Seraphim: Rogue
Mar. 13th, 2003 12:11 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
coronaviridaeMmm. Finally, some OW story goodness. Let's see what I can do here.
It started, as these things usually do, with someone pounding on the door.
I rolled over, burying my head in the pillow against the noise. I didn't need this, I thought. Whatever 'this' was. It didn't matter at that point I was bone-bored of waiting in a locked cell with minimal meals as the only interesting aspect of my day; I was finally getting decent sleep for the first time in weeks. Whatever new drug concoction they were slipping in my food to keep me complacent had stopped setting off the nightmares; so I was operating on a principle of gift horses and mouths.
The pounding got louder. I guess they didn't actually have my cell wired for camera feed to a monitor outside. That was odd of them. I wrapped the pillow around my head, scrabbling for the last little scraps of sleep; but no, far be it from them to give me that satisfaction. They had to start yelling, too.
"Get up, dammit!"
Oh, yes. Obviously, I--who have been locked in here for weeks--can just open the door and walk out, and it's my own recalcitrance that's keeping me in here. I rolled back over, threw the pillow at the door--it made a thoroughly unsatisfying 'thud'--and buried my head in my arms. "Why the hell should I?" I muttered; I didn't expect them to hear me--or care. "You've got the gods-be-damned key; you get in HERE."
I think they took my advice; the door slammed open seconds after I uttered the words. Two pairs of bootsteps marched across the cell; someone grabbed me by the shoulder and yanked me off the bunk. I guess they don't like being ignored, no matter how irrational the orders were.
Militaries. Figured.
"When I say get up, rogue, I mean get up," snapped the man--should I say Seraph?--I presumed was the leader. He was the one standing back while the other guy yanked me off the bunk and stood me up for him. For my part, I mostly dwelled on pissing them both off.
That's all for right now. More when I feel slightly more inspired.
The only one that's really possessing is 'rogue'--as he's going to be called until he earns the right to an actual Seraph name--getting stabbed through the back in the course of his trial. Passing out. Waking up later to realize his partner--who he's been on poor terms with this entire thing--fought off the Seraphim attacking him, dragged him off, and patched him up. Make it mid-to-late-middle of his trial, so there's uncertainty if the wound will take him down before he can pull through.
muse
It started, as these things usually do, with someone pounding on the door.
I rolled over, burying my head in the pillow against the noise. I didn't need this, I thought. Whatever 'this' was. It didn't matter at that point I was bone-bored of waiting in a locked cell with minimal meals as the only interesting aspect of my day; I was finally getting decent sleep for the first time in weeks. Whatever new drug concoction they were slipping in my food to keep me complacent had stopped setting off the nightmares; so I was operating on a principle of gift horses and mouths.
The pounding got louder. I guess they didn't actually have my cell wired for camera feed to a monitor outside. That was odd of them. I wrapped the pillow around my head, scrabbling for the last little scraps of sleep; but no, far be it from them to give me that satisfaction. They had to start yelling, too.
"Get up, dammit!"
Oh, yes. Obviously, I--who have been locked in here for weeks--can just open the door and walk out, and it's my own recalcitrance that's keeping me in here. I rolled back over, threw the pillow at the door--it made a thoroughly unsatisfying 'thud'--and buried my head in my arms. "Why the hell should I?" I muttered; I didn't expect them to hear me--or care. "You've got the gods-be-damned key; you get in HERE."
I think they took my advice; the door slammed open seconds after I uttered the words. Two pairs of bootsteps marched across the cell; someone grabbed me by the shoulder and yanked me off the bunk. I guess they don't like being ignored, no matter how irrational the orders were.
Militaries. Figured.
"When I say get up, rogue, I mean get up," snapped the man--should I say Seraph?--I presumed was the leader. He was the one standing back while the other guy yanked me off the bunk and stood me up for him. For my part, I mostly dwelled on pissing them both off.
That's all for right now. More when I feel slightly more inspired.
The only one that's really possessing is 'rogue'--as he's going to be called until he earns the right to an actual Seraph name--getting stabbed through the back in the course of his trial. Passing out. Waking up later to realize his partner--who he's been on poor terms with this entire thing--fought off the Seraphim attacking him, dragged him off, and patched him up. Make it mid-to-late-middle of his trial, so there's uncertainty if the wound will take him down before he can pull through.
muse