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rainbowfic2016-03-07 08:59 pm
kay_brooke) wrote in rainbowfic2016-03-07 08:59 pm
Bone #5, Cherry Blossom Pink #9, Plant Party #42
Name: kay_brooke
Story: The Prime
Colors: Bone #5 (death rattle), Cherry Blossom Pink #9 (Zen), Plant Party #42 (Baneberry)
Styles/Supplies: Canvas
Word Count: 1,005
Rating/Warnings: PG-13; no standard warnings apply.
Summary: Jericha can't breathe.
Note: More of the Jericha/Morgan story. Not in sequence with the rest, but a couple of years later. Constructive criticism is welcome, either through comments or PM.
Jericha stumbled to a stop, her lungs burning, breath rasping in her throat. Her entire mouth felt like it was coated with dirt and sand, her tongue abrasive against her dry lips as she tried to lick them wet. She just barely kept herself from collapsing onto the ground.
Pedro stood over her with his arms crossed. Beside him, on the low stone wall that surrounded the little clearing where she trained, was a timer, ticking back and forth, the solar battery able to keep a charge for approximately one hour. It stuttered a little as Jericha looked at it, the ticking winding down.
"Unacceptable," said Pedro. "Do it again."
Jericha stared at him, aghast. She pointed to the timer. "The hour is almost over. We have to go inside." The air, gritty and difficult to breathe in at the best of times, was even worse today, a sure sign that spring was on the way, bringing with it dust storms.
Pedro was unmoved. "We wouldn't have this problem if you weren't so slow. Do it again."
Jericha sat down in the dirt with a thump, stirring up a cloud of dust that made her cough and wheeze. Pedro remained as still as the stone wall, arms still crossed, still watching her. "I can't do it again."
"We're not going inside until you do it again and in an acceptable amount of time."
"The timer is slowing down," she pointed out. "It won't be accurate."
"I don't need a timer."
Jericha shook her head. At the moment, standing up seemed beyond her, much less running another lap around the entire temple. "I can't breathe."
"You haven't been practicing between sessions," said Pedro, finally showing an emotion. Unfortunately, it was anger, and Jericha rolled in on herself as he continued. "You're not going to get stronger if the only physical activity you do is this measly one hour. You need to be stronger. You need to be faster. You need to be able to operate at peak efficiency even in undesirable conditions, like a dust-heavy day."
Jericha, gazed fixed on the ground, said, "But I can't breathe." Only slowly were her gasps fading, and she still didn't feel strong enough to stand.
"If someone is chasing you across the rurs, do you think they're going to let you stop to catch your breath?" Pedro snapped.
"Why would someone be chasing me across the rurs?" Jericha asked. "I thought I was going to the city."
"And if you're found out, do you think the city is going to just let you leave?" Pedro shook his head. "If you manage to escape the city wall, they are going to hunt you down. And if that happens, you cannot lead them here, and you certainly cannot lead them to Poston."
At that, Jericha found the strength to stand. Two years she'd been in training, two years since she had last seen her best friend disappear off west in a vehicle, and in those two years she hadn't heard a word from Morgan, despite the plans she'd put in her final letter to send secret messages to each other. She stood straight and tall, her head still only level with Pedro's chest. "Then maybe I'm no good. Maybe you should give up. Send me to Poston with the other failures."
Pedro narrowed his eyes. "You will never be sent to Poston. You have only one option: learn what we're teaching you. Get good at it. Go to the city and do the damn job we chose you for."
"And if I don't?" Jericha said, crossing her own arms. "What happens if I decide not to?"
"I'd recommend you put everything you have into this training," said Pedro.
"But what if I don't?"
"Then you get sent to the city anyway. Only without identification, references, money, or allies. You'd be arrested at the wall. The temple wouldn't help you. We'd deny any knowledge of you. The city will assume you're a rebel and execute you." He shrugged, as if that ended the matter.
Jericha blinked away tears. "You'd just abandon me outside the city? Let them kill me?"
Pedro cocked his head at her, and his expression was so disgusted that Jericha couldn't hold his gaze. "Yes," he said. "Haven't you learned anything in the last two years?"
She had. She'd learned that they desperately needed young spies, to replace the ones like Mikal who were getting too old or too suspicious. She'd learned that she was the only one in training to infiltrate the city. She'd learned that for whatever reason, she was the one they had chosen to put all their efforts onto. And she couldn't quite believe they would go to all that trouble just to abandon her because she didn't finish a lap fast enough.
But she didn't say it, because Pedro's face was terrifying, and she was exhausted and still having trouble breathing. The dust seemed even thicker now, making every breath scratch against her throat as it went down. Pedro seemed unaffected, but he hadn't just spent the last hour running.
Pedro fell silent and expectant, as if he was waiting for an argument. Fortunately, salvation came in the form of Beryl, who entered the clearing through the hidden door and said, "There you are. What's taking so long?"
"I held her over," said Pedro, turning to Beryl and inclining his head slightly. "Her performance today was wretched."
"Well, I'm sure she's heard the lecture and agreed to consider your words," said Beryl, looking over at Jericha. "Isn't that right?"
"Yes," she muttered.
Pedro shook his head. "I need her to run the lap again. She can't get away with this laziness."
"We want to train her, not kill her," said Beryl gently. "Don't worry, I'll make sure she makes up for her laziness in lessons today." The smile she gave Jericha was not entirely kind. "Come along, child."
