Fandoms 26 and 27
[Title] No One Left to Speak to
[Fandom] Portal
[Rating] PG
[Notes/Summary] Staying silent feels less powerful if you think there's no one to listen. Spoilers for the first third or so of Portal 2.
It was cold and damp and she still hurt (how many beams or whatever had she smashed through while she'd blacked out?) She wandered through puddles, the curve of huge rusty pipes hanging over her head.
There'd been a bird, hadn't there? When she woke up?
She could taste blood. Her mouth was dry, but she wasn't going to risk drinking any of the water down here.
Then what are you going to do?
Get back there. There was a way here, so there'll be a way back.
Her tongue hurt. She'd probably bitten it at some point. She could hear her own breathing - very faint, very quiet under the crackle of the flames and the distant clang and thud of... well, it could be anything. Could be a whole other set of test subjects, catching cubes and pushing buttons and writing on the walls. It was the walls that had got to her before. The scrawled words. Not the hints, but the help and the she's watching you and the, the being sad about the cube, the being scared. Whoever had written that hadn't cared that the cameras could see it, but she cared on his (or her) behalf. You couldn't start throwing up all your feelings like that, you couldn't show how close you were to cracking.
Not that she was close. Not even slightly. But she thought that was because she'd kept her mouth shut. She'd seen the walls and it wasn't like she'd had anything to say before that, but when she saw the walls and the words she'd set her teeth and she'd resolved they weren't going to get a sound out of her.
And it had worked, hadn't it? Worked so well that when Wheatley asked her to speak, talked to her like he cared, her throat had closed up and she'd realised she didn't have any words left. Perhaps she'd forgotten them all, been asleep for too long. That was one fear. That it had stopped being a matter of don't want to and become can't. She wanted to scream, or call out a name (whose name, though?) into the mist, or curse everyone who'd got her down here (though that would have to include herself -
- see, she'd wondered, occasionally, if she should talk to him, if she needed to make friends with him, and she'd figured it wasn't worth it, he talked enough for both of them -
- and then it had all gone bad anyway.)
All those warnings, all that recycled air and dust.
She wasn't speaking because she really, really didn't want to find out that she couldn't.
Or because she was scared it was all a trick, that one of them would hear her and that, in some way, would mean they'd won. (It was probably pretty immature to think of it like this, but she didn't care. They could make her do a hell of a lot else, but not this -)
Or that they wouldn't hear. That no one would. That for the first time, she was completely alone.
But there'd been a bird. She was sure of it.
Rusted fences, flecks of paint on concrete walls. She kept walking.
[Title] Sunrise
[Fandom] Coronation Street/Battle Royale
[Rating] PG-13 for mention of violence and character death
[Notes/Summary] As the inhabitants of Weatherfield fight for their lives, two of them consider how far they've come.
The sun was properly rising now, sending a slow wave of light over the back of the ticket office. Becky and Carla watched as it slid over the stopped clock and the posters advertising weekend breaks. It was going to be another warm day.
"How many'd you kill, then?" Becky said at last, fumbling in her kitbag for a lighter.
"Three." Carla leaned over and plucked the cigarette from her mouth. "Don't give us away, all right?"
Becky gave her a filthy look, but she actually didn't bother arguing, just shrugged. "What?" she said, when Carla frowned. "It's only one day left, isn't it? I can quit for one day. Who were they?" She was still watching the sun, but she was fidgeting a little, twisting her fingers around each other. Carla took a deep breath. "Dev. Julie. Tracy."
Becky seemed to relax a little.
"Why?" she said.
"Dev went off on one. He was looking for someone to blame. Probably wouldn't have really done anything, but I wasn't in the mood to test it. Julie..." Carla closed her eyes for a moment. "She was scared. She was yelling her head off. I told her to shut up and she wouldn't listen. It didn't matter anyway. She drew Tracy right to us."
"She was playing, yeah?" Becky smiled, like this was just a bitching session in the Rovers.
"Does it matter?"
"With Tracy Barlow, no. I'd've shot her as soon as I saw her and saved myself the inevitable backstabbing later."
"Good point."
Becky yawned and stretched her legs out. Carla didn't move.
"Who've you killed, then?" she said at last.
"Took you long enough. Perhaps I haven't killed anyone."
"Don't mess about with me. There's, what, twelve of us left? Everyone will have got a few deaths under their belt by now. And you're not going to make me think you're some innocent who'd crumble under the pressure."
Becky smiled, and tilted her head back as if she were trying to bathe in the sunlight.
"You beat me," she said. "David Platt - he'd definitely been playing, he was covered in blood and completely mental - and Deirdre, 'cause she thought I must've killed Tracy."
Carla shrugged. "Sorry about that, then." Silence for a few seconds, while she watched the sun rise higher. Then: "Okay, what now?"
"I thought we were gonna keep our heads down while it's daylight."
"And when night comes? What if we're the only two left?" Carla ran her hands through her hair, pushing it back off her face. "I just thought we should have that chat now. Sounds like we're both willing to do what it takes to win this."
"I dunno," Becky said. "I think we've got a bit of good left in us. Not enough to bottle out at this stage, but we're still having a civilised conversation, aren't we?"
Carla sighed. For a moment, her mouth trembled, before she pressed her lips together and a tired calm slide over her face.
"Whoever gets to go back, they'll have lost most of themselves," Becky said. "We don't need to hurry. Let's just enjoy the sun."
