FILL: Wright/Hasser, "Darkness on the Edge of Town", PG, 1/2_steelphoenix_December 17 2011, 03:17:39 UTC
Pairing = IDEK. My brain, it is the weird.
Mathilda is a walled town, but there’s only so far the torchlight goes. The warriors, ready on the walls, patrolling, chainmaille clinking and swords ready, can only see so far into the darkness.
It’s too much to hope that the things out there won’t try something tonight - as they do every night.
Evan’s mother had told him that he was born in Mathilda, twenty-some years ago, when their merchant train passed through, as it did every summer; and Evan remembers a time, so long ago, when Mathilda didn’t need to be walled. Not before that terrifying summer when something terrible and wrong had happened to the Prince, and the King’s Messengers had ridden out - and never made it to their destinations.
The shapeless, incorporeal things that rode their horses and wore their clothes, bearing the King’s Seal.
The Ultimatum that the kingdom still laboured under, that made night terror and day fear.
“Wright,” Colbert greets him as he clambers up the ladder to the wallwalk. “Come to stand duty?”
“As requested,” Evan replies, patting the sword at his belt. He’d not picked up a sword until a year into the Ultimatum, when they’d almost not made it to the shelter of a town’s walls, and the merchant train had lost five men. “Where do you want me?”
Colbert grins sharkishly. “I thought you’d do well with Hasser.” There’s a glint in his eye that tells Evan he’s pushing it deliberately, and finds himself flushing, awkward as a boy again. He stutters out an acknowledgement, and then heads along the wall in the direction Colbert points.
Walt’s hair is haloed gold by torchlight in the confines of the corner tower, and for a second Evan remembers the first time he’d seen Walt - woken by him accidentally as Evan lazed down by the stream. The golden hair and brilliant blue eyes had made Evan gasp - and, teenager that he was, had given him a hard-on.
Evan held that lazy afternoon in his memory, the last golden days before the Ultimatum - Walt, the last good thing the universe had given him before taking so much away.
He might have fallen a little in love with Walt Hasser over that golden summer - and never really recovered.
Walt smiles sunnily at him as he enters the corner tower. “Ready to stand watch, Evan?” That smile had been the one thing Evan had clung to, that gave him hope, and he returns it as best he can. They climb the ladder, and begin the long hours of peering out into the darkness, hoping against hope that nothing will happen. Evan is excessively aware of Walt - as always - noting the smiles, the random jokes... the touches.
He’s not sure, but it feels like Walt touches him more tonight than the last two - just a brushing hand over shoulder or hand, catching his arm to call his attention. It is not until dawn that Evan realises that he’d been so busy counting them that he’s forgotten to be scared - and he’s not sure if this is a good thing.
The next night is the same - the touches increasing. He’s sure he’s not just being paranoid, or having wishful thinking.
Re: FILL: Wright/Hasser, "Darkness on the Edge of Town", PG, 2/2_steelphoenix_December 17 2011, 03:18:24 UTC
The day after that, the merchant train is readying to leave. Evan is reluctant, unhappy, uncertain, but has no idea what to do about it. As the wagons roll out of town, a group of horsemen rides with them - Walt, Colbert, Person, and Espera, extra security to get them to the staging post where the next escort will meet them. Evan is glad that Walt is with them, glad he’ll get to see him for that little bit longer. It’ll be a smooth transfer, the escorts just a formality.
An hour down the road, everything goes to hell in a handbasket as red-skinned figures stream out of the woods, roaring battlecries.
It’s the first daylight attack that Evan has experienced, or ever heard of. He has about a minute to wonder why, and then they’re fighting for their lives - and everything is a series of snippets.
A warped, red-skinned face, misshapen by horns and thick fangs - Huh. That’s not what they’re supposed to look like.
Colbert thundering past the wagon, sword reaping a heavy toll.
Reyes trying to turn the wagon around, to go back to Mathilda.
Garza yelling something incoherent as he rains arrows down from the top of the wagon, every one finding its mark in an eye or throat or chest.
And then someone, striding through the melee, untouched by the strange, red-skinned - demons, maybe? - straight for Evan, and he’s frozen; this man is supposed to be dead. Fear is coursing through him.
