Happiest of Holidays, erushi!
Title: Nineteen Thirty-Six
Author: muselolita
Recipient: erushi
Pairing: Famine/Pollution
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Nudity, language and a kiss.
Summary: Somewhere, in the middle of a Dust Bowl-ridden desert in America, a horseman is born and another finds himself with a migraine he feels is going to last for a very long time.
Notes: So I had a lot of wiggle-room with this one and I hope I gave you something with a historical bend. This has no smut in it, which might be a first for me with this pairing. I apologize for Pollution's childishness, but he is only four days old in this fic, so I think it might be somewhat excused. I hope you enjoy it. Happy Holidays!
For as far as he could see, the landscape was blanketed in reddish-orange dust, the air still, dry and just a little too hot to be standing there in a suit. Years later, Famine would look back on the memory and relate it to a living sepia photograph. Everything had taken on that muted color of the desert - everything, that is, except for the specter of white flickering in and out of view just to the edge of his vision. Perhaps it was due to his age, but Pollution was difficult to pin down if one wasn't concentrating on him. He slipped in and out of vision and Famine had been snuck up on one too many times in the few days since the new horseman had been left with him.
He wasn't sure he would ever really understand why he had been entrusted with the care of this new being, but imagined that is was one of His bad jokes (and there were plenty of them), to stick Famine with his near-opposite. It could be argued that he had the most patience out of all the horsemen, but when your other options were War and Death, that still wasn't a very comforting thought. Maybe he shouldn't have made that joke about loving children...
Finally, Pollution turned to him, his gray eyes haunting in the hazy dusk light, and started slowly walking back towards the older horseman, reaching out a grubby hand towards Famine.
"Don't you dare get that on my suit," he muttered flatly, casting a narrowed glare at the boy as he approached. Dust stained his delicate hands and bare feet, smudged along his milky-white cheeks and stuck to the curls of his hair. He looked as though he had been rolling around in it. Or would have were it not for the remarkable fact that there was not a speck of dirt on his rumpled white button-down shirt or trousers. With a well-concealed smile, Famine briefly imagined that when he had been lost to sight, he'd stashed his clothing someplace safe and actually was rolling around in the dust, naked.
Famine had watched the storm from the safety of his car, parked a distance enough away that it would avoid the damage of the violent winds. He enjoyed the sight, the way the few trees were whipped almost horizontal and an old shack in the distance clattered and fell. But all he saw was the dust swirling around, as though it had consumed the boy within it, used his power for fuel and then spit him out when it was finished.
The storm had been losing power for a while before it finally subsided and everything fell quiet again. And now Famine could see why. The child looked exhausted, like he could curl up there on the ground with a tumbleweed for a pillow and sleep for days. Famine wasn't the kind of man to feel much in the ways of sympathy or compassion - but for one like himself, he could perhaps feel a twinge of something.
"Come now," he said with a small sigh, holding a hand out for long enough for Pollution to come to him, then placing his fingers at the boy's back to steer him towards the car. "Hands in your lap," he said, "Don't mess up the car."
He realized that was about like asking a bird not to fly, but he could hope that the boy was too tired to cause any more destruction.
It didn't matter how slow he tried to drive, red dust kicked up constantly around them, obscuring his vision until he had made it out of the wide expanse of desert and back to the lone paved road that stretched for seemingly countless miles in either direction. The boy merely sat back against the seat, playing with the edge of his shirt where it had come untucked from his trousers - white fabric being smudged orange-red by his grubby little fingertips. He was almost smiling, a look that could make a lesser being's skin crawl, as it wasn't any expression and yet at the same time it was every expression.
It did vaguely unnerve Famine, reminded him of the way Death's face never truly changed and yet you could just tell that there was a smirk resting there sometimes. This child was too much like Death, in that he was too quiet, too hard to take notice of until he had already done his damage - or until he wanted you to see him. He had the power to be even more formidable than either Famine or War and in the body and with the mind of an impulsive teenager, that could have disastrous results. Famine was hardly scared. He was looking forward to it, in fact. He couldn't wait to see the kinds of things this child could come up with. It promised to be interesting, at the very least.
