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rainbowfic2014-10-26 11:49 pm
shadowsong26) wrote in rainbowfic2014-10-26 11:49 pm
Alice Blue #25, Cinnabar #15, French Grey #25
Name: shadowsong26
Story: The Takedown
'Verse: Feredar
Colors: Alice Blue #25. at the time it all seemed quite natural, Cinnabar #15. Mortar and Pestle, French Grey #25. We can’t command our love, but we can our actions.
Supplies and Materials: photography, eraser (Gay Isshiri AU), stickers (In the 1500s Henry VIII lost to the King of France in a wrestling match.), glitter ("Sometimes you just have to try, even though you know it won't work." – Junot Diaz)
Word Count: 362
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Mel
Warnings: War/violence, references to slavery and torture
Notes: Constructive criticism welcome, as always.
He saw Isshiri go down. He heard the snap of bone as the hilt of King Kellom's sword connected with his face.
No!
He scrambled down the hill--where was their other backup?!--he had to stop him before he--there, there, a pocket of groundwater right under Kellom's feet. If he pulled it right, Isshiri wouldn't fall, he just had to tackle the King with enough force to move him--
But, no, he couldn't do that. He'd promised Isshiri they'd both come home alive.
He hesitated halfway down, for a split second, and that was enough.
Isshiri was trying to get away, scrambling backward, blood dripping from his mouth, and Kellom stepped forward to stop him, turning his sword and stabbing down, piercing the thigh of Isshiri's good leg.
So they didn't want to kill him. They wanted him alive. They would do horrible things to him, they would put him in a collar again, they would--they would torture him--
Mel moved without thinking, yanking on the groundwater behind the King and pulling it forward. Kellom half-turned into it, and Mel froze it, as much as he could hold, trapping the king in place.
He slid the rest of the way down the hill, holding the ice in place as best he could, and there was backup, finally, pulling Isshiri out of range.
He couldn't look--he needed to look, but he had to--he had to focus on the King. Slowly, carefully, he pushed and pulled on the ice, forcing him down on his knees, and held him, keeping locked on his eyes, until someone finally touched his shoulder.
He let go and they took the King, binding his hands and holding him.
No one said a word.
It was over. They had King Kellom in custody, and both he and Isshiri had survived.
Mel slipped on the mud he made when the ice melted, scrambling to catch up to Isshiri. The others were dragging him off the field, trying to stop the bleeding from his thigh.
He got close and caught his hand, holding it up and kissing it.
Their part in this was over.
Finally, it was over.
Story: The Takedown
'Verse: Feredar
Colors: Alice Blue #25. at the time it all seemed quite natural, Cinnabar #15. Mortar and Pestle, French Grey #25. We can’t command our love, but we can our actions.
Supplies and Materials: photography, eraser (Gay Isshiri AU), stickers (In the 1500s Henry VIII lost to the King of France in a wrestling match.), glitter ("Sometimes you just have to try, even though you know it won't work." – Junot Diaz)
Word Count: 362
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Mel
Warnings: War/violence, references to slavery and torture
Notes: Constructive criticism welcome, as always.
He saw Isshiri go down. He heard the snap of bone as the hilt of King Kellom's sword connected with his face.
No!
He scrambled down the hill--where was their other backup?!--he had to stop him before he--there, there, a pocket of groundwater right under Kellom's feet. If he pulled it right, Isshiri wouldn't fall, he just had to tackle the King with enough force to move him--
But, no, he couldn't do that. He'd promised Isshiri they'd both come home alive.
He hesitated halfway down, for a split second, and that was enough.
Isshiri was trying to get away, scrambling backward, blood dripping from his mouth, and Kellom stepped forward to stop him, turning his sword and stabbing down, piercing the thigh of Isshiri's good leg.
So they didn't want to kill him. They wanted him alive. They would do horrible things to him, they would put him in a collar again, they would--they would torture him--
Mel moved without thinking, yanking on the groundwater behind the King and pulling it forward. Kellom half-turned into it, and Mel froze it, as much as he could hold, trapping the king in place.
He slid the rest of the way down the hill, holding the ice in place as best he could, and there was backup, finally, pulling Isshiri out of range.
He couldn't look--he needed to look, but he had to--he had to focus on the King. Slowly, carefully, he pushed and pulled on the ice, forcing him down on his knees, and held him, keeping locked on his eyes, until someone finally touched his shoulder.
He let go and they took the King, binding his hands and holding him.
No one said a word.
It was over. They had King Kellom in custody, and both he and Isshiri had survived.
Mel slipped on the mud he made when the ice melted, scrambling to catch up to Isshiri. The others were dragging him off the field, trying to stop the bleeding from his thigh.
He got close and caught his hand, holding it up and kissing it.
Their part in this was over.
Finally, it was over.