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silvokrent · 4 years

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The Prices We’ve Paid - 1

In the aftermath of the Fall, Emerald starts to realize she might be out of her depth.

There were days—once far and few in-between, but now becoming increasingly more frequent—when Emerald was relieved the entirety of their plans didn’t hinge solely on Cinder’s confidence.

Not that the surety was unwarranted. Tonight had been the culmination of months spent carefully vetting and recruiting numbers to their cause, compromising the kingdom’s defenses, theft and sabotage and infiltration and death of a magnitude that Remnant hadn’t seen in nearly a century. Cinder had been meticulous in leaving little to chance, and in the end, they succeeded.

Or very nearly, anyway.

Emerald struggled not to lose her footing on the gnarled root of a tree, nearly-overbalancing to compensate for the weight borne between them. Beside her, Mercury faltered in his pace, pausing long enough to readjust the limp form braced by his shoulder. The light of the shattered moon and distant flames illuminated the sheen of sweat on his face, and the haunted, hunted look he did little to hide. She never thought she would have found herself missing his obnoxious arrogance or haughty disdain for everyone around him, if only because it was something familiar. Anything would have been better than the sobering panic he wore, that she was sure perfectly mirrored her own.

“We’re close to the extraction point, right?” Emerald asked, when the silence became too much. Well, no, silence wasn’t the right word. Even with all the distance they’d put between themselves and the city wall, she could still hear the screams of people and the spine-chilling ululations of the Grimm.

Mercury pulled out his scroll and thumbed through a mess of readouts on the screen. “It’s about thirty meters northeast from here. Rendezvous’s gonna be a spot in Forever Fall. Figure it should only be another ten minutes.” He scowled. “Probably not though, seeing as we’re sort of inconvenienced at the moment. We could get there faster if we just—”

“Don’t,” Emerald snapped.

“For fuck’s sake, Emerald, look at her.” It was kind of hard not to, with her adrenaline-overdosed brain jumping back and forth between spellbound morbid curiosity and gut-churning disgust. Emerald made an effort to keep her eyes fixed ahead, determinedly ignoring Mercury’s glare. “She’s slowing us down. And if by some miracle the Grimm don’t pursue us, she’s lost a lot of blood. Who knows if there’s anything left to even save.”

Her pulse jumped in her throat. “The Grimm aren’t going to go after three people while there’s still the entirety of Vale,” Emerald said in what she hoped passed for a reasonable tone. “And—” She weighed her options against all the things she actually wanted to say (she’s our leader, we wouldn’t be here without her, we’ve survived worse, abandoning her is wrong) and decided that appealing to Mercury’s self-interest would get her the results she wanted. “What happens when we show up without her? What happens when she finds out we made that call?”

A vicious satisfaction surged through her as Mercury, however discreetly, flinched.

“We already lost our chance at getting the Relic. How forgiving do you think she’d be if she found out we lost the Fall Maiden, too?”

Very faintly, she could make out the sound of teeth grinding together.

In the end self-preservation won out, and to her relief Mercury didn’t argue. On some tacit agreement they resumed their trek in tense silence, with the only interruptions being the occasional grunt of exertion, the snap of a twig underfoot, or an incoherent noise of pain. Fortunately her theory held true and they moved through the shadows of the trees unaccosted, though it did little to quell the anxiety savagely beating against her ribs. The thoughts came unbidden, and Emerald tried (and failed) to not dwell on the very real possibility of Mercury’s words.

There had been a lot of blood. And in the pandemonium of the aftermath, they’d had little time to make a full assessment between digging through rubble and sprinting through the hysteria-induced crowds toward the outskirts of the commercial district. Were it not for the shallows puffs of air against the side of her neck, she could have forgiven him for assuming otherwise.

She could have, but the odds of that were up there with the ones of ripping off one of his prosthetic legs and proceeding to bludgeon him to death. For now, at least, he was keeping his spiteful cynicism to himself.

Her uneasy train of thought was interrupted by the sight of a dim glow in the gap of the trees.

Emerald stopped and gestured with her free arm in the direction of the light. After briefly consulting his scroll, Mercury nodded, and they pushed their way through the undergrowth.

During the final stages of preparation it had been a foregone conclusion that Atlas’ fleet would be too preoccupied with the White Fang, Grimm, and overridden mechs to pay mind to any lone airship that just so happened to blip on the edge of their radar. Despite this, Cinder had been loathe to let a getaway vehicle anywhere near her preparations, with the merest hint at a contingency plan from Torchwick nearly earning him a second-degree burn. To even suggest the need for one implied failure, an implication which Cinder did not take to kindly. It was only when Salem was consulted on the matter, and made it clear that retreat must be considered a possible outcome, did Cinder relent.

It made sense, really, when Emerald had tried to approach the issue from Cinder’s perspective. Contingency plans were a sign of ineptitude. That you didn’t posses the resolve or skill to succeed, that you openly acknowledged your inability to account for what could go wrong. Cinder had accounted for everything, and therefore nothing could go wrong.

A mutinous voice at the back of her mind (the one Mercury liked to mock whenever they were beset by boredom and passed the time by bickering) tried to empathize. Emerald had wanted to believe her. And as she’d watched from the rooftop—the wyvern perched atop Beacon Tower, stygian tar dripping from its wings and Cinder’s outstretched hand caressing its skeletal maw as the world burned below them—she had.