The endless emptiness seemed to stretch on and on, but eventually a little town did rise out of the horizon, nearing them as they sped towards it. This was home, for now, a town decimated by the depression and then struck even weaker by the dust storm that followed. Famine had come with the former, picking off those too poor to buy the basic necessities and slowly starving them, leaching their health from them watching them slowly waste away. He'd been here when the boy had been entrusted to his care, and the storms had already been going for a few years. It seemed just as the storms had started to die down in other parts of the country, they were still going as strong as ever here. All because of a little blonde boy who had only been in existence for four days.
There was a small shack of a hotel they were staying at, giving the town a little chunk of income that it would certainly not have gotten if the wealthy doctor and his nephew weren't traveling through - if they hadn't gotten trapped there by the storm.
"No luck getting out of town today, Mr. Sable?" the caretaker - a gaunt man with gray eyes and thinning hair - at the hotel desk asked.
Famine shook his head. "No, I'm afraid not."
"See your nephew got himself into a mess there."
A faux-amused glance was cast towards the boy at his side and Famine nodded, "Yes, he's a bit of a handful, this one." He nodded politely and made his way up the stairs, pulling Pollution along behind him.
They were at the end of a long hall on the second floor in a double room - one that was nice enough that Famine could reasonably believe that very few people had ever been able to afford to stay there before them; especially out here in the middle of nowhere. There was a double bed, a desk, a bedside table and a dresser in each room. They were exact mirrors of each other from the muted creme and pale peach rose pattered wallpaper to the wood floors and the creme colored sheets. Everything seemed almost faded, washed-out, and with the blistering sun out this way, he wasn't surprised. The only thing stark in the room was the occasional flash of white that signaled Pollution had just moved through the edge of his vision.
A small bathroom with a claw-foot tub, pedestal sink and small toilet was located between the rooms, both of which connected to it with a door on either side. The bath had running water, but it wasn't always what one might call hot. That could be fixed easily for the pair of them, though and had yet to cause a problem. In fact, the only problem related to bath time was actually getting Pollution into the water with soap on him in the first place. He flailed all over and whined and clawed at Famine's arms and basically did his best to fight. But he wasn't strong yet and he couldn't overpower the older horseman. For a moment, he sympathized with parents of impossibly bratty toddlers and wondered if it was against the rules to find some way to knock the young horseman out during this particular chore.
Famine went straight in to the bathroom and turned the water on, the piped creaking and trembling a little, murky well water spitting out into the bath and coloring it the same rusty, dirty shade as everything seemed to be colored. He hadn't bothered letting it run before putting the plug in, figuring it would make it a little easier to lure Pollution into there if it wasn't exactly clean. Not that he thought for an instant that it would be an easy job either way. But there was a little hope in the rusty water.
"Alright child," Famine called out, opening the doors to both bedrooms and peering from one to the other. "Let's just get this out of the way and then we won't have to worry about it again until the next time you go rolling around in the dirt."
His eyes were focused, carefully scanning the room and searching for any sign of anything moving, even vaguely. But there was nothing from either room, as though the boy had left entirely. Famine hummed to himself, more unamused than anything and moved into the other bedroom.
"Pollution?" he called, "where in the name of the hell are you?" A smirk formed as he heard a stifled giggle and he dropped down onto one knee at the edge of the bed, still calling out as his fingers wrapped around the edge of the bed sheet, "this would be much easier if you'd just come out," he said, hand jutting under the blankets and grabbing hold of a wrist, dragging the boy kicking and flailing out from under the bed.
"There you are, you filthy little thing. Come on. Don't make me toss you in there clothing and all."
