(no subject)
Title: Sugar, We're Going Down
Author 1_crashqueen_1
Bandom: My Chemical Romance [killjoys]
Pairing: possible oc/oc
Rating: actually pretty PG
Disclaimer: I really don't need one except that I didn't come up with the killjoys, just these particular characters. woooot! \m/
Summary: Being a rebel isn't as fun as it might look to an outsider. Not even close.
Authors Notes: laughs remember when I planned this months ago? Well here it is, and I think it turned out okay. Also I apologize about the weird formatting error :P Enjoy ~
{http://1-crashqueen-1.livejournal.com/6265.html} <- list of characters and descriptions. The ones mentioned in this are #1, 2, and 7.
The rumble of tires on a rarely used road echoes in the screaming quiet. The rebels that inhabited the run-down building nearby freeze, turning down all the lights before hiding quickly beneath mildewed or moth-eaten furniture. No one ever came down this road, especially not in any sort of car. No one but those in their own group, three who are all currently present.
nbsp; After a few painfully tense moments of palpable fear, a female figure stands up from the shadow of an automan with sagging upholstery. She claps her hands a few times to rid them of the dust that seems to cake behind old furniture and turns on a few of the working lamps that had been haphazardly flung around to provide light. Two more people eventually appear from their hiding spots. The first to get up, Artemis, crosses the room to pull the younger girl to her chest in consolation. Ever since that massacre at one of the larger killjoy camps in Zone 7, rebels have been much more cautious.
nbsp; “Could’ve been us.” Artemis mutters darkly, letting go of Eerie, and turning to hug the man standing beside her, Influx Ice.
nbsp; “You okay?” he whispers into her hair. Artemis shrugs. Quite a few of her friends had been crouching there and were most likely dead, or worse, captured and in the labs for ‘product testing’. It left her very shaken up and she’d just been trying to get over the whole event.
nbsp; “Who wants dinner? We’ve got a bit of food left.” She chooses a change in subject than is on everyone’s mind. It hasn’t been safe to go out, and no one has the heart to go on a raid after the recent tragedy. The trio retires to the kitchen, chatting amiably and throwing a sheet of calm over the small dilemma on their hands: food, or rather, the lack of it.
nbsp; “Here we go! Beans and canned carrots, servi dans la boîte.” Artemis sighs, (she’s been doing that alot lately) tossing the can opener onto the counter of the nearly-rubble kitchen. The vegetables are utter mush but at least they’re something. Their stomachs have been going on nothing too often lately. Artemis lets her eyes scan over the main room that’s been established. There’s a fairly massive, scuffed wood table that was nearly impossible to drag across the room to the center: the place for eating, planning, talking, and everything else requiring a hard surface. Surrounding it in a circle is a collection of old furniture like a faded red loveseat and a few threadbare chairs. All of the seating is clustered around hastily, the standard killjoy decorum. She sets the cans down on the table with a little dramatic flourish, like she’s removing the silver tray lid that matches the silver platter from the expensive restaurants of the old world.
nbsp; “My compliments to the chef.” Influx remarks, leaning over from his seat in a green chair with the yellowed stuffing falling out of a rip in the side. He’s getting the tarnished metal spoons they use to eat with.
nbsp; “The cans are rusted over...again.” Eerie pokes at one, wiping the reddish-brown residue on her pants.
nbsp; “Sweetheart, the rust won’t hurt you if you don’t eat it.” Artemis laughs lightly. “Flux tried to once. It was too bad we don’t have indoor plumbing...” she tries to keep a straight face but can’t help giggling at her own joke.
nbsp; “Whatever.” Flux stabs a spoon into his beans of questionable origin.
nbsp;
nbsp; Night falls quickly, and Eerie is sitting outside admiring the desert sky, swirled with clouds of pollution that look like watercolor paints across a black canvas. She does this every night, even though it’s a bit risky. It’s a surefire way to make her forget her phobias and occaisional night terrors. She always wakes up, shrieking about needles and the bright light and everything being so clean. And pain, there’s always alot of that.
nbsp; Artemis is washing out the cans with a bit of rubbing alcohol and throwing them in the pile in the corner. You never know which desert rat junker would want them. Flux isn’t doing anything in particular except watching her dextrous hands. Callouses, cuts and all, she still had beautiful hands. Her mouth is slightly screwed up in concentration, and she’s pulled her hair back with a rubber band to keep it out of her face. He smiles wanly.
nbsp; “Why are you staring at me?” she asks, never looking up from her task of trying to tidy their safehouse.
nbsp; “Just watching you play House.” Flux smirks. Artemis’ head snaps up and she sticks her tongue out, wiping her hands on her pants before leaning tiredly on the counter.
nbsp; “I’ll be first watch tonight.” She says, studying a particular scratch her forearm.
nbsp; “Nope. You need to sleep.” Flux says, not even considering it. “Besides, don’t think I don’t know why you’re taking first shift every night. I’m not an idiot.”
nbsp; “I’m fine.” She says automatically, a response that he’s heard many times from her, while she tried to hide the dark circles under her eyes. He knows her too well.
nbsp; “Never said you weren’t. Just said that you needed sleep, is all. Are you really, though? Okay, I mean.” Flux stands up and walks over to stand opposite her, leaning on the counter like she is. Artemis nods, but then screws up her face and shakes her head. It’s silent for a couple minutes, perhaps she’s gathering her thoughts.
