flavour of the day, cookies 'n' cream and rocky road with hot fudge and malt
Story: Timeless { backstory | index }
Title: Wrong Line of Work
Rating: PG (language)
Challenge: Cookies ‘n’ Cream #1: run, Rocky Road #4: alley, FOTD: ersatz
Toppings/Extras: malt, hot fudge (first part), fresh peaches
Wordcount: 1,296
Summary: Victor Blackledge makes an escape.
Notes: Trick-or-treat prompt: “Policy of Truth”-Depeche Mode. Ersatz: Being a substitute or imitation, usually an inferior one. Peaches: You won't like the surprises someone has in store.
Ricki Lightowler’s shoes made a sharp smacking noise as she ran over the walkway, legs pumping like pistons, eyes narrowed in grim determination. She was joined by Silas Martin and night had long since fallen over Britannia. They were low in the city, surrounded on all sides by the glassy walls of skyscrapers that vanished far above them, drifts of Smog crawling about their feet. The walkway rang metallically as she tore energetically across it, hot on the heels of a black-clad figure.
As they reached the end of the walkway her quarry quickly darted left, sprinting along the portion of the walkway that clung to the outside of the towering building, ducking down some stairs to the next level down in an instant.
Following him down these stairs plunged Ricki darker into Smog and she waved her arms around in irritation, the grey-green fog turning her target into an indistinct shadow that flitted around the next corner of the tower in an instant.
“For fuck’s sake!”
She sped up, skidding around the corner in time to see the clone ahead of her put his hands on the metal bar of the railing that surrounded the walkway and vault over the edge. She heard Silas gasp but she was already starting forwards, leaning over the railing in time to see the dark-haired young man land catlike on the floor below.
“Victor Blackledge!” she barked down to him with seething anger in her voice. “You should stop running!”
She glared down from the side of the building to the walkway he had just leapt onto but knew she wouldn’t dare. Just a little too far to one side or the other and she would hurtle to a painful death. After slamming both of her hands down onto the railing in frustration, causing a jarring ringing sound to echo between the closely-packed buildings, Ricki spun around and ran to the nearest stairs to the next level down. Her quarry was already slipping away through the Smog.
“When’d the kid get so fast?” Silas panted as he followed after her.
They arrived at the next floor down fully expecting to have lost him but they saw the clone haring into the next building-a public area of it which was doorless, open to the cold night air like a tunnel. Lanterns dotted the walkways and light filtered out through the various windows, but it was faint and tinged with unearthly green in the rolling Smog.
Following him through the tunnel, they saw him dart off through one of the side-streets. Ricki wrinkled her nose. They were in the underbelly and heading closer to the lower levels-easily, she slipped a gun out from a holster under one armpit and followed behind the Blackledge.
The lights were dim and crackling and the air was frigid, small wisps of Smog still lining it; although they were technically inside of the building, there was no barrier between the entrance to the labyrinthine interior and the outside of the ‘scraper. Above her head, half of the lights weren’t working and the ones that did flickered on and off. The doors on either side of her, leading to people’s homes, were all bolted and locked tight. People around here were used to trouble.
When she darted around a corner and found the Blackledge at a dead end, triumph filled her like a complacent flood. Grinning, she levelled the gun at the young man. Silas jogged around the corner a moment later-a bulky, imposing-looking man. Unfortunately, in Ricki’s opinion he was also dumb as a bag of hammers, but he had his uses.
“Got you,” she hissed.
The clone had his back to her, sleeves of his black polo-neck rolled to the elbow, exposing milk-pale skin that appeared almost luminous in the gloom. He turned his head in profile and she noticed he was grinning. Her sharp brows cut into a frown at the out-of-character behaviour.
She became further worried when the clone began to laugh.
“I can’t believe it!” he wheezed suddenly as he spun to face her. His face was cracked into a wide smile and his shoulders heaved with his amusement. “The oldest trick in the book.”
Ricki’s glare intensified as his meaning floundered just out of reach.
“What?”
“I know we’re clones,” the Blackledge continued, folding his arms in front of his chest and continuing to grin, “but did you really think I was Victor? Really?” He chuckled again. “What a tool you are.”
“Where is he?” Ricki demanded in a guttural snarl as Silas gawped.
“Yeah, like I’d make all this effort distracting you so I could go right ahead and tell you where he actually went,” the Blackledge said. He leaned back against the wall and smirked. “Ma’am, you’ve been had. Good evening.”
Ricki did not lower the gun.
“You bastard,” she said.
The clone shrugged lightly as though saying, ‘nothing personal.’ The grin didn’t leave his face for one moment.