Somehow, Pollution managed to kick his shoes off as he was being dragged along, wriggling his bony shoulders out of his suspenders and letting them fall. Famine very nearly had to pin him against a wall to get him undressed the rest of the way, yanking his shirt off over his head and dropping it in a crumpled heap before trousers, socks and underthings were stripped off of the pale form. He was too thin, with hips and shoulders and clavicles stretching almost transparent skin taut. He was just the kind of body that Famine found beautiful. But now was not the time to pause and stare, now was the time to toss the flailing little brat into the bathtub and force some soap on him.
He'd literally picked the boy up and set him in the bath, rolling up his sleeves quickly and then shoving Pollution back down into the water as he was trying to scramble out. He was instantly slippery, covered in a thin sheen of clear oil that reminded Famine of one of those strange sea creatures that excreted foul oils to make predators spit them out. But Famine wasn't letting go, not even when the water started to turn murky.
"Stop that this instant, or I'll take you out back and dump you in some freezing cold water trough," he threatened.
Pollution looked up at him with big, wide eyes and clung to the edge of the bath, looking like something not quite human with his curls all matted down, a shade too pale to be healthy. Famine just rolled his eyes and grabbed a bar of soap, starting to scrub.
The lye had to sting where it got into his eyes and under his nails, but that just made him purr contently and calm a little from his constant thrashing. It was a nice reprieve and Famine managed to use it to get the boy's grubby hands and feet clean and then the rest of him in between. Once done, he dunked the boy forcibly under the water to rinse him off and then pulled the plug from the bath.
It was all very unceremonious and maybe a little mean, but he'd learned after the first time of doing this that being nice was out of the question. Pollution was a handful and had to be dealt with firmly, directly. Maybe that was why he'd been handed off to Famine - because he could actually control the little monster in the day-to-day.
He turned, grabbed a towel and started drying off the boy's hair as the water drained from the bath, leaving just a naked body sitting in a puddle of glistening liquid, red dirt gathered in the bottom casting a reddish hue to the little rainbows that formed in the oil. "Up with you," he instructed and Pollution clamored to his feet, slipping a little. Famine reached out just in time to catch him, glaring a bit in disapproval at the boy's clumsiness.
"That's what you get for making that... whatever it is," he motioned towards the oil in the bottom of the bath.
Pollution just looked up at him and grinned, stepping out of the bathtub and right on Famine's feet, before he darted off, towel half wrapped around him.
With a heavy sigh, Famine rolled his eyes and ran his hand over the side of his face, wandering casually out into the bedroom with a cross look on his face. Pollution was perched on the edge of the bed, kicking his feet, stark naked. It was exasperating, trying to chase him all the damn time, but Famine had the feeling this was only the beginning of chasing the young horseman around. Maybe he should just dump him off in the middle of a desert somewhere and tell Lucifer to find the kid a new nanny.
Famine moved towards the boy's luggage, keeping an eye on the slippery oil-stain as he reached in and pulled out clean underthings. He held them out to Pollution, eyebrows raised, hoping beyond possibility that he'd just take them and put them on and not be a hassle.
Mischief alighted in his eyes and he shook his head, wet curls bouncing everywhere. Famine grumbled and moved forward, the wad of clothes still bundled in one hand. Pollution tried to slip off the bed, but Famine was prepared for that and moved quickly forward, pinning the wet, naked, squirming form down to the mattress. He grabbed one wrist, then the other, grasping them both in one hand and pushing them down above Pollution's head.
"Listen to me, you toxic little smudge," he said harshly. "I'm about sick of fooling around with you. I've been very nice and very patient, but you've been trying my every nerve. You'll knock this off or I'll send you to someone who's not half as agreeable as I am, do you understand?" he asked, gaze steely and voice firm.
Pollution just smirked up at him, lifting his head off the bed and pressing his pale pink lips to Famine's.
And Famine had the sudden foreboding sense that not a word he'd said had gotten into the other horseman's head.
