Fic Challenge Based on Three Phrases
Oct. 22nd, 2010 09:58 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
catkoShe’s been dreaming and not sleeping, on a road not meant for traveling.
The heat and the stench are overwhelming. Running across field at night, blinded by flashes, deafened by explosions, numbed by the cries of the falling comrades. Dropping down into vermin-filled trenches, the smell of blood and bodies decaying...ducking, gasping, suffocating...
And bursting up into consciousness, jolted into the harsh afternoon light, eyes blinking against the sun dappling through the grimy window. Oh. Disheveled sheets. Crappy room. Empty bottles on the table. Massive headache.
She winces, then shrugs. One hell or the other.
Suddenly, a sound near the door cuts through the haze and shocks her into alertness. She jumps to her feet and grabs for her gun on the bedstand with one hand, clutching the sheet to her body with the other.
"Whoa whoa whoa hold on!" Hands in air, eyes round, poised. Mal. Relief turns to anger as she drops the gun on the bed, wraps the sheet tighter, and glares. "What the ruttin' hell you doin', sneaking in here like that?!"
When she tells the story years later, laughing around the battered dining table, she'll say: "I don’t know. I woke up and he was there, in my room, drunk, babbling, not making sense."
But at the time she can see he's more giddy than drunk, less mindful than she'd expect that he'd almost got himself shot by his own partner. His eyes are bright, his words spilling out, even as he forgets to lower his hands but gabbles out some fong-le tale. "...You'll see, Zoe, she's amazing. Of course she's got a few problems, needs a little tinkering. But she's gonna save us, Zoe. Get us out of this life, out into the Black. She, she, she looks like freedom."
She can feel his excitement flowing around her, and despite her hangover and almost total incomprehension of what he's on about, finds herself leaning forward, wanting to understand. She? A woman? No, he's saying something about a shipyard. A ship? A Firefly?
He sees her expression and mistakes it for doubt. Realizing he still has his hands raised, he turns them, and spreads them wide. "She's gonna save us, Zoe. I just know it." He cocks a grin. "I swear to you, by my own stunning good looks and towering ego, that I'm not lying to you."
She sighs, and moves to grab her clothes from the chair, rolling her eyes at the thought of following another of Mal's crazy schemes. But somewhere inside, she feels a faint stirring. Maybe, of hope.
The heat and the stench are overwhelming. Running across field at night, blinded by flashes, deafened by explosions, numbed by the cries of the falling comrades. Dropping down into vermin-filled trenches, the smell of blood and bodies decaying...ducking, gasping, suffocating...
And bursting up into consciousness, jolted into the harsh afternoon light, eyes blinking against the sun dappling through the grimy window. Oh. Disheveled sheets. Crappy room. Empty bottles on the table. Massive headache.
She winces, then shrugs. One hell or the other.
Suddenly, a sound near the door cuts through the haze and shocks her into alertness. She jumps to her feet and grabs for her gun on the bedstand with one hand, clutching the sheet to her body with the other.
"Whoa whoa whoa hold on!" Hands in air, eyes round, poised. Mal. Relief turns to anger as she drops the gun on the bed, wraps the sheet tighter, and glares. "What the ruttin' hell you doin', sneaking in here like that?!"
When she tells the story years later, laughing around the battered dining table, she'll say: "I don’t know. I woke up and he was there, in my room, drunk, babbling, not making sense."
But at the time she can see he's more giddy than drunk, less mindful than she'd expect that he'd almost got himself shot by his own partner. His eyes are bright, his words spilling out, even as he forgets to lower his hands but gabbles out some fong-le tale. "...You'll see, Zoe, she's amazing. Of course she's got a few problems, needs a little tinkering. But she's gonna save us, Zoe. Get us out of this life, out into the Black. She, she, she looks like freedom."
She can feel his excitement flowing around her, and despite her hangover and almost total incomprehension of what he's on about, finds herself leaning forward, wanting to understand. She? A woman? No, he's saying something about a shipyard. A ship? A Firefly?
He sees her expression and mistakes it for doubt. Realizing he still has his hands raised, he turns them, and spreads them wide. "She's gonna save us, Zoe. I just know it." He cocks a grin. "I swear to you, by my own stunning good looks and towering ego, that I'm not lying to you."
She sighs, and moves to grab her clothes from the chair, rolling her eyes at the thought of following another of Mal's crazy schemes. But somewhere inside, she feels a faint stirring. Maybe, of hope.
