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rainbowfic2014-09-20 12:17 am
greenling) wrote in rainbowfic2014-09-20 12:17 am
Lawn Green #7/Camo Green #8, Ibiza Blue #3
Name: Greenling
Story: All Great Things
Colors: Lawn Green #7 (beach ball)/Camo Green #8 (medal), Ibiza Blue #3 (Dousk - Anagram)
Supplies and Styles: Acrylic (Last-ditch effort), Bichromatic
Word Count: 1,034
Rating: PG
Warnings: Not terribly.
Summary: A plan is made over breakfast. The penultimate chapter of AGT1.
I've learned a lot writing this damn thing over the past year. I am going to have to go back and edit and flesh out the whole thing some other time. Comments, criticism, and questions are all appreciated.
Somehow, the sun rose the next morning.
Dmitry was woken abruptly by an elbow to the stomach. Somehow he'd ended up on the floor, head on the couch and legs folded up against a low coffeetable, and Peace had ended up on top of him. Dmitry remembered about half of the events leading up to that, including crashing hard midway into his second cup of Irish coffee, but waking up in a hotel lobby among a crowd of people in various states of alertness really underlined... something. Normally he was a morning person, but his thoughts were having a bit of trouble gelling at the moment.
Peace muttered an awkward apology and sat up, yawning and stretching until his torn shirt rode up his stomach a couple of inches; his hair was a series of lumpy masses falling in his face, and an odd mixed smell of sweat, dirt, and unidentifiable things hung around him. There was a streak of blood behind his left ear, red and werewolf-black.
"Yeah, I'm m'n-" Dmitry leaned on the sword and stood up, deciding that some nice cold water from the restroom would be a great idea.
It wasn't long before he realized the electricity was out. It wasn't that apparent in the lobby with the sun coming in through the huge windows, but the lights were definitely not working. Some enterprising soul had set up a string of candles during the night leading back to their impromptu clinic, as well as a few around the stairs to the rooms on the second floor, but most of them that he could see were out as well. Not that it mattered; the water was working, so all he needed was something to eat and someone to tell him what the hell the plan was.
Dmitry really hoped there was a plan.
*
Peace slept fitfully, dreaming of a rain of blood and fire; a single thought stretched out seemingly forever, until the first rays of the sun hit his face and it evaporated in an instant.
Thoughts wavering, he attempted to push himself into a sitting position and ended up jabbing someone in the stomach. Someone. Dmitry.
Crap.
He rubbed his eyes and looked away, thankfully still too far into sleep to blush. He muttered something under his breath, then Dmitry muttered something else, stood up, and walked off. A woman grinned at him behind her drink. He frowned vaguely and climbed off the floor into an actual chair.
The lingering, emotionless memory of his dreams disturbed him for a moment before he slipped back under. This time, it was dreamless.
Someone shook his shoulder.
"Hey, man," said Kevin. He looked no less calm than the day before, if a little mussed. He clearly got a decent night's sleep. "Come get breakfast. And we're having a meeting."
Peace blinked and dragged himself out of the chair.
It was beautiful. The hotel's cafeteria had big open windows and a giant gas hibachi-style griddle, and Diana and a couple of other people were piling up plates of fluffy eggs and pancakes. Diana looked... not okay, but there wasn't much Peace could do about that. Lance had dragged in the whiteboard that had been in the police station break room and was going over a little map of the beach. Something something defended hardpoints forward strike. It was probably very important, but Peace wanted pancakes. Dmitry was already there, sprawled in a seat with a plate of food and most of a 2-liter bottle of Sprite. Their eyes met for a brief moment.
They were definitely going to have to talk about... things, if they survived all this. Make sure they were both on the same page.
"The Shatter is spreading quicker than we've ever seen," Lance said as Peace emptied a syrup bottle, his voice significantly deeper and more authoritative than Peace remembered it being. "We don't know for certain how it happened, or what sort of creature it's latched onto, but we do know two things. One: everything it's done thus far has been geared towards intimidation and body count. Not tainting, not stealing, not weird fairy tale remix bullshit. Shatters normally grow in areas of low population density, so that might make some kind of sense- either way it doesn't matter. It wants to kill us. Drive us out."
He tapped a dry-erase marker against the board. "Two: there's a human intelligence behind it. According to our intel, a small, terrified, arrogant human. We can draw him out. We have a plan. It's a dangerous plan. It requires every able-bodied person available, but if we can draw him out, we can take him out." His gaze ran across the room, meeting the eyes of every person in turn. "Failure is not an option here. Any questions before we get started?"
The low rumble of conversation ran through the room, along with the pungent, universal stench of fear. After a moment, Dmitry raised his hand. Lance pointed at him.
"Yeah- why are you the one with the whiteboard? Isn't she in charge?" Dmitry pointed a thumb at Diana.
Lance stopped his pacing; his arms fell to his sides. He looked... stunned, or something. Offended? Possibly. Peace wasn't sure. "I... well, I was in the Army for a few years, injured in action, honorably discharged, decorated, and since then I've been doing tactics training for the Society. And because Diana asked me to."
Dmitry seemed to accept that, more or less, though he didn't seem the slightest bit embarrassed. Either he didn't notice the reaction or didn't care, and Peace wasn't sure how he felt about either. "Oh. Good reason. Man, I would've pegged you for like... nineteen."
Lance looked sheepish for a second, but quickly reasserted his authoritative face. "Uhm. Right. Are there any other questions, preferably about the objective at hand?"
*
The tide had swollen up to the windows of houses, running into gutters and running rivers of saltwater and garbage through the streets. The hotel was higher ground, but the storm had turned its lawn into a fishpond. A beach ball floated past in a swift stream, followed by an upturned tricycle.
