Larkenia's Flaws -- Installment 25 -- "Hell or High Waters"
Title: "Hell or High Waters"
Series: Larkenia's Flaws
Characters: Harry, Ysilde
Prompt: 25. Escape ((for 100_situations))
Rating: PG
Word Count: 592
Previous Installments: here.
Notes: It's been so long since I've written anything for this series-- Be My Unholy has been a loving distraction. But I've been wanting to write something to spring Ys for awhile, so I figured that there was no time like the present.
And yeah, this is unbeta'd -- I'm more in the mood to post things and keep the inspiration moving than to nitpick at the moment-- that can be saved for the compilation book, heheh.
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Harry was the last person that Ysilde expected to see, staring passively into him, through the failed patches of light clinging to the grime-ridden Borrows bars. The blonde remained curled in the corner, even if he forced a smirk to overcome the passive blank stare that had dominated his features for the past two days of cell time.
"Come to say I told you so?" he quipped, his voice dryer than he would've liked.
Harry's long face, usually so red with anger, seemed unusually firm as it turned at an angle, arms leaning through the bars, clinging to them slightly as his ruddy face pressed nearer.
If there was one thing Ysilde despised, it was when people saw more than they had any claim to.
A gravelly chuckle echoed in the loud hallway of those condemned by the state to death. "Or did you want to see how I'd really fuck before I died?" he mocked, grimacing only slightly at his own image of Harry naked and panting. Maybe poison would be better than that -- anything would be better than that-- though the ass might well want to play in strange ways--
Harry's low voice cut through Ysilde's disturbing train of thought. "Stop it."
Teeth gritted against themselves in place of their snarky retorts. How dare Harry tell him what to do when he was in this cell? He was free of them-- of them all, their restrictions, of fighting the desire to rip apart their flesh and drink their senses so he could experience the shades of purple that he knew Harry's robes would be, but that he only saw as a darker shade of dust.
"I came to offer you a reprieve. You can leave here a free man-- you were doing your duty to Thano. You'll live-- if you want to."
Heavy words hung, stabbing Ysilde's anger into a malleable, testable form. If he wanted it-- what did Harry know, thinking so hard? What did he know about Ysilde-- he'd been there when he was a kid, he'd nursed him into being able to talk again, interact again, only to ship him off to some foreign temple where the rules had been different and the bottom rungs were no better than slaves.
"What if I said no?" Ysilde's stomach was taut as he asked, long since past noticing the cold of the bricks that his head hung back against, shutting his eyes in deeper thought than he'd had in days.
A rustle-- Harry hadn't been expecting it. Of course not. He would only offer if he was sure he'd take the chance to escape his chains of corrosion.
"Ysilde." The anger and exasperation in that one word was enough to bring a smile to the blonde necromancer's face, and a leak of acid behind his eyes. Maybe if he escaped here, he wouldn't be haunted by the faces of those beheaded merely for being born-- the Flaws that were executed and then burned in the crematorium only a half of a block away.
"I could kill someone," he muttered, eyes still shut. It regularly slashed through his psyche, being so close to sensation and yet so far away driving him to the edges of madness and fits.
"But you won't."
His certainty dragged the lids of Ysilde's brunette eyes into contrast, and he exhaled the culmination of his taste of death and destruction as he grumbled, turning to stand and follow his mentor out of the cold hellhole, well aware that he was abandoning the others to lie in their own maggot-ridden labyrinths, to be flayed for crimes that only one dared to commit.
Series: Larkenia's Flaws
Characters: Harry, Ysilde
Prompt: 25. Escape ((for 100_situations))
Rating: PG
Word Count: 592
Previous Installments: here.
Notes: It's been so long since I've written anything for this series-- Be My Unholy has been a loving distraction. But I've been wanting to write something to spring Ys for awhile, so I figured that there was no time like the present.
And yeah, this is unbeta'd -- I'm more in the mood to post things and keep the inspiration moving than to nitpick at the moment-- that can be saved for the compilation book, heheh.
-------
Harry was the last person that Ysilde expected to see, staring passively into him, through the failed patches of light clinging to the grime-ridden Borrows bars. The blonde remained curled in the corner, even if he forced a smirk to overcome the passive blank stare that had dominated his features for the past two days of cell time.
"Come to say I told you so?" he quipped, his voice dryer than he would've liked.
Harry's long face, usually so red with anger, seemed unusually firm as it turned at an angle, arms leaning through the bars, clinging to them slightly as his ruddy face pressed nearer.
If there was one thing Ysilde despised, it was when people saw more than they had any claim to.
A gravelly chuckle echoed in the loud hallway of those condemned by the state to death. "Or did you want to see how I'd really fuck before I died?" he mocked, grimacing only slightly at his own image of Harry naked and panting. Maybe poison would be better than that -- anything would be better than that-- though the ass might well want to play in strange ways--
Harry's low voice cut through Ysilde's disturbing train of thought. "Stop it."
Teeth gritted against themselves in place of their snarky retorts. How dare Harry tell him what to do when he was in this cell? He was free of them-- of them all, their restrictions, of fighting the desire to rip apart their flesh and drink their senses so he could experience the shades of purple that he knew Harry's robes would be, but that he only saw as a darker shade of dust.
"I came to offer you a reprieve. You can leave here a free man-- you were doing your duty to Thano. You'll live-- if you want to."
Heavy words hung, stabbing Ysilde's anger into a malleable, testable form. If he wanted it-- what did Harry know, thinking so hard? What did he know about Ysilde-- he'd been there when he was a kid, he'd nursed him into being able to talk again, interact again, only to ship him off to some foreign temple where the rules had been different and the bottom rungs were no better than slaves.
"What if I said no?" Ysilde's stomach was taut as he asked, long since past noticing the cold of the bricks that his head hung back against, shutting his eyes in deeper thought than he'd had in days.
A rustle-- Harry hadn't been expecting it. Of course not. He would only offer if he was sure he'd take the chance to escape his chains of corrosion.
"Ysilde." The anger and exasperation in that one word was enough to bring a smile to the blonde necromancer's face, and a leak of acid behind his eyes. Maybe if he escaped here, he wouldn't be haunted by the faces of those beheaded merely for being born-- the Flaws that were executed and then burned in the crematorium only a half of a block away.
"I could kill someone," he muttered, eyes still shut. It regularly slashed through his psyche, being so close to sensation and yet so far away driving him to the edges of madness and fits.
"But you won't."
His certainty dragged the lids of Ysilde's brunette eyes into contrast, and he exhaled the culmination of his taste of death and destruction as he grumbled, turning to stand and follow his mentor out of the cold hellhole, well aware that he was abandoning the others to lie in their own maggot-ridden labyrinths, to be flayed for crimes that only one dared to commit.