Howdy. This is Laine and I'm not in right now, ya need to get a hold of me, try the number for my office down at the barn. If I ain't there, tough shit. I'm out workin' and you probably should be too instead of screwing around on the telephone.

Mama, if that's you, I'm sorry about my mouth and I'll see ya in church on Sunday.





you can leave a message here for muse or mun. alternately, you can IM her on AIM flintcreeklaine

"Right now, I think I'd damn near kill somebody for a cigarette."

"Never underestimate the power of passion."
Eve Sawyer

Jansen was fast asleep—and soundly for a change, dinner was simmering in the crock-pot on the counter, laundry had been folded and put away, the books had been balanced. Anrai sat in the bedroom reading one of his books and Laine slipped out onto the back porch before tugging on her worn in, roughed up, near-to-falling apart riding boots. She hadn’t put these particular Tony Lama’s on in months and the leather felt in dire need of stretching.

The brunette refused to consider that her feet had ended up wider as a result of having a baby. No, it was the boots’ fault entirely. It didn’t matter; the walk down to the barn would take care of the tight squeezing and slight pinch the same way that wearing the jeans that hugged her stomach a little too snug had eased up after a while. There was nothing to be done about the way her shirt pulled at the buttons across her chest, so Laine had worn a t-shirt beneath is and left the plaid cotton open. It seemed the only thing that still fit right was the Stetson felt on her head.

Horses nickered and snorted from inside their stalls when Laine entered the barn. She was familiar, her scent a welcome presence and meant the possibility of treats and affection. She offered both as she strode down the aisle, stopping to give bits of apple and carrot to the animals, rub their muzzles and stroke manes. The last stall on the left, she opened. Ruby Tuesday greeted her with a head toss and a tail swish, head-butt to Laine’s chest and a soft whinny hello. It wasn’t until Laine began to run her hands over the mare’s back and sides, down her quarters and then checked her shod hooves that Ruby got excited.

Halter and reins, blanket and saddle then finally, the weight of a human being settled on her back and Ruby turned her head as if to verify that Flint Creek’s mistress was indeed going to take her for a ride. Laine laughed and gave her a sound pat across her withers and as rider adjusted her seat, that laugh was cut off with a hiss. It was going to be a challenge, taking the horse out for a run.

Run they did, the heel of Laine’s boot pressing into Ruby’s ribs to spur the mare on as they covered the green fields of the ranch’s property. The horse was enjoying herself, stretching and exercising with the rider who trained her, the one who never pulled up short on the reins or pushed her too hard. The rider refused to back down even as her body protested. Muscles that hadn’t been used this way in so long were promising to be stiff and full of aches. Calves, thighs, glutes…she would hurt by nightfall and come morning, it would be a miracle if Laine could get out of bed on her own.

Laine didn’t care. She was doing what she loved. All the hurt in the world was worth it for the feel of Ruby’s body bunching and releasing beneath hers, the sound of hooves thundering across earth that she owned, wind blowing her hair back and the smell of pine trees and fresh cut grass mingling with horse sweat and her own perspiration. Heaven was worth a little hell.

Loud, louder, loudest...there was no other way to listen to Mick and Keith.

"I ain't comin' to bed if you think you're goin' to be puttin' your hands on me," Laine groused from her spot on the sofa.

She was exhausted and stretched far too thin: running a household, caring for a baby, keeping track of a business, trying to find five minutes to herself--something had to give.

Lightning shot across the sky and the clap of thunder that followed fast on its heels was strong enough, loud enough to make the house shake. Laine rolled her eyes towards the ceiling and counted. One, two, three—and there it was, the baby’s displeased and frightened howl. So much for getting the wash folded.

She got up from the couch with a groan and headed for the staircase. This was only the third trip in the last forty minutes or so. Every time she managed to sooth, calm and get the baby back to sleep, the new mother had just enough time to settle herself back into her task before the weather had her daughter awake and crying.

“Mother Nature is one hell of a bitch, sugar.” She muttered the words before she reached the doorway to the nursery, telling herself that it didn’t count as swearing in front of the baby if there was a threshold between them. Besides, Anrai wasn’t in the house to hear her with his ever so sharp púca ears…

“Hush now, pretty baby. You ain’t getting’ no sleep and Mama ain’t getting’ anythin’ done around the house.” When she leaned over the crib to scoop up the infant, the light in the room flickered and the hum of the central air unit died with a slow rattle. The power was out. “And now we’re both goin’ to slow roast up here cause it is hot as Hades outside today.”

