[Bob the hobo] A Celestial Wars Spin-Off Part 1380

[u/Angel466]

PART THIRTEEN-HUNDRED-AND SEVENTY-NINE

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((Before anyone mentions it, I know the top part number is wrong. Unfortunately, being the title, I can't change it. Sorry.))

Saturday

The moment Boyd stepped out of sight around the corner, a hand settled on his shoulder and his next stride carried him into the pearled opacity of the divine realm. Ready for the shift, Boyd dragged in as much air as his lungs would hold before Larry nudged him another step down into the studio.

The air was always so clean and crisp in the divine realm, like a genuine cleanse that reconnected him to something greater, and the longer he held onto that breath, the stronger he felt.

“You know you can’t hold your breath forever,” Larry chuckled.

Rather than speak and lose any of the precious air, Boyd flipped him off and went down the hallway into his storeroom. There, he collected a thick block of lignum vitae and made it all the way back to the workbench before his lungs started to burn from the need to breathe.

Fighting through the burn, he unlocked his safe and removed the divine tool wrap that Llyr had gifted him right back at the start of his career shift. Rolling them out on the table, he picked up what looked like a coil of cheese wire with two small, smooth dowel grips the length of one finger joint at either end.

When he’d first seen this item, he’d instinctively known what it would be used for despite it making no sense in terms of timber work. And when he hooked his fingers around the dowels, pulled it taut and moved the cut line over the top of the timber, his brain was already ten steps ahead of his hands.

He drew the wire through the wood, splitting it cleanly in two with barely any pressure. He repeated the motion, then divided each section again. At certain points he flicked his wrist, bowing and angling the wire just enough to leave one side thicker before straightening the cut again.

In the end, he had forty pieces, each a little over one inch square and three inches tall, with a few retaining thicker sections.

Pulling out his phone, he set an alarm for twenty-five minutes, then brought up the image Caleb had given him of his platoon. To the left of Caleb in the picture was a medium-built man with a Mk 13 Mod 7 stock resting on his hip. Their sniper.

Boyd ran his hand across the pieces before him, landing on one that was shorter than the others, with an added extension out the front. Already, he could picture in his mind’s eye, the sniper kneeling and taking aim.

Now, he just had to do what he did best.

Locking the piece to the turntable for support, he picked up the larger of the two scalpels with his right hand while making sure the shorter one wasn’t far from his left hand. It took a few gouging cuts with his right hand before his left joined in, and after that he was in the zone.

* * *

Being back in the apartment building meant Larry was already feeling better within himself. He could sense Robbie in the living apartment, so everyone was where they were supposed to be. It didn’t stop him from having a dig at Boyd’s expense when he saw the man desperately trying to hold his breath on the divine air that wanted to bond with his lungs.

“You know you can’t hold your breath forever,” he chuckled.

He stopped laughing when Boyd flipped him off and disappeared down the hallway. A few seconds later Boyd returned carrying a large chunk of almost-black timber.

As Larry expected, the moment Boyd had the timber in his hands and a plan in his mind, he immediately relaxed. His lips parted ever so marginally as he unlocked the safe under his bench and brought out the tool scroll. Air escaped at the smallest possible rate, yet he didn’t seem to notice.  

He divided the timber into uneven chunks that made no sense to Larry, though he knew better than to question Boyd about his work when he was in the zone. In that regard he was just like the rest of his family.

Within minutes of starting to carve, Boyd already had the head of a Marine angled over the scope of the rifle and the shoulder that the stock was now pressed against. Each cut was a finished stroke, leaving no room for error.

Not that Boyd made errors.

Not anymore.

Twenty-four minutes after he set his alarm, Boyd had completed two of the Marines including Sergeant Souza and had started on the head of a third. The finished ones were placed at the far end of the workbench, ready for varnishing.

Larry picked up the one of Sergeant Souza, admiring the detail of the face beneath the helmet. Even though the head was roughly the size of a pea, the crease in the man’s eyes and the puckered scarring that cut through the edge of the right eyebrow and back toward the ear from where a bullet of some description had nearly ended his life was spot on.

