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Entry tags:
Drifter
[Second chunk, BY THE WAY there's a fair bit of swearing in this one. I might make mention that the whole Skin Game story contains some adult themes, though I haven't gotten into writing a lot about them yet. I'm not very good at keeping a general appraisal of that but, on a general basis, the audience I consider when I'm writing things unless I'm specifically writing for something else is an audience of adults.]
“Why do you do this to yourself?” Banen’s voice shook beneath his mask of purity, his mask of neutral quiet. She felt it in her flesh, felt it as his breast trembled, the air pushed forth from the exhalation of the words unsteady. He was angry. He was hurt. Aishling relished it, as much as she was able.
She pulled back further into her corner, flashing a palm outward, those white fingers splayed against the rain as it tore down her skin, which was painfully sensitive as a result of the chemicals in her system. Her other arm snaked around her folded legs, binding her body together as tightly as she could, save for the extended appendage. She wanted to ball all those errant limbs up into her chest cavity, bury them under her racing heart. Banen moved in the dark, circling to her other side, and then back to where he had been; pacing.
“Why are you doing this to yourself?” That time was quieter… it hadn’t been meant for her to hear. She wouldn’t have, but there was blood in her ears and Heavenstep racing thick and dark in her veins to heighten every sensation into painful clarity. His voice was unsteady.
She choked, even the smallest motions of speech breaking her into another fit of uncontrollable trembling. “I need it. You don’t understand.”
Banen stopped in front of her; she didn’t look up at him. The light from the street lamp down the way from them was too painful for her eyes. She pressed her face against her clenched knees, scraping her shut eyes against the coarse fabric of her trousers and withdrawing her hand.
“For what?” She’d expected him to raise his voice. Banen usually did, after one of those abrupt halts in his pacing. This was a break in his pattern, the quiet way he spoke the stony words.
“To fight.” She managed to reply. That was, for the most part, a lie. They both knew so; he let it pass. Another silence stretched down between them, slack and unhappy. Taming her shakes for another few moments, she squinted up at him, cringing. “It… puts the world away.” He’d been looking away from her, but now, he looked back. She could see the blackness of his eyes under the unsteady darkness of his hair. A strange expression burned there, raw and unfamiliar; it raised her hackles. “Even for a little while… It shuts out everything else, and it makes me… ready, to do what I do.”
That much was true. Banen had seen it more than once, now… the first few encounters unaware. The first time, the angel had not understood the abrupt, absurd strength and constitution that his mortal compatriot had demonstrated in battle. Only later had he realized that her ‘performance’ in such tight situations was enhanced, significantly, by her drug of choice.
“… and that is everything.” She was continuing, shaking violently again. He was surprised her bones didn’t rattle beneath her very flesh.
Ash felt tears streaming down her cheeks. It felt like they were boiling, and the salt within them seered the small scrapes on her face. “I keep shooting because… I’d prefer, really, to not feel like this all the time.” Choking on the mirthless laughter that so wanted to follow, she cringed against the wall she was sitting against, her hands wringing one another viciously, twined before her coiled legs.
It was more vital to her than the air. It was the sustenance, and all else was accessory. She’d done enough, by that late in her life, that the symptoms of withdrawal might indeed never leave her.
“I just want a little happiness. I think I deserve that. I’ve been through a lot of shit. I’ve worked my fucking ass off, for every thing I have. Everything I’ve achieved, every god damn minute I’m even fucking alive.” Words were coming in a torrent now, her cold lips framing them uncertainly. “And I don’t think it’s anyone’s god damn business what fucking makes me happy. Least of all yours.” The later statement was laced with venom and punctuated by a ragged sob.
In the blurry web of her vision, Banen’s figure broke from it’s former, sullen posture, descending on her like a storm. Before her stunted reflexes had time to properly react, to escape, to fend him off, he was upon her. The blow she expected, the blow she braced for with all her strength did not come, however. Ash was enveloped in the dusky sent of sweat and sweet cigarette smoke as his arms encircled her body. She felt insubstantial, suddenly. She was almost as tall as Bane, but thin where he was musclebound; a whip where he was like a mace. And there, trembling in his heavy arms, she felt like he could crush her and she would shatter into so much dust.