Not that Laine MacEibhir had any intention of staying up on the second floor of the house on a miserable gray summer afternoon. Mother and child wound up back in the living room, baby in nothing but a diaper and Mama with a glass of ice water. The laundry kept to itself in a wrinkling heap at one end of the sofa. When Anrai came back up to the house, soaked to the skin, she threw a towel at him along with a question.

“Is it rainin’ out there, darlin’? You look a little wet.”

Laine MacEibhir//Flint Creek Ranch//341

Well, if this ain't easy I don't know what is.

Darlin'
Sugar
Honey
Damned Fool
Irish Idiot
Jackass
That Sonovabitch
Gutter-Minded Fool
Bitch
Sweet Baby
Mama's Girl
Pumpkin
My Little Filly

Y'all can figure out what belongs to who, I got a baby to feed.

December, 2030

“Mam?”

“That’s right, Marcus. There’s a picture of your mam, looking pretty as ever.”

“He still don’t understand, does he?”

“I still don’t understand, Laine. I can hardly expect the babby to grasp the concept.”

“Oh, darlin’…”

“Don’t.”

“You’re allowed to miss her, you know. You’re allowed to be mad as hell about it too. Ain’t no one here goin’ to tell you’re wrong for feelin’ it.”

“I know that, sister of mine.”

“Ain’t no one goin’ to tell you you’re wrong for findin’ moments of happiness either, Rory.”

“Laine…”

“Come on. Someone’s got to save Anrai from bein’ tackled by two little boys ramped up on sugar and excitement.”

“Why does it have to me?”

“It don’t. We can just go watch our children torture him for a while.”

“That does have a certain appeal to it.”

“Don’t it, though?” A small smile, “Besides, it ain’t like the rest of us are tall enough to get that thing up on the top of the tree.”

“I see. Just using me, is that it?”

“If you don’t get your famous ass out of this room and help me decorate for Christmas, Rory Stone, I’m goin’ to call the local network affiliate and tell them where you are hidin’ for the holidays.”

“Anyone ever tell you that you’re mean, Laine?”

“Tough love, darlin’. Tough love.”

Laine Anderson MacEibhir//Flint Creek//224
Rory isn’t mine, I’m just using him. Marcus is quite mine, however.
This is set fairly far in Laine’s future, Marcus’ past. Cross-posted here.

The monitor lit up and crackled just a moment before the angry wail of a displeased infant flooded the room and woke Laine. Anrai was already getting out of bed, those keen púca ears of his not needing an electronic gadget to alert him to the baby down the hall. Irritating to Laine at moments like these. Still, she sat up and scrubbed a hand over her face before addressing her husband. “Don’t bother, darlin’. I need to feed her anyhow.”

Seeing as it was nearly two a.m., the Irishman didn’t argue. He simply flopped back onto the bed and turned over, face in pillow. Laine smacked him on the ass on her way out of the room. “Damned fool. What I even seen in you…”

Her rant didn’t last past the threshold of the master bedroom. Three weeks old, nearly to the day, and Laine was more than familiar with the child’s various cries and vocalizations. Jansen was hungry, no doubt. Between the hour and the fact that Laine’s breasts felt heavy with milk (which was now starting to leak and soak through the nursing pads in her bra) and the mewling, kittenish quality to her daughter’s fussing, the brunette felt more than confident that shushing the babe would only take a feeding.

“Hey now, my little noise maker, what is all that screamin’ about?” She entered the nursery and made her way to the crib, talking softly all the way. “Mama’s here, you can cut that out now. You’re wakin’ up the whole house.”

In the dim light she could see tiny fists clenched and pressed to the sides of a red, angry little face and she smiled. Jansen had her daddy’s dimples, plain to see even as the tiny thing screwed up her chubby face. Lifting her daughter up and automatically checking to see if her diaper was wet (it wasn’t), Laine tucked the small bundle against her shoulder and pressed a kiss to the child’s dark, downy hair. “Shhh now, hush. We’re goin’ to feed you, just give Mama a chance to sit down and get settled here.”

As Laine rocked back and forth in the nursery’s glider, babe contently nursing, she leaned her head back and let her eyes drift closed. She wasn’t sleeping, merely relaxed. Then she began to hum the first few bars to one of her favorite Stones tunes, ignoring the fact that her voice carried down the hall as well as played quite clearly over the baby monitor giving her husband a concert in stereo. Jansen was no longer fussing, Laine was nearly as comfortable as the child and in the master bedroom a very proud púca was smiling in the dark.

