Black Sails: Sacrifice
Titel: Sacrificial Lamb
Challenge: Opferlamm (von
der_jemand)
Fandom: Black Sails
Charaktere: Charles Vane, Ned Low
Pairing: Vane/Eleanor?
Sprache: Englisch
Wörter: 234
Kommentar: Ein kurzes Drabble zu einer Szene aus 2x3, weil ich es zu schätzen weiß, wie ruhig und gleichzeitig wütend Charles Vane gucken kann.
Charles Vane has never wanted to jump over a table more.
Sacrificial Lamb
Charles Vane has never wanted to jump over a table more. Wrap his hands around the throat of the man sitting opposite. Yank down his head and slam it onto the table. Grab the nearest object and cave that bastard’s skull in.
He can feel the weight of his mens’ eyes on him, watching.
Ned Low smiles a smile that doesn’t reach his mismatched eyes. “So that we’re clear. No matter how bloody this feud gets between she and I. I can rest soundly knowing you won’t take no part in it.”
All he can think about is Eleanor’s face in the tavern, her wide-eyed, pleading look.
It would’ve been easier, had Low made a move right there and then. Came after Eleanor with his bloody knife. No time to think then. Just instinct.
But he hadn’t. Careful bastard.
“None whatsoever.” The words taste like ashes in his mouth.
Vane watches him leave. He knows men like him. He’s smelled blood in the water, and he won’t stop.
The bag of gold feels heavy in his hand. Dirty. He wants to fling it after him, scatter the coins over the dusty ground.
It’s not wise to get involved. Let Eleanor solve her own problems for once, or have Flint do it for her.
But Flint isn’t here.
And deep inside, he already knows. He’s going to kill this man.
All he needs is an excuse.
Challenge: Opferlamm (von
der_jemand)
Fandom: Black Sails
Charaktere: Charles Vane, Ned Low
Pairing: Vane/Eleanor?
Sprache: Englisch
Wörter: 234
Kommentar: Ein kurzes Drabble zu einer Szene aus 2x3, weil ich es zu schätzen weiß, wie ruhig und gleichzeitig wütend Charles Vane gucken kann.
Charles Vane has never wanted to jump over a table more.
Sacrificial Lamb
Charles Vane has never wanted to jump over a table more. Wrap his hands around the throat of the man sitting opposite. Yank down his head and slam it onto the table. Grab the nearest object and cave that bastard’s skull in.
He can feel the weight of his mens’ eyes on him, watching.
Ned Low smiles a smile that doesn’t reach his mismatched eyes. “So that we’re clear. No matter how bloody this feud gets between she and I. I can rest soundly knowing you won’t take no part in it.”
All he can think about is Eleanor’s face in the tavern, her wide-eyed, pleading look.
It would’ve been easier, had Low made a move right there and then. Came after Eleanor with his bloody knife. No time to think then. Just instinct.
But he hadn’t. Careful bastard.
“None whatsoever.” The words taste like ashes in his mouth.
Vane watches him leave. He knows men like him. He’s smelled blood in the water, and he won’t stop.
The bag of gold feels heavy in his hand. Dirty. He wants to fling it after him, scatter the coins over the dusty ground.
It’s not wise to get involved. Let Eleanor solve her own problems for once, or have Flint do it for her.
But Flint isn’t here.
And deep inside, he already knows. He’s going to kill this man.
All he needs is an excuse.