devotedtothecore | BACKTHREAD POST

[He had, actually, been preparing. Expecting the gun instead, he'd weighed the options, gravity or wind or just transforming to run.

Completely unprepared for real pain, the impact knocks the wind out of him, sending brilliant starbursts behind his eyes. The hands that reach up to circle the metal wrist have utterly nothing to do with conscious thought, all in reflex and instinct and some part of him scrambles to figure out what happened.]

[ there's a second impact of hard knee digging into Ptou's gut, the press of gunbarrel against his right temple as metal digits squeeze heedless of the flesh ones plucking at them, enough to throttle and bruise but not quite enough to crush, not yet.

Warm breath inches above his face, and murmured words, in the same deadly calm that once wrapped them in Games long past, ones where pale hands and body and golden hair left yet dyed in the red of others. ]

Cast, turn, speak a Word, and I end you.

[It should have been a scream. There was some terrible, clear side of Ptou's consciousness that derided that pathetic sound that was ripped out of his lungs at the second impact.

The former god's face is blotchy with pain around the deathly pallor, and expression an unflattering portrait of agony. Eyes screwed shut, hands clenching convulsively on the metal arm, swallowing hard between desperate gasps of air.

It takes a while, seconds bleed into minutes before Chrysos' words seems to filter through the kaleidoscope of reds and blacks... Even then, it's just barely a nod.]

...good.

[ the grip relaxes a fraction, just enough to let shallow breath pass. His face shadowed from this angle, it's hard to make out his expression, even if you could see enough right now. ]

So.

Like him, you Command.

[There isn't shock, but there IS realization on Ptou's face. The 'Oh' he mouths can't really be mistaken for the other shallow gasps for air... and the eyes that flutter open again to squint at Chrysos are sharp and clear.

His hands drop, sliding nervelessly to his side, even as he struggles to answer, a wheeze catching on the vocal cords.

...

He closes his eyes and nods instead, again, faintly.]

Edited 2012-09-25 12:52 (UTC)

...aah, even in guise of a man....

[ his head shakes slowly, words breathed out to the night... resignedly, almost. ]

Of course, of course... for words and names and Words and Names have ever been his, why should it not as well...

[ leans in closer, their foreheads almost touching, blue eyes seeming to watch a point beyond Ptou's face... fingers tightening ever so slightly. His voice yet even, neutral, as though he were asking of the time of day. ]

Shall I silence the voice, that wields such Words? Shall I not?

One would think, it would be better a thing not lingering long, in this new life.

[It's not the precious air being cut off again. It's not the way he can't even swallow anymore with the pressure beginning to mount at his abused neck. It isn't how the knee crushes into his gut further as he leans closer.

It's always the words. Always the words. It rips back the muddling haze of misery and agony, burying it under adrenaline and a very specific terror.

The body goes rigid beneath Chrysos. Heedless of the pinch of mechanical digits, he shakes his head, now frantic, his hands coming up to drag and pull at the mechanic's shirt.]

...one would think...

[ careful not to black yourself out, moving your neck that vigorously in its trap. fabric yanked this way and that, yet the body beneath seems immovable as stone... eyes focusing on Ptou's face, the fear written on it, and sliding slowly down to the gleaming metal holding it down.

...

a catch of breath, teeth gritting, hesitation-- ]

[There's a moment, a crazed thought, urging him to push him the rest of the way. Death would be better than whatever is coming. Feeling for the wind, pushing it towards him, as his vision blurs, the impending black out chewing at the edges of it, he almost MISSES the expression, the pause... and the desperate hope it heralds.

He lets go of the shirt and puts shaking hands on Chrysos' shoulders, a simple wordless appeal. Please. Please.]

[ ....

how many such faces of appeal he remembers? Certainly they've blurred, after all this time.

That Power has to end.

That hand wasn't made for this.

End it now.

Stop this, she wouldn't--.

.....air harsh from his lungs, growing rapid, human fingers trembling against the handle of the gun.... doesn't move, doesn't say a word. Drop of sweat trickling off his face. ]

Edited 2012-09-26 01:36 (UTC)

[So, the last thing you need right now, Chrys, is for a worrywart of a girl to notice on her way to bed the odd silhouette that is two people bent as he and Ptou are outside. An abnormal shadow out on the tree branch, but certainly human.

And Lenalee isn't one to pry in the business of "others", but the shape of someone holding someone else down is not unfamiliar. She'd seen it too often by the time she'd died. It's a trick of her eyes, she tells herself, and heads for the exit regardless.

(It's been a nostalgic week. Fallen and Komurins and people in danger, oh my.)

She comes out onto the branch, lingers at the top of the slope, squints in the dark.]

Hello? Who is that?

[He honestly doesn't know where that voice comes from, just faintly over the pounding pulse in his ears. Or even if it's real (some particularly cruel joke by an oxygen starved mind...) But whatever it is, he no longer has it in him to argue it down.

