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Beginnings [#29 and #31]
Title: Beginnings
Fandom: APH Anon Meme Battle Royale
Characters/Pairing: #29 and #31
Rating: 10+
Length: 724
Summary: Related to the APH anon meme Battle Royale event.
Other: Posted in my sketch journal. (Original post)
Beginnings
It had been a quiet, peaceful existence. Boring in some ways. Slow-moving days, nothing stirring much.
Still, the nights were pleasant, as in the evening he would come to her. They would walk together, speaking softly, with no one to hear them except the insects chirping in the grass along the pathways. Later they would return to her home and sit out in the cool air, side-by-side. He drank coffee while she worked with a pencil in the dimming light, her quick hands sketching his quiet, serious features.
She had cherished those moments.
That was before.
As she waited in that dark room, listening as the task was explained to the lot of them, “before” seemed a long way away. Never in her life had she imagined she would be put in such a position.
They were to be given weapons. They were to go out. They were to pick one another off one by one.
Her eyes darted through the crowd, moving over the pale, frightened faces. Eventually her gaze rested on him. Sensing someone was looking at him, he glanced around – there. Their eyes locked. Held. She tried to school her expression, tried to show him she wasn’t frightened, not too much. He was frowning, his face tired-looking. His lips moved slightly, mouthing something which might have been, “Stay with me”, or something else entirely. She nodded, reassured; regardless of what the words actually were, she understood his intent.
Both of them flicked their eyes back to the screen. They had to hold on to the details, absorb them. In this case, it was a matter of life or death.
She stumbled out into the cold night air and it seemed to fill her lungs, choke her. Immediately she ran for cover, some way to hide, some place where she could stay out of the way while she waited for him. The very air smelled wrong, smelled of something. Fear and blood. She darted into the shadows, slunk under the cover of thick pines, hiding out of the moon’s light. Quiet. Gunshots sounded somewhere nearby. Quiet. Even daring to breathe loudly might be too much.
When he emerged, looking disoriented and troubled, she hesitated to go to him, to expose herself. Maybe – yes – no – it might not be safe. The words flitted through her head. Finally she settled for calling his name, hissing it. He gave no outward hint of recognition, but he made for her direction, and she understood. He had heard her.
Soon they darted through the dark, side by side, quiet, not daring to utter a word to one another. At times he stayed her, put his hand on her shoulder and a finger to his lips, and they waited while others passed, moving more loudly, shouting or crying out. Then they continued. They twisted, turned, changed direction a million times. Try to get away, try to find a place to stop, a place to rest, a place to think. He didn’t say it, but she understood.
A few hours passed before they finally rested. Having not heard sign of anyone else for some time, they stopped. There were no calls, no footsteps. No gunshots. They stopped.
Tired and on edge, their clothes damp from running through the early morning dew, they stopped to regroup. Curled up together, hidden beneath the drooping branches of a large spruce, they determined the current state of affairs and what was available to them.
She frowned when she discovered what her 'weapon' was. Money. Bills. Useless. She thumbed through them, questioned what she was to do with something like that, then shoved them in her pocket.
He shrugged, shook his head, then resumed investigating his own equipment. “We’ve got a submachine gun here,” he said softly, gesturing to the uzi. “Just stay by me.”
She offered him a shaky smile. There was no question that she would. “I will.”
“Good.” He bit his lower lip then drew closer to her. Sighed. In the dim light she could barely see him, but by the sound of his voice he was exhausted, worn out. “We’ll make it out together.”
“Of course.” She didn't allow herself any doubts. To doubt was to acknowledge the possibility of failure. They would make it. They would.
They stayed close in that cold night, nestled together like two birds. His eyes closed as he tried to catch some quick sleep, his head resting on her shoulder. Her hand on his gun, ready. Just in case.
Just in case.
Fandom: APH Anon Meme Battle Royale
Characters/Pairing: #29 and #31
Rating: 10+
Length: 724
Summary: Related to the APH anon meme Battle Royale event.
Other: Posted in my sketch journal. (Original post)
Beginnings
It had been a quiet, peaceful existence. Boring in some ways. Slow-moving days, nothing stirring much.
Still, the nights were pleasant, as in the evening he would come to her. They would walk together, speaking softly, with no one to hear them except the insects chirping in the grass along the pathways. Later they would return to her home and sit out in the cool air, side-by-side. He drank coffee while she worked with a pencil in the dimming light, her quick hands sketching his quiet, serious features.
She had cherished those moments.
That was before.
As she waited in that dark room, listening as the task was explained to the lot of them, “before” seemed a long way away. Never in her life had she imagined she would be put in such a position.
They were to be given weapons. They were to go out. They were to pick one another off one by one.
Her eyes darted through the crowd, moving over the pale, frightened faces. Eventually her gaze rested on him. Sensing someone was looking at him, he glanced around – there. Their eyes locked. Held. She tried to school her expression, tried to show him she wasn’t frightened, not too much. He was frowning, his face tired-looking. His lips moved slightly, mouthing something which might have been, “Stay with me”, or something else entirely. She nodded, reassured; regardless of what the words actually were, she understood his intent.
Both of them flicked their eyes back to the screen. They had to hold on to the details, absorb them. In this case, it was a matter of life or death.
She stumbled out into the cold night air and it seemed to fill her lungs, choke her. Immediately she ran for cover, some way to hide, some place where she could stay out of the way while she waited for him. The very air smelled wrong, smelled of something. Fear and blood. She darted into the shadows, slunk under the cover of thick pines, hiding out of the moon’s light. Quiet. Gunshots sounded somewhere nearby. Quiet. Even daring to breathe loudly might be too much.
When he emerged, looking disoriented and troubled, she hesitated to go to him, to expose herself. Maybe – yes – no – it might not be safe. The words flitted through her head. Finally she settled for calling his name, hissing it. He gave no outward hint of recognition, but he made for her direction, and she understood. He had heard her.
Soon they darted through the dark, side by side, quiet, not daring to utter a word to one another. At times he stayed her, put his hand on her shoulder and a finger to his lips, and they waited while others passed, moving more loudly, shouting or crying out. Then they continued. They twisted, turned, changed direction a million times. Try to get away, try to find a place to stop, a place to rest, a place to think. He didn’t say it, but she understood.
A few hours passed before they finally rested. Having not heard sign of anyone else for some time, they stopped. There were no calls, no footsteps. No gunshots. They stopped.
Tired and on edge, their clothes damp from running through the early morning dew, they stopped to regroup. Curled up together, hidden beneath the drooping branches of a large spruce, they determined the current state of affairs and what was available to them.
She frowned when she discovered what her 'weapon' was. Money. Bills. Useless. She thumbed through them, questioned what she was to do with something like that, then shoved them in her pocket.
He shrugged, shook his head, then resumed investigating his own equipment. “We’ve got a submachine gun here,” he said softly, gesturing to the uzi. “Just stay by me.”
She offered him a shaky smile. There was no question that she would. “I will.”
“Good.” He bit his lower lip then drew closer to her. Sighed. In the dim light she could barely see him, but by the sound of his voice he was exhausted, worn out. “We’ll make it out together.”
“Of course.” She didn't allow herself any doubts. To doubt was to acknowledge the possibility of failure. They would make it. They would.
They stayed close in that cold night, nestled together like two birds. His eyes closed as he tried to catch some quick sleep, his head resting on her shoulder. Her hand on his gun, ready. Just in case.
Just in case.