“Why does it make you happy, Anya?” He was calmer, now, inexplicably… his cool voice washed over her like clouds or drifts of snow, moving through and around the haze of pain that surrounded her mind. For it, she was compelled to speak.
“Why do you do this to yourself?” Banen’s voice shook beneath his mask of purity, his mask of neutral quiet. She felt it in her flesh, felt it as his breast trembled, the air pushed forth from the exhalation of the words unsteady. He was angry. He was hurt. Aishling relished it, as much as she was able.
She pulled back further into her corner, flashing a palm outward, those white fingers splayed against the rain as it tore down her skin, which was painfully sensitive as a result of the chemicals in her system. Her other arm snaked around her folded legs, binding her body together as tightly as she could, save for the extended appendage. She wanted to ball all those errant limbs up into her chest cavity, bury them under her racing heart. Banen moved in the dark, circling to her other side, and then back to where he had been; pacing.
“Why are you doing this to yourself?” That time was quieter… it hadn’t been meant for her to hear. She wouldn’t have, but there was blood in her ears and Heavenstep racing thick and dark in her veins to heighten every sensation into painful clarity. His voice was unsteady.
She choked, even the smallest motions of speech breaking her into another fit of uncontrollable trembling. “I need it. You don’t understand.”
Banen stopped in front of her; she didn’t look up at him. The light from the street lamp down the way from them was too painful for her eyes. She pressed her face against her clenched knees, scraping her shut eyes against the coarse fabric of her trousers and withdrawing her hand.
“For what?” She’d expected him to raise his voice. Banen usually did, after one of those abrupt halts in his pacing. This was a break in his pattern, the quiet way he spoke the stony words.
“To fight.” She managed to reply. That was, for the most part, a lie. They both knew so; he let it pass. Another silence stretched down between them, slack and unhappy. Taming her shakes for another few moments, she squinted up at him, cringing. “It… puts the world away.” He’d been looking away from her, but now, he looked back. She could see the blackness of his eyes under the unsteady darkness of his hair. A strange expression burned there, raw and unfamiliar; it raised her hackles. “Even for a little while… It shuts out everything else, and it makes me… ready, to do what I do.”
That much was true. Banen had seen it more than once, now… the first few encounters unaware. The first time, the angel had not understood the abrupt, absurd strength and constitution that his mortal compatriot had demonstrated in battle. Only later had he realized that her ‘performance’ in such tight situations was enhanced, significantly, by her drug of choice.
“… and that is everything.” She was continuing, shaking violently again. He was surprised her bones didn’t rattle beneath her very flesh.
Ash felt tears streaming down her cheeks. It felt like they were boiling, and the salt within them seered the small scrapes on her face. “I keep shooting because… I’d prefer, really, to not feel like this all the time.” Choking on the mirthless laughter that so wanted to follow, she cringed against the wall she was sitting against, her hands wringing one another viciously, twined before her coiled legs.
It was more vital to her than the air. It was the sustenance, and all else was accessory. She’d done enough, by that late in her life, that the symptoms of withdrawal might indeed never leave her.
“I just want a little happiness. I think I deserve that. I’ve been through a lot of shit. I’ve worked my fucking ass off, for every thing I have. Everything I’ve achieved, every god damn minute I’m even fucking alive.” Words were coming in a torrent now, her cold lips framing them uncertainly. “And I don’t think it’s anyone’s god damn business what fucking makes me happy. Least of all yours.” The later statement was laced with venom and punctuated by a ragged sob.
In the blurry web of her vision, Banen’s figure broke from it’s former, sullen posture, descending on her like a storm. Before her stunted reflexes had time to properly react, to escape, to fend him off, he was upon her. The blow she expected, the blow she braced for with all her strength did not come, however. Ash was enveloped in the dusky sent of sweat and sweet cigarette smoke as his arms encircled her body. She felt insubstantial, suddenly. She was almost as tall as Bane, but thin where he was musclebound; a whip where he was like a mace. And there, trembling in his heavy arms, she felt like he could crush her and she would shatter into so much dust.
“Why does it make you happy, Anya?” He was calmer, now, inexplicably… his cool voice washed over her like clouds or drifts of snow, moving through and around the haze of pain that surrounded her mind. For it, she was compelled to speak.