Candy-cane lightning flashed in the real-world sky.
Story: All Great Things
Colors: Lawn Green #7 (beach ball)/Camo Green #8 (medal), Ibiza Blue #3 (Dousk - Anagram)
Supplies and Styles: Acrylic (Last-ditch effort), Bichromatic
Word Count: 1,034
Rating: PG
Warnings: Not terribly.
Summary: A plan is made over breakfast. The penultimate chapter of AGT1.
I've learned a lot writing this damn thing over the past year. I am going to have to go back and edit and flesh out the whole thing some other time. Comments, criticism, and questions are all appreciated.
Somehow, the sun rose the next morning.
Dmitry was woken abruptly by an elbow to the stomach. Somehow he'd ended up on the floor, head on the couch and legs folded up against a low coffeetable, and Peace had ended up on top of him. Dmitry remembered about half of the events leading up to that, including crashing hard midway into his second cup of Irish coffee, but waking up in a hotel lobby among a crowd of people in various states of alertness really underlined... something. Normally he was a morning person, but his thoughts were having a bit of trouble gelling at the moment.
Peace muttered an awkward apology and sat up, yawning and stretching until his torn shirt rode up his stomach a couple of inches; his hair was a series of lumpy masses falling in his face, and an odd mixed smell of sweat, dirt, and unidentifiable things hung around him. There was a streak of blood behind his left ear, red and werewolf-black.
"Yeah, I'm m'n-" Dmitry leaned on the sword and stood up, deciding that some nice cold water from the restroom would be a great idea.
It wasn't long before he realized the electricity was out. It wasn't that apparent in the lobby with the sun coming in through the huge windows, but the lights were definitely not working. Some enterprising soul had set up a string of candles during the night leading back to their impromptu clinic, as well as a few around the stairs to the rooms on the second floor, but most of them that he could see were out as well. Not that it mattered; the water was working, so all he needed was something to eat and someone to tell him what the hell the plan was.
Dmitry really hoped there was a plan.
*
Peace slept fitfully, dreaming of a rain of blood and fire; a single thought stretched out seemingly forever, until the first rays of the sun hit his face and it evaporated in an instant.
Thoughts wavering, he attempted to push himself into a sitting position and ended up jabbing someone in the stomach. Someone. Dmitry.
Crap.
He rubbed his eyes and looked away, thankfully still too far into sleep to blush. He muttered something under his breath, then Dmitry muttered something else, stood up, and walked off. A woman grinned at him behind her drink. He frowned vaguely and climbed off the floor into an actual chair.
The lingering, emotionless memory of his dreams disturbed him for a moment before he slipped back under. This time, it was dreamless.
Someone shook his shoulder.
"Hey, man," said Kevin. He looked no less calm than the day before, if a little mussed. He clearly got a decent night's sleep. "Come get breakfast. And we're having a meeting."
Peace blinked and dragged himself out of the chair.
It was beautiful. The hotel's cafeteria had big open windows and a giant gas hibachi-style griddle, and Diana and a couple of other people were piling up plates of fluffy eggs and pancakes. Diana looked... not okay, but there wasn't much Peace could do about that. Lance had dragged in the whiteboard that had been in the police station break room and was going over a little map of the beach. Something something defended hardpoints forward strike. It was probably very important, but Peace wanted pancakes. Dmitry was already there, sprawled in a seat with a plate of food and most of a 2-liter bottle of Sprite. Their eyes met for a brief moment.
They were definitely going to have to talk about... things, if they survived all this. Make sure they were both on the same page.
"The Shatter is spreading quicker than we've ever seen," Lance said as Peace emptied a syrup bottle, his voice significantly deeper and more authoritative than Peace remembered it being. "We don't know for certain how it happened, or what sort of creature it's latched onto, but we do know two things. One: everything it's done thus far has been geared towards intimidation and body count. Not tainting, not stealing, not weird fairy tale remix bullshit. Shatters normally grow in areas of low population density, so that might make some kind of sense- either way it doesn't matter. It wants to kill us. Drive us out."
He tapped a dry-erase marker against the board. "Two: there's a human intelligence behind it. According to our intel, a small, terrified, arrogant human. We can draw him out. We have a plan. It's a dangerous plan. It requires every able-bodied person available, but if we can draw him out, we can take him out." His gaze ran across the room, meeting the eyes of every person in turn. "Failure is not an option here. Any questions before we get started?"
The low rumble of conversation ran through the room, along with the pungent, universal stench of fear. After a moment, Dmitry raised his hand. Lance pointed at him.
"Yeah- why are you the one with the whiteboard? Isn't she in charge?" Dmitry pointed a thumb at Diana.
Lance stopped his pacing; his arms fell to his sides. He looked... stunned, or something. Offended? Possibly. Peace wasn't sure. "I... well, I was in the Army for a few years, injured in action, honorably discharged, decorated, and since then I've been doing tactics training for the Society. And because Diana asked me to."
Dmitry seemed to accept that, more or less, though he didn't seem the slightest bit embarrassed. Either he didn't notice the reaction or didn't care, and Peace wasn't sure how he felt about either. "Oh. Good reason. Man, I would've pegged you for like... nineteen."
Lance looked sheepish for a second, but quickly reasserted his authoritative face. "Uhm. Right. Are there any other questions, preferably about the objective at hand?"
*
The tide had swollen up to the windows of houses, running into gutters and running rivers of saltwater and garbage through the streets. The hotel was higher ground, but the storm had turned its lawn into a fishpond. A beach ball floated past in a swift stream, followed by an upturned tricycle.
Candy-cane lightning flashed in the real-world sky.
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