Their encumbered pace brought them to the edge of the small clearing where the airship idled. A seamless door slid open on the hull, pooling light on the ground ahead of them. Emerald squinted against the glare as a familiar silhouette stepped into view.

“Just because the CCT has fallen does not mean local communication was disrupted,” said Watts, by way of greeting. They’d only dealt with him a handful of times in the last year, as Cinder preferred to minimize her and her team’s interactions with him. It hadn’t taken them long to figure out why. Salem made sure to fill the ranks of her council with people of varying occupations and skillsets, and it had taken all of thirty seconds of listening to Watts talk before Emerald had filed him under the heading of Professional Bastard.

Of course it was their luck that he’d been assigned to extraction, in the event of a worst-case scenario.

Then again, he was apparently some sort of doctor, so maybe it was their luck.

Time to find out.

Mercury bristled. “Sorry, but it’s kind of hard to call ahead when we’re running and avoiding capture.”

“And whose fault is that, I wonder?” Watts said. He brushed his hands down the front of his overcoat, narrowed eyes peering into the darkness where he couldn’t see, but still heard them approach. “Were I not concerned with the impending consequences, I would congratulate you on the manner in which you failed. I suppose if you were going to waste our one chance at victory, then might as well do it with style. That was quite the lightshow. I think there were a few people in Mantle that didn’t go blind just now.”

“That wasn’t us,” Emerald said, an edge creeping into her voice. She took another step toward their escape, desperately trying to ignore the stab of agitation at the seconds ticking by. “We need to get onboard and leave. Cinder is—”

“Ah, yes. Our fledgling Maiden. I did wonder how she fared.” He had the audacity to smirk. Were she not making the effort to fight off exhaustion, Emerald might have considered the risk worth striking him. Agitation and fear were quickly fraying what little patience she had left, and if Mercury’s clenched fist was any indicator, consequences be damned was going to become a battle cry very soon. “Our lady invested quite the time and resources into her training. It would be a shame to learn that it had all been for naught.”

“Then see for yourself,” Mercury spat. At last he stepped forward and pulled Emerald with him into full view, carrying with them the third member of their party.

The emotion slid from Watts’ face.

“Bring her onboard and set her down, now,” he ordered.

“What did you think we were trying to tell you?” Mercury’s barbed remark was predictably ignored, not that Emerald really cared. Watts had already disappeared to the front of the ship by the time they’d hastened Cinder’s limp form onto one of the benches by the wall.

For the first time since they’d hauled Cinder from the wreckage, Emerald was able to get a clear, unobstructed look at the extent of her injuries. It occurred to her, somewhere, in the region of her brain not preoccupied with gaping like a fish, that a lifetime spent in poverty had given her a pretty great front row seat to the unflinching horrors of the world. What people looked like as they starved to death, what people smelled like as untreated wounds turned gangrene from medical neglect. What people sounded like as they died in anonymity, begging for help from passersby that would avert their gaze and double their pace. The familiarity had taken on a role reversal in recent months, courtesy of Cinder’s benefactors, and Emerald could now say that she’d perpetrated quite a few of those horrors herself, with the odd homicide or two thrown in for good measure.

A lifetime of horror had made Emerald assume she was immune to the worst of it by now, only to realize she needed to seriously update her definition of worst.

The arm was the most immediate and visually arresting. Halfway down the appendage, just above where the elbow should have been, hung strips of mangled flesh. Debris and bone fragments sullied the wound, darkening the blood that had begun to trickle around the remains of the limb.

There was a sudden, plummeting sensation in her midriff, accompanied by a bout of nausea Emerald very nearly failed to suppress. Not wanting to vomit on her boss, she decided to focus on Cinder’s face instead.

And immediately regretted it.

A mutilated stump was a lot to take in, but at least it still looked like a limb. Cinder’s face was all but unrecognizable. Skin had been asymmetrically burned away into a topographic map of red-and-white flesh that furrowed here, peaked there, as if it were suspended in the process of melting. Where an eye should have been was a congealed mass of raw flesh and fluid that pooled into the socket. Only the right side of Cinder’s face remained unmarred, comparatively speaking. Amidst the pallor of the skin her remaining eye shone wetly, the pupil dilated to a pinprick, unfocused on the people crowding above her.

“She looks…bad,” Emerald managed, when her vocal cords finally remembered how to work. As far as descriptors went it was pretty underwhelming, and judging by Mercury’s unimpressed frown, he agreed.

“She looks nearly dead,” Mercury corrected her, rather unnecessarily at that. Okay, it was more accurate than “bad,” but it still made Emerald want to punch him. Common sense quickly banished the impulse from her thoughts. Both of them were low on Aura and running on fumes, and getting into an impromptu fistfight on a moving aircraft probably wasn’t the smartest plan she could’ve come up with. Instead, she focused on trying to drag air through her lungs, wincing at the burning sensation from the smoke she’d inhaled. The gesture did enough to clear her mind though, and bring with it another intrusive thought.

“Why hasn’t she said anything?” Torn between the desire to touch and the instinctive fear of Cinder lashing out at any physical contact, Emerald hovered nearby, arms folded over her chest. “She made noise when we transported her, so she’s definitely conscious. I think.”

Mercury frowned, this time in thought rather than contempt. “It could be some injury we’re not seeing.”

