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rainbowfic2013-10-25 04:28 pm
greenling) wrote in rainbowfic2013-10-25 04:28 pm
Lawn Green #14/Camo Green #9
Name: Greenling
Story: All Great Things
Colors: Lawn Green #14 (reruns)/Camo Green #7 (special forces)
Supplies and Styles: Bichrome (Lawn Green/Camo Green)
Word Count: 2,298
Rating: PG-13ish.
Warnings: Still nothing more than lots of profanity.
Summary: Dmitry makes his way back to his apartment, as does someone else. It doesn't end the way either of them expect. (I didn't quite get to integrate the camo green bit how I wanted, so while it's still technically there, it's not well-stated. Things will continue to become clearer.)
Comments, criticism, and questions are all appreciated.
The milk was still mostly intact, but it had soaked his backpack and damn near everything else it could reach. The noodles had all been smashed too, and his peppers were flat, but nothing else had been significantly damaged. He thought a little prayer to whoever was responsible for small favors that the jar of pasta sauce was intact: he'd used most of the cloth bandages and peroxide in his first aid kit on his shoulder; the thought of falling into a pile of glass shards (and no pasta sauce) made his heart skip a beat.
Dmitry sat on his bed, angrily scrubbing the inside of his backpack with a sponge while he waited for the spaghetti water to boil. He hadn't stopped moving since he'd gotten home, though his shirt was soaked with sweat and his muscles felt like limp noodles. He'd changed into another dirty shirt, at least, a short-sleeve, mostly because he thought if he went ahead and took a shower he'd fall asleep in there.
The backpack seemed like it was as good as it was going to get, so he turned it inside out the rest of the way and hung it up. He looked around the room and considered his situation. There was nothing left to do for dinner quite yet. He certainly couldn't call anyone before he figured out what the hell had happened. Everything from the store had been put up, and he had no idea how to fix his shirt. Trying to find out via the internet if what he'd seen was real probably wouldn't get much traction even if it was, and no channel that his TV could pick up was showing news.
He found himself staring at the TV. It was on mute, playing a commercial involving people rolling around in white clothes on white furniture lit by bright light. His thoughts drifted away like a cloud.
Some minutes later, he was jolted out of it by a knock on the door. He took a deep, shuddering breath and swore, clenching his fists together; his nerves were long past shot, and more shock just made him feel ill. He was sitting down on his bed again- he vaguely remembered doing that, so he was probably just tired...
"Fucking..."
He slid to his feet. The pasta water was clearly boiling, so he decided to deal with that first, stepping forward into the little kitchen-corner to toss things in their respective pots. There was no reason why anyone should be at the door. It could be a lot of things. The knocking came again as he was stirring sauce into garlic and peppers. He leaned over the stove and counted to ten.
"Hello?"
The voice was unfamiliar; wavery and on the high end of male. It calmed him down a little to hear another person, presuming that was-
He ended that line of thought and went to the door.
He stared through the crack the door-chain made, and his first impression was of skin. His gaze unconsciously tilted down towards where most people's heads were, where in this case there seemed to be a pale chest, followed by a prominent, slightly sunburnt collarbone, broad shoulders, lines, a jaw. Somewhere up there, long past the point where his frazzled mind had thrown up its hands and given up, were eyes. Blue. They were really a very nice, deep blue.
"I really don't want to bother you," continued the owner of the unfamiliar voice, which had settled around a low tenor for the moment, "I know we don't know each other, this is kind of weird, but if I could just have a safe place to sit for a little while and maybe a glass of water, uhm..."
Dmitry's mouth made a few scattered sounds without his input. The guy was shirtless (gorgeous) bleeding, a shirt was tied around his torso partially soaked through with dark blood, holding a black jacket tossed over one shoulder. Smaller scratches, scabbed-over bite marks, ran down his arms (muscles), which jogged something. Something about-
"-so if I could just, maybe for an hour or so, come in, I can explain, uh, sort of, and I did kind of save your-"
"Wait, wait, wait." Dmitry's eyes narrowed; the guy abruptly stopped. "What?"
