(no subject)
New arrival to the community and I come bearing a drabblet:
Title: Weapons of choice
Fandom: Coldfire Trilogy
Disclaimer: All this would be C.S. Friedman's fault :P
Rating: PG
Status: One-shot
Summary: Damien. Socks. Demons. Enough said.
Taking the chance to soak the crusts of demon gore from his clothing had seemed a good idea at the time. Keeping his socks on to shield his feet from the prickled shrubs along the river bank, he had let the clear water wash away the black grime, then draped his pants and shirt over low branches to dry out.
Yeah. Good idea. Clean clothes and moving without crunching every step was always good but realising a damned big demon was creeping towards you when your clothes were strung out by the fire to dry wasn’t the best feeling in the world.
Going down fighting in the middle of nowhere wouldn’t be entirely unexpected.
Going down fighting in the middle of nowhere wearing nothing more than a pair of white ankle socks with holes in the toes and patches on the heels would just be embarrassing.
Reaching sideways, he wrapped his hand around the pommel of his sword, the blade hissing softly. He shifted his weight onto his feet, leaning forward a little, saw the glitter of bright eyes. If he hadn’t known what it was, he would have sworn it was laughing at him.
“To hell with you,” he growled. “I like these socks.”
And he attacked.
Title: Weapons of choice
Fandom: Coldfire Trilogy
Disclaimer: All this would be C.S. Friedman's fault :P
Rating: PG
Status: One-shot
Summary: Damien. Socks. Demons. Enough said.
Taking the chance to soak the crusts of demon gore from his clothing had seemed a good idea at the time. Keeping his socks on to shield his feet from the prickled shrubs along the river bank, he had let the clear water wash away the black grime, then draped his pants and shirt over low branches to dry out.
Yeah. Good idea. Clean clothes and moving without crunching every step was always good but realising a damned big demon was creeping towards you when your clothes were strung out by the fire to dry wasn’t the best feeling in the world.
Going down fighting in the middle of nowhere wouldn’t be entirely unexpected.
Going down fighting in the middle of nowhere wearing nothing more than a pair of white ankle socks with holes in the toes and patches on the heels would just be embarrassing.
Reaching sideways, he wrapped his hand around the pommel of his sword, the blade hissing softly. He shifted his weight onto his feet, leaning forward a little, saw the glitter of bright eyes. If he hadn’t known what it was, he would have sworn it was laughing at him.
“To hell with you,” he growled. “I like these socks.”
And he attacked.