when I said you're little."

"No." she replied, giggling slightly and smiling at him. "It's okay, I know I'm little."

"Good."

She looked up at Tristan, smiling deviously, then put on a mock sad face, feigning absolute dismay.

"But if I was offended," she choked out through her false sorrow, "would you give me a hug and make me feel better?"

"A hug? I uh... maybe not right now I guess." he stammered.

Now Maul looked confused, the pretend sadness erased from her face. She looked at Tristan curiously, moving closer on the couch, putting a hand on his arm.

"Why wouldn't you hug me?" she enquired, drunken but genuine.

"It's not you, it's just, something else." Tristan said, now tensing up at her proximity and the touch of her hand on his arm. "It's just... I can't."

"Are you sure?"

She was moving closer, leaning against him, her head against his shoulder, her body against his. He could feel her breathing, he could feel her hands, her breasts pressed against him, moving as she breathed, the smell of alcohol on her breath.