There was silence for a moment. The guy opened his mouth again, ran his fingers through his hair (dark red, curls of shiny blood), and gave Dmitry a pitiful look. "Can I please come in and have a place to sit that doesn't involve weird... things?"
Another beat. "If I let you in, are you going to eat me or some shit?"
The guy raised his hands, palms spread. "I promise, I don't- I'm not some kind of people-eating monster. I'm totally in control of myself. And I'm a terrible liar, and also, bleeding a lot? Please?"
"Shit," Dmitry hissed. He stepped back, taking the chain off the door. "Sure. If you can find a seat."
The guy came in, walking over to the beanbag chair in the corner opposite the bed and nearly collapsing into the floor. He sprawled his arms, folded his legs under him and tossed his hair over the beanbag, looking positively exhausted. Dmitry found himself staring again, fumbling the locks back into place with one hand.
"So who are you?" he began. Had to start somewhere. "And why didn't you just go to a hospital?"
"Uhm. I'm Peace," the guy said with sigh, his voice deepening again for a moment before going back to where it was. Everything about him was fascinating. Obviously, he was a serial killer, and probably straight. "Or Joseph, if that's weird. And it's, uh, complicated? I'm travelling. From out of state."
Definitely a serial killer. "And you found me how?"
"Dunno." He grimaced. "Sense of smell?"
Dmitry gritted his teeth and turned around to stir the pasta. "Sense of smell. Should I even- ugh." He glanced back again at the guy's- Peace's, sure- face. "Look, were you-" Was he what? A giant howling black monster? I guess he implied that? "-do you know what happened out there?"
"Not... exactly." He frowned, untying his shirt to look at the wound in his side. It looked black and crusty, from what Dmitry could see. "I know I started seeing those things last night, and there's more of them today. I know they haven't gotten any scarier than pointy teeth, but they're fast and strong. You're not the first person they've attacked. Before I saw them in broad daylight I thought, I dunno, vampires, but..."
"They're not vampires." Dmitry paused in his stirring. "There cannot possibly be vampires."
"I wouldn't know." His voice was calm, and Dmitry realized he was being rude. Reasonable given the situation, but he was. "This is the first time I've seen something obviously, uhm, supernatural-ish other than myself, and you're like... maybe the second person I've talked to about it?" Peace tugged at something and winced. "Uh, I hate to ask again, but can I borrow your bathroom? And maybe a first aid kit if you have one?"
Dmitry sighed. "What's left is sitting on the back of the toilet," he said, keeping his grumble lower.
Peace got to his feet and headed for the only door in the apartment that didn't lead out, leaving Dmitry a moment to think. He turned the heat off on the sauce and stared at the TV again for a minute; it had started showing old episodes of Seinfeld. His mind kept going back to- well- he was distracted. His judgement was obviously compromised. He should've just dealt with this earlier, and now he felt like not dealing with it at all. Maybe he was scared; he certainly should be. At the moment, though, most of his willpower was going to not making this more awkward by yelling at the guy or trying to jump him. And/or.
It occurred to him that Peace had asked for a glass of water, so he went to get a glass out. Two glasses. He was thirsty as well. He heard fumbling from the bathroom and a pained hiss, and something else occurred to him. He yanked his shirtsleeve off his right shoulder and pried a corner of the bandage off; it had just recently stopped bleeding, and the gouges were deep enough that he'd need to change it, but it definitely wasn't black and crusty.
"Hey," he said in a voice he thought was nonchalant, "that looks pretty bad. That's not the bite, is it? I mean, are you gonna be all right?"
"I think so," echoed from the bathroom. "I've had worse. If you're worried about the black stuff, that's just me. I don't think they get infected or anything... as far as I know."
Dmitry was about to ask what exactly he knew when the sink turned on. He waited for it to stop, and thought of a better question: "So what are you exactly?"