Author: muselolita
Recipient: erushi
Pairing: Famine/Pollution
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Nudity, language and a kiss.
Summary: Somewhere, in the middle of a Dust Bowl-ridden desert in America, a horseman is born and another finds himself with a migraine he feels is going to last for a very long time.
Notes: So I had a lot of wiggle-room with this one and I hope I gave you something with a historical bend. This has no smut in it, which might be a first for me with this pairing. I apologize for Pollution's childishness, but he is only four days old in this fic, so I think it might be somewhat excused. I hope you enjoy it. Happy Holidays!
For as far as he could see, the landscape was blanketed in reddish-orange dust, the air still, dry and just a little too hot to be standing there in a suit. Years later, Famine would look back on the memory and relate it to a living sepia photograph. Everything had taken on that muted color of the desert - everything, that is, except for the specter of white flickering in and out of view just to the edge of his vision. Perhaps it was due to his age, but Pollution was difficult to pin down if one wasn't concentrating on him. He slipped in and out of vision and Famine had been snuck up on one too many times in the few days since the new horseman had been left with him.
He wasn't sure he would ever really understand why he had been entrusted with the care of this new being, but imagined that is was one of His bad jokes (and there were plenty of them), to stick Famine with his near-opposite. It could be argued that he had the most patience out of all the horsemen, but when your other options were War and Death, that still wasn't a very comforting thought. Maybe he shouldn't have made that joke about loving children...
Finally, Pollution turned to him, his gray eyes haunting in the hazy dusk light, and started slowly walking back towards the older horseman, reaching out a grubby hand towards Famine.
"Don't you dare get that on my suit," he muttered flatly, casting a narrowed glare at the boy as he approached. Dust stained his delicate hands and bare feet, smudged along his milky-white cheeks and stuck to the curls of his hair. He looked as though he had been rolling around in it. Or would have were it not for the remarkable fact that there was not a speck of dirt on his rumpled white button-down shirt or trousers. With a well-concealed smile, Famine briefly imagined that when he had been lost to sight, he'd stashed his clothing someplace safe and actually was rolling around in the dust, naked.
Famine had watched the storm from the safety of his car, parked a distance enough away that it would avoid the damage of the violent winds. He enjoyed the sight, the way the few trees were whipped almost horizontal and an old shack in the distance clattered and fell. But all he saw was the dust swirling around, as though it had consumed the boy within it, used his power for fuel and then spit him out when it was finished.
The storm had been losing power for a while before it finally subsided and everything fell quiet again. And now Famine could see why. The child looked exhausted, like he could curl up there on the ground with a tumbleweed for a pillow and sleep for days. Famine wasn't the kind of man to feel much in the ways of sympathy or compassion - but for one like himself, he could perhaps feel a twinge of something.
"Come now," he said with a small sigh, holding a hand out for long enough for Pollution to come to him, then placing his fingers at the boy's back to steer him towards the car. "Hands in your lap," he said, "Don't mess up the car."
He realized that was about like asking a bird not to fly, but he could hope that the boy was too tired to cause any more destruction.
It didn't matter how slow he tried to drive, red dust kicked up constantly around them, obscuring his vision until he had made it out of the wide expanse of desert and back to the lone paved road that stretched for seemingly countless miles in either direction. The boy merely sat back against the seat, playing with the edge of his shirt where it had come untucked from his trousers - white fabric being smudged orange-red by his grubby little fingertips. He was almost smiling, a look that could make a lesser being's skin crawl, as it wasn't any expression and yet at the same time it was every expression.
It did vaguely unnerve Famine, reminded him of the way Death's face never truly changed and yet you could just tell that there was a smirk resting there sometimes. This child was too much like Death, in that he was too quiet, too hard to take notice of until he had already done his damage - or until he wanted you to see him. He had the power to be even more formidable than either Famine or War and in the body and with the mind of an impulsive teenager, that could have disastrous results. Famine was hardly scared. He was looking forward to it, in fact. He couldn't wait to see the kinds of things this child could come up with. It promised to be interesting, at the very least.