“Perhaps if you moved,” said a voice from behind, “I could find out why.”

In the time between configuring the flight controls and rejoining them, Watts had donned a blue-gray lab coat and retrieved a pinstriped physician’s bag. With an impatient shooing gesture he strode past them and set it down on the benchside table.

“Formalities first. Cinder”—Watts leaned forward—“if you’re alert then I need you to prove it. Can you speak?”

His only answer was a faint, rasping breath.

“I assumed as much.” A critical eye swept lengthwise over his patient as he removed a pair of latex gloves from his bag. “Not that it particularly matters, but in the event you can still hear me, I assume you’re consenting to whatever treatment methods I deem necessary.”

She could've imagined it, but Emerald thought she saw Cinder’s chest rise and fall a little faster.

Mercury, meanwhile, had made himself comfortable leaning against a nearby wall, close enough that he could still watch the proceedings. It was a deceptively casual gesture that to the untrained eye would have given the impression of indifference. It was also a complete lie and fooling no one, so Emerald really didn’t see why he bothered. Couldn’t he at least pretend to look worried?

Then, to her surprise, he spoke up: “You’re not seriously going to perform surgery on her now, are you? Right here? Isn’t that dangerous?”

“More or less dangerous than leaving her to hemorrhage everywhere?” Watts asked dryly. He arched a slender brow at Mercury. “If you’re squeamish then by all means, you’re welcome to leave the room.”

“Leave the—? It’s an airship with one room and a cockpit.”

“Precisely,” Watts drawled. He slipped a surgical mask over his face, but not before Emerald caught a flash of teeth. “So I suggest you get over yourself rather quickly.”

There was a pause as he removed another piece of equipment from his bag, before he added, almost as an afterthought: “And to answer your earlier question, no. I’m merely seeing that she arrives in stable condition. We’ll operate upon our return.”

That got her attention. Emerald exchanged a wary glance with Mercury, before curiosity got the better of her. “You actually never said where we were—”

That was exactly when Cinder decided she’d had enough, and with an incoherent cry slammed the heel of her foot into Watts’ ribs.

The blow caused him to stagger backward, although it lacked any of the usual strength behind it. The most it achieved was creating a meter gap between them. With a swear Watts closed the distance, sidestepping a second kick aimed for his head and pinning her with the weight of his arm in the same fluid motion. The proximity caused Cinder to thrash harder, teeth bared in a snarl.

It took Emerald a stupidly long moment to realize she was still standing there, occupying about the same level of uselessness as Mercury, who hadn’t even vacated his spot by the wall. Uncertainly she took a step forward, wanting to intervene but not sure how, or even who, to help.

It was a decision that became irrelevant a second later, as Watts had finally managed to wrestle what looked like a syringe out of his bag. Before either of them had the chance to react, he’d stretched out her intact arm and jabbed the needle into the skin. An eerie, cold sensation, like the kind Emerald got whenever in the presence of Grimm, settled in her gut as she watched the fire fade from Cinder’s remaining eye. Her face slackened into an emotion that she couldn’t read (not that it was necessarily a good one), and with a final gasp the tension bled from her body.

Cautiously, Watts straightened to his full height. He collected himself with a quiet exhale, and then scowled at the copious blood stains that had soaked their way into his coat.

“I suppose I’ll have to dry clean this,” he announced to no one in particular.

Emerald must have been telegraphing her thoughts pretty hard, so she didn’t exactly jump so much as dramatically fidget when Watts answered her unspoken question: “That was a general anesthetic. It should keep her unconscious for…well, for however long I decide. If nothing else, the silence is an improvement.”

Prick.

Weighing the pros and cons, Emerald crept a little closer, while maintaining an apprehensive amount of space. It wasn’t so much a lack of faith in the drug so much as it was a lot of faith in Cinder. And the reasonably healthy paranoia of nothing short of a rhino tranquilizer keeping her boss down. A paranoia that may or may not have been stoked a little by the sight of Watts touching her arm and fastening a tourniquet to the bicep.

“Why did she do that?” Not that Emerald blamed Cinder in the slightest. “How was she even able to do any of that?”

“You’d think bleeding to death would take a lot out of you," Mercury added. Emerald shot him a glare.

“It does, or hadn’t you noticed her inability to fight?” What would have ordinarily been a derisive remark sounded almost pleasantly neutral—or rather, what passed for “pleasantly neutral” from Watts, if only because his focus was on the windlass he was torqueing against her skin. “That little outburst certainly clarified a few things in retrospect. I suspected this would be the case, if the earlier unresponsiveness and confusion hadn’t been dead giveaways—oh dear, that was rather insensitive, wasn’t it?”

If she concentrated hard enough, Emerald could picture the smirk beneath the surgical mask.

“Clarified what, exactly?” Mercury prompted, after a beat of silence.

Watts clipped the windlass into place and jotted something down on the strap. “Her current condition, which lines up with the other symptoms she’s been exhibiting since you dragged her onto the ship.” He reached down and secured Cinder’s wrist with one hand, pressing two of his fingers against the skin. He lapsed into a momentary silence before releasing the appendage, and inscribing something on a holographic tablet with a stylus. “Reduced temperature to extremities, pale complexion and clamminess, pulse one hundred and thirty beats per minute, heightened anxiety and panic, respiratory rate estimated at thirty breaths per minute.” He tsk’d. “Even without the measurements for systolic and diastolic pressure it’s safe to infer she’s in the early onset of hypervolemic shock. That would place blood loss at…” Watts tapped the end of the stylus to his chin. “About a liter and a half, give or take.”

