pistachio with caramel and malt
Story: Timeless { backstory | index }
Title: Falling
Rating: PG-13 (slightly dark and violent)
Challenge: Pistachio #22: caught off guard
Toppings/Extras: caramel, malt
Wordcount: 810
Summary: Finbar Breen should have known better.
Notes: The Moonquartz Mystery again… this time with super-spoilers pertaining to the, y’know, murder mystery part of it. Scary!Victor is too fun to resist. It doesn’t happen often. An inappropriately light-hearted malt PFAH: Victor : pics or it didn’t happen.
Victor was meant to be getting far away so that Robyn could turn on the Device. Unfortunately it did not happen that way.
This was because he had run almost straight into Finbar Breen, lounging in one of the outer bays and having a smoke. With a sickening lurch of recognition, Victor tried to continue making his way across the loading bay and through to the servant’s area but he had no such luck. The lanky Breen sloped towards him and grabbed him by the collar, lifting the slender form of Victor entirely from the floor.
“You’re the Blackledge from Valetta,” he said. Without waiting for a response he brought the back of his hand lashing across Victor’s face, making contact with a meaty thud and letting go of him for the sheer joy of watching him fall.
Knowing that he had to get far away from the Device as fast as he could, Victor decided to abandon all thoughts of fighting it out and tried again to go for simple and cowardly escape. Again, it did not work; Finbar was in far better physical shape than him and deliberately stooped to catch at his long, thin legs and send him tumbling earthwards with a crash of sharp pain to his knees.
For good measure, he aimed a kick at the boy like some would a dog.
“Meddling again. Where’s your fucking bodyguard now?”
“Where’s yours?” Victor replied around a throat constricted in pain. Finbar grinned savagely.
“Fyfe isn’t my bodyguard,” he said before slamming his heel down onto Victor’s wrist. There was a jarring flash of white in his vision, a momentary lapse as though his body were preparing itself to create the most blindingly excruciating sensation it could muster, and then it delivered it with passion. Victor felt something snap and his bone marrow turned to nothing but syringe needles and a vague thought crossed his mind: I really shouldn’t be surprised…
The pain trebled when Finbar removed his heel from Victor’s slim, tender wrist. Victor cradled it against himself and sat up slowly. Finbar, used to hearing much more from people he beat in this way, was preparing for another kick.
Victor’s good hand suddenly flew to the bottom of Finbar’s trousers, just above the sock, and touched the skin there.
“What the fuck are you...?”
A sudden whiteness permeated Victor’s irises and he pushed his hand through the skin.
“You’re... fuck!”
With all of the energy he had, Victor forced upon Finbar memories of falling. They rushed in a torrent: tiny Finbar learning to walk, another young Finbar on his way home from private school, teenage Finbar tripping down a stairwell on his way home from a party, Finbar being hit repeatedly by his cousin Alistair, Finbar being hurt and most of all Finbar falling down down down...
Blinded with his memories, filled with the sensation of descent, Finbar thrust his arms in front of himself, overbalanced at an angle and landed with an almighty crash on top of Victor. Groaning and keeping his limp and dangling wrist out of harm’s way, Victor straddled Finbar and put his good hand to Finbar’s head.
The eldest of Colette’s children was whimpering at the cognitive assault as Victor’s fingers finally found their mark; the centre of his forehead. Eyes remaining blank and pearly, he let his hand slip into Finbar’s mind fully.
Everyone’s mind was different. Scarlet’s had been like falling into a pile of pins; Robyn’s had been clean, warm and purple somehow. Finbar’s had a texture like wet velvet, wet with acid, and it stung a little to get past his defences... but only a little. Victor had handled far more guarded people, and before long he had slipped into the cold stream of his brain.
It was an assault of unknown faces and voices. There was a pull like a tide and Victor let it carry him because he was magnetically drawn to what he was looking for; and when he found it...
He was jettisoned into Finbar’s body at that time, at that place. He was in the moonquartz mine, he could feel it all around him, taste the dankness. It was more than that, though. He could feel Finbar’s teeth against his tongue, feel a slightly gnawing hunger as he walked along the shaft of the mine, feel Finbar’s feet against his chequered shoes as he stepped.
The beating of Finbar’s heart, regular and calm.
Fyfe was with him. Like watching through a screen, the movements seemed jerky and a little blurred with time, and Victor could not control it; he could only witness. They were laughing about something. He felt his mouth open, his tongue touching the roof of his mouth and his lips shaping words-
“Let’s test this baby out, shall we?”
