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take me where i cannot stand; firefly for green
Topic Started: Aug 8 2008, 07:22 AM (409 Views)
entourage
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skittles
"Fiver"
 
It was chaos.

That was saying something in itself, because this kind of scenery all but demanded a little chaos. It was the Outer Rim, and the word organisation took on a different definition to the one flouted in the Core. Having traversed between the two territories on a regular basis, he felt he could make this judgement with confidence.

But the chaos was usually that of a haphazard workplace, and should someone look closer, there were threaded patterns to be found. It was almost jovial in its marketplace sprawl, stalls jostling with their neighbours in good-natured enmity, grim humour and fierce competition. In smaller towns, such as this one, an extra layer was added by token of the fact most occupants knew the others. A rough and ready environment that all the same required a touch of delicacy if you were to escape with a healthy amount of coin remaining in your pocket. More than one person had underestimated the small town charm and found themselves stripped bare. It was chaos, but all you needed was a keen eye and a quick hand.

The chaos the reavers brought was something else entirely.

It snatched away rational thought, and for some time all he could manage was a horrified whine deep in his throat, the fingers locked around the metal rim of the side hatch almost the only thing keeping him from a despairing slump to the ground. Paralysis brought about by the mind's desperate assertion that this could not be happening, because gorrammit, if it was they were dead.

"Ohshit," someone whispered shakily behind him. "Oh shit. Oh shitfuck."

It was not enough to shake the terror - lord, nothing could ever shake this sort of terror - but it did call to mind who he was and what duties he held. "How much fuel have we taken on?"

"Captain, it's reavers-"

"How much fucking fuel!" He spun, the sharpness of the movement belying the frantic fear within. Authority in this situation was tenuous, because rationality was a lot to demand right now.

The barked tone seemed to have some effect however, and glazed eyes cleared marginally as they focussed on him. “How much?” The pilot flinched back from the glare as it narrowed further. “En-enough. To get away. I think.”

“Get in there and get workin’ on it then.”

No choice. No choice but to flee, because if they stayed there was no chance. It was simple as that. Hell, he was pretty sure it had never been simpler. It might have been considered a loss on business terms, given that they hadn’t yet delivered their goods and as such hadn’t yet been paid, but it was going to be more of a loss if they all died painfully, so as Captain he was more’n willing to make this call. He panged for the townspeople, but the Jerilderie was a small ship with a smaller crew, more akin to a postal service than a warship, and they were barely built for warding off bandits, let alone reavers.

Christ, reavers. What was the ‘verse coming to?

He banged hard against the side of the hatch, knowing the metal boom would echo within. “Everyone on board?” The screams had started, and though it was hard to see through the downpour, it was all too easy to imagine a snarling horde making their way towards them.

“Nah, Captain!” was the panicked reply. “Nah, we can’t find Tanya.”

He slammed the heel of his palm against the frame again, but it was frustration rather than a signal. The girl was likely running back towards them as they spoke – it was a bit hard to miss the danger – and if she wasn’t then chances were she wasn’t capable of running at all no more. He hadn’t had the pleasure of seeing reaver work up close and personal, but he knew well what they did, and giving mercy wasn’t among the options.

“Start ‘er up,” he hollered. “I want us out of this ruttin’ place, and I want us out now!”

All the same he had to check, owed it to the crew who wouldn’t argue as their hearts broke, to take at least one look. Tugging his jacket tighter around him as though it would wield off cold and wet and screaming horror, he jumped down, boots sliding slightly on the muddy ground. He didn’t go far – he meant what he said about leaving – and simply strode around near the nose of the small, sleek ship, squinting past the rain that drizzled through his hair and into his eyes.

He rounded the corner – and staggered back, cursing vehemently under his breath. Drenched in rain and blood, the figure staggering towards them looked more than ready to qualify as a reaver, and he wasn’t about to be taking chances. He snapped a hand to his holster, on the verge of shooting first and feeling no regrets, but the feel of empty leather thwarted that notion. Ah, fuck.


"Green"
 
As the man drew closer, it slowly became clear that he, as horrifying as he looked, was definitely not a reaver. He acted nothing like one. In fact, he seemed to be about as far as one could be from a reaver. He was quiet, for one thing, slow moving, and didn't seem to react to the sight of the unarmed man standing a stone's throw from him. His broken body seemed almost pitiful with that realization. The few layers of nylon and fabric he wore were soaked with blood, more of which seemed to pour from him as he walked, and shattered leg bent in several odd directions as he hobbled. But with the gap between the two closing, his most unnerving feature came into view: his face. An expression of eerie calmness covered his features, his one functioning eye taking in his surroundings with no apparent interest. He did nothing to remove or even show that he was aware of the blood that flowed heavily from his other eye, down his neck and into the fabric of his flightsuit. Between the gore coating him and his listless figure, he easily could have been mistaken for dead had he not been moving.

    That was what the gas did to people. Most reavers had long since flown from Miranda, seeking other planets to pillage as they had done. But even after this long, traces of the gas still permeated the ships. Though most of their captives tended to be killed off long before the gas would have an effect, it was a mercy to those who lived long enough to appreciate it. It numbed the pain, if nothing else. Most of their minds were already broken after a few days anyway, between the torture and the time spent anticipating it. The calm the gas brought was something else entirely. It created a sort of detatchment so that they could experience the pain the reavers inflicted upon them without actually feeling any sort of pain. At that point, it was just another break in the monotony. Of course, it didn't take long for the reavers to lose interest. Eventually they were free to wander around the ship, scrounging up what food and water whay could without drawing any unwanted attention. As far as the reavers were concerned, they were already dead. Their attentions were drawn to other planets fairly quickly. They had already broken all of their toys, and needed more to play with. The few surviving captives were no fun.