“What?” Emerald lurched forward. Out of her periphery she saw Mercury’s expression go blank. “Are you serious?”

“Oh, quite.” Watts’ eyes didn’t stray from whatever was so fucking fascinating on his screen. “Do bear in mind that she’s lost an arm. Amputations tend to be rather bloody affairs.”

“Then do something about it!” Mercury snapped. For a moment, Emerald was taken aback by the venom in his voice, only to belatedly remember that she’d convinced him that making sure Cinder didn’t die was in their best interest. Well, that was reassuring. In a messed-up sort of way.

“I am,” Watts said. Rather pointedly he set down the tablet and went about retrieving his supply bag. “The pressure I set in place is constricting the blood vessels. Not that it matters, seeing as her brachial artery was completely severed by whatever put her in this sorry condition. That's some good news, I suppose.”

“Good news?” Emerald made a strangled, indignant sound. “How is a severed artery good news?”

“Because it induces a process called vasospasm.” With an elastic snap Watts removed his gloves. “In any other circumstance that would be a problem, as it would lead to ischemia and tissue death. Here, it’s acting like a clamp and preventing the artery from hosing everything in blood. Factor in what I’ve already done to minimize blood loss, and dear Cinder shouldn’t be losing another liter any time soon.”

What should have been reassuring only dialed up Emerald’s stress to an eleven. It seemed to be a mutual sentiment, as Mercury didn’t resume his original post by the wall, but actually came to stand next to her. If Watts cared about having an audience then he didn’t show it, as he busied himself with swapping out a fresh pair of gloves and fetching a tube he’d left off to the side of the bench.

A thrill of revulsion and discomfort shot through her as Watts dabbed the ointment onto his fingers, and with obscene gentleness, began to massage it into the burns on Cinder’s face. Just the mere act of watching him touch her made Emerald want to do—something. Probably something dramatic and stupid and not at all helpful to their current predicament. In a vain effort to distract herself from the whooshing sensation in her gut, she wrapped her arms around her shoulders.

Thank the gods or pathetically good timing that Mercury decided at that moment to offer a distraction, in the form of what seemed like a fairly obvious question: “Look, I’m not going to pretend to know anything about medicine—”

“And yet you’re still talking,” Watts said.

“—but shouldn’t she be hooked up to IVs and crap? What about an oxygen mask?”

Weird how that was the thing that got Watts to stop, long enough to shoot the pair a withering look. “Does this look like a hospital to you?”

Only Mercury could make a talent of taking all the insolence in the world and packaging it into a single shrug.

“This model of airship is designed for fast transport, not medical intervention and treatment. The extent of what I can do is everything laid out before you.” He’d gone for a second application of the topical cream—Emerald could make out the words silver sulfadiazine on the label, though what that was or what it did she had no idea—and resumed rubbing it into the skin. “Once I have access to my equipment I can begin a blood transfusion, and get her on a saline drip. For now, we make do.”

Which wasn’t exactly great news, but Watts seemed to know what he was talking about, and it wasn’t like they had any other options. Mercifully he withdrew his hand and binned the soiled gloves.

“What about her Aura?” Emerald asked. “I know depleted Auras can take a while to recover, but they’re part of the healing process for us. Shouldn’t hers have started to come back?”

It didn’t sound nearly as reasoned-out as it had in her head, and Emerald might have been grasping at straws by that point. She’d hit a profoundly new degree of desperate if she was relying on conversations with Watts for reassurance

But at least he was humoring her, even if the scornful eye-roll indicated that such questions were beneath him and a clear waste of his time. “That depends on the extent of the injuries, which in her case are rather impressive, if you can describe incompetence as such.”

A hand shot out and grabbed Emerald by the shoulder. Thankfully Watts missed Mercury’s warning headshake. With a long exhale Emerald extricated herself from his grip and stepped back.

“Until her body has healed up a bit on its own, her Aura won’t be regenerating any time soon.” Then, to her surprise, Watts pocketed his scroll and turned to face them, arms braced against the bench. “Of course, I could expedite that process if I knew what caused it.”

Emerald briefly faltered under his scrutiny and shot a helpless glance at Mercury. “We…actually don’t know what happened,” she answered, after a brief internal debate. “She was like that when we found her.”

“Oh?” he drawled. “Do tell.”

“There’s nothing really to tell.” Mercury crossed his arms. “We were the first people to get there. There weren’t any signs of what did that to her. Cinder was delirious and sort of confused, and that dragon-Grimm was turned to stone.”

Watts’ eyes narrowed, and he inclined his head to the side. Emerald didn’t like the sudden interest.

“And her assailant?” he asked. “Had they already fled?”

It took a second for her brain to connect his question with what she’d seen, and even then, Emerald really wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but it certainly wasn’t what they’d found. “There was another student—a girl who goes to Beacon. She was out cold when we got there. No injuries. At least, none we could see.”

“Not like we were taking the time to give her a full-body physical,” Mercury added. Though that hadn’t stopped him from kicking Ruby in the torso as they’d collected their half-conscious employer and scrambled back down the tower.

Whatever Watts thought of that, he didn’t say. There was an assessing quality to his expression as he gave them a precursory once-over. “Were either of you injured during the battle?”