Peace came out with his shirt on, which broke Dmitry's heart a little, for all he was trying to be serious. It was a black AC/DC concert shirt with the sleeves long since off, old enough that it was probably from a thrift shop or something; patchy stains ran along one side of it where something had dried and flicked off.
The corner of Peace's lip turned up, and he rolled his shoulders back, looking at the wall. "No offense, but are you sure you want to know? It's not really related to those creatures, and I'm just going to leave..."
"I-" Dmitry hesitated, trying to work things out in his head. "Yes," he said firmly. "Whatever you can tell me. Things have- been weird recently. I would appreciate knowing that- that I'm not completely crazy."
Peace smiled, though he looked a little sad. "I'm not sure how much I can help with that. Have you been getting weird dreams?"
"Dreams?" Dmitry thought about that one for several seconds. "I don't remember any. Just nightmares about waking up and being late for an exam, that sort of thing."
"Okay... any hallucinations about subconscious fears or desires? Weird omens, or repeating metaphors?"
"Weird omens? No." Dmitry raised an eyebrow. "I just keep getting blackouts and manic episodes. And if what happened isn't a hallucination, I don't think I've had any of those yet."
"Then you're probably not a werewolf." Peace glanced away, but he couldn't seem to stop grinning. Dmitry was pretty sure that meant his face was hilarious. "And I'm not a hallucination, and you did get attacked earlier, but other than that I can't help you. Have you seen a doctor?"
"The fuck does any of that have to do with being a werewolf?" Dmitry crossed his arms, his eyebrow raising so hard his eyes nearly crossed. The idea of an actual, potential, honest-to-god werewolf was novel enough that it took up his undivided attention. "Are you saying that's what you are? Do you turn into a wolf?"
"Sort of?" He tilted his head. "Is your next question "can I see"?"
"Fuck... I don't know." Dmitry paused again, considering what exactly he wanted to do with all this. "I have a million questions. Why are you being so helpful?"
"Huh?"
"I mean, why are you just telling me all this? I'm willing to believe you for the moment- I'm pretty sure you were that giant shadow guy, you got bit in the side, whatever- but if this is just something you can walk up and tell me, why the hell have I never heard of someone claiming to be a werewolf before?"
Peace's head stayed tilted to the side; he shrugged. "Uhm... nobody ever told me anything like that. Like I said, I'm really new to this, and I'm really bad at lying. I just wanted you to feel safer letting me inside for a while."
"Do you not have anywhere else to go?" Dmitry asked more gently. Peace grimaced, looking almost guilty, which answered the question. He poked the glass of water he'd poured, drawing Peace's attention to it. "Do you want to stay here for the night? I don't want you to go out and get killed or something."
"-Seriously?" Peace paused mid-grasp. His voice had arced higher again, looking straight into Dmitry's eyes.
He decided to go for it. "Sure. I think I'd feel a lot safer with the Big Bad Wolf in the house." Dmitry smirked. "That is, if you don't mind. At this point you could probably convince me to give you the keys if you promised to take your shirt off again."
Thankfully, Peace's reaction was to grin. "Sure! That's how I made it this far."
Dmitry snorted, then turned around to drain the pasta. "And here I was thinking you lived out in the woods and hunted your own food. Do you like spice?"
"Spice?"
"Sausage, peppers, and chili powder. I'm offering you dinner, if you can stand it."
Peace drained the water in one long gulp. "So I guess the werewolf thing wasn't that important, huh? I'm grateful for whatever hospitality you feel like extending."
"I do still want to you turn into a wolf if you can do that." Dmitry raised a finger. "Or whatever it is that makes you a werewolf. Just, later."
Peace's grin radiated happiness; it made Dmitry's stomach flutter in a way he wasn't at all used to. It made a part of him want to punch himself in the face in embarrassment, but if the world was ending, at least it was throwing him a bone before it went out.