    Which brought him here. Arden could still see the handful of others he left behind on the ship, wasting away having lost their last shreds of interest in escape, or even survival. Dehydration would kill them in a few days at the most. Arden was only barely aware of the man standing almost within arms' reach. His legs functioned almost of their own will at this point, and he probably would have tried to continue straight through the man blocking his path had a female voice not rung out behind him. "Captain!" Arden stopped, staring directly through the captain for a moment, before he slowly craned his neck to look behind him. One shadow seemed to stand out from the crowd, as the woman who was likely the source of the shout flew out of an alleyway and sprinted towards the ship. Had she gone unnoticed, Arden likely would have continued on his way, but suddenly a sound echoed through the din that made him almost imperceptibly flinch. A polyphony of roars echoed through the streets, and the mass of tangled bodies began to shift as the reavers attention turned towards the row of docked ships. Unconciously, one of Arden's hands wrapped around the metal pole lodged in his shoulder. This could put a snag in his plans.
i'm no stranger to sarcasm, sir
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hershey
(Thank ya.)
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entourage
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skittles
Running back to the side door in the ship would draw the reaver right along with him, so Denham was attempting, somewhat unsuccessfully, to make his peace with a gory death - when the reaver did nothing. Nothing. That in itself jolted him out of the fatalistic mindframe, because as far as he knew they weren't the kind of monsters to hesitate. No yells, no snarls, no attempts to slowly and surely take him apart with a brutality that befitted no doctor but a precision that kept him screaming until they plucked out his vocal chords.

If not a reaver, then who? A wounded townsperson drowned in shock? A sense of personal safety and a healthy dose of common sense did not make him like to want to edge closer, but all the same he took no further steps back.

The desperate shout made him snap his head in its direction, and he tensed as he noticed the wounded man's slower echo of the movement. Reaver or not, gun or no gun, he still wasn't sure of the other's motives and was in no way inclined to go risking a damn thing. Not that it wasn't like they had bigger problems - and oh, speak of the gorram devil because there they were chasing Tanya holy fuck.

It was policy on his ship to take a weapon with you when you were off it. They were emergency transport, hired for the quick or urgent, and every now and then it was something valuable they had tucked up back. He had no intention of explaining to an employer that they'd lost the goods because one or more of his crew had gotten themselves held hostage. And bless the girl, if there was any day he'd needed her to obey his orders, this was it. He caught her by the elbows, partially preventing a collision, and tearing his gaze away from the distant figured to look down at panic-blown pupils.

"They're, they're, fuck, they're everywhere-"

"Get to the ship." He jerked the gun out of her hip holster as he spun her around, shoving her towards the Jerilderie. Maybe later he could spare time dealing with trauma, but now was really not the time.

She stumbled, one hand planting itself on the slick ground and he caught a quick flash of numbly questioning eyes before she was on her feet and moving towards the ship.

He didn't know why he was bothering; he wasn't sure the man looked like to survive even if he was pulled away from the reavers. All the same Denham turned, one hand palming off the safety of the gun, and raised an eyebrow at the stranger. "Don't tell me you're keen to be staying."
i'm no stranger to sarcasm, sir
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hershey
Arden’s eye followed the girl as she ran past, and his hand dropped from the rod embedded in his torso. He continued to stare at where she had been standing, when the captain’s words reached his ears. For the first time, his expression seemed to shift. It took him a moment to fully comprehend that these words were directed at him, and another to realize that his mind was functioning at all. Through the combined roaring of the rain, the engine, and the reavers, he could barely hear the captain’s words. But now, slightly shaken from his comatose state, he managed a brief attempt at a smile.

Whatever expectations he may have had of fighting his way onto the ship were thrown away. Not only was he being allowed on, he realized, amused. He was being invited. The snag in his plans had unraveled itself.

He took a step forwards, the Alliance insignia on his flight suit masked only by blood and a few strands of hair. And as his foot made contact with the ground, his already shattered knee bent backwards under the pressure. Agonizing pain shot like lightning through his body, and his only barely functioning brain once again retreated into its semi-conscious state. He continued to hobble forwards, almost disregarding the captain as he made his way toward the door.

His one functioning eye made contact with Tanya’s as she disappeared into the doorway, and Arden began to follow after her. He took another step, and was rewarded with a few feet of progress and a sickening crunch. His slow but steady progress towards the door was almost painful to observe; it seemed that Arden lost a liter of blood for every inch of ground he covered. A series of thick, red puddles trailed behind him, slowly disappearing as they were diluted by the downpour. But after almost a full minute, Arden succeeded in grabbing onto the doorframe and struggled to climb inside.

((Sorry for the length. I edited it pretty heavily after re-reading it.))
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hershey
Bump?
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entourage
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skittles
"Me"
 
Roleplaying is a side hobby for me, and I balance it around full-time university, a job, and fostering kittens. I will never abandon you longer than a month without notice, but if you desperately desire a reply every week no excuses, you might want to pass me by.


;) I will get to it eventually, but I tend to write what I have inspiration for first. I haven't forgotten.
i'm no stranger to sarcasm, sir
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