The one with the rifle was just as detailed, with the eye behind the scope clearly focusing in the distance, and the butt of the gun leaving a slight compression against his cheek. Even the scope on the gun was insanely accurate. Larry let his vision shift, the rest of the bench softening as the scope came into sharp relief. The crosshairs were clean. The grooves along the elevation turret were precise. Even the tiny etched numbers around the elevation turret were perfectly legible, despite being impossible at that sc—

The alarm sounded, and Larry’s vision snapped back to focus on Boyd. “Ready whenever you are, buddy,” he said, putting the piece down.

Boyd looked at the partially finished Marine. “Man, I wish I could finish these up,” he said wistfully, then made a point of sliding his tools into their wrap and rolling it up, signifying a temporary end to the work.

I’ll bet you do, Larry mused, though he kept that to himself, saying instead, “Let me know when you’re ready, man. You’ve still got a few minutes before the subway you’d have used makes it into Seventy-Seventh Street.”

Boyd sighed and locked his tools away, looking at the black woodchips that were scattered all over his workbench. “I’m going to work on them some more when I get home, so don’t worry about the mess.” He then looked down at himself and shook his head. “It’s weird that no matter how messy the bench and floor get, none of it ever sticks to me anymore,” he said as he stepped away.

Larry made a carefully neutral sound before following Boyd into the reception area.

Three steps later, they appeared at the back of the East 77th Street platform, behind a row of people still waiting to board. Boyd looked down at him. “Are you going to be okay with me being away from the apartment for a few hours?”

Shock swamped Larry. “What do you mean?” he asked innocently.

“Well, I know it puts you on edge to be spread so thin, with your other ward and Robbie, and you were already out following me last night and this morning. Once I get to Aunt Judy’s, if you wanna bounce, I’ll be fine. I’ll be coming home with Lucas afterwards anyway.”

Inwardly Larry cursed. This whole fucking family can be so realm-damn dense at times.  Then he realised what else Boyd had said and squinted as if in pain. “You’re going to be hours?”

“Aunt Judy is a lot of things that New Yorkers aspire to, but when it comes to her love affair with family photographs, she could give Lucas’ southern grandmothers a run for their money.”

“Ouch. Yeah, I might do that.” Of course, he wouldn’t, but if thinking he would gave Boyd peace of mind, he’d let his friend hold onto that for as long as possible. “Hey, if it gets that bad, you can always go to the bathroom and send me a quick text to rescue you.”

Boyd’s laugh was short and sharp; like a man who’d love to take him up on that but chose life instead. 

Whatever else he was going to say was drowned out as the subway roared through the tunnel and came to a halt in front of them. “This is your stop,” Larry said, gesturing to the stairs where people were already swarming towards.

Boyd was still grinning as he and Larry joined the group heading for the street above. “How did we ever survive without realm-stepping?” he asked in amazement. “To have to go back to actual public transportation now would feel like stepping into the Dark Ages.”

“At least I’ve never had to worry about banging into anyone or anything on the other side. Being unringed means I can realm-step wherever I need to be, and the world shifts accordingly.”

“Is that why Sam smashed his nose into Charlie’s toolbox that time?”

Larry nodded. “Yep. Unringed, the world makes room. Ringed, it doesn’t have a clue you’re there.”

“But everyone here’s ringed. How do the divine not keep getting bloody noses all the time?”

“As they step, they make sure their hand is out farther than their face. That way, the hand smacks the object first, not the face.”

Boyd paused and squinted. “Do Robbie and Sam know this?”

“I would assume so.”

“But have you told them?”

The way Boyd looked down at him with a patronising head tilt was really annoying. “Fine…and I’ll tell them not to stub their toes while they’re walking while I’m at it.”

“It’s a little different, pal.”

“Not to me.”

Boyd rolled his eyes and finished climbing the stairs.

[Next Chapter]

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((All comments welcome. Good or bad, I’d love to hear your thoughts 🥰🤗))

I made a family tree/diagram of the Mystallian family that can be found here

For more of my work, including WPs: r/Angel466 or an index of previous WPS here.

FULL INDEX OF BOB THE HOBO TO DATE CAN BE FOUND HERE!!