“No,” said Mercury. Emerald shook her head.

“Good. Leave it that way.”

Emerald recognized a dismissal when she heard one, and frankly, she didn’t need to be told twice. That went double for Mercury, who wasted no time in staking out a corner of the ship that was relatively free of clutter, and with a grunt, prizing off Talaria. He’d produced a screwdriver from somewhere on his person (seriously, where was he hiding all these tools?) and began to make adjustments to his protheses. Watts, meanwhile, went about cleaning up his work station, discarding the facial mask and sanitizing any surfaces of blood.

Which left Emerald rather aimless. Down time hadn’t exactly been a thing during her childhood, with every moment spent pickpocketing strangers, stealing food, or looking for shelter. Her upgrade from homeless street rat to criminal accomplice hadn’t changed much there either, as she’d immediately been consulted on everything, from planning heists to acquiring assets. It was only during their undercover operation at Beacon she’d found herself with a sudden surplus of free time, and an overwhelming uncertainty of what to do with it, exactly.

Standing in the middle of the ship, Emerald realized she still hadn’t figured out what to do with it, and it was eating away at her nerves. The offer to help Mercury with maintenance momentarily crossed her mind, only to be discarded just as quickly. He would have thrown her off the airship just for bringing it up. And she’d rather jam scalpels into her eyes before she asked Watts if he needed a hand.

And so, with nothing better to do, Emerald began to pace the length of the ship.

It was on her fifteenth pass when Watts finally looked up from whatever he’d been doing by the bench. “You know,” he said, in a voice that went for impassive and fell a little short, “it’s going to be a rather long flight. You might consider getting some sleep.”

And stop annoying me. He didn’t voice that part. Not that he needed to.

“I’m not tired,” Emerald answered, only to be betrayed by the yawn she wasn’t quick enough to hide.

Watts’ lips twitched in the beginnings of a smirk. “Clearly.”

Just the suggestion of sleep opened the floodgates for all the exhaustion of the past few hours, from wherever it had been conveniently stashed away until now. Brains were funny like that. “No, really, I’m fine. I don’t need to sleep.”

“Would you like a second opinion from a licensed physician?” Watts asked meanly.

Emerald turned to face him, and was struck by the sight of him standing by Cinder, another syringe in hand. Suspicion crowded out any previous fatigue. “It wouldn’t be a bad idea to take turns keeping an eye on her,” she offered, in what she hoped passed for nonchalance. “I could take the first watch.”

Watts studied her for all of three seconds before he let out a low chuckle. (This time, Emerald did jump.) “Do you honestly believe I spent the last hour patching up the little drama queen only to off her the second your eyes were closed?” He sneered. “For that matter, do you think either of you is in fit enough condition to stop me, even if I wanted to?”

Emerald really wished she had some clever insult to fire back with. That he’d seen right through her was making it a little hard to concentrate.

“I’m merely giving her another sedative, so she doesn’t wake up and try to put a hole in the ship.” Watts stroked his chin. “I couldn’t allow it in good conscience if you were deliberately neglecting your rest. Perhaps I could help with that.” He gestured ever-so-minutely with the syringe.

Message received. Emerald warily retreated a step or two back. The other implication in his words finally caught up to her, about patching Cinder up, and she spoke before she could stop herself. “So she’s really going to live?”

“Yes. Unfortunately.”

“But you can fix her?” Emerald gestured to what was left of the arm, now obscured by some sort of tarp.

Watts heaved a sigh that was more theatrics than sincere. “If I wasn’t the most distinguished person in my field, some other hapless soul would be standing here, tending to this mess. Yes, I can fix her.”

A breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding shakily left her.

“Now either find something useful to do or make yourself scarce. You don’t want to leave that choice up to me.”

“Em.”

Emerald turned to see Mercury regarding her with a look that, while not friendly, was a step up from his usual stick-up-the-ass MO. He appeared to be deliberating on something that he hadn’t yet come to regret, but was about to any moment.

Honestly, she really, really didn’t have time for this.

Before Emerald could say as much (along with a couple other mean things) Mercury reached a decision. Very awkwardly, he patted the spot next to him.

Emerald blinked.

Apparently she took too long for his liking, because he snorted and went back to tightening a bolt on one of the legs.

Much as she wanted to stand there and contemplate the universe and whatever planetary alignment was causing him to act like a decent person, sleep beckoned. On unsteady feet she trod over to the wall, and slid down to the floor next to Mercury. For a moment Emerald entertained the hilarious thought of using his shoulder as a pillow, but decided not to push her luck. She’d slept in worse conditions. A little discomfort was doable.

Very doable, in fact. She was out before she had the chance to think about the horrible neck pain that would be awaiting her when she woke up.

#rwby #rwby fics #rwby thought dump #the prices we've paid #emerald sustrai #mercury black #cinder fall #arthur watts #tw: amputation #tw: gore #tw: surgery #tw: burns #filling in the gaps for volumes 3 and 4 #my posts #i speak

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kiruuuuu · 6 years

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Oh anon, this happens to be one of the ships I like a lot myself but somehow never ended up writing, so thank you for giving me an excuse! I even get the chance to depict why Diana is Bandit’s eternal nemesis. Hope you like it ❤ (Rating T, humour/fluff, ~1.7k words)

Bandit almost swerves into a ditch as soon as he catches sight of who accompanied Smoke to their meeting point. He didn’t tell him outright to come alone but thought it obvious since they were planning to test some of their self-made fireworks out here in the fields which is probably all sorts of illegal but fun. Smoke claimed he improved the launch mechanism, meaning they won’t risk stragglers shooting up into their trouser legs anymore (and yes, Bandit still has the scar), and supposedly even managed to branch out with the colours. So hopefully they’re not going to look like they randomly caught fire anymore.

