(no subject)
Title: Battle Wounds
Fandom: White Lies (Original series WIP name)
Characters: Rayner, Folant
Table: 3
Prompt: 87. Stab
Word Count: 308
Rating: PG (several swears)
Summary: Rayner and Folant exchange some harsh words.
Author's Notes: Run-ons abound!
Claimer/Disclaimer: All characters, settings, and situations included in this work are my own creations, any similarities to other works are coincidental.
Rayner wanted to stop, but the words just kept coming out of her mouth. Ugly things that she didn't want to say but, oh, she did. She couldn't remember how it had started, something had been wrong from the beginning. Something in the air. And then something caught -- a spark, just a little thing, seemingly unimportant at first. That moment had been almost audible, like the ching! of two swords clashing. And from that word on, it had been a duel.
What was it?
She tried to backtrack through the day, remember every thing, every little thing, that Folant had said but everything was going to fast and she kept saying things even as she was rewinding the conversation in her mind and he just kept replying in that annoyingly reasonable tone. And he was staring right at her with those creepy blue eyes -- she couldn't help but think that maybe it was the way their eyes seemed to pierce right through you that made the Apprime hate them-- and she stared right back, unnerving as it was. Although admittedly less unnerving than the way he was so damn quiet. And then a more dangerous thought entered her mind. Maybe Mikhail had been right; The Attaways were all crazy.
Wait.
Had she just said that out loud?
Folant was frozen, leaning against a counter top, looking like a deer in headlights. Rayner looked around the room, searching for nothing.
"I- I'm - I have to- work to do." Rayner stumbled through the sentence as she turned to leave the room. She stopped when she heard his voice.
"Of course. As you said, you weren't sent here just to be swept out of the way. Important work to be done."
Ouch, right through the heart. Rayner didn't turn around -- you never show an enemy your wound.
Fandom: White Lies (Original series WIP name)
Characters: Rayner, Folant
Table: 3
Prompt: 87. Stab
Word Count: 308
Rating: PG (several swears)
Summary: Rayner and Folant exchange some harsh words.
Author's Notes: Run-ons abound!
Claimer/Disclaimer: All characters, settings, and situations included in this work are my own creations, any similarities to other works are coincidental.
Rayner wanted to stop, but the words just kept coming out of her mouth. Ugly things that she didn't want to say but, oh, she did. She couldn't remember how it had started, something had been wrong from the beginning. Something in the air. And then something caught -- a spark, just a little thing, seemingly unimportant at first. That moment had been almost audible, like the ching! of two swords clashing. And from that word on, it had been a duel.
What was it?
She tried to backtrack through the day, remember every thing, every little thing, that Folant had said but everything was going to fast and she kept saying things even as she was rewinding the conversation in her mind and he just kept replying in that annoyingly reasonable tone. And he was staring right at her with those creepy blue eyes -- she couldn't help but think that maybe it was the way their eyes seemed to pierce right through you that made the Apprime hate them-- and she stared right back, unnerving as it was. Although admittedly less unnerving than the way he was so damn quiet. And then a more dangerous thought entered her mind. Maybe Mikhail had been right; The Attaways were all crazy.
Wait.
Had she just said that out loud?
Folant was frozen, leaning against a counter top, looking like a deer in headlights. Rayner looked around the room, searching for nothing.
"I- I'm - I have to- work to do." Rayner stumbled through the sentence as she turned to leave the room. She stopped when she heard his voice.
"Of course. As you said, you weren't sent here just to be swept out of the way. Important work to be done."
Ouch, right through the heart. Rayner didn't turn around -- you never show an enemy your wound.