“Trombley?” he says, shaky, as the melee swirls around them, not touching them, everything enveloped in stillness for a stretched second.
“Wright,” is the return, a cheerful smile on the other man’s face - a smile that displays long fangs in his mouth and the utter, unrelieved black of his eyes. “I was hoping that you’d come with me.”
“Are these... things... yours?” asks Evan, the first question that comes to mind blurted out. His hands are shaking, his sword clinking on his maille.
Trombley nods, giving another eerily happy smile. “Aren’t they beautiful? You can have a company too, if you come with me.”
Evan is totally chilled, completely frozen, and he has to force his mouth to move as he says, “No.”
“Your loss,” replies Trombley, stepping back. He says something, an ugly, spidery, twisted word, and all the demons roar, a terrifying unison. His grin stretches obscenely, and Evan can see his fingers stretching into long, black claws, but can’t do anything, frozen with dread -
- out of nowhere, Walt slams into Trombley, a blur of gold and steel. He’s slashing quickly and accurately, strikes drawing blood - no, black ichor - and his face is a rictus of fury.
Trombley gives a quick, “Tch,” an adult to a testy child, and fades somehow, to a half-seen shadow, heading back towards the woods from whence he came, his demons withdrawing with him.
The convoy is left, battered and terrified.
Walt is suddenly there, spattered with blood and ichor, fear and hope in his eyes, and Evan doesn’t even think before he steps forward, catching Walt’s face in his hands, staring into those blue, blue eyes.
Walt’s arms wrap about him, and he breathes out, almost a sob. “Evan,” he says, and that one word - his name - is all that Evan needs.
He leans in, brushing his lips across Walt’s, gentle, hoping, pulling back to look into Walt’s eyes. There’s a smile there, and Evan’s heart swells.
There’s a moment where they just pause - and then Walt’s arms tighten around him, and Walt’s mouth is on his, and the kiss is off-centre and a little sloppy, but so perfect and everything Evan has been waiting years for.
“Get some!” crows Person as he passes.
They pull back, just breathing with each other, smiling, perfectly content for these few seconds. Colbert says, “About time,” as he follows Person, grinning, black spatters on his face making it feral.
And then they have to go. Colbert takes charge, directing the wagons back towards Mathilda, as Bryan tends to the wounded with quick skill and muttered oaths. Evan hauls out his ever-present notebook, writes down what he can remember, sketches difficult in the bouncing wagon. Walt sits beside him, arm about Evan’s waist.
They breathe in time, and Evan thinks that maybe, just maybe, there’s some hope.
Mathilda is a walled town, but there’s only so far the torchlight goes. The warriors, ready on the walls, patrolling, chainmaille clinking and swords ready, can only see so far into the darkness.
It’s too much to hope that the things out there won’t try something tonight - as they do every night.
Evan’s mother had told him that he was born in Mathilda, twenty-some years ago, when their merchant train passed through, as it did every summer; and Evan remembers a time, so long ago, when Mathilda didn’t need to be walled. Not before that terrifying summer when something terrible and wrong had happened to the Prince, and the King’s Messengers had ridden out - and never made it to their destinations.
The shapeless, incorporeal things that rode their horses and wore their clothes, bearing the King’s Seal.
The Ultimatum that the kingdom still laboured under, that made night terror and day fear.
“Wright,” Colbert greets him as he clambers up the ladder to the wallwalk. “Come to stand duty?”
“As requested,” Evan replies, patting the sword at his belt. He’d not picked up a sword until a year into the Ultimatum, when they’d almost not made it to the shelter of a town’s walls, and the merchant train had lost five men. “Where do you want me?”
Colbert grins sharkishly. “I thought you’d do well with Hasser.” There’s a glint in his eye that tells Evan he’s pushing it deliberately, and finds himself flushing, awkward as a boy again. He stutters out an acknowledgement, and then heads along the wall in the direction Colbert points.
Walt’s hair is haloed gold by torchlight in the confines of the corner tower, and for a second Evan remembers the first time he’d seen Walt - woken by him accidentally as Evan lazed down by the stream. The golden hair and brilliant blue eyes had made Evan gasp - and, teenager that he was, had given him a hard-on.
Evan held that lazy afternoon in his memory, the last golden days before the Ultimatum - Walt, the last good thing the universe had given him before taking so much away.