Their visitor, however, is going to nullify their entire project – because there is absolutely no way.

He stops his motorcycle a few feet away from where Smoke is perched on the fence and beaming at him in anticipation, the small furry killjoy lying down in the grass just behind him. “The fuck?”, Bandit yells at him and angrily tosses his helmet onto the ground while approaching the two. “What’d you bring her for? She’s gonna go ballistic, you numbskull!”

“What are you -” Smoke’s confused expression clears up after he’s followed Bandit’s gaze. “Oh shit. The fuck are you doing here, dog? You’re meant to be at Mark’s, how did you even…” Diana has perked up by now, regarding the two of them unapologetically with raised ears. “I swear I didn’t bring her on purpose, mate, I have no idea where she came from. It is Diana, right?”

“Yeah. Trust me, I’d be able to recognise her in a tornado of corgis.” He’s absolutely sure he could actually correctly identify her no matter what – she’s haunted him in his dreams, always popping up at the most inopportune moments to endanger his life.

“Tornado of corgis? Is that like murder of crows?”, Smoke muses, quite obviously not grasping the seriousness of the situation.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Why aren’t you freaking out, Seamus will have both our heads if he finds out!”

Smoke draws his brows together. “Why ours? It’s Mark’s fault, she must’ve jumped out when he dropped me off here and neither of us noticed. You don’t have anything to do with it, mate.”

“Look. This fucking gremlin stole some chocolate out of my hand by basically climbing my leg and it was somehow my fault. She very nearly electrocuted herself in the workshop by running in like a dog with a death wish – I almost concussed myself saving her, and it was still my fault. Remember how she got stuck in the fence on base? My fault. And you know why? Because I was the only one who rushed in to free her since I didn’t want to be accused wrongly once again, which resulted in me being wrongly accused once again. I’m fucking sick of this fucking mutt and her fucking owner always blaming me. I swear, at this point he’s this close to actually beating my face in. I’m not risking it. We’re taking her back.”

“Fuze let her into the workshop that one time, actually. And I was the one who pointed out the chocolate to her”, Smoke admits and laughs good-naturedly at Bandit’s murderous expression. “Water under the bridge, mate, but alright, if you don’t wanna see the fireworks, I guess we can take her back first.”

Bandit is very much in favour of that decision. “Dogs hate fireworks anyway and I don’t wanna frighten her”, he mumbles and climbs over the fence to pick Diana up. She jumps up at the first step he makes towards her and Bandit’s stomach plummets. “Oh no. No, no, no, baby girl, don’t do this to me. Just stay where you are, alright? We’re going to take you back to your scary ass owner and you’re going to behave.” Another step. She lowers herself a little on her front legs. Bandit knows this stance.

“Not looking good”, Smoke states, merely watching in amusement.

“Shut the fuck up, don’t jinx it. Do you have any food on you?”

“Only something which could pass as a sausage but I’m not going to offer it to her, no thank you.”

That’s fair. Bandit looks around for a stick or something similar but comes up empty. There’s nothing but fences, stone walls, fields and sheep. Oh shit. He’s fairly sure corgis do have a herding instinct, he can’t let her get anywhere near them. She’s wearing her usual tartan bandanna and looking laughably innocent where he knows her to be the devil’s spawn – it might give him something to hold on to though. “I’m going to jump at you now, and you’re going to react too slowly to run away. That’s what’s going to happen, alright, sweetheart? Just stay. Stay. Diana, stay.”

The last thing he sees before he hits the ground, hard, is a light brown lightning strike zipping off into the distance while barking excitedly.

“Nice”, says Smoke.

“I’m going to fucking strangle you”, Bandit grits out and gets back up. Diana is standing a fair distance away now, fully alert and convinced they’re going to play.

“Chasing her is not going to work, mate”, Smoke states matter-of-factly.

“Yeah well.” Bandit wipes some of the grass off his thighs. “That’s what I told you about Mark, but you did it anyway and look where you are now. I’m going to catch that fucking dog and if it’s the last thing I do.”

“Don’t worry, even if you fail, it’ll be the last thing you do – if Seamus really has your head because of it.”

“Your vote of confidence is noted.” And with that, he starts running.

Bandit can’t even guess what he looks like when Sledge opens the door. Judging by his extremely unimpressed gaze, he must seem at the very best homeless and at worst like someone who just survived a year alone in the jungle. “Here”, Bandit announces and thrusts the hand forward with which he’s holding the makeshift leash, improvised with the help of some twine originally belonging to one of the fences into which he crashed, “is your fucking dog.”

Sledge blinks at him. Bandit is a sight to behold and so he needs a few seconds to take him all in before the Scotsman glances down at an extremely chipper, remarkably clean and unscathed Diana. Hesitantly, he accepts the proffered leash tied around the bandanna and takes it off, allowing the corgi to zoom past his legs into her home. “What happened to her?”, Sledge asks quietly and with a dangerous tone to his voice which implies that he’ll only accept a certain answer.