Peace was looking at him funny, and Dmitry realized he was snickering out loud at that thought. "Nothing. Silverware is in the only drawer that isn't fake."
Story: All Great Things
Colors: Lawn Green #14 (reruns)/Camo Green #7 (special forces)
Supplies and Styles: Bichrome (Lawn Green/Camo Green)
Word Count: 2,298
Rating: PG-13ish.
Warnings: Still nothing more than lots of profanity.
Summary: Dmitry makes his way back to his apartment, as does someone else. It doesn't end the way either of them expect. (I didn't quite get to integrate the camo green bit how I wanted, so while it's still technically there, it's not well-stated. Things will continue to become clearer.)
Comments, criticism, and questions are all appreciated.
The milk was still mostly intact, but it had soaked his backpack and damn near everything else it could reach. The noodles had all been smashed too, and his peppers were flat, but nothing else had been significantly damaged. He thought a little prayer to whoever was responsible for small favors that the jar of pasta sauce was intact: he'd used most of the cloth bandages and peroxide in his first aid kit on his shoulder; the thought of falling into a pile of glass shards (and no pasta sauce) made his heart skip a beat.
Dmitry sat on his bed, angrily scrubbing the inside of his backpack with a sponge while he waited for the spaghetti water to boil. He hadn't stopped moving since he'd gotten home, though his shirt was soaked with sweat and his muscles felt like limp noodles. He'd changed into another dirty shirt, at least, a short-sleeve, mostly because he thought if he went ahead and took a shower he'd fall asleep in there.
The backpack seemed like it was as good as it was going to get, so he turned it inside out the rest of the way and hung it up. He looked around the room and considered his situation. There was nothing left to do for dinner quite yet. He certainly couldn't call anyone before he figured out what the hell had happened. Everything from the store had been put up, and he had no idea how to fix his shirt. Trying to find out via the internet if what he'd seen was real probably wouldn't get much traction even if it was, and no channel that his TV could pick up was showing news.
He found himself staring at the TV. It was on mute, playing a commercial involving people rolling around in white clothes on white furniture lit by bright light. His thoughts drifted away like a cloud.
Some minutes later, he was jolted out of it by a knock on the door. He took a deep, shuddering breath and swore, clenching his fists together; his nerves were long past shot, and more shock just made him feel ill. He was sitting down on his bed again- he vaguely remembered doing that, so he was probably just tired...
"Fucking..."
He slid to his feet. The pasta water was clearly boiling, so he decided to deal with that first, stepping forward into the little kitchen-corner to toss things in their respective pots. There was no reason why anyone should be at the door. It could be a lot of things. The knocking came again as he was stirring sauce into garlic and peppers. He leaned over the stove and counted to ten.
"Hello?"
The voice was unfamiliar; wavery and on the high end of male. It calmed him down a little to hear another person, presuming that was-
He ended that line of thought and went to the door.
He stared through the crack the door-chain made, and his first impression was of skin. His gaze unconsciously tilted down towards where most people's heads were, where in this case there seemed to be a pale chest, followed by a prominent, slightly sunburnt collarbone, broad shoulders, lines, a jaw. Somewhere up there, long past the point where his frazzled mind had thrown up its hands and given up, were eyes. Blue. They were really a very nice, deep blue.
"I really don't want to bother you," continued the owner of the unfamiliar voice, which had settled around a low tenor for the moment, "I know we don't know each other, this is kind of weird, but if I could just have a safe place to sit for a little while and maybe a glass of water, uhm..."
Dmitry's mouth made a few scattered sounds without his input. The guy was shirtless (gorgeous) bleeding, a shirt was tied around his torso partially soaked through with dark blood, holding a black jacket tossed over one shoulder. Smaller scratches, scabbed-over bite marks, ran down his arms (muscles), which jogged something. Something about-
"-so if I could just, maybe for an hour or so, come in, I can explain, uh, sort of, and I did kind of save your-"
"Wait, wait, wait." Dmitry's eyes narrowed; the guy abruptly stopped. "What?"