“I think....something’s different this time.” She says finally. “I mean, the dracs have done terrible things before and they aren’t letting up anytime soon and I thought I was used to the death and the loss by now-“ Artemis cuts herself off, swallowing the lump forming in her throat.
“But something was different about this particular time. I think it was because they invaded the rebel space instead of the other way around. The people that they killed weren’t dying bravely...they were just offed. Innocent bystanders, not rebels. It was murder, not war casualties, you know? It isn’t fair. They weren’t doing anything, just sitting.” She sighs, hanging her head.
“It wasn’t fair at all.” Influx agrees. “It never is.” Tentatively he reaches over and squeezes her shoulder.
“I’ve not been sleeping.” She confesses.
“I know.”
“I’m not going to tonight, either.” Artemis pulls her hair down and shakes it out, looking utterly exhausted. It’s been a long, 2.5 month haul. Flux is sometimes a little astounded at the admirable resolve his counterpart has.
“You won’t be sleeping alone, then.” Flux says decisively. Before she can protest, he takes her hand and pulls her back into the main room, grabbing a blanket that’s been crumpled on the floor and gently pushing her back onto the only couch. He lets her slide in to the coziest part, the place where the seat meets the back of the couch, and he slides in beside her, his tall frame enveloping her lithe one. Artemis shifts a time or two, and finally seems to settle into the ratty sofa.
Artemis stays true to her word and doesn’t sleep at all that night. Long after Eerie’s gone to sleep curled up on a chair, she tries several times to start a late-night talk. Flux dismisses her groggily each time, and eventually she falls into what is at least sleepiness, but she can’t seem to force her eyelids shut. Flux is warm, and he’s much to big for her to maneuver around, so she curls up and watches him sleep until the sun starts to peak through the smoggy sky
Author 1_crashqueen_1
Bandom: My Chemical Romance [killjoys]
Pairing: possible oc/oc
Rating: actually pretty PG
Disclaimer: I really don't need one except that I didn't come up with the killjoys, just these particular characters. woooot! \m/
Summary: Being a rebel isn't as fun as it might look to an outsider. Not even close.
Authors Notes: laughs remember when I planned this months ago? Well here it is, and I think it turned out okay. Also I apologize about the weird formatting error :P Enjoy ~
{http://1-crashqueen-1.livejournal.com/6265.html} <- list of characters and descriptions. The ones mentioned in this are #1, 2, and 7.
The rumble of tires on a rarely used road echoes in the screaming quiet. The rebels that inhabited the run-down building nearby freeze, turning down all the lights before hiding quickly beneath mildewed or moth-eaten furniture. No one ever came down this road, especially not in any sort of car. No one but those in their own group, three who are all currently present.
nbsp; After a few painfully tense moments of palpable fear, a female figure stands up from the shadow of an automan with sagging upholstery. She claps her hands a few times to rid them of the dust that seems to cake behind old furniture and turns on a few of the working lamps that had been haphazardly flung around to provide light. Two more people eventually appear from their hiding spots. The first to get up, Artemis, crosses the room to pull the younger girl to her chest in consolation. Ever since that massacre at one of the larger killjoy camps in Zone 7, rebels have been much more cautious.
nbsp; “Could’ve been us.” Artemis mutters darkly, letting go of Eerie, and turning to hug the man standing beside her, Influx Ice.
nbsp; “You okay?” he whispers into her hair. Artemis shrugs. Quite a few of her friends had been crouching there and were most likely dead, or worse, captured and in the labs for ‘product testing’. It left her very shaken up and she’d just been trying to get over the whole event.
nbsp; “Who wants dinner? We’ve got a bit of food left.” She chooses a change in subject than is on everyone’s mind. It hasn’t been safe to go out, and no one has the heart to go on a raid after the recent tragedy. The trio retires to the kitchen, chatting amiably and throwing a sheet of calm over the small dilemma on their hands: food, or rather, the lack of it.
