ArchivedLogs:Not Quite Finished
| Not Quite Finished | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | 2015-11-20 In the wake of the siege. (Part of Flu Season TP.) |
| Location
<NYC> Harbor Commons - Courtyard - Lower East Side | |
There's a whistle of wind through the Commons. A few crunching footsteps in the dry grass and gravel-edged beds. A door closing, somewhere. Farther away, traffic noises can be heard for the first time in days -- the ceaseless thumping and groaning finally died away to leave a relative peace in the small enclave of houses. Relative peace. It does not settle /comfortably/ over the field of mown-down bodies. Just heavy, draping like a pall over the courtyard. Through the red-stained mud, B picks hir way carefully, searching the fallen forms for lingering twitches that would signify a job Not Quite Finished. It isn't a shift of living corpse that gets his attention in the end, though, but a glint of sunlight off the fallen blade of a sword. A gloved hand, slim pale wrist peeking out of the end of a denim jacket. B's breath catches, her heavy boots leaving impressions in the ground as she sinks down beside Daiki's still frame. Shane's footsteps, in his much more prosaic not-hover-capable boots, are lighter than B's, quieter, less heavy. He is wiping the blade of one of his swords with a ragged scrap of fabric that may once have been a shirt. Though he's moving slow at first his steps speed when he sights B, jogging up to her side before he actually looks down. The fabric flutters from his hand to the ground. His gills flare open, eyes widening as he drops to his knees beside her, reaching out a hand as if to check for a /pulse/ in a neck that is mostly torn away. He drops his hand instead to the motionless chest, shoulders tightening as his posture crumples inward against the body below him. His ear presses down to Daiki's chest -- eyes closing as if resting there. Or listening. A noticeable shudder has gripped his shoulders. B's metal-sheathed fingers have lifted, touching lightly to her lips. Her other hand comes down against her brother's back, slowly rubbing there as Shane curls in. Ze is very quiet, hir own gills flickering open and closed rapidly and her eyes fixed on Daiki's face. Then her brother. For a very long time there is only the stillness, quiet and unmoving. It's broken in small pieces -- barely noticeable, at first. A tighter clench of jaw. Gloved fingers twitching against the grass. A creaky rasping brief and quiet in the fallen boy's chest. The flutter of B's gills stops. They press down flat against the side of hir neck, hir eyes locking back on hir brother where he crouches. On the face slowly starting to shift back into a slack sort of movement. Hir hand rubs a little more solidly -- presses a little harder, heavy against Shane's back. Squeezing at the back of his neck -- firmly /staying/ pressed down with the kneading motion. Hir other hand reaches to touch against Daiki's temple, the palm of hir gauntlet resting there. There's a glow of light from under hir hand. A crunch of bone. The rattling groan starting up in the boy's chest dies. Shane's breath catches at that first rattle. Soft, edged with a small choking noise. His face turns inward, pressing against the torn and bloody fabric of Daiki's shirt. He doesn't resist the touch that holds him in place. His shoulders /twitch/ at the crunch of bone, though. Shudder, then slump down, still once more. | |
