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rainbowfic2013-09-27 09:49 pm
auguris) wrote in rainbowfic2013-09-27 09:49 pm
Blood Red 2, Transparent 20
Name: auguris
'verse: After The World
Story: Escape
Colors: Blood Red 2. fistfight, Transparent 20. Yellow
Supplies and Styles: Pastels: first fight, Acrylic: A fight with someone or something.
Word Count: 913
Rating: R
Warnings: Violence, swearing.
Summary: Jean wakes up in a strange place. Potential beginning of the novel. Concrit welcome.
A halo of light obscured Jean's vision. She reached for the blanket to find it absent; must have kicked it off in her sleep. Her head screamed when she rolled over to search for it; she'd say hangover, but she hadn't gone out last night. Or the night before. Not much at all, since Dana had moved out.
"Whoa there." Male voice. She winced as she sat up -- who the hell was in her apartment, her bedroom? Dad had the key but he was in Arizona. "Easy, sister, you're not ready yet."
"Nobody's sister," she rasped. Maybe she had come down with something. Would explain the headache. "Why are you--" He grabbed her shoulder and she shoved him with all the strength she could muster bearing a hangover level migraine and the molasses in her bloodstream. He shouted as he crashed into a medical cart.
Hold on.
Stark white walls punctuated by windowed cabinets, linoleum floor. Jean sat on one of those cart-beds used to transport patients. The intruder wore a white doctor's coat, and she wore one of those plastic shirts they put on you in the hospital.
The intruder -- the doctor lay on the floor, whimpering. She slid off the bed, squinting -- everything was so damn bright -- and knelt beside him. "Sorry, I thought--" He ignored her, grabbing at the scalpel sticking out of his back. "Shit oh shit I'm sorry I didn't mean it--" He shook his head as he yanked the scalpel out. Fibers stuck out, not hair as she first thought but severed wires. Jean reeled back. "What the hell?"
The door slammed open and two enormous men filed in. They could have been twins, dressed in all white and identically impassive. One went to the doctor's side. The other yanked her up, wrenching her arms behind her back. "Let go of me!"
"Accident," the doctor wheezed.
"Doesn't matter," her captor said, voice vibrating down her spine. Did he have wires in his back, too? Jean stamped on his foot and found herself free. She whirled, migraine pounding, and threw her arms up to block the punch. They stared at each other, the man's eyes narrowing, hers wide. He came at her again and she clocked him. His nose caved in, skull crunching like a bag of potato chips. Jean reeled back, staring as he collapsed and clawed at what had become of his face. Her knuckles weren't even bruised.
The other man stood and she hauled ass, throwing the door open and crashing into the opposite wall. Dandelion yellow stripes ran down the center of the linoleum. She stumbled down the hallway, her entire rhythm off like she'd burnt halfway through a joint and couldn't remember how walking worked. She found her feet and it was like driving through a wind tunnel; she couldn't be moving that fast, the walls couldn't be blurring past her. She slammed into a set of double doors and spilled onto the floor. One door knocked into her, pushing her back down.
She spotted the second man -- couldn't be the guy she'd hit because his face wasn't fucking gone -- and rolled out of the doorway, kicking the door shut. He shoved through the door as she scrambled to her feet and got ahold of her arm. She used her momentum to pull him forward and he hit the floor.
She rounded the hallway and slammed into a woman in scrubs. A syringe went skittering across the floor.
"Help me!"
She jerked her head up; a blond guy around her age stood sandwiched between another set of enormous twins. Quadruplets? One raised an eyebrow at her. The lady in scrubs cursed her out as she stood, ignoring the hand reaching up.
"Let him go."
The other eyebrow went up. She brought her hands together in a single fist and swung into the man's stomach; he pitched forward, retching. The other pulled back as she rounded on him. Thin arms grabbed her around the middle and she scrambled forward, sending all four of them crashing to the ground. She elbowed her would-be-captor and let blondie help her up.
"This way," he said and she followed him down the hallway. He grabbed something off a counter and shoved through one side of boarded up double doors. Sunlight nearly blinded her. Blondie took her by the hand and led her stumbling across concrete, following the lock/unlock beep. Car keys, he'd grabbed car keys -- through slitted eyes she could see just enough to find herself being led up to and past a bright red Corvette, straight for a gray Ford fucking Escape. Why the hell not.
He helped her in before starting the SUV, peeling out and taking off. She kept a hand over her eyes, letting her vision adjust. Eventually she was able to tell the asphalt from the hood. Spare woodlands cruised by -- she glanced at the dashboard. Pushing 65. She buckled her seatbelt.
"Max Owen," he said. She took a good look at him; white like her, days-old stubble, blond hair grown to his chin and sticking out all over the place. Longer than her own -- she went to run her fingers through it only to find herself bald. She flipped the mirror down; someone had shaved off her bottle-blond platinum and given her a long, thin scar in its place.
