Work Text:
In the Water
Tanned hands slap out a beat against the steering wheel, indigo eyes closed as the woman nods her head along in time to the music, foot tapping lightly against the gas pedal. There’s not a care in the world beyond when her partner will come back out of the truck stop with her food, even if there is blood drying against her ankle, turning the fabric of her jeans stiff. A sudden rapp of fists against the passenger side window is what snaps her out of her reverie, a grin and glowing blue eyes backlit by parking lot lights pressed against the window. Her truck is old and she has to reach over to open the door from the inside, glaring daggers at the grinning brunette as she pushes it open.
“Wasn’t funny.”
“Totally was and you know it Kairi, you jumped ten feet in the air.” He’s still grinning as he slides in next to her, dropping a plastic bag with soggy hashbrowns and a salad in it on her lap, his own black, plastic bowls tossed in the floor board so he can lean over and toy with the radio. Kairi shrugs, tacking it down as another thing she’ll get him back for later and breaks open her food, tearing open the plastic wrapping of her fork and spearing a hunk of salad, shoving it in her mouth before pointing at her companion.
“Your eyes are doing the glowy thing, Sora, are you getting that excited just from a few feral shadows?”
“Well, yeah. We haven’t done anything besides routine peacekeeping and chasing our tails for months! If we’re finally getting to do something, then maybe, we’ll find another lead.” Sora digs into his bag, opening up a bowl and staring at his food before looking at Kairi, the glow finally starting to slip away and she offers him a small smile.
“We’ll find him soon Sora, he can’t run away from us forever.”
“I know Kai, I just...” He sighs, tearing open his fork and stabbing at his own hashbrowns.
“I’ve just got this bad feeling he’s done something stupid.”
In the Wires
Cold fingers are raised to his mouth, the man blowing on them, feeling the dampness of his breath condense on his hands before he shoves them back in his coat pockets, the wrap around his left wrist catching against the fabric. Hair that gleams silver in the moonlight and he breaths out another puff of air, white in the fall chill. Something will be happening soon, he can feel it in his bones, and so can the other one. There’s a spike of pain at the thought of the parasite that inhabits his body.
‘This thing that’s coming, it’s for me, not you’
He hopes the words will make the parasite back off, at least for a while longer, and he turns aquamarine eyes to the sky, hoping that those he left behind for this thing are safe. He hopes they’ve stopped looking for him after seven years of him being gone and three of no contact. He knows that there’s no chance of that, but when everything goes down, he wants them to be far away from the blast radius.
He can’t kill the last people he has left.
In the Lights
He’s still blank eyed and starry gazed, faint whispers of someone else’s memories ticking at the back of his mind. There’s enough of his own personality there though, that curiosity pierces through the haze of his mind when another one is introduced. Fragment, his mind whispers softly, but he can’t be bothered with remembering that when there’s sky blue eyes that know more than he does - more than his caretaker most likely - in front of him. Almond shaped eyes and a soft smile, black hair falling messily in front of her face.
She’s supposed to go with him, help him learn how to fight. She does that, but she dances her way around a fight, feet light, black boots making no sound as she spins and leaps away. All in all, she does minimal fighting, letting him take apart the shadow creatures alone, and it takes him until she leaves him with his red haired caretaker to realize that it had been a test.
There’s more presence in those blue eyes as he watches her back, watching her leave over his shoulder as he’s ushered back to his quarters.
He’ll ask her where the music came from tomorrow.
In The Moss
It’s been years since she used the white room, instead preferring to take customers in the receiving room. Something is coming though, something big, and she’s vain, she wants to appear as a white witch in a white hall and not a girl playing at wish granting. The house bends to her will and magic, so she brings back the White Room that her mentor had used exclusively for healing, and she herself had used for cursing, years before. Blue eyes can the room, back ramrod straight against the chair before she sighs, leaning forward to take her tea, sipping it idly.
“Can you feel it too?”
“Of course I can.”
“Can they feel it too?”
“Can you?”
“It’s a cliche, but it’s true.”
“A storm is coming, and the cat’s gone running for cover.”
She thinks, as she sets the cup back down and closes her eyes, that she should draw something.
A happy memory perhaps.
In the Air
Leaves.
They’re the bane of his existence, especially coupled with six AM tours and he angrily rakes them up, fingers cold and tingling against the metal handle of the rake. Four AM and he’s raking leaves in the middle of a wind storm, it sounds like a metaphor for his life. Everything’s dead and pointless. There’s a bit of a smile that pulls at his grimace, a small breeze picking up around his head, and the smile drops.
‘I saw that! You smiled, what were you thinking about?’
It’s four AM, and he’s raking leaves in a windstorm, and there’s something that’s not quite a ghost whispering in his ear. He ignores the voice, ignores the way his eyes itch in a way that he knows they’ve gained a yellow glow, and just keeps pulling the dead leaves into a pile.
‘There’s a storm coming.’
The words are sighed, a tingle shooting up his spine and the faintness of a green glow appearing to his left. He refuses to look at the thing, not even when it begins singing.
‘two little princesses dancing in a row
spinning fast and freely on their little toes
where the light will take them no one ever knows
two little princesses dancing in a row’
It’s four AM and somewhere else, a woman sits up in her bed, hand clutched at a blackened scar on her shoulder and dyed hair sticking to her face, and she slides out of bed, dragging a knife from under her pillow with her, and draws the curtains shut against the rattling of her window.
“Where are you?” She whispers softly, staring at the covered windows a moment before her eyes drift to a picture of herself, years younger, standing between two boys, a proud man behind the three of them, and there’s another howl of wind outside.
“A storm is coming, and it’ll wipe out what we have left, unless we prepare.”