nbsp; “Here we go! Beans and canned carrots, servi dans la boîte.” Artemis sighs, (she’s been doing that alot lately) tossing the can opener onto the counter of the nearly-rubble kitchen. The vegetables are utter mush but at least they’re something. Their stomachs have been going on nothing too often lately. Artemis lets her eyes scan over the main room that’s been established. There’s a fairly massive, scuffed wood table that was nearly impossible to drag across the room to the center: the place for eating, planning, talking, and everything else requiring a hard surface. Surrounding it in a circle is a collection of old furniture like a faded red loveseat and a few threadbare chairs. All of the seating is clustered around hastily, the standard killjoy decorum. She sets the cans down on the table with a little dramatic flourish, like she’s removing the silver tray lid that matches the silver platter from the expensive restaurants of the old world.
nbsp; “My compliments to the chef.” Influx remarks, leaning over from his seat in a green chair with the yellowed stuffing falling out of a rip in the side. He’s getting the tarnished metal spoons they use to eat with.
nbsp; “The cans are rusted over...again.” Eerie pokes at one, wiping the reddish-brown residue on her pants.
nbsp; “Sweetheart, the rust won’t hurt you if you don’t eat it.” Artemis laughs lightly. “Flux tried to once. It was too bad we don’t have indoor plumbing...” she tries to keep a straight face but can’t help giggling at her own joke.
nbsp; “Whatever.” Flux stabs a spoon into his beans of questionable origin.
nbsp;
nbsp; Night falls quickly, and Eerie is sitting outside admiring the desert sky, swirled with clouds of pollution that look like watercolor paints across a black canvas. She does this every night, even though it’s a bit risky. It’s a surefire way to make her forget her phobias and occaisional night terrors. She always wakes up, shrieking about needles and the bright light and everything being so clean. And pain, there’s always alot of that.
nbsp; Artemis is washing out the cans with a bit of rubbing alcohol and throwing them in the pile in the corner. You never know which desert rat junker would want them. Flux isn’t doing anything in particular except watching her dextrous hands. Callouses, cuts and all, she still had beautiful hands. Her mouth is slightly screwed up in concentration, and she’s pulled her hair back with a rubber band to keep it out of her face. He smiles wanly.
nbsp; “Why are you staring at me?” she asks, never looking up from her task of trying to tidy their safehouse.
nbsp; “Just watching you play House.” Flux smirks. Artemis’ head snaps up and she sticks her tongue out, wiping her hands on her pants before leaning tiredly on the counter.
nbsp; “I’ll be first watch tonight.” She says, studying a particular scratch her forearm.
nbsp; “Nope. You need to sleep.” Flux says, not even considering it. “Besides, don’t think I don’t know why you’re taking first shift every night. I’m not an idiot.”
nbsp; “I’m fine.” She says automatically, a response that he’s heard many times from her, while she tried to hide the dark circles under her eyes. He knows her too well.
nbsp; “Never said you weren’t. Just said that you needed sleep, is all. Are you really, though? Okay, I mean.” Flux stands up and walks over to stand opposite her, leaning on the counter like she is. Artemis nods, but then screws up her face and shakes her head. It’s silent for a couple minutes, perhaps she’s gathering her thoughts.
“I think....something’s different this time.” She says finally. “I mean, the dracs have done terrible things before and they aren’t letting up anytime soon and I thought I was used to the death and the loss by now-“ Artemis cuts herself off, swallowing the lump forming in her throat.
“But something was different about this particular time. I think it was because they invaded the rebel space instead of the other way around. The people that they killed weren’t dying bravely...they were just offed. Innocent bystanders, not rebels. It was murder, not war casualties, you know? It isn’t fair. They weren’t doing anything, just sitting.” She sighs, hanging her head.
“It wasn’t fair at all.” Influx agrees. “It never is.” Tentatively he reaches over and squeezes her shoulder.
“I’ve not been sleeping.” She confesses.
“I know.”
“I’m not going to tonight, either.” Artemis pulls her hair down and shakes it out, looking utterly exhausted. It’s been a long, 2.5 month haul. Flux is sometimes a little astounded at the admirable resolve his counterpart has.
“You won’t be sleeping alone, then.” Flux says decisively. Before she can protest, he takes her hand and pulls her back into the main room, grabbing a blanket that’s been crumpled on the floor and gently pushing her back onto the only couch. He lets her slide in to the coziest part, the place where the seat meets the back of the couch, and he slides in beside her, his tall frame enveloping her lithe one. Artemis shifts a time or two, and finally seems to settle into the ratty sofa.
Artemis stays true to her word and doesn’t sleep at all that night. Long after Eerie’s gone to sleep curled up on a chair, she tries several times to start a late-night talk. Flux dismisses her groggily each time, and eventually she falls into what is at least sleepiness, but she can’t seem to force her eyelids shut. Flux is warm, and he’s much to big for her to maneuver around, so she curls up and watches him sleep until the sun starts to peak through the smoggy sky