Post by Muse on May 1, 2011 7:13:28 GMT 10
Title: Still Alive
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 220
Pairing: Gary/Raoul – Team Moustache Curtains
Round/Fight: 2/C
Summary: I’m still alive but I’m barely breathing. Raoul’s perspective during the Coronation Day quakes. Part of my Breakeven series, set post-Lioness Rampant.
The last great shock knocked everyone off of their feet, and Raoul came to covered in rubble, stone jabbing him in the back, dust clogging his throat and blinding his eyes.
More shouting, and nearby.
Shouting, like before the earth convulsed.
Gary.
Raoul tried moving, tried shoving the shattered blocks of granite off of is chest so he could sit up. His left leg was pinned, and he tugged uselessly.
The screaming comes, then, because trying to move brings white-hot pain and he can’t, can’t, can’t—
His cry rips from his dry throat, small and frail and trapped in the rubble, same as him.
There’s other people yelling, there are other screams around him, and carefully Raoul turns his head—careful, careful, don’t move the leg—and sees a knot of people near him.
Gary knelt there, some yards away, clutching one hand of the man on the ground; with a start, Raoul recognized the pale features of the Duke of Naxen.
Gary wasn’t shouting now.
The healer kneeling in the debris, whose hands were spilling dark green light over the prone form murmured softly, “He’s still alive.”
Gary’s rigid shoulders slumped, and Raoul would have given anything to be able to move.
Instead he gave up the fight for consciousness and slid away from the pain and the noise.
QC by PeroxidePirate
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 220
Pairing: Gary/Raoul – Team Moustache Curtains
Round/Fight: 2/C
Summary: I’m still alive but I’m barely breathing. Raoul’s perspective during the Coronation Day quakes. Part of my Breakeven series, set post-Lioness Rampant.
The last great shock knocked everyone off of their feet, and Raoul came to covered in rubble, stone jabbing him in the back, dust clogging his throat and blinding his eyes.
More shouting, and nearby.
Shouting, like before the earth convulsed.
Gary.
Raoul tried moving, tried shoving the shattered blocks of granite off of is chest so he could sit up. His left leg was pinned, and he tugged uselessly.
The screaming comes, then, because trying to move brings white-hot pain and he can’t, can’t, can’t—
His cry rips from his dry throat, small and frail and trapped in the rubble, same as him.
There’s other people yelling, there are other screams around him, and carefully Raoul turns his head—careful, careful, don’t move the leg—and sees a knot of people near him.
Gary knelt there, some yards away, clutching one hand of the man on the ground; with a start, Raoul recognized the pale features of the Duke of Naxen.
Gary wasn’t shouting now.
The healer kneeling in the debris, whose hands were spilling dark green light over the prone form murmured softly, “He’s still alive.”
Gary’s rigid shoulders slumped, and Raoul would have given anything to be able to move.
Instead he gave up the fight for consciousness and slid away from the pain and the noise.
QC by PeroxidePirate