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Lying in the Cold, I Feel Right at Home // [Day 6 fight]
Nov 16, 2019 12:38:52 GMT -5
Post by Baby Wessex d9b [earthling] on Nov 16, 2019 12:38:52 GMT -5
LSlowly but surely tributes took their fill and left the feast. Smiles fell, eyes tightened, lips pursed. Whatever magic had protected them from harm for one day - the fifth, one of his allies counted - it evaporated with the bitter sunset.
When they were the last one's left, Milo set to work.
"Sleep," his mother whispered to him.
"Can't," he muttered, feverish, putting his good hand to work.
The dawn refracted into tiny rainbows in the dew drops when Milo finally finished. He leaned against the exterior door frame of the old mill, watching the frozen mist curl. "I dunno if it will work," he said quietly to Delaney. He reached into the pocket of his pants, fingered the edge of the drawing Asari had gifted him. Home. "I wish I'd warned Asari."
They trampled frost as they pressed on, ever deeper into the arena. The soft ground disappeared dried and rotted vegetation. It crunched with every step, little alarm bells on their collars. Milo kept rubbing his neck. "Finally," he sighed, his breath foggy in the air, "they finally turned on the heat."
The look Ridley gave him, side long as she held him up, almost made him give up right there. He squeezed her ribs, loved the way they were hard, then soft, then hard, like his hand was made to fit neatly in the spaces between. "Okay. Can you both see all of the colorful yarn? Or is that all in my head too?"
He reached for a purple strand but it vibrated before he count snatch it.
One of them hushed him. As one they ducked behind one of the naked trunks, gathered their weapons and more. Milo worked as quickly as he could, pulling out the jar, uncapping it, reaching for his axe, laying the sharp end in the roots, pouring out the thick oil, digging into his bag, his pockets for the matches, the fucking matches --
"Stay back!" He warned, his voice pitched with panic. There, in a knot of fabric tied around his neck. He scrapped the bare tree, fire blooming. He dropped the match, used the axe as a crutch and finally hobbled out to face the cold day.
"I think we're all done breaking bread together."
When they were the last one's left, Milo set to work.
"Sleep," his mother whispered to him.
"Can't," he muttered, feverish, putting his good hand to work.
The dawn refracted into tiny rainbows in the dew drops when Milo finally finished. He leaned against the exterior door frame of the old mill, watching the frozen mist curl. "I dunno if it will work," he said quietly to Delaney. He reached into the pocket of his pants, fingered the edge of the drawing Asari had gifted him. Home. "I wish I'd warned Asari."
They trampled frost as they pressed on, ever deeper into the arena. The soft ground disappeared dried and rotted vegetation. It crunched with every step, little alarm bells on their collars. Milo kept rubbing his neck. "Finally," he sighed, his breath foggy in the air, "they finally turned on the heat."
The look Ridley gave him, side long as she held him up, almost made him give up right there. He squeezed her ribs, loved the way they were hard, then soft, then hard, like his hand was made to fit neatly in the spaces between. "Okay. Can you both see all of the colorful yarn? Or is that all in my head too?"
He reached for a purple strand but it vibrated before he count snatch it.
One of them hushed him. As one they ducked behind one of the naked trunks, gathered their weapons and more. Milo worked as quickly as he could, pulling out the jar, uncapping it, reaching for his axe, laying the sharp end in the roots, pouring out the thick oil, digging into his bag, his pockets for the matches, the fucking matches --
"Stay back!" He warned, his voice pitched with panic. There, in a knot of fabric tied around his neck. He scrapped the bare tree, fire blooming. He dropped the match, used the axe as a crutch and finally hobbled out to face the cold day.
"I think we're all done breaking bread together."
[MILO lights his AXE with JAR OF TAR]
[MILO attacks REGGIE; FLAMING AXE]
5vd0NR0e2vaxe
[Shallow Cut on Chest -- 4.0 damage]
1-50
[Minor Burn +2]
Table credit napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.
Title lyrics from TRAMPOLINE by SHAED feat. ZAYN