The endless emptiness seemed to stretch on and on, but eventually a little town did rise out of the horizon, nearing them as they sped towards it. This was home, for now, a town decimated by the depression and then struck even weaker by the dust storm that followed. Famine had come with the former, picking off those too poor to buy the basic necessities and slowly starving them, leaching their health from them watching them slowly waste away. He'd been here when the boy had been entrusted to his care, and the storms had already been going for a few years. It seemed just as the storms had started to die down in other parts of the country, they were still going as strong as ever here. All because of a little blonde boy who had only been in existence for four days.
There was a small shack of a hotel they were staying at, giving the town a little chunk of income that it would certainly not have gotten if the wealthy doctor and his nephew weren't traveling through - if they hadn't gotten trapped there by the storm.
"No luck getting out of town today, Mr. Sable?" the caretaker - a gaunt man with gray eyes and thinning hair - at the hotel desk asked.
Famine shook his head. "No, I'm afraid not."
"See your nephew got himself into a mess there."
A faux-amused glance was cast towards the boy at his side and Famine nodded, "Yes, he's a bit of a handful, this one." He nodded politely and made his way up the stairs, pulling Pollution along behind him.
They were at the end of a long hall on the second floor in a double room - one that was nice enough that Famine could reasonably believe that very few people had ever been able to afford to stay there before them; especially out here in the middle of nowhere. There was a double bed, a desk, a bedside table and a dresser in each room. They were exact mirrors of each other from the muted creme and pale peach rose pattered wallpaper to the wood floors and the creme colored sheets. Everything seemed almost faded, washed-out, and with the blistering sun out this way, he wasn't surprised. The only thing stark in the room was the occasional flash of white that signaled Pollution had just moved through the edge of his vision.
A small bathroom with a claw-foot tub, pedestal sink and small toilet was located between the rooms, both of which connected to it with a door on either side. The bath had running water, but it wasn't always what one might call hot. That could be fixed easily for the pair of them, though and had yet to cause a problem. In fact, the only problem related to bath time was actually getting Pollution into the water with soap on him in the first place. He flailed all over and whined and clawed at Famine's arms and basically did his best to fight. But he wasn't strong yet and he couldn't overpower the older horseman. For a moment, he sympathized with parents of impossibly bratty toddlers and wondered if it was against the rules to find some way to knock the young horseman out during this particular chore.
Famine went straight in to the bathroom and turned the water on, the piped creaking and trembling a little, murky well water spitting out into the bath and coloring it the same rusty, dirty shade as everything seemed to be colored. He hadn't bothered letting it run before putting the plug in, figuring it would make it a little easier to lure Pollution into there if it wasn't exactly clean. Not that he thought for an instant that it would be an easy job either way. But there was a little hope in the rusty water.
"Alright child," Famine called out, opening the doors to both bedrooms and peering from one to the other. "Let's just get this out of the way and then we won't have to worry about it again until the next time you go rolling around in the dirt."
His eyes were focused, carefully scanning the room and searching for any sign of anything moving, even vaguely. But there was nothing from either room, as though the boy had left entirely. Famine hummed to himself, more unamused than anything and moved into the other bedroom.
"Pollution?" he called, "where in the name of the hell are you?" A smirk formed as he heard a stifled giggle and he dropped down onto one knee at the edge of the bed, still calling out as his fingers wrapped around the edge of the bed sheet, "this would be much easier if you'd just come out," he said, hand jutting under the blankets and grabbing hold of a wrist, dragging the boy kicking and flailing out from under the bed.
"There you are, you filthy little thing. Come on. Don't make me toss you in there clothing and all."