“Ricki,” Silas said uneasily. “Come on. We’re not meant to-…”
“Shut it,” Ricki snapped, cracking the safety catch off. The click echoed hollowly and the clone in front of her raised an eyebrow. “We’ve just been humiliated.”
“But we shouldn’t-…”
“Shut up, Silas.” Her finger tightened over the trigger. “Is this really worth dying for, Blackledge?”
The clone shrugged.
“Is this really worth killing for?”
“Yes,” Ricki said, and fired.
-----
The tube was getting busier as the winding metal train approached the city centre. Robyn Walshe and Victor Blackledge gazed out of the window at the nighttime city landscape, their views slightly marred by their own reflections. The gleaming snake of a vehicle in its suspended glass tube wound its way through the city and used the densely-packed skyscrapers as a support system.
“Do you think Ruben will be OK?” Robyn asked after a moment, turning her gaze towards her friend. Victor continued to gaze at the passing landscape for a moment and then turned to face her with a half-smile.
“He’ll be fine,” he said. “He’s laserproof.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“No.”
Robyn leaned her head back against the window and let her eyebrows rise to the top of her forehead. It wouldn’t be long before they arrived back at Hamlet Tower-back to safety. A sturdy duffel bag rested just behind her chunky military-style boots, freshly stolen.
“Your friends… or siblings, or whatever I’m meant to call them… will never cease to amaze me.”
“‘Clones’ will do,” Victor said with a shrug, gazing at his feet. “He owes me a favour.”
“A favour?” Robyn asked. “What have you done for him that he’s willing to run halfway across the city for?”
He smiled a little sheepishly and didn’t say anything. Robyn took her cue to change the subject.
“You realise that Lightowler will kill you the next time she sees you?”
“She’s always trying to kill me.”
Robyn grinned.
“We have some good times, eh?”
“Uh…” Victor frowned slightly. “Yes?”
“You did a good job today,” Robyn offered kindly. “Moxley’s going to be proud of you.”
“I don’t…” Victor’s gaze dipped hesitantly before his grey eyes rose again to meet hers. “I don’t really care what Moxley thinks.”
Robyn felt warm to the pit of her belly. The puffy sleeveless jacket she wore crinkled as she folded her arms and smiled back at him, bringing up her long legs to fold them up on the seat as the train pulled out of the latest station and continued on its journey. You’re in the wrong line of work, she wanted to tell her friend and comrade, but she knew it wasn’t a good thing to say. Victor was trapped in the job just like she was.
Instead she said, “Good,” and left it at that.
Title: Wrong Line of Work
Rating: PG (language)
Challenge: Cookies ‘n’ Cream #1: run, Rocky Road #4: alley, FOTD: ersatz
Toppings/Extras: malt, hot fudge (first part), fresh peaches
Wordcount: 1,296
Summary: Victor Blackledge makes an escape.
Notes: Trick-or-treat prompt: “Policy of Truth”-Depeche Mode. Ersatz: Being a substitute or imitation, usually an inferior one. Peaches: You won't like the surprises someone has in store.
Ricki Lightowler’s shoes made a sharp smacking noise as she ran over the walkway, legs pumping like pistons, eyes narrowed in grim determination. She was joined by Silas Martin and night had long since fallen over Britannia. They were low in the city, surrounded on all sides by the glassy walls of skyscrapers that vanished far above them, drifts of Smog crawling about their feet. The walkway rang metallically as she tore energetically across it, hot on the heels of a black-clad figure.
As they reached the end of the walkway her quarry quickly darted left, sprinting along the portion of the walkway that clung to the outside of the towering building, ducking down some stairs to the next level down in an instant.
Following him down these stairs plunged Ricki darker into Smog and she waved her arms around in irritation, the grey-green fog turning her target into an indistinct shadow that flitted around the next corner of the tower in an instant.
“For fuck’s sake!”
She sped up, skidding around the corner in time to see the clone ahead of her put his hands on the metal bar of the railing that surrounded the walkway and vault over the edge. She heard Silas gasp but she was already starting forwards, leaning over the railing in time to see the dark-haired young man land catlike on the floor below.
“Victor Blackledge!” she barked down to him with seething anger in her voice. “You should stop running!”
She glared down from the side of the building to the walkway he had just leapt onto but knew she wouldn’t dare. Just a little too far to one side or the other and she would hurtle to a painful death. After slamming both of her hands down onto the railing in frustration, causing a jarring ringing sound to echo between the closely-packed buildings, Ricki spun around and ran to the nearest stairs to the next level down. Her quarry was already slipping away through the Smog.
“When’d the kid get so fast?” Silas panted as he followed after her.
They arrived at the next floor down fully expecting to have lost him but they saw the clone haring into the next building-a public area of it which was doorless, open to the cold night air like a tunnel. Lanterns dotted the walkways and light filtered out through the various windows, but it was faint and tinged with unearthly green in the rolling Smog.