Laine Anderson MacEibhir//Flint Creek//451

And baby makes three...

Anrai's mun wrote a series of drabbles that took place on June 12, the date Bump MacEibhir was born.

She hated this part of being the boss. Laine treated her ranch hands like close friends, the ones who had worked for her for years (and for her brother before that) like family. And now, with the way things were going with the economy and Flint Creek’s change of business, she had to cut one of them loose. Sure, she could pawn the thankless task off on her husband, but the tall brunette couldn’t bring herself to shy away from duty and obligation.

She hired the man, signed his paychecks, she’d be the one to tell him he was let go. Damn her fierce sense of what was right and just. Damn it further that she could sit there and build her courage with a glass full of whiskey first and a cigarette. Damn it all, really. Dammit.

“Joe, come on in and have seat.” Laine was sitting at her desk in the upstairs office they kept up at the main house. She did radio Anrai and ask him to send the man there just before midday. May as well get it over with.

Joseph Scheffer, Stetson felt in hand, nodded and did as she asked, setting his hat on the knee of his faded blue jeans. He was one of the newest hires, just shy of thirty and single. Athletic man, capable and personable if not the most learned. He was good with horses and farm equipment. Never been any sort of trouble for the MacEibhirs. “Ma’am?”

Laine rubbed a hand over her belly and the other pinched the bridge of her nose for just a moment. “Joe, please call me Laine.” Lord knew he would probably be calling her things far uglier in very short measure. “I don’t suppose Anrai mentioned why I wanted to see you this mornin’?”

“No, ma’am.”

No, of course he hadn’t. And Joe, sitting there with his earnest expression and bright blue eyes wasn’t going to make this any easier. “I want you to know that this ain’t got anythin’ to with you as a person, Joe. Or as a hand, you’re a damned good rancher and Anrai and I have been glad to have you on here at Flint Creek but—”

“Ma’am, are you firing me?”

“Releasin’ you from your position here, yes. I—”

“You’re firing me.”

“Joe…”

“You can save your fancy speech, ma’am, just tell it to me straight. Do I work here any more or not?”

“No. No, you don’t. I’m sorry.” And as he stood up to leave, Laine stood as well, still speaking. “We’re goin’ to pay you for the week and I am more than happy to give you all the glowin’ references you need. I’ll even make a few calls to see if anyone in the area needs some seasonal work…”

“No, thank you, ma’am. I can look after myself.” Pride and ego, both wounded, she could tell by the slump in his shoulders and the way he kept running the brim of his hat between his fingers.

“Course you can, darlin’…”

Not five minutes later, she could hear the sound of his pick up starting and pulling out across the gravel drive. Laine placed his final paycheck in an envelope and set it to go out with the afternoon mail. If they had to let anyone else go, Anrai was handling it. She just couldn’t.

Laine MacEibhir//Flint Creek//563
This is set a few months back, late March/early April

All you need to know about the year I was born in is that The Rolling Stones released their album Flowers. Ruby Tuesday was number twenty-four on the charts and should have been a whole hell of a lot higher but ain't nobody asked me.

The Stones are pretty much all I ever listen to, they are THE band and don't y'all even try to tell me any different. Mick and Keith are my boys and I own every damned album EP and LP they've ever released. Got them all on vinyl too. Seen them in concert every time they've been anywhere near me and Shine a Light is my favorite movie (shut up, documentaries are too movies. Scorsese was involved weren't he?)

Here's my playlist:

Flowers

1. "Ruby Tuesday" – 3:17

2. "Have You Seen Your Mother, Baby, Standing in the Shadow?" – 2:34

3. "Let's Spend the Night Together" – 3:36

4. "Lady Jane" – 3:08

5. "Out of Time" – 3:41

6. "My Girl" (Smokey Robinson/Ronald White) – 2:38

Side two

1. "Back Street Girl" – 3:26

2. "Please Go Home" – 3:17

3. "Mother's Little Helper" – 2:46

4. "Take It or Leave It" – 2:46

5. "Ride On, Baby" – 2:52

6. "Sittin' On A Fence" – 3:03

Full Album

I’m simple, y’all. I want to be laid to rest on the land that I love. Flint Creek. I said on, not in. Sure I could take the time now to draw up a map of the property to include a family burial ground but let’s be real here…it’d be a party of one. I ain’t under any delusions about that. My brother is at the church cemetery and that’s where Mama and Daddy will want to be too.