He might have fallen a little in love with Walt Hasser over that golden summer - and never really recovered.
Walt smiles sunnily at him as he enters the corner tower. “Ready to stand watch, Evan?” That smile had been the one thing Evan had clung to, that gave him hope, and he returns it as best he can. They climb the ladder, and begin the long hours of peering out into the darkness, hoping against hope that nothing will happen. Evan is excessively aware of Walt - as always - noting the smiles, the random jokes... the touches.
He’s not sure, but it feels like Walt touches him more tonight than the last two - just a brushing hand over shoulder or hand, catching his arm to call his attention. It is not until dawn that Evan realises that he’d been so busy counting them that he’s forgotten to be scared - and he’s not sure if this is a good thing.
The next night is the same - the touches increasing. He’s sure he’s not just being paranoid, or having wishful thinking.
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An hour down the road, everything goes to hell in a handbasket as red-skinned figures stream out of the woods, roaring battlecries.
It’s the first daylight attack that Evan has experienced, or ever heard of. He has about a minute to wonder why, and then they’re fighting for their lives - and everything is a series of snippets.
A warped, red-skinned face, misshapen by horns and thick fangs - Huh. That’s not what they’re supposed to look like.
Colbert thundering past the wagon, sword reaping a heavy toll.
Reyes trying to turn the wagon around, to go back to Mathilda.
Garza yelling something incoherent as he rains arrows down from the top of the wagon, every one finding its mark in an eye or throat or chest.
And then someone, striding through the melee, untouched by the strange, red-skinned - demons, maybe? - straight for Evan, and he’s frozen; this man is supposed to be dead. Fear is coursing through him.
“Trombley?” he says, shaky, as the melee swirls around them, not touching them, everything enveloped in stillness for a stretched second.
“Wright,” is the return, a cheerful smile on the other man’s face - a smile that displays long fangs in his mouth and the utter, unrelieved black of his eyes. “I was hoping that you’d come with me.”
“Are these... things... yours?” asks Evan, the first question that comes to mind blurted out. His hands are shaking, his sword clinking on his maille.
Trombley nods, giving another eerily happy smile. “Aren’t they beautiful? You can have a company too, if you come with me.”
Evan is totally chilled, completely frozen, and he has to force his mouth to move as he says, “No.”
“Your loss,” replies Trombley, stepping back. He says something, an ugly, spidery, twisted word, and all the demons roar, a terrifying unison. His grin stretches obscenely, and Evan can see his fingers stretching into long, black claws, but can’t do anything, frozen with dread -
- out of nowhere, Walt slams into Trombley, a blur of gold and steel. He’s slashing quickly and accurately, strikes drawing blood - no, black ichor - and his face is a rictus of fury.
Trombley gives a quick, “Tch,” an adult to a testy child, and fades somehow, to a half-seen shadow, heading back towards the woods from whence he came, his demons withdrawing with him.
The convoy is left, battered and terrified.
Walt is suddenly there, spattered with blood and ichor, fear and hope in his eyes, and Evan doesn’t even think before he steps forward, catching Walt’s face in his hands, staring into those blue, blue eyes.
Walt’s arms wrap about him, and he breathes out, almost a sob. “Evan,” he says, and that one word - his name - is all that Evan needs.
He leans in, brushing his lips across Walt’s, gentle, hoping, pulling back to look into Walt’s eyes. There’s a smile there, and Evan’s heart swells.
There’s a moment where they just pause - and then Walt’s arms tighten around him, and Walt’s mouth is on his, and the kiss is off-centre and a little sloppy, but so perfect and everything Evan has been waiting years for.
“Get some!” crows Person as he passes.
They pull back, just breathing with each other, smiling, perfectly content for these few seconds. Colbert says, “About time,” as he follows Person, grinning, black spatters on his face making it feral.
And then they have to go. Colbert takes charge, directing the wagons back towards Mathilda, as Bryan tends to the wounded with quick skill and muttered oaths. Evan hauls out his ever-present notebook, writes down what he can remember, sketches difficult in the bouncing wagon. Walt sits beside him, arm about Evan’s waist.
They breathe in time, and Evan thinks that maybe, just maybe, there’s some hope.
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