“Nothing”, Bandit spits out that exact answer with a clean conscience, “fucking look at her, she’s never been better, she had the bloody time of her life this afternoon, don’t bother walking her today because she’ll probably be too exhausted from playing. Why is always ‘is Diana alright’ and not ‘what in the world happened to you, Dom, can I offer you something to drink or a full body massage as thanks for fucking saving my precious baby’?!”

By now, the reproachful expression on Sledge’s face has mellowed into a soft smile. “With how you smell, I’m hesitant to invite you inside”, he states gently, his strict demeanour replaced with sympathy obvious despite his words.

“That’s fucking fair”, Bandit admits and grimaces. He probably should’ve rolled around in some rose bushes to mask the stench at least partly.

“What happened to you, Dom?”

Most of his anger vanishes at the friendly question because he realises Sledge is at least taking him seriously. “Mark was supposed to watch her but when he drove James to our meeting point, she must’ve escaped somehow, so I, being the upstanding citizen that I am, immediately decided to return her first. The fucking bitch disagreed, though, and so I spent two hours chasing her through the arse-end of the world. I got stuck in five barbed wire fences, landed in two puddles of mud and fell into sheep shit once, not to mention all the times I stepped in it. I’m battered, bruised and fucking tired of saving your idiot of a dog, Seamus, and if you also try to pin this on me, I’ll let her run to her demise next time.”

Sledge’s lips are twitching. At least someone is getting some sort of enjoyment out of this. “What do you mean, pin this on you as well?”

“None, and I repeat, none of the previous instances were my fault. Fuze shooed her into the workshop, James showed her the chocolate, Mike threw the ball into the river and I’m fairly sure Elias was the one who gave her expired food on accident that one time.” It feels good to finally be able to justify himself, even if he stinks like the worst part of a zoo and must look as if he just lost in mud wrestling.

“Oh.” Sledge examines him with newfound interest which also feels fucking good because Bandit always knew the quickest way to get Sledge to like him would’ve been by playing nice with Diana, but since she insists on being a disastrous brat, there was nothing he could do. He’d accepted defeat. But maybe… “I’m sorry, then. You must really like her if you keep making sure she doesn’t hurt herself.”

“It’s not her, it’s -” Aaaand this is the point where he should really stop talking, snaps his mouth shut with too much force and tries not to wince.

Sledge raises an intrigued eyebrow.

“Look”, Bandit says and has no idea how to even finish that sentence.

“Do you want to take a shower?”

The offer sounds neutral yet he’s pretty sure Sledge knows exactly what kind of implications it has. For the moment, it’s nothing more, he’s taking it at face value, but the fact that he got invited nonetheless speaks volumes. “Yeah”, he replies, relieved, “that’d be great.” And still, his large mouth gets the better of him. “…any chance you wanna join me after I’ve rinsed off all this fucking manure?”

“Don’t get cocky now”, Sledge reprimands him. Still, his grin widens.

#rainbow six siege #sledge #bandit #sledge/bandit #fanfic #oneshot #request #sledge is one of the few people in my head who'd be super healthy for bandit #if only diana didn't keep them apart

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rolcomictranscriptions · 7 years

Text

Body Work 1 Pages 11-15

Page 11

First Panel:

A brick wall with an open glass panelled door is shown. The woman shown in the photos on the second panel of page 10 is standing in the door.

Narrator: That way we don’t get any nasty surprises when we turn up somewhere.

Off screen speaker: Julie Goring?

Julie Goring: No, sorry. Are you sure you have the right address?

Second Panel:

This panel is in a room. The glass panel door can be seen in the background with the words Interview Room 4 on it. Julie Goring and a dark haired white man are shown from the neck up. Julie Goring is gesturing with her hand in frame.

Julie Goring: How was I to know you were the police? You don’t really look like the police do you?

Third Panel:

The same room focused on Sahra and Peter from the shoulders up. Sahra has her arms crossed and Peter has his hand in the prayer position.

Julie Goring: I thought you were mormons or something. Well, maybe not mormons, seventh day adventists or something like that.

Fourth Panel:

Focus moves to Julie and the unidentified man. The man is gesturing.

Unidentified man: You did identify yourself as police officers didn’t you?

Julie: They showed me their cards but, I mean the electric meter guy has one of those... ...you know photo in the corner, logo, squiggly signature...

Fifth Panel:

The focus stays with Julie and the unidentified man. He is facepalming.

Narrator: Julie Goring has convictions for shop lifting, making an affray, breach of the peace and assault of an off-duty male stripper.

Off screen speaker: We would like to ask you about Euan Ferguson...

Julie: The bastard!

Sixth Panel:

The focus stays on Julie and the unidentified man. He is looking at the ceiling with is hand on his chins and she is pointing at Peter and Sahra.

Julie: He promised me he wasn’t going to press charges. mind you, he promised me a lot of things...

Off screen speaker: Miss Goring, I’m sorry to inform you that Euan Ferguson was found dead this morning.

Page 12

First Panel:

The focus stays on Julie and the unidentified man. She is looking shocked and he is looking at her out of the corner of his eye.

Second Panel:

The focus stays on Julie and the unidentified man. The man looks towards Julie, she looks sad and a tear is rolling down on cheek.

Off screen speaker: Would you like a break?

