Ivory, Sam, R
Hey, just got into Flashpoint fic, and when I stumbled across some of these prompts, I just had to write!
I do feel nervous posting though, there's some awesome work on this comm, and I haven't written in over half a year. My writing muscle has noticeably declined.
Title: Ivory
Author: fruitytv
Characters: Sam, Jules
Word Count: 200
Prompt: #72 Ivory Tower
Rating: R for violence
Warnings: Sniping!
Spoilers: none
Summary: Jules feels cold.
Disclaimer: Not mine. I wish.
Jules kept her riflescope aimed at the subject’s head. Her sniper perch was on the roof of the drama building of a high school. Sam’s vantage was the east-facing turret that covered the main entrance of the quadrangle.
Wind whipped around her. All she wanted to do was scrunch up her neck to keep from the chill, but to do that would be sniper suicide. The turret that Sam was sitting in had a table for him to use, and was out of the cold wind. The school was using it as a trophy room; it probably had heating in there. The white stone seemed to be a beacon for Jules, who’s grey concrete was cold and unforgiving.
Sam was such a princess. Getting to sit up in his Ivory Tower.
Her call sign came over the comms, Greg’s voice cutting through the din of the wind. Shoulders relaxed, stable back and light breathing. Her finger slipped into the guard and pulled on the trigger, the recoil minimal from her stance.
Anger at having to do her job flowed through her, and the wonder as to why she wasn’t the one sitting in that Ivory Tower avoiding this emotional frostiness.
I do feel nervous posting though, there's some awesome work on this comm, and I haven't written in over half a year. My writing muscle has noticeably declined.
Title: Ivory
Author: fruitytv
Characters: Sam, Jules
Word Count: 200
Prompt: #72 Ivory Tower
Rating: R for violence
Warnings: Sniping!
Spoilers: none
Summary: Jules feels cold.
Disclaimer: Not mine. I wish.
Jules kept her riflescope aimed at the subject’s head. Her sniper perch was on the roof of the drama building of a high school. Sam’s vantage was the east-facing turret that covered the main entrance of the quadrangle.
Wind whipped around her. All she wanted to do was scrunch up her neck to keep from the chill, but to do that would be sniper suicide. The turret that Sam was sitting in had a table for him to use, and was out of the cold wind. The school was using it as a trophy room; it probably had heating in there. The white stone seemed to be a beacon for Jules, who’s grey concrete was cold and unforgiving.
Sam was such a princess. Getting to sit up in his Ivory Tower.
Her call sign came over the comms, Greg’s voice cutting through the din of the wind. Shoulders relaxed, stable back and light breathing. Her finger slipped into the guard and pulled on the trigger, the recoil minimal from her stance.
Anger at having to do her job flowed through her, and the wonder as to why she wasn’t the one sitting in that Ivory Tower avoiding this emotional frostiness.