As for Anrai…

No, it’d just be me and I ain’t worth all that hassle of plotting out and carvin’ up Flint Creek that way. Besides, it’d be a damned inconvenient location if it has to be at least a hundred and fifty feet from a water supply—it ain’t named Flint Creek for nothin’. And some odd feet from power lines and neighbor’s boundaries. The neighbors are no big deal as my nearest ones are miles away and even where the property lines meet, ain’t no one livin’ near them. Still havin’ all that added to the deed seems a bit goofy to me.

So, no I ain’t goin’ to be buried here. Cremate me and let my ashes go so long as it’s on Flint Creek’s land and part of me ends up stayin’ here for good. Course, I ain’t talked to Anrai about this yet and I suppose I might could change my mind about some of this dependin’ on his thoughts on the matter but come on, y’all. We just got married and I’m due to have a baby in less than a month.

We are not havin’ this conversation right now. Maybe later.

Laine MacEibhir//Flint Creek//262

I ain't got the first damned clue how one of our weddin' pictures ended up there, but there it is. Me and Anrai, bein' cute the day or so before we got married. I was makin' him try on that tux he didn't want to wear. Grown man whinin' like a baby about bein' asked to put on a damned tie...

Anyhow, there. Now I ain't got to figure out how to post the rest of our pictures. Have yourselves a good look at this one.

Because some of these are inapplicable / lame, just answer the ones you feel like answering.

1. Who are you?
2. Yay! How long have we been RPing together?
3. What was your first impression about our Rps? (i.e., were you nervous, intimidated, disappointed, impressed, amused, annoyed?)
4. First characters we played together?
5. Most amusing scene from one of our Rps?
6. Most depressing?
7. Sappiest/most romantic?
8. Cutest couple from our Rps?
9. Cutest friends?
10. What's your favorite character that I play? Why?
11. Least favorite? Why?
12. Something you'd like to RP/see happen in an RP with me at some point (no matter how random!)?
13. Name a song that reminds you of one of our couples/one of my characters and why you chose it.
14. Anything in particular that makes my style of RPing stand out from others'?
15. Anything I could improve on?
16. Character of mine you'd like to see more of?

What am I wearin’? I’m wearin' an extra damned twenty-three pounds and it’s all stuck on the front end of me makin’ my life miserable. I can’t see my feet. I can’t walk without waddlin’ and I can’t goddamn walk around the kitchen counter without misjudgin’ things and banging my belly against the corner.

I’m damned near sure this shirt can almost be called a tent. I’m saying almost because I ain’t never seen a tent covered in flowery print or with a big ol’ bow suck on the middle like some giant sign screamin’ for more attention. I have no idea why it is that maternity clothes have to be so frickin’ ugly. Ain’t it enough that a body’s been all pushed and stretched and swollen and forced out of shape by a baby? Do we got to make matters worse by wearin’ what amounts to a table cloth and ribbons?

Look, y’all…I know my tits have gotten huge. I don’t need a scoop neck shirt to make them look even bigger than they are. I sure as hell don’t need no bow slapped on front to draw more attention to them neither. I don’t want no cutesy stupid writin’ on my t-shirts talkin’ about ‘baby on board’ or ‘rub me for good luck’. Any moron can see that I’m pregnant and you got to be some serious jackass with a death wish if you think you’re goin’ to rub my stomach. Ain’t nobody but me and mine touchin’ Bump MacEibhir.

Y’all a wearin’ on my nerves with these damned stupid questions. And so help me God, if that Irish idiot I married don’t stop wearin' that shit eatin’ grin of his every time he gets a good look at my cranky pregnant ass, I’m puttin’ my boot in his ass. I’m goin’ to go lay down, someone come get me when it’s June and time to have this kid.

Laine Anderson//Flint Creek//321

"If I had it to do all over again, I wouldn't change a thing!"

That's a load of crap. There's always something you'd change about your past, if you could. List five of them.

1. I wouldn't have hurt him like I did.

2. I'd have said 'I love you' instead of 'kiss my ass'.

3. I would have taken a gun with me. And used it.

4. I would have been nicer to him from the start.

5. I wouldn't have let Margie pick the movie we watched tonight.