shotgun [beritty v dullahan; day 7]
Nov 24, 2015 2:10:07 GMT -5
Post by анзие (Anz) on Nov 24, 2015 2:10:07 GMT -5
The night spits the sun out from its toothless maw, spraying red-orange-yellow light from beneath the horizon. The exhausted sun drags itself slowly from darkness, reaching arms shaking with the effort of gaining freedom; its light is feeble, but gains strength with every moment following its abrupt release. Hours have passed before the sun makes itself known to Kitty's sleepless eyes - it takes mere minutes to crawl back into a safe spot on blue canvas, curling there slowly the way Kitty curls on green grass and sleeping girl.
Harmless green blades flicker in the spaces between his fingers as Kitty passes his hand back and forth, back and forth over a fraction of silky landscape. Over and over behind his eyes he sees an afterimage of the afterimage of the anthem, the ghost of its song echoing in refrain to his mind's ear. Kitty told himself he wouldn't count, but it's harder to stop when he knows now he's halfway home.
The thought consumes all, greedily sucking sleep and reason from his beaten body. It lingers in the back of his head, teasing him with the thoughts of his return - of stepping off that train for the last time to see his siblings standing... waiting. Kitty imagines his own body making one final effort to run into their welcoming arms, thinks he might start crying at the wholeness and solidity of their warm, living bodies. He thinks he might not be able to stop.
Kitty thinks of seeing Lachlan Callaghan in the streets, and of falling asleep next to the unmarked tombstone belonging to Connor in the tattered edge of the graveyard. He thinks of pulling the edge of Bear's sleeve the way he used to two years ago and whispering in his ear, "My brother saved my life." He thinks about telling Bear the name he bore before he became Kitty, but decides against it. Kitty Keeni is the real boy now.
He wants to live. He's halfway home, but the sun is always swallowed by the night, and the night promises him hell if Kitty survives the storm.
Chloe stirs, and Kitty shivers, eyes snapping wide open. Suddenly, he can't be in her grasp anymore - of all the people he can taint with the shadow of Death, it must not be beautiful, sweet, innocent Chloe. He can't touch Harbinger too, not without leaving some kind of target, some messed up mark the Capitol will think a message of rebellion. Kitty peels himself from Chloe's arms, shivering in the sudden loss of exchanged body heat.
Beretta is already awake, her pack slung over one fur-vested shoulder. Her wicked nails slice through the air with every movement she makes, the thickened blood of the monster she'd conquered a trophy like the many she'd collected before. Kitty hastens to follow her lead as she strides away, glancing over his shoulder at Harbinger and Chloe still asleep on the ground in their wake. The question, "But what about them?" dies on his lips as the pair slips out of view. He knows what.
If Kitty's going to die, it can't be by their hands. Killing a stranger is haunting enough; killing a friend can end a life as easily as a sword to the neck. Even with the logic working in his mind, Kitty can't help looking over his shoulder at where his friends might be, wishing. Wishing.
The illusion of possibility chokes and suffocates with every step.
The queen of bones says nothing to him, or at least nothing Kitty remembers. He wonders - quietly, tiredly - if he's meant to fight her. Fighting her will hurt. Fighting her will be merciless. Fighting her is useless, because Beretta has become his monarch and he'll follow her to any end she decides worthy. She is midnight with crazy glinting in her cat-like eyes, and fighting her will mean that her bare-tooth grin will be the last thing Kitty will ever see.
She'll still be a damn sight better than the grief-stricken faces of friends and kind-hearted strangers.
A chill descends over him like an unwanted blanket, and Kitty turns to the sound of the drum of ghostly hooves echoing the drum in his chest.
The night comes, and Kitty's riding shotgun in a carriage running at the welcoming figure of Death.
Harmless green blades flicker in the spaces between his fingers as Kitty passes his hand back and forth, back and forth over a fraction of silky landscape. Over and over behind his eyes he sees an afterimage of the afterimage of the anthem, the ghost of its song echoing in refrain to his mind's ear. Kitty told himself he wouldn't count, but it's harder to stop when he knows now he's halfway home.
The thought consumes all, greedily sucking sleep and reason from his beaten body. It lingers in the back of his head, teasing him with the thoughts of his return - of stepping off that train for the last time to see his siblings standing... waiting. Kitty imagines his own body making one final effort to run into their welcoming arms, thinks he might start crying at the wholeness and solidity of their warm, living bodies. He thinks he might not be able to stop.
Kitty thinks of seeing Lachlan Callaghan in the streets, and of falling asleep next to the unmarked tombstone belonging to Connor in the tattered edge of the graveyard. He thinks of pulling the edge of Bear's sleeve the way he used to two years ago and whispering in his ear, "My brother saved my life." He thinks about telling Bear the name he bore before he became Kitty, but decides against it. Kitty Keeni is the real boy now.
He wants to live. He's halfway home, but the sun is always swallowed by the night, and the night promises him hell if Kitty survives the storm.
Chloe stirs, and Kitty shivers, eyes snapping wide open. Suddenly, he can't be in her grasp anymore - of all the people he can taint with the shadow of Death, it must not be beautiful, sweet, innocent Chloe. He can't touch Harbinger too, not without leaving some kind of target, some messed up mark the Capitol will think a message of rebellion. Kitty peels himself from Chloe's arms, shivering in the sudden loss of exchanged body heat.
Beretta is already awake, her pack slung over one fur-vested shoulder. Her wicked nails slice through the air with every movement she makes, the thickened blood of the monster she'd conquered a trophy like the many she'd collected before. Kitty hastens to follow her lead as she strides away, glancing over his shoulder at Harbinger and Chloe still asleep on the ground in their wake. The question, "But what about them?" dies on his lips as the pair slips out of view. He knows what.
If Kitty's going to die, it can't be by their hands. Killing a stranger is haunting enough; killing a friend can end a life as easily as a sword to the neck. Even with the logic working in his mind, Kitty can't help looking over his shoulder at where his friends might be, wishing. Wishing.
The illusion of possibility chokes and suffocates with every step.
The queen of bones says nothing to him, or at least nothing Kitty remembers. He wonders - quietly, tiredly - if he's meant to fight her. Fighting her will hurt. Fighting her will be merciless. Fighting her is useless, because Beretta has become his monarch and he'll follow her to any end she decides worthy. She is midnight with crazy glinting in her cat-like eyes, and fighting her will mean that her bare-tooth grin will be the last thing Kitty will ever see.
She'll still be a damn sight better than the grief-stricken faces of friends and kind-hearted strangers.
A chill descends over him like an unwanted blanket, and Kitty turns to the sound of the drum of ghostly hooves echoing the drum in his chest.
The night comes, and Kitty's riding shotgun in a carriage running at the welcoming figure of Death.
kitty attacks dullahan
jDTlLuT9spear
Shallow Cut on Back -- 4.0 damage
jDTlLuT9spear
Shallow Cut on Back -- 4.0 damage
