[Fic] Made Me a Weapon
Nov. 22nd, 2010 02:43 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
crashiscomingMuse: Scout
Word count: 700 words
Note: The reason Scout is currently so crazy in-game. This calls back to this comment and this post; THE SECOND LINK AND THE CONTENT OF THIS FICLET BOTH MAKE REFERENCE TO RAPE. PLEASE BE ADVISED WHEN READING.
Under the sink, it wasn’t safe.
Scout had been living there for who knew how long—she certainly didn't, time passed differently for her than for other people. She just stayed curled up and invisible, fighting the urge, fighting it because she had promised, she knew she had promised so many she wouldn’t kill.
Promises meant something now, even if she didn’t know what. Promises meant something and she had to keep her promises. She had to keep her promises to survive. She didn’t kill, they wouldn’t kill.
Except the Calling burned, first in her wings and her back then in her head and shoulders, crawling down her limbs to her fingers and the soles of her feet. She bit her lip so hard it bled, day after day, whispered to herself when she was alone. There were coldbloods everywhere, but she wasn’t going to give in. She couldn’t give in.
The sink leaked, little droplets now and then for periods of time after it had been used. Tiny droplets of cool water freezing the burning itch of the Calling, on her forehead, on her torso, soaking her to the bone with each drip. She tossed and turned in her sleep as they fell, occasionally striking out, striking back, but she had promised not to kill.
That’s when he came back.
She remembered his face almost perfectly, the curve of it, the glint of his glasses in the fluorescent light, the smell of his ragged sweaters—a mixture of medical supplies and her own blood, clinging to the air around him like smoke. The feeling of his hands on her face, on her arms, on her shoulders and chest. The sound of his voice whispering an unfamiliar name in her ear.
Lydia. Lydia please.
He never pleaded. Never. Always commanded, in a soft voice, his fingers applying pressure to her arm until she complied. Or to the back of her head, until her lungs filled up with water and she was dead, only to bring her back to life and start all over again.
Say it, Lydia. Say please.
Please.
When she was awake he would go away, go back to where he belonged, back under her thoughts, under the other voices she heard, back below the Calling. She could ignore him when she was awake, forget about him. But then the night lasted forever.
It woke her with the drag of concrete on steel.
The building was collapsing around her, but she had no way of knowing that. All she knew was that it was loud and terrifying, that everything was dark and he was out there, his freezing hands everywhere on her body, stroking her face, pressing her shoulder into the mattress of her bed. His cold lips were on hers and she struggled but couldn’t move, couldn’t strike back, couldn’t do anything at all. Hands, it seemed, were everywhere, water was everywhere, and she was being shocked as she thrashed out, grabbed what she could and twisted. She had to get free. She had to get free. He was on top of her, smothering her, crushing her, kissing her and tasting her and destroying her, killing her with each breath she took. She couldn’t get out of his grasp, couldn’t fit him back.
And then the building stopped shaking and she freezes, everything freezes. His hands are gone, but his voice is still there.
Say please, Lydia. Say it. Say please.
“Please,” she whimpered, then scrabbled in the dark for something familiar, even if it was his hand. She was completely alone. “Please,” she begged.
He didn’t answer. No one came to get her, no one opened the door, no one held onto her tight. It was just her in the expanse of dark; she was alone with the jagged rocks and suffocating dark.
“Please! Mattie!” she shouted, throwing herself at the walls. If he could hear her, he would find her. Mattie would always find her. “Mattie! Mattie!” she was crying now, the words barely escaping the lump in her throat that was choking her even more. “MATTIE! MATTIE!” But Mattie never answered.
Say please Lydia. Say please and this can stop. Just say please.
Please.
Word count: 700 words
Note: The reason Scout is currently so crazy in-game. This calls back to this comment and this post; THE SECOND LINK AND THE CONTENT OF THIS FICLET BOTH MAKE REFERENCE TO RAPE. PLEASE BE ADVISED WHEN READING.
Under the sink, it wasn’t safe.
Scout had been living there for who knew how long—she certainly didn't, time passed differently for her than for other people. She just stayed curled up and invisible, fighting the urge, fighting it because she had promised, she knew she had promised so many she wouldn’t kill.
Promises meant something now, even if she didn’t know what. Promises meant something and she had to keep her promises. She had to keep her promises to survive. She didn’t kill, they wouldn’t kill.
Except the Calling burned, first in her wings and her back then in her head and shoulders, crawling down her limbs to her fingers and the soles of her feet. She bit her lip so hard it bled, day after day, whispered to herself when she was alone. There were coldbloods everywhere, but she wasn’t going to give in. She couldn’t give in.
The sink leaked, little droplets now and then for periods of time after it had been used. Tiny droplets of cool water freezing the burning itch of the Calling, on her forehead, on her torso, soaking her to the bone with each drip. She tossed and turned in her sleep as they fell, occasionally striking out, striking back, but she had promised not to kill.
That’s when he came back.
She remembered his face almost perfectly, the curve of it, the glint of his glasses in the fluorescent light, the smell of his ragged sweaters—a mixture of medical supplies and her own blood, clinging to the air around him like smoke. The feeling of his hands on her face, on her arms, on her shoulders and chest. The sound of his voice whispering an unfamiliar name in her ear.
Lydia. Lydia please.
He never pleaded. Never. Always commanded, in a soft voice, his fingers applying pressure to her arm until she complied. Or to the back of her head, until her lungs filled up with water and she was dead, only to bring her back to life and start all over again.
Say it, Lydia. Say please.
Please.
When she was awake he would go away, go back to where he belonged, back under her thoughts, under the other voices she heard, back below the Calling. She could ignore him when she was awake, forget about him. But then the night lasted forever.
It woke her with the drag of concrete on steel.
The building was collapsing around her, but she had no way of knowing that. All she knew was that it was loud and terrifying, that everything was dark and he was out there, his freezing hands everywhere on her body, stroking her face, pressing her shoulder into the mattress of her bed. His cold lips were on hers and she struggled but couldn’t move, couldn’t strike back, couldn’t do anything at all. Hands, it seemed, were everywhere, water was everywhere, and she was being shocked as she thrashed out, grabbed what she could and twisted. She had to get free. She had to get free. He was on top of her, smothering her, crushing her, kissing her and tasting her and destroying her, killing her with each breath she took. She couldn’t get out of his grasp, couldn’t fit him back.
And then the building stopped shaking and she freezes, everything freezes. His hands are gone, but his voice is still there.
Say please, Lydia. Say it. Say please.
“Please,” she whimpered, then scrabbled in the dark for something familiar, even if it was his hand. She was completely alone. “Please,” she begged.
He didn’t answer. No one came to get her, no one opened the door, no one held onto her tight. It was just her in the expanse of dark; she was alone with the jagged rocks and suffocating dark.
“Please! Mattie!” she shouted, throwing herself at the walls. If he could hear her, he would find her. Mattie would always find her. “Mattie! Mattie!” she was crying now, the words barely escaping the lump in her throat that was choking her even more. “MATTIE! MATTIE!” But Mattie never answered.
Say please Lydia. Say please and this can stop. Just say please.
Please.