There was silence for a moment. The guy opened his mouth again, ran his fingers through his hair (dark red, curls of shiny blood), and gave Dmitry a pitiful look. "Can I please come in and have a place to sit that doesn't involve weird... things?"
Another beat. "If I let you in, are you going to eat me or some shit?"
The guy raised his hands, palms spread. "I promise, I don't- I'm not some kind of people-eating monster. I'm totally in control of myself. And I'm a terrible liar, and also, bleeding a lot? Please?"
"Shit," Dmitry hissed. He stepped back, taking the chain off the door. "Sure. If you can find a seat."
The guy came in, walking over to the beanbag chair in the corner opposite the bed and nearly collapsing into the floor. He sprawled his arms, folded his legs under him and tossed his hair over the beanbag, looking positively exhausted. Dmitry found himself staring again, fumbling the locks back into place with one hand.
"So who are you?" he began. Had to start somewhere. "And why didn't you just go to a hospital?"
"Uhm. I'm Peace," the guy said with sigh, his voice deepening again for a moment before going back to where it was. Everything about him was fascinating. Obviously, he was a serial killer, and probably straight. "Or Joseph, if that's weird. And it's, uh, complicated? I'm travelling. From out of state."
Definitely a serial killer. "And you found me how?"
"Dunno." He grimaced. "Sense of smell?"
Dmitry gritted his teeth and turned around to stir the pasta. "Sense of smell. Should I even- ugh." He glanced back again at the guy's- Peace's, sure- face. "Look, were you-" Was he what? A giant howling black monster? I guess he implied that? "-do you know what happened out there?"
"Not... exactly." He frowned, untying his shirt to look at the wound in his side. It looked black and crusty, from what Dmitry could see. "I know I started seeing those things last night, and there's more of them today. I know they haven't gotten any scarier than pointy teeth, but they're fast and strong. You're not the first person they've attacked. Before I saw them in broad daylight I thought, I dunno, vampires, but..."
"They're not vampires." Dmitry paused in his stirring. "There cannot possibly be vampires."
"I wouldn't know." His voice was calm, and Dmitry realized he was being rude. Reasonable given the situation, but he was. "This is the first time I've seen something obviously, uhm, supernatural-ish other than myself, and you're like... maybe the second person I've talked to about it?" Peace tugged at something and winced. "Uh, I hate to ask again, but can I borrow your bathroom? And maybe a first aid kit if you have one?"
Dmitry sighed. "What's left is sitting on the back of the toilet," he said, keeping his grumble lower.
Peace got to his feet and headed for the only door in the apartment that didn't lead out, leaving Dmitry a moment to think. He turned the heat off on the sauce and stared at the TV again for a minute; it had started showing old episodes of Seinfeld. His mind kept going back to- well- he was distracted. His judgement was obviously compromised. He should've just dealt with this earlier, and now he felt like not dealing with it at all. Maybe he was scared; he certainly should be. At the moment, though, most of his willpower was going to not making this more awkward by yelling at the guy or trying to jump him. And/or.
It occurred to him that Peace had asked for a glass of water, so he went to get a glass out. Two glasses. He was thirsty as well. He heard fumbling from the bathroom and a pained hiss, and something else occurred to him. He yanked his shirtsleeve off his right shoulder and pried a corner of the bandage off; it had just recently stopped bleeding, and the gouges were deep enough that he'd need to change it, but it definitely wasn't black and crusty.
"Hey," he said in a voice he thought was nonchalant, "that looks pretty bad. That's not the bite, is it? I mean, are you gonna be all right?"
"I think so," echoed from the bathroom. "I've had worse. If you're worried about the black stuff, that's just me. I don't think they get infected or anything... as far as I know."
Dmitry was about to ask what exactly he knew when the sink turned on. He waited for it to stop, and thought of a better question: "So what are you exactly?"