Following him through the tunnel, they saw him dart off through one of the side-streets. Ricki wrinkled her nose. They were in the underbelly and heading closer to the lower levels-easily, she slipped a gun out from a holster under one armpit and followed behind the Blackledge.
The lights were dim and crackling and the air was frigid, small wisps of Smog still lining it; although they were technically inside of the building, there was no barrier between the entrance to the labyrinthine interior and the outside of the ‘scraper. Above her head, half of the lights weren’t working and the ones that did flickered on and off. The doors on either side of her, leading to people’s homes, were all bolted and locked tight. People around here were used to trouble.
When she darted around a corner and found the Blackledge at a dead end, triumph filled her like a complacent flood. Grinning, she levelled the gun at the young man. Silas jogged around the corner a moment later-a bulky, imposing-looking man. Unfortunately, in Ricki’s opinion he was also dumb as a bag of hammers, but he had his uses.
“Got you,” she hissed.
The clone had his back to her, sleeves of his black polo-neck rolled to the elbow, exposing milk-pale skin that appeared almost luminous in the gloom. He turned his head in profile and she noticed he was grinning. Her sharp brows cut into a frown at the out-of-character behaviour.
She became further worried when the clone began to laugh.
“I can’t believe it!” he wheezed suddenly as he spun to face her. His face was cracked into a wide smile and his shoulders heaved with his amusement. “The oldest trick in the book.”
Ricki’s glare intensified as his meaning floundered just out of reach.
“What?”
“I know we’re clones,” the Blackledge continued, folding his arms in front of his chest and continuing to grin, “but did you really think I was Victor? Really?” He chuckled again. “What a tool you are.”
“Where is he?” Ricki demanded in a guttural snarl as Silas gawped.
“Yeah, like I’d make all this effort distracting you so I could go right ahead and tell you where he actually went,” the Blackledge said. He leaned back against the wall and smirked. “Ma’am, you’ve been had. Good evening.”
Ricki did not lower the gun.
“You bastard,” she said.
The clone shrugged lightly as though saying, ‘nothing personal.’ The grin didn’t leave his face for one moment.
“Ricki,” Silas said uneasily. “Come on. We’re not meant to-…”
“Shut it,” Ricki snapped, cracking the safety catch off. The click echoed hollowly and the clone in front of her raised an eyebrow. “We’ve just been humiliated.”
“But we shouldn’t-…”
“Shut up, Silas.” Her finger tightened over the trigger. “Is this really worth dying for, Blackledge?”
The clone shrugged.
“Is this really worth killing for?”
“Yes,” Ricki said, and fired.
-----
The tube was getting busier as the winding metal train approached the city centre. Robyn Walshe and Victor Blackledge gazed out of the window at the nighttime city landscape, their views slightly marred by their own reflections. The gleaming snake of a vehicle in its suspended glass tube wound its way through the city and used the densely-packed skyscrapers as a support system.
“Do you think Ruben will be OK?” Robyn asked after a moment, turning her gaze towards her friend. Victor continued to gaze at the passing landscape for a moment and then turned to face her with a half-smile.
“He’ll be fine,” he said. “He’s laserproof.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“No.”
Robyn leaned her head back against the window and let her eyebrows rise to the top of her forehead. It wouldn’t be long before they arrived back at Hamlet Tower-back to safety. A sturdy duffel bag rested just behind her chunky military-style boots, freshly stolen.
“Your friends… or siblings, or whatever I’m meant to call them… will never cease to amaze me.”
“‘Clones’ will do,” Victor said with a shrug, gazing at his feet. “He owes me a favour.”
“A favour?” Robyn asked. “What have you done for him that he’s willing to run halfway across the city for?”
He smiled a little sheepishly and didn’t say anything. Robyn took her cue to change the subject.
“You realise that Lightowler will kill you the next time she sees you?”
“She’s always trying to kill me.”
Robyn grinned.
“We have some good times, eh?”
“Uh…” Victor frowned slightly. “Yes?”
“You did a good job today,” Robyn offered kindly. “Moxley’s going to be proud of you.”
“I don’t…” Victor’s gaze dipped hesitantly before his grey eyes rose again to meet hers. “I don’t really care what Moxley thinks.”
Robyn felt warm to the pit of her belly. The puffy sleeveless jacket she wore crinkled as she folded her arms and smiled back at him, bringing up her long legs to fold them up on the seat as the train pulled out of the latest station and continued on its journey. You’re in the wrong line of work, she wanted to tell her friend and comrade, but she knew it wasn’t a good thing to say. Victor was trapped in the job just like she was.
Instead she said, “Good,” and left it at that.