Julie: Yes.

Off screen speaker:Interview suspended.

Third Panel:

The panel is completely black bar the speech bubble.

Off screen speaker: Interview recommences...

Fourth Panel:

The focus stays on Julie and the unidentified man. They are both facing forward and Julie has her eyes closed.

Julie: He loved that car you know? So it seemed logical to take it out on it.

Off screen speaker: Take what out?

Fifth Panel:

It’s night time, in the foreground Julie in a red formal dress with a very high slit, black stockings and black suspenders pours a clear liquid from a clear plastic bottle into the fuel tank of a silver car. In the background is a brick wall with a red lit window in it. In the window the silhouettes of a man and a woman embracing can be seen. On the panel is written:

He did her WRONG!

So she did in HIS CAR!

Her PASSION was greater than any ENGINE!

Sixth Panel:

The entire interview room can be seen from behind Peter and Sahra. The unidentified man looks at Julie while holding his cup of coffee, Julie grasps hers looking vulnerable, Peter is gesturing and Sahra is taking notes.

Julie: I was going to use sugar, but then I checked the internet and discovered that was an urban myth... ...I though when he saw how much I loved him, he’d take me back... ...Instead he called the police.

Peter: He failed to press charges though. What changed his mind?

Seventh Panel:

The focus draws in on Julie, she’s smiling.

Julie: I offered to pay to fi his engine.

Off screen speaker: That must have been pricey.

Julie: Not really, I could get it done on the cheap.. ...I knew someone.

Page 13

First Panel:

In a room, there are at least four desks, a white board and two tv screens at the front. One screen has the Met Police logo and slogan the other a woman’s arrest photo. Peter is leaning on one desk, standing near him is Sahra and facing them both is Miriam.

Narrator: A murder enquiry, even when it’s just a suspicious death creates a metric ton of leads. These generate ‘actions’ which are then farmed out to members of the Major Investigation Team. Most of these are T.I.E.s - Traces, Implicate, Eliminate. It’s laborious, time consuming, but utterly necessary work, and fortunately nothing to do with me.

Peter: I need to follow the engine.

Miriam: You think it’s got something to do with the death?

Second Panel:

The focus draws in to Peter, Miriam and Sahra’s head and shoulders.

Peter: I honestly don’t know but that’s where the magic is.

Miriam: Hush, Peter you know we don’t use the M-word here... Sahra can go along with you. In case there’s some proper policing to be done.

Third Panel:

Focus draws in on Miriam and Sahra.

Sahra: Boss?

Miriam: Off you go.

Fourth Panel:

Peter and Sahra are getting in to a orange car in a covered carpark with police cars parked near by.

Peter: So, I’m that bad to work with?

Sahra: After what happened to Lesley? Nobody’s in a hurry to find out.

Page 14

First Panel:

A road and train map of north-west London is shown, there is a magnifying glass over Willesden Junction, and an insert showing a closer view showing the train and tube stations. There is a red exclamation mark call out below Willesden Junction on the main map

Narrator: Willesden Junction - does what it says on the tin.

Second Panel:

Is the same map zoomed in on the red call out which is now an A. In a white box next to the call out is written ‘DEBDEN’S SCRAP METAL & RECYCLING Bring your care to us. Quick and friendly service!’

Third Panel

Peter and Sahra walk towards a set of wooden full height gates from the orange car. The gates are set into brick gate posts with barbed wire on top. Above the gate is a fabric banner with ‘THOMAS DEBDEN Esq CARS BROUGHT’ on it.

Sahra: Well, this explains why she got it cheap!

Fourth Panel:

The focus is on the Peter, Sahra and one gate post. In the gate post is an intercom with ‘PRESS TO SPEAK’ on it. Peter is pressing the button.

Across intercom: Hello?

Fifth Panel:

The focus remains the same. Peter is looking up and Sahra to the back. WARUMMMMMMMM is written across the panel.

Sixth Panel:

The focus remains the same: Peter and Sahra are looking back towards the intercom and Peter’s finger is no longer on the button.

Across Intercom: Help! She’s trying to kill me!

Seventh Panel:

Focus remains the same but Peter and Sahra are turned to the gates and look worried.

Narrator: There are strict and rigorous conditions laid down to regulate the circumstances in which an officer of the law can legally enter private premises.

Page 15

First Panel:

Peter and Sahra are looking at the lock on the gate, Peter’s hand is over the lock.

Narrator: But sometimes you have to ignore them.

Peter: You didn’t see me do this.

Second Panel:

Focus narrows to Peter’s hand and the lock. SIZZZLE is written across the panel.

Third Panel:

Peter is shown kicking the gate open from behind the gate.

Fourth Panel:

Peter and Sahra can be seen entering the scrapyard from behind and the shoulders up.

Sahra: Why didn’t I see you do that?

Peter: Because Nightingale wants me to be lmore discreet.

Fifth Panel:

Birds eye view of Peter and Sahra walking into scrapyard.

Sahra: Discreet? You blew up a tower block!

Peter: That wasn’t my fault.

Sixth Panel:

Peter and Sahra can be seen between two piles of scrap metal. Peter has his finger on his lips.

Sahra: Covent Garden burns down.

Peter: Sshh.

#Rivers of London #Transcription #Body Work #Body Work 1 #peter grant #Sahra Guleed #Miriam stephanopoulos

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