Chest still tight, legs still shaking, Jericha trudged after her.
kay_brookeStory: The Prime
Colors: Bone #5 (death rattle), Cherry Blossom Pink #9 (Zen), Plant Party #42 (Baneberry)
Styles/Supplies: Canvas
Word Count: 1,005
Rating/Warnings: PG-13; no standard warnings apply.
Summary: Jericha can't breathe.
Note: More of the Jericha/Morgan story. Not in sequence with the rest, but a couple of years later. Constructive criticism is welcome, either through comments or PM.
Jericha stumbled to a stop, her lungs burning, breath rasping in her throat. Her entire mouth felt like it was coated with dirt and sand, her tongue abrasive against her dry lips as she tried to lick them wet. She just barely kept herself from collapsing onto the ground.
Pedro stood over her with his arms crossed. Beside him, on the low stone wall that surrounded the little clearing where she trained, was a timer, ticking back and forth, the solar battery able to keep a charge for approximately one hour. It stuttered a little as Jericha looked at it, the ticking winding down.
"Unacceptable," said Pedro. "Do it again."
Jericha stared at him, aghast. She pointed to the timer. "The hour is almost over. We have to go inside." The air, gritty and difficult to breathe in at the best of times, was even worse today, a sure sign that spring was on the way, bringing with it dust storms.
Pedro was unmoved. "We wouldn't have this problem if you weren't so slow. Do it again."
Jericha sat down in the dirt with a thump, stirring up a cloud of dust that made her cough and wheeze. Pedro remained as still as the stone wall, arms still crossed, still watching her. "I can't do it again."
"We're not going inside until you do it again and in an acceptable amount of time."
"The timer is slowing down," she pointed out. "It won't be accurate."
"I don't need a timer."
Jericha shook her head. At the moment, standing up seemed beyond her, much less running another lap around the entire temple. "I can't breathe."
"You haven't been practicing between sessions," said Pedro, finally showing an emotion. Unfortunately, it was anger, and Jericha rolled in on herself as he continued. "You're not going to get stronger if the only physical activity you do is this measly one hour. You need to be stronger. You need to be faster. You need to be able to operate at peak efficiency even in undesirable conditions, like a dust-heavy day."
Jericha, gazed fixed on the ground, said, "But I can't breathe." Only slowly were her gasps fading, and she still didn't feel strong enough to stand.
"If someone is chasing you across the rurs, do you think they're going to let you stop to catch your breath?" Pedro snapped.
"Why would someone be chasing me across the rurs?" Jericha asked. "I thought I was going to the city."
"And if you're found out, do you think the city is going to just let you leave?" Pedro shook his head. "If you manage to escape the city wall, they are going to hunt you down. And if that happens, you cannot lead them here, and you certainly cannot lead them to Poston."
At that, Jericha found the strength to stand. Two years she'd been in training, two years since she had last seen her best friend disappear off west in a vehicle, and in those two years she hadn't heard a word from Morgan, despite the plans she'd put in her final letter to send secret messages to each other. She stood straight and tall, her head still only level with Pedro's chest. "Then maybe I'm no good. Maybe you should give up. Send me to Poston with the other failures."
Pedro narrowed his eyes. "You will never be sent to Poston. You have only one option: learn what we're teaching you. Get good at it. Go to the city and do the damn job we chose you for."
"And if I don't?" Jericha said, crossing her own arms. "What happens if I decide not to?"
"I'd recommend you put everything you have into this training," said Pedro.
"But what if I don't?"
"Then you get sent to the city anyway. Only without identification, references, money, or allies. You'd be arrested at the wall. The temple wouldn't help you. We'd deny any knowledge of you. The city will assume you're a rebel and execute you." He shrugged, as if that ended the matter.
Jericha blinked away tears. "You'd just abandon me outside the city? Let them kill me?"
Pedro cocked his head at her, and his expression was so disgusted that Jericha couldn't hold his gaze. "Yes," he said. "Haven't you learned anything in the last two years?"
She had. She'd learned that they desperately needed young spies, to replace the ones like Mikal who were getting too old or too suspicious. She'd learned that she was the only one in training to infiltrate the city. She'd learned that for whatever reason, she was the one they had chosen to put all their efforts onto. And she couldn't quite believe they would go to all that trouble just to abandon her because she didn't finish a lap fast enough.
But she didn't say it, because Pedro's face was terrifying, and she was exhausted and still having trouble breathing. The dust seemed even thicker now, making every breath scratch against her throat as it went down. Pedro seemed unaffected, but he hadn't just spent the last hour running.
Pedro fell silent and expectant, as if he was waiting for an argument. Fortunately, salvation came in the form of Beryl, who entered the clearing through the hidden door and said, "There you are. What's taking so long?"
"I held her over," said Pedro, turning to Beryl and inclining his head slightly. "Her performance today was wretched."
"Well, I'm sure she's heard the lecture and agreed to consider your words," said Beryl, looking over at Jericha. "Isn't that right?"
"Yes," she muttered.
Pedro shook his head. "I need her to run the lap again. She can't get away with this laziness."
"We want to train her, not kill her," said Beryl gently. "Don't worry, I'll make sure she makes up for her laziness in lessons today." The smile she gave Jericha was not entirely kind. "Come along, child."
Chest still tight, legs still shaking, Jericha trudged after her.