Post by Kit on Apr 1, 2011 1:49:14 GMT 10
Title: Exhalation
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 231
Pairing: Crane/Rosethorn
Round/Fight: 1/F
Summary: They use each other. Conpanion to Exclamation, Distillation, and probably anything else with a -tion ending througout the rest of the round.
Warnings: Mild squick
They take it turns.
Isas does not rub her back as she vomits over a basin, mask hanging like a dead thing from around her throat. The urge comes from somewhere strange and fleeting, but it belongs to another pair. He has only just changed his gloves. And Niva has been walking through the world as if air hurts her skin. Other touch seems barbaric.
“Are you done?”
She gasps and hacks, “Ingrate. Cold, twitching, uppity, unfeeling—”
“—there. I’m sure that feels much better.”
“Isas.”
Her voice is thick, pain and disgust pushing through it in hard ridges.
“There are twelve more inoculations.”
“Twelve more people.” She straightens, glares at him. Snaps the mask with a hard tug, not even wincing as the cord bites into her neck before release. “Who will probably die from this.”
“And then be used.” He shrugs, watching the motion score an angry flush over her damp, grey-backed skin.
“If you say we’re curing them, I shall—”
“I think you’ve done enough all ready, my dear.” He hears her snort. It’s understandable. The endearment ages him ten years. Perhaps he shall grow into it.
“We’re not curing them, Niva. We are experimenting. For a purpose. And if you do not desist, we’ll be more than a day behind.”
He turns away from her, walking back to their Lightsbridge workroom. She shall follow.
QC by: journeycat
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 231
Pairing: Crane/Rosethorn
Round/Fight: 1/F
Summary: They use each other. Conpanion to Exclamation, Distillation, and probably anything else with a -tion ending througout the rest of the round.
Warnings: Mild squick
They take it turns.
Isas does not rub her back as she vomits over a basin, mask hanging like a dead thing from around her throat. The urge comes from somewhere strange and fleeting, but it belongs to another pair. He has only just changed his gloves. And Niva has been walking through the world as if air hurts her skin. Other touch seems barbaric.
“Are you done?”
She gasps and hacks, “Ingrate. Cold, twitching, uppity, unfeeling—”
“—there. I’m sure that feels much better.”
“Isas.”
Her voice is thick, pain and disgust pushing through it in hard ridges.
“There are twelve more inoculations.”
“Twelve more people.” She straightens, glares at him. Snaps the mask with a hard tug, not even wincing as the cord bites into her neck before release. “Who will probably die from this.”
“And then be used.” He shrugs, watching the motion score an angry flush over her damp, grey-backed skin.
“If you say we’re curing them, I shall—”
“I think you’ve done enough all ready, my dear.” He hears her snort. It’s understandable. The endearment ages him ten years. Perhaps he shall grow into it.
“We’re not curing them, Niva. We are experimenting. For a purpose. And if you do not desist, we’ll be more than a day behind.”
He turns away from her, walking back to their Lightsbridge workroom. She shall follow.
QC by: journeycat