(no subject)
Continuation of the little rebellion-drabble series.
://001. Beginnings.
The dreadnought was beautiful, enormous; a red-and-purple leviathan gliding through space. Zim watched it with pride, with anticipation, Dib the human-turned-Irken quivering with energy beside.
Lovely ship, one of the new designs, pride of the Armada. All streamlined and deadly, Invader’s symbol striking black along the side. Zim’s spooch twisted with anticipation watching it.
Dib began to gnaw at his claws.
Engine pods fired; the ship began to roll and turn away, headed out towards deep space when - explosions bloomed along the seams where armor plates met. Redorange orchid petals, lashing out into dark.
Zim laughed. His two-man rebellion begun.
://044. Circle.
Dib took out his old body and looked at it; stroking soft human cheek with dainty claws, ruffling dark errant hair, nothing recognizable in his eyes. Zim sat on the hard metal bench, watching, speaking to no one in particular.
“If you go back - into that - then you’ll die, no doubt.”
Dib-that-was-now (sadder, older, colder, smarter, deadlier - worthy of pride) touched gently the face of Dib-that-had-been. He went between looking his body - he touched his pak. “If I don’t,” he said, (words gentle if tone hadn’t cracked like whip) - “then I should just die now. I can’t forget me.”
://077. What?
“What, what?!” Dib grabbed at his head, tore his fingers through his hair. “A rebellion?! YOU?!”
“Not so loud!” Zim snarled, glancing anxiously about. “Not a rebellion - a takeover so I can make things better.”
Dib didn’t look convinced. “Why?”
Zim lashed out, dragged him forward, gasped bloodily into his face: “Because it was mine. Because earth was all mine and they took it, they tried to get rid of me. Get rid of Zim! The fools!”
Dib reached up carefully, unfolded Zim’s claws from around his collar. “You’re dead meat. Don’t take me with you.”
Zim grinned. “Too late.”
://001. Beginnings.
The dreadnought was beautiful, enormous; a red-and-purple leviathan gliding through space. Zim watched it with pride, with anticipation, Dib the human-turned-Irken quivering with energy beside.
Lovely ship, one of the new designs, pride of the Armada. All streamlined and deadly, Invader’s symbol striking black along the side. Zim’s spooch twisted with anticipation watching it.
Dib began to gnaw at his claws.
Engine pods fired; the ship began to roll and turn away, headed out towards deep space when - explosions bloomed along the seams where armor plates met. Redorange orchid petals, lashing out into dark.
Zim laughed. His two-man rebellion begun.
://044. Circle.
Dib took out his old body and looked at it; stroking soft human cheek with dainty claws, ruffling dark errant hair, nothing recognizable in his eyes. Zim sat on the hard metal bench, watching, speaking to no one in particular.
“If you go back - into that - then you’ll die, no doubt.”
Dib-that-was-now (sadder, older, colder, smarter, deadlier - worthy of pride) touched gently the face of Dib-that-had-been. He went between looking his body - he touched his pak. “If I don’t,” he said, (words gentle if tone hadn’t cracked like whip) - “then I should just die now. I can’t forget me.”
://077. What?
“What, what?!” Dib grabbed at his head, tore his fingers through his hair. “A rebellion?! YOU?!”
“Not so loud!” Zim snarled, glancing anxiously about. “Not a rebellion - a takeover so I can make things better.”
Dib didn’t look convinced. “Why?”
Zim lashed out, dragged him forward, gasped bloodily into his face: “Because it was mine. Because earth was all mine and they took it, they tried to get rid of me. Get rid of Zim! The fools!”
Dib reached up carefully, unfolded Zim’s claws from around his collar. “You’re dead meat. Don’t take me with you.”
Zim grinned. “Too late.”