[Fandom] Portal
[Rating] PG
[Notes/Summary] Staying silent feels less powerful if you think there's no one to listen. Spoilers for the first third or so of Portal 2.
It was cold and damp and she still hurt (how many beams or whatever had she smashed through while she'd blacked out?) She wandered through puddles, the curve of huge rusty pipes hanging over her head.
There'd been a bird, hadn't there? When she woke up?
She could taste blood. Her mouth was dry, but she wasn't going to risk drinking any of the water down here.
Then what are you going to do?
Get back there. There was a way here, so there'll be a way back.
Her tongue hurt. She'd probably bitten it at some point. She could hear her own breathing - very faint, very quiet under the crackle of the flames and the distant clang and thud of... well, it could be anything. Could be a whole other set of test subjects, catching cubes and pushing buttons and writing on the walls. It was the walls that had got to her before. The scrawled words. Not the hints, but the help and the she's watching you and the, the being sad about the cube, the being scared. Whoever had written that hadn't cared that the cameras could see it, but she cared on his (or her) behalf. You couldn't start throwing up all your feelings like that, you couldn't show how close you were to cracking.
Not that she was close. Not even slightly. But she thought that was because she'd kept her mouth shut. She'd seen the walls and it wasn't like she'd had anything to say before that, but when she saw the walls and the words she'd set her teeth and she'd resolved they weren't going to get a sound out of her.
And it had worked, hadn't it? Worked so well that when Wheatley asked her to speak, talked to her like he cared, her throat had closed up and she'd realised she didn't have any words left. Perhaps she'd forgotten them all, been asleep for too long. That was one fear. That it had stopped being a matter of don't want to and become can't. She wanted to scream, or call out a name (whose name, though?) into the mist, or curse everyone who'd got her down here (though that would have to include herself -
- see, she'd wondered, occasionally, if she should talk to him, if she needed to make friends with him, and she'd figured it wasn't worth it, he talked enough for both of them -
- and then it had all gone bad anyway.)
All those warnings, all that recycled air and dust.
She wasn't speaking because she really, really didn't want to find out that she couldn't.
Or because she was scared it was all a trick, that one of them would hear her and that, in some way, would mean they'd won. (It was probably pretty immature to think of it like this, but she didn't care. They could make her do a hell of a lot else, but not this -)
Or that they wouldn't hear. That no one would. That for the first time, she was completely alone.
But there'd been a bird. She was sure of it.
Rusted fences, flecks of paint on concrete walls. She kept walking.
[Title] Sunrise
[Fandom] Coronation Street/Battle Royale
[Rating] PG-13 for mention of violence and character death
[Notes/Summary] As the inhabitants of Weatherfield fight for their lives, two of them consider how far they've come.
The sun was properly rising now, sending a slow wave of light over the back of the ticket office. Becky and Carla watched as it slid over the stopped clock and the posters advertising weekend breaks. It was going to be another warm day.
"How many'd you kill, then?" Becky said at last, fumbling in her kitbag for a lighter.
"Three." Carla leaned over and plucked the cigarette from her mouth. "Don't give us away, all right?"
Becky gave her a filthy look, but she actually didn't bother arguing, just shrugged. "What?" she said, when Carla frowned. "It's only one day left, isn't it? I can quit for one day. Who were they?" She was still watching the sun, but she was fidgeting a little, twisting her fingers around each other. Carla took a deep breath. "Dev. Julie. Tracy."
Becky seemed to relax a little.
"Why?" she said.
"Dev went off on one. He was looking for someone to blame. Probably wouldn't have really done anything, but I wasn't in the mood to test it. Julie..." Carla closed her eyes for a moment. "She was scared. She was yelling her head off. I told her to shut up and she wouldn't listen. It didn't matter anyway. She drew Tracy right to us."
"She was playing, yeah?" Becky smiled, like this was just a bitching session in the Rovers.
"Does it matter?"
"With Tracy Barlow, no. I'd've shot her as soon as I saw her and saved myself the inevitable backstabbing later."
"Good point."
Becky yawned and stretched her legs out. Carla didn't move.
"Who've you killed, then?" she said at last.
"Took you long enough. Perhaps I haven't killed anyone."
"Don't mess about with me. There's, what, twelve of us left? Everyone will have got a few deaths under their belt by now. And you're not going to make me think you're some innocent who'd crumble under the pressure."
Becky smiled, and tilted her head back as if she were trying to bathe in the sunlight.
"You beat me," she said. "David Platt - he'd definitely been playing, he was covered in blood and completely mental - and Deirdre, 'cause she thought I must've killed Tracy."
Carla shrugged. "Sorry about that, then." Silence for a few seconds, while she watched the sun rise higher. Then: "Okay, what now?"
"I thought we were gonna keep our heads down while it's daylight."
"And when night comes? What if we're the only two left?" Carla ran her hands through her hair, pushing it back off her face. "I just thought we should have that chat now. Sounds like we're both willing to do what it takes to win this."
"I dunno," Becky said. "I think we've got a bit of good left in us. Not enough to bottle out at this stage, but we're still having a civilised conversation, aren't we?"
Carla sighed. For a moment, her mouth trembled, before she pressed her lips together and a tired calm slide over her face.
"Whoever gets to go back, they'll have lost most of themselves," Becky said. "We don't need to hurry. Let's just enjoy the sun."