Somehow, Pollution managed to kick his shoes off as he was being dragged along, wriggling his bony shoulders out of his suspenders and letting them fall. Famine very nearly had to pin him against a wall to get him undressed the rest of the way, yanking his shirt off over his head and dropping it in a crumpled heap before trousers, socks and underthings were stripped off of the pale form. He was too thin, with hips and shoulders and clavicles stretching almost transparent skin taut. He was just the kind of body that Famine found beautiful. But now was not the time to pause and stare, now was the time to toss the flailing little brat into the bathtub and force some soap on him.
He'd literally picked the boy up and set him in the bath, rolling up his sleeves quickly and then shoving Pollution back down into the water as he was trying to scramble out. He was instantly slippery, covered in a thin sheen of clear oil that reminded Famine of one of those strange sea creatures that excreted foul oils to make predators spit them out. But Famine wasn't letting go, not even when the water started to turn murky.
"Stop that this instant, or I'll take you out back and dump you in some freezing cold water trough," he threatened.
Pollution looked up at him with big, wide eyes and clung to the edge of the bath, looking like something not quite human with his curls all matted down, a shade too pale to be healthy. Famine just rolled his eyes and grabbed a bar of soap, starting to scrub.
The lye had to sting where it got into his eyes and under his nails, but that just made him purr contently and calm a little from his constant thrashing. It was a nice reprieve and Famine managed to use it to get the boy's grubby hands and feet clean and then the rest of him in between. Once done, he dunked the boy forcibly under the water to rinse him off and then pulled the plug from the bath.
It was all very unceremonious and maybe a little mean, but he'd learned after the first time of doing this that being nice was out of the question. Pollution was a handful and had to be dealt with firmly, directly. Maybe that was why he'd been handed off to Famine - because he could actually control the little monster in the day-to-day.
He turned, grabbed a towel and started drying off the boy's hair as the water drained from the bath, leaving just a naked body sitting in a puddle of glistening liquid, red dirt gathered in the bottom casting a reddish hue to the little rainbows that formed in the oil. "Up with you," he instructed and Pollution clamored to his feet, slipping a little. Famine reached out just in time to catch him, glaring a bit in disapproval at the boy's clumsiness.
"That's what you get for making that... whatever it is," he motioned towards the oil in the bottom of the bath.
Pollution just looked up at him and grinned, stepping out of the bathtub and right on Famine's feet, before he darted off, towel half wrapped around him.
With a heavy sigh, Famine rolled his eyes and ran his hand over the side of his face, wandering casually out into the bedroom with a cross look on his face. Pollution was perched on the edge of the bed, kicking his feet, stark naked. It was exasperating, trying to chase him all the damn time, but Famine had the feeling this was only the beginning of chasing the young horseman around. Maybe he should just dump him off in the middle of a desert somewhere and tell Lucifer to find the kid a new nanny.
Famine moved towards the boy's luggage, keeping an eye on the slippery oil-stain as he reached in and pulled out clean underthings. He held them out to Pollution, eyebrows raised, hoping beyond possibility that he'd just take them and put them on and not be a hassle.
Mischief alighted in his eyes and he shook his head, wet curls bouncing everywhere. Famine grumbled and moved forward, the wad of clothes still bundled in one hand. Pollution tried to slip off the bed, but Famine was prepared for that and moved quickly forward, pinning the wet, naked, squirming form down to the mattress. He grabbed one wrist, then the other, grasping them both in one hand and pushing them down above Pollution's head.
"Listen to me, you toxic little smudge," he said harshly. "I'm about sick of fooling around with you. I've been very nice and very patient, but you've been trying my every nerve. You'll knock this off or I'll send you to someone who's not half as agreeable as I am, do you understand?" he asked, gaze steely and voice firm.
Pollution just smirked up at him, lifting his head off the bed and pressing his pale pink lips to Famine's.
And Famine had the sudden foreboding sense that not a word he'd said had gotten into the other horseman's head.