Peace came out with his shirt on, which broke Dmitry's heart a little, for all he was trying to be serious. It was a black AC/DC concert shirt with the sleeves long since off, old enough that it was probably from a thrift shop or something; patchy stains ran along one side of it where something had dried and flicked off.
The corner of Peace's lip turned up, and he rolled his shoulders back, looking at the wall. "No offense, but are you sure you want to know? It's not really related to those creatures, and I'm just going to leave..."
"I-" Dmitry hesitated, trying to work things out in his head. "Yes," he said firmly. "Whatever you can tell me. Things have- been weird recently. I would appreciate knowing that- that I'm not completely crazy."
Peace smiled, though he looked a little sad. "I'm not sure how much I can help with that. Have you been getting weird dreams?"
"Dreams?" Dmitry thought about that one for several seconds. "I don't remember any. Just nightmares about waking up and being late for an exam, that sort of thing."
"Okay... any hallucinations about subconscious fears or desires? Weird omens, or repeating metaphors?"
"Weird omens? No." Dmitry raised an eyebrow. "I just keep getting blackouts and manic episodes. And if what happened isn't a hallucination, I don't think I've had any of those yet."
"Then you're probably not a werewolf." Peace glanced away, but he couldn't seem to stop grinning. Dmitry was pretty sure that meant his face was hilarious. "And I'm not a hallucination, and you did get attacked earlier, but other than that I can't help you. Have you seen a doctor?"
"The fuck does any of that have to do with being a werewolf?" Dmitry crossed his arms, his eyebrow raising so hard his eyes nearly crossed. The idea of an actual, potential, honest-to-god werewolf was novel enough that it took up his undivided attention. "Are you saying that's what you are? Do you turn into a wolf?"
"Sort of?" He tilted his head. "Is your next question "can I see"?"
"Fuck... I don't know." Dmitry paused again, considering what exactly he wanted to do with all this. "I have a million questions. Why are you being so helpful?"
"Huh?"
"I mean, why are you just telling me all this? I'm willing to believe you for the moment- I'm pretty sure you were that giant shadow guy, you got bit in the side, whatever- but if this is just something you can walk up and tell me, why the hell have I never heard of someone claiming to be a werewolf before?"
Peace's head stayed tilted to the side; he shrugged. "Uhm... nobody ever told me anything like that. Like I said, I'm really new to this, and I'm really bad at lying. I just wanted you to feel safer letting me inside for a while."
"Do you not have anywhere else to go?" Dmitry asked more gently. Peace grimaced, looking almost guilty, which answered the question. He poked the glass of water he'd poured, drawing Peace's attention to it. "Do you want to stay here for the night? I don't want you to go out and get killed or something."
"-Seriously?" Peace paused mid-grasp. His voice had arced higher again, looking straight into Dmitry's eyes.
He decided to go for it. "Sure. I think I'd feel a lot safer with the Big Bad Wolf in the house." Dmitry smirked. "That is, if you don't mind. At this point you could probably convince me to give you the keys if you promised to take your shirt off again."
Thankfully, Peace's reaction was to grin. "Sure! That's how I made it this far."
Dmitry snorted, then turned around to drain the pasta. "And here I was thinking you lived out in the woods and hunted your own food. Do you like spice?"
"Spice?"
"Sausage, peppers, and chili powder. I'm offering you dinner, if you can stand it."
Peace drained the water in one long gulp. "So I guess the werewolf thing wasn't that important, huh? I'm grateful for whatever hospitality you feel like extending."
"I do still want to you turn into a wolf if you can do that." Dmitry raised a finger. "Or whatever it is that makes you a werewolf. Just, later."
Peace's grin radiated happiness; it made Dmitry's stomach flutter in a way he wasn't at all used to. It made a part of him want to punch himself in the face in embarrassment, but if the world was ending, at least it was throwing him a bone before it went out.
Peace was looking at him funny, and Dmitry realized he was snickering out loud at that thought. "Nothing. Silverware is in the only drawer that isn't fake."
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Thank you. :3
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