"Jean Wright," she replied, voice cracking. "I think they did something to me."
auguris'verse: After The World
Story: Escape
Colors: Blood Red 2. fistfight, Transparent 20. Yellow
Supplies and Styles: Pastels: first fight, Acrylic: A fight with someone or something.
Word Count: 913
Rating: R
Warnings: Violence, swearing.
Summary: Jean wakes up in a strange place. Potential beginning of the novel. Concrit welcome.
A halo of light obscured Jean's vision. She reached for the blanket to find it absent; must have kicked it off in her sleep. Her head screamed when she rolled over to search for it; she'd say hangover, but she hadn't gone out last night. Or the night before. Not much at all, since Dana had moved out.
"Whoa there." Male voice. She winced as she sat up -- who the hell was in her apartment, her bedroom? Dad had the key but he was in Arizona. "Easy, sister, you're not ready yet."
"Nobody's sister," she rasped. Maybe she had come down with something. Would explain the headache. "Why are you--" He grabbed her shoulder and she shoved him with all the strength she could muster bearing a hangover level migraine and the molasses in her bloodstream. He shouted as he crashed into a medical cart.
Hold on.
Stark white walls punctuated by windowed cabinets, linoleum floor. Jean sat on one of those cart-beds used to transport patients. The intruder wore a white doctor's coat, and she wore one of those plastic shirts they put on you in the hospital.
The intruder -- the doctor lay on the floor, whimpering. She slid off the bed, squinting -- everything was so damn bright -- and knelt beside him. "Sorry, I thought--" He ignored her, grabbing at the scalpel sticking out of his back. "Shit oh shit I'm sorry I didn't mean it--" He shook his head as he yanked the scalpel out. Fibers stuck out, not hair as she first thought but severed wires. Jean reeled back. "What the hell?"
The door slammed open and two enormous men filed in. They could have been twins, dressed in all white and identically impassive. One went to the doctor's side. The other yanked her up, wrenching her arms behind her back. "Let go of me!"
"Accident," the doctor wheezed.
"Doesn't matter," her captor said, voice vibrating down her spine. Did he have wires in his back, too? Jean stamped on his foot and found herself free. She whirled, migraine pounding, and threw her arms up to block the punch. They stared at each other, the man's eyes narrowing, hers wide. He came at her again and she clocked him. His nose caved in, skull crunching like a bag of potato chips. Jean reeled back, staring as he collapsed and clawed at what had become of his face. Her knuckles weren't even bruised.
The other man stood and she hauled ass, throwing the door open and crashing into the opposite wall. Dandelion yellow stripes ran down the center of the linoleum. She stumbled down the hallway, her entire rhythm off like she'd burnt halfway through a joint and couldn't remember how walking worked. She found her feet and it was like driving through a wind tunnel; she couldn't be moving that fast, the walls couldn't be blurring past her. She slammed into a set of double doors and spilled onto the floor. One door knocked into her, pushing her back down.
She spotted the second man -- couldn't be the guy she'd hit because his face wasn't fucking gone -- and rolled out of the doorway, kicking the door shut. He shoved through the door as she scrambled to her feet and got ahold of her arm. She used her momentum to pull him forward and he hit the floor.
She rounded the hallway and slammed into a woman in scrubs. A syringe went skittering across the floor.
"Help me!"
She jerked her head up; a blond guy around her age stood sandwiched between another set of enormous twins. Quadruplets? One raised an eyebrow at her. The lady in scrubs cursed her out as she stood, ignoring the hand reaching up.
"Let him go."
The other eyebrow went up. She brought her hands together in a single fist and swung into the man's stomach; he pitched forward, retching. The other pulled back as she rounded on him. Thin arms grabbed her around the middle and she scrambled forward, sending all four of them crashing to the ground. She elbowed her would-be-captor and let blondie help her up.
"This way," he said and she followed him down the hallway. He grabbed something off a counter and shoved through one side of boarded up double doors. Sunlight nearly blinded her. Blondie took her by the hand and led her stumbling across concrete, following the lock/unlock beep. Car keys, he'd grabbed car keys -- through slitted eyes she could see just enough to find herself being led up to and past a bright red Corvette, straight for a gray Ford fucking Escape. Why the hell not.
He helped her in before starting the SUV, peeling out and taking off. She kept a hand over her eyes, letting her vision adjust. Eventually she was able to tell the asphalt from the hood. Spare woodlands cruised by -- she glanced at the dashboard. Pushing 65. She buckled her seatbelt.
"Max Owen," he said. She took a good look at him; white like her, days-old stubble, blond hair grown to his chin and sticking out all over the place. Longer than her own -- she went to run her fingers through it only to find herself bald. She flipped the mirror down; someone had shaved off her bottle-blond platinum and given her a long, thin scar in its place.
"Jean Wright," she replied, voice cracking. "I think they did something to me."
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Thank you!