He realised he was about to witness a murder.
Title: Falling
Rating: PG-13 (slightly dark and violent)
Challenge: Pistachio #22: caught off guard
Toppings/Extras: caramel, malt
Wordcount: 810
Summary: Finbar Breen should have known better.
Notes: The Moonquartz Mystery again… this time with super-spoilers pertaining to the, y’know, murder mystery part of it. Scary!Victor is too fun to resist. It doesn’t happen often. An inappropriately light-hearted malt PFAH: Victor : pics or it didn’t happen.
Victor was meant to be getting far away so that Robyn could turn on the Device. Unfortunately it did not happen that way.
This was because he had run almost straight into Finbar Breen, lounging in one of the outer bays and having a smoke. With a sickening lurch of recognition, Victor tried to continue making his way across the loading bay and through to the servant’s area but he had no such luck. The lanky Breen sloped towards him and grabbed him by the collar, lifting the slender form of Victor entirely from the floor.
“You’re the Blackledge from Valetta,” he said. Without waiting for a response he brought the back of his hand lashing across Victor’s face, making contact with a meaty thud and letting go of him for the sheer joy of watching him fall.
Knowing that he had to get far away from the Device as fast as he could, Victor decided to abandon all thoughts of fighting it out and tried again to go for simple and cowardly escape. Again, it did not work; Finbar was in far better physical shape than him and deliberately stooped to catch at his long, thin legs and send him tumbling earthwards with a crash of sharp pain to his knees.
For good measure, he aimed a kick at the boy like some would a dog.
“Meddling again. Where’s your fucking bodyguard now?”
“Where’s yours?” Victor replied around a throat constricted in pain. Finbar grinned savagely.
“Fyfe isn’t my bodyguard,” he said before slamming his heel down onto Victor’s wrist. There was a jarring flash of white in his vision, a momentary lapse as though his body were preparing itself to create the most blindingly excruciating sensation it could muster, and then it delivered it with passion. Victor felt something snap and his bone marrow turned to nothing but syringe needles and a vague thought crossed his mind: I really shouldn’t be surprised…
The pain trebled when Finbar removed his heel from Victor’s slim, tender wrist. Victor cradled it against himself and sat up slowly. Finbar, used to hearing much more from people he beat in this way, was preparing for another kick.
Victor’s good hand suddenly flew to the bottom of Finbar’s trousers, just above the sock, and touched the skin there.
“What the fuck are you...?”
A sudden whiteness permeated Victor’s irises and he pushed his hand through the skin.
“You’re... fuck!”
With all of the energy he had, Victor forced upon Finbar memories of falling. They rushed in a torrent: tiny Finbar learning to walk, another young Finbar on his way home from private school, teenage Finbar tripping down a stairwell on his way home from a party, Finbar being hit repeatedly by his cousin Alistair, Finbar being hurt and most of all Finbar falling down down down...
Blinded with his memories, filled with the sensation of descent, Finbar thrust his arms in front of himself, overbalanced at an angle and landed with an almighty crash on top of Victor. Groaning and keeping his limp and dangling wrist out of harm’s way, Victor straddled Finbar and put his good hand to Finbar’s head.
The eldest of Colette’s children was whimpering at the cognitive assault as Victor’s fingers finally found their mark; the centre of his forehead. Eyes remaining blank and pearly, he let his hand slip into Finbar’s mind fully.
Everyone’s mind was different. Scarlet’s had been like falling into a pile of pins; Robyn’s had been clean, warm and purple somehow. Finbar’s had a texture like wet velvet, wet with acid, and it stung a little to get past his defences... but only a little. Victor had handled far more guarded people, and before long he had slipped into the cold stream of his brain.
It was an assault of unknown faces and voices. There was a pull like a tide and Victor let it carry him because he was magnetically drawn to what he was looking for; and when he found it...
He was jettisoned into Finbar’s body at that time, at that place. He was in the moonquartz mine, he could feel it all around him, taste the dankness. It was more than that, though. He could feel Finbar’s teeth against his tongue, feel a slightly gnawing hunger as he walked along the shaft of the mine, feel Finbar’s feet against his chequered shoes as he stepped.
The beating of Finbar’s heart, regular and calm.
Fyfe was with him. Like watching through a screen, the movements seemed jerky and a little blurred with time, and Victor could not control it; he could only witness. They were laughing about something. He felt his mouth open, his tongue touching the roof of his mouth and his lips shaping words-
“Let’s test this baby out, shall we?”
He realised he was about to witness a murder.