[Deaths] Julian De'Ath & the Morrigan
Title: heat of the moment
'Verse/characters: Deaths; Julian De'Ath, the Morrigan
Prompt: 46D "drop"
Word Count: 427
Notes: expanded from the spark "DUCK!"; between good morrow and never simple.
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It was a pretty nice meadow, this morning, and it sure isn't now.
"Duck!" the Morrigan yells from somewhere nearby, and she automatically obeys, tosses herself to a three-point stance that's nearly flush with the ground, scythe held with her other hand and boot-toes digging into the churned-up dirt to keep herself from skidding.
She doesn't flinch at the report of a gun from close range, in part because she's trying to figure out where the nearest man is, and in part because she's trying very hard not to just drop completely flat. She doesn't wince when another pair of boots use the middle of her back as a springboard, though she does make a mental note to tell the Morrigan that if she does that again she'd better be wearing lighter shoes.
She lets a few heartbeats go by, then shoves with her arm hard enough to give her the momentum to spring from the knees and come up properly swinging.
She damn near takes a man's head clean off his shoulders before the sparks start flying, and that startles his companions enough that she gets the few more swings she needs in to clear her space. No-one ever seems to expect a scytheman to move the way she does, or if they do they've never seen someone trained by Edmund De'Ath fighting to kill.
The last man goes down a little harder than she entirely meant him to, body bouncing once before he fades to sparks.
When she looks around, for companion or someone else to punch with a scythe butt, she finds the Morrigan and four crows kicking the crew of a shoulder-mount cannon around like so many toys.
"Hey!" she roars over in a credible imitation of her uncle if she does say so herself, "Eyes front, lady!"
And just like that the Morrigan's laughing, spiking a man in the neck and taking off running again.
It's not until after the fight's done and she's got collection duty--again, damn it, some of the smiths play much better cards than they should--that the Morrigan bounces by, still flying high from the energy she's pulling out of the air, says "You sound just like your father, dear. It'll be fun to see you both together again."
She pauses, thinking that over, as she'd meant to aim for uncle and apparently arrived instead at father, but then remembers that the Morrigan's spent far more time with Engeltod roaring at her in the field than she has with Teufeltod, so maybe it's less speaker and more hearer.
'Verse/characters: Deaths; Julian De'Ath, the Morrigan
Prompt: 46D "drop"
Word Count: 427
Notes: expanded from the spark "DUCK!"; between good morrow and never simple.
---------
It was a pretty nice meadow, this morning, and it sure isn't now.
"Duck!" the Morrigan yells from somewhere nearby, and she automatically obeys, tosses herself to a three-point stance that's nearly flush with the ground, scythe held with her other hand and boot-toes digging into the churned-up dirt to keep herself from skidding.
She doesn't flinch at the report of a gun from close range, in part because she's trying to figure out where the nearest man is, and in part because she's trying very hard not to just drop completely flat. She doesn't wince when another pair of boots use the middle of her back as a springboard, though she does make a mental note to tell the Morrigan that if she does that again she'd better be wearing lighter shoes.
She lets a few heartbeats go by, then shoves with her arm hard enough to give her the momentum to spring from the knees and come up properly swinging.
She damn near takes a man's head clean off his shoulders before the sparks start flying, and that startles his companions enough that she gets the few more swings she needs in to clear her space. No-one ever seems to expect a scytheman to move the way she does, or if they do they've never seen someone trained by Edmund De'Ath fighting to kill.
The last man goes down a little harder than she entirely meant him to, body bouncing once before he fades to sparks.
When she looks around, for companion or someone else to punch with a scythe butt, she finds the Morrigan and four crows kicking the crew of a shoulder-mount cannon around like so many toys.
"Hey!" she roars over in a credible imitation of her uncle if she does say so herself, "Eyes front, lady!"
And just like that the Morrigan's laughing, spiking a man in the neck and taking off running again.
It's not until after the fight's done and she's got collection duty--again, damn it, some of the smiths play much better cards than they should--that the Morrigan bounces by, still flying high from the energy she's pulling out of the air, says "You sound just like your father, dear. It'll be fun to see you both together again."
She pauses, thinking that over, as she'd meant to aim for uncle and apparently arrived instead at father, but then remembers that the Morrigan's spent far more time with Engeltod roaring at her in the field than she has with Teufeltod, so maybe it's less speaker and more hearer.