(no subject)
Author: Aublivienne
Story: Worldbreakers - King of Demons
Title: Startlingly Prophetic
Challenge: Tropical Punch #10 (the extra mile)
Extras/Toppings: malt prompt (prompts from a hat!) - Timothy:there isn't a happy ending
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 354
Summary: Tim sees something troubling.
Sheridan had never seen his friend like this before-frenzied, enraged, heartbroken, losing little bits of his sanity by the second-and he was terrified. The fire only got larger and hotter around them and Sheridan struggled to hold him back.
Sorian was gone.
Sorian was gone, and what was left was a broken man-no, a monster-that cried tears of liquid fire and clawed at Sheridan's arms, not caring about the flaming furrows he left in his wake. Beams snapped and plastic melted as Sorian screamed, and Sheridan sobbed along with him because he knew that his best friend was never coming back-
“Tim?”
Timothy blinked, already covering for himself before he even realized it. “Sorry, I-I haven't been sleeping too well,” he chuckled, putting the tattoo needle down and snapping off his gloves. “Guess I spaced out for a minute. How's it look?”
Sheridan looked down at his arm and nodded. “Just what the whole thing needed,” he said, reaching for his wallet with his other hand.
Timothy gave Sheridan a little wave and shook his head. “Don't worry about it, bro. I got you this time.”
“You sure?” Sheridan opened his wallet anyway, fishing out a few bills. “I mean, I came in last minute and everything...”
“If you really want to, then buy me lunch.” Timothy walked over to the window and flipped the sign to 'closed'. “Now don't you have a date or something?”
“Um, sure, with Netflix and some leftover takeout.” Sheridan laughed as he walked toward the door. Before he opened it, he stopped and turned to the artist. “You sure you're okay? You look a little...” He trailed off and waved his hand around his face, in a gesture that implied confusion.
“Yeah, I just need to pass out for about twelve hours.” Timothy smiled. “I'm good.”
The smile faded as Sheridan left, and Timothy slumped to the floor with a sigh. He rarely had any good visions, but this one seemed clearer than most. He dug his phone out of his bag and dialed a friend. “Hey,” he said, exhausted. “You're going to want to do it soon.”
Story: Worldbreakers - King of Demons
Title: Startlingly Prophetic
Challenge: Tropical Punch #10 (the extra mile)
Extras/Toppings: malt prompt (prompts from a hat!) - Timothy:there isn't a happy ending
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 354
Summary: Tim sees something troubling.
Sheridan had never seen his friend like this before-frenzied, enraged, heartbroken, losing little bits of his sanity by the second-and he was terrified. The fire only got larger and hotter around them and Sheridan struggled to hold him back.
Sorian was gone.
Sorian was gone, and what was left was a broken man-no, a monster-that cried tears of liquid fire and clawed at Sheridan's arms, not caring about the flaming furrows he left in his wake. Beams snapped and plastic melted as Sorian screamed, and Sheridan sobbed along with him because he knew that his best friend was never coming back-
“Tim?”
Timothy blinked, already covering for himself before he even realized it. “Sorry, I-I haven't been sleeping too well,” he chuckled, putting the tattoo needle down and snapping off his gloves. “Guess I spaced out for a minute. How's it look?”
Sheridan looked down at his arm and nodded. “Just what the whole thing needed,” he said, reaching for his wallet with his other hand.
Timothy gave Sheridan a little wave and shook his head. “Don't worry about it, bro. I got you this time.”
“You sure?” Sheridan opened his wallet anyway, fishing out a few bills. “I mean, I came in last minute and everything...”
“If you really want to, then buy me lunch.” Timothy walked over to the window and flipped the sign to 'closed'. “Now don't you have a date or something?”
“Um, sure, with Netflix and some leftover takeout.” Sheridan laughed as he walked toward the door. Before he opened it, he stopped and turned to the artist. “You sure you're okay? You look a little...” He trailed off and waved his hand around his face, in a gesture that implied confusion.
“Yeah, I just need to pass out for about twelve hours.” Timothy smiled. “I'm good.”
The smile faded as Sheridan left, and Timothy slumped to the floor with a sigh. He rarely had any good visions, but this one seemed clearer than most. He dug his phone out of his bag and dialed a friend. “Hey,” he said, exhausted. “You're going to want to do it soon.”