He lifts his hand, waving it to catch SOME attention. HERE. HERE! PLEASE OVER HERE.]

[ there are certain things one's senses are ever attuned to for survival's sake, even if the rest of conscious thought be far down a tunnel... the scrape of another's soles against bark, and he tenses, even before the new voice (familiar, a woman, he knows her) calls out--

--and then that move--

--and metal fingertips dig into the neck beneath them as he jerks the gun aside, barrel pointed at Lenalee's face, not turning to look, hoarse words in a cracking voice-- ]

Stay back.

[There isn't enough air to make a sound, not enough space to even gurgle. His eyes go wide, and his body goes taunt, arching, heedless of the injury it exacerbates or further pain. It's all strung tight, boiled down to flight instinct...

All he sees from here are flashes, fading in and out. The gun pointed away... the distant figure... the canopy of trees...

And he goes limp, arm dropping and eyes rolling back before the lids drift shut.]

Edited 2012-09-26 03:39 (UTC)

[Someone's hurt.

It just goes to show that, as the prostrate body jerks and goes still, Lenalee's primary concern will never be the weapon trained on her. She's been held at gunpoint before. Often by creatures far less forgiveable than another human. She lurches at the ragged voice, seeking out identifiable features in the dim light cast from inside.]

What's— stop!

[She's flying down the branch in an instant— 'flying', of course, not quite as literal a term now as it once might have been— and she really isn't even all that sure of what she means to do once she gets to them (if she gets to them), but it's true. There are some things your body will always be prepared to do, with or without your consent.]

Let them go! Chrys?

[ --stop finish it run stop finish it take her stop-- ]

---stay BACK!!

[ you've never heard a scream like that wrenched from his throat before, desperation and terror from the very depths of a soul--- head jerks up and manic blue eyes meet hers as his finger tightens on the trigger to the barrel already aiming for her heart--- ]

[ ---doesn't fire---

---metal hand lets go--- ]

[ ---the knee on Ptou's gut lifts and twists aside and the heel slams between the body and the bark and that hand digs into a shoulder and the other foot braced on the ground he twists his own body and with all his might shoves ]

the body

over the edge

and

still turning, feet kicking off the branch, he springs

after it, into the dark. ]

[She slips a little, heart beating hard even in her fingertips, as Chrys screams at her— adrenaline makes her stomach do a sickening half-turn (suddenly the gun is important, so important, but the realization comes later than it should), and he's already—]

No!

[The last few feet to where they'd been are recklessly quick, and she very nearly throws herself after them. Then she remembers (oh), and skids to a halt, staring wildly into the dark, panting.]

CHRYS!

[But there's a branch below. Not too far below— she could make it, right? She could still make it. If she tried, she could, she's sure of it. So Lenalee jumps— a doubtful feeling almost overwhelms her as she hangs in the air, uncontrolled, for a brief second— and lands hard surprisingly quickly, on her hands and knees. Ow.

Now there's anger (not necessarily at him), as well as pain, in her voice, too.]

Don't hurt him, don't you dare hurt him!

[Except that he already has.]

No, this is...

[ a heartbeat-

the weightlessness of freefall.

Feeling the tilt, further, gravity pointing his head groundwards.

(let the gun go)

--heartbeat--

and his empty hands snap out, grab the body in the air, pull it flush against his. Arms locking it there. Closes his eyes

(to see)

--heartbeat--

their falling trajectory 280 degrees (not quite straight down, no, not yet), next platform (branch, two feet thick, a hard knob jutting upwards) in their way in 2.1 seconds

(not enough time to right yourself)

---heartbeat---

Minor obstacles in path. Add 0.2 seconds. Add 1 degree more.

Force will penetrate. Brace. Discount otherwise for the next part

(matters/hurts more)

----heartbeat---- ]

[ Lenalee can hear the crashing through foliage, sounds of snapping and breaking and the odd sickening crack and thump in between, all too quickly fading into the pitch-black depths below-- and all around her, already roused by raised voices, things rustle and scatter and shift in the night jungle. ]

Edited 2012-09-26 20:58 (UTC)

No, no...

[She's lost them. Lenalee scrambles for the edge of the branch— the bark rough on her palms and shins— and leans over, but sees nothing. Just darkness and the faint gleam of light reflecting off leaves. Within moments, she can't hear them anymore, either.

There's no way she can follow. She isn't fast enough or strong enough, can't risk getting caught by some nocturnal creature— what direction did they even go in? Gritting her teeth, she straightens up and looks back towards HQ, feeling oddly hollow.

(Why can't she ever do anything?)]

[ the most obvious direction, at least, seems to be "down".

the glass doors to HQ are swung shut, lights still illuminating the empty common area. Though perhaps not for long, given the shouting bare moments (seconds? a minute?) ago. ]

[There's only one option.

>scrabble her way back up to the HQ for reinforcements!]

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