two. the river
The river rushes beneath him. His stomach seems to be churning right along with it, bile like seafoam frothing at the back of his mouth, nerves eroding like the concrete blocks that border each side of the river. If Beast throws up a little, over the edge of the bridge and into the water below, it's only out of a feeling of solidarity. The river is thin today, pale and muddy, stretched wide without any depth to give it color, like the blood in Beast's veins. It hasn't rained.
He feels sick, oh god damn, he feels so sick.
Just as Beast is emptying his already empty stomach of acid, spitting the last taste of it over the railing, someone speaks behind him. "We've got to stop meeting like this." It's spoken directly to him, expecting an answer, a response, a shred of thought on his part, and that's how Beast can tell the difference between the speaker and the rest of the crowds pushing their way past, a river in their own right.
Beast sighs and turns, leaning back against the steel pipe rail at the edge of the bridge. "So cold."
Silhouette clutches her coat closer, even though the weather isn't the type of cold he meant. "I don't have the time," she says icily, "For this."
She never has the time for this. Her lips are chaped, long dark hair tied back, in her work clothes. Beast loves her work clothes, tonguing his sharp side teeth as he admires the stark contrast of her clavicle where it shows past the collar of her smooth white dress shirt. Silhouette's impassive stare meets his aching one, and Beast looks away quickly.
"Got a job," he shrugs, curling his itching veins into his own jacket. "We do."
Silhouette is unimpressed. "I figured. How does it pay?"
Beast shrugs and stutters, shivers as he takes three shaking tries to say, "Tough times, tough times." When the words don't exactly work out, too timid and afraid of Silhouette to make it out all the way, Beast offers up a wrinkled envelope from the confines of his sleeves.
It's a flash and then in Silhouette's hands, wrenched open with her usual inattention to subtlety, flicking through the contents. "This is it?"
"Tough times," Beast repeats, shaking his head, and this time the words agree and are coherent.
"Not fucking tough enough," she spits, shoving the money roughly into his chest. "Where? And when?"
Beast turns around, facing back out to the river and the ocean beyond. He chews on his knuckle for a moment, teeth scraping over skin and bone before he's stopped shivering enough to answer, "Soon. Day after tomorrow. Got us a room reserved in Mainland. You'll see, you'll see. It'll be easy."
It'll be easy. Silhouette's nose wrinkles and her jaw sets, teeth bared in frustration and mistrust. She doesn't like those words, heard them before. Before she can snap, tell him he better not ever jinx her like that again, an explosion and a storm of screams go up from the middle of the bridge and people immediately press back, pushing Silhouette painfully into the edge of the railing and Beast almost over.
The crowd surges again, back this time, and, clutching her side where the metal crushed against her bones, Silhouette, flies back with them, straining to keep her eyes on Beast, watching him right himself just before his momentum tipped him over. She calls, tries to scream except her lungs are too weak, "Day after tomorrow! Same names as before! Same names as before."
She gets swept away, and a woman clutching her red-streaming head collides with Beast. He can see her skull through the blood and actually groans at the sight, eyes slipping halfway closed before he remembers to turn away, and run.
He feels sick, oh god damn, he feels so sick.
Just as Beast is emptying his already empty stomach of acid, spitting the last taste of it over the railing, someone speaks behind him. "We've got to stop meeting like this." It's spoken directly to him, expecting an answer, a response, a shred of thought on his part, and that's how Beast can tell the difference between the speaker and the rest of the crowds pushing their way past, a river in their own right.
Beast sighs and turns, leaning back against the steel pipe rail at the edge of the bridge. "So cold."
Silhouette clutches her coat closer, even though the weather isn't the type of cold he meant. "I don't have the time," she says icily, "For this."
She never has the time for this. Her lips are chaped, long dark hair tied back, in her work clothes. Beast loves her work clothes, tonguing his sharp side teeth as he admires the stark contrast of her clavicle where it shows past the collar of her smooth white dress shirt. Silhouette's impassive stare meets his aching one, and Beast looks away quickly.
"Got a job," he shrugs, curling his itching veins into his own jacket. "We do."
Silhouette is unimpressed. "I figured. How does it pay?"
Beast shrugs and stutters, shivers as he takes three shaking tries to say, "Tough times, tough times." When the words don't exactly work out, too timid and afraid of Silhouette to make it out all the way, Beast offers up a wrinkled envelope from the confines of his sleeves.
It's a flash and then in Silhouette's hands, wrenched open with her usual inattention to subtlety, flicking through the contents. "This is it?"
"Tough times," Beast repeats, shaking his head, and this time the words agree and are coherent.
"Not fucking tough enough," she spits, shoving the money roughly into his chest. "Where? And when?"
Beast turns around, facing back out to the river and the ocean beyond. He chews on his knuckle for a moment, teeth scraping over skin and bone before he's stopped shivering enough to answer, "Soon. Day after tomorrow. Got us a room reserved in Mainland. You'll see, you'll see. It'll be easy."
It'll be easy. Silhouette's nose wrinkles and her jaw sets, teeth bared in frustration and mistrust. She doesn't like those words, heard them before. Before she can snap, tell him he better not ever jinx her like that again, an explosion and a storm of screams go up from the middle of the bridge and people immediately press back, pushing Silhouette painfully into the edge of the railing and Beast almost over.
The crowd surges again, back this time, and, clutching her side where the metal crushed against her bones, Silhouette, flies back with them, straining to keep her eyes on Beast, watching him right himself just before his momentum tipped him over. She calls, tries to scream except her lungs are too weak, "Day after tomorrow! Same names as before! Same names as before."
She gets swept away, and a woman clutching her red-streaming head collides with Beast. He can see her skull through the blood and actually groans at the sight, eyes slipping halfway closed before he remembers to turn away, and run.