(no subject)
School starts today \o? I had two classes that I'm dropping, so I have no classes at all today! \o/
I have written nearly 3k of the shapeshifter AU. :| There has already been violence! \o/!!!
They drive out of town, out of the suburbs, and into what Ariadne would call a village. Arthur is still clinging to her hand. They’re both armed, they rarely aren’t anymore, since they began burning through extractors. Neither of them believe they are going to the airport, that this is some sort of detour.
“Do you think Eames is all right?” she whispers to him.
“We have to assume that he made it to the airport. He’ll catch up with us,” Arthur says, with a certainty like he is sure that they’re going to be able to get out of this situation. He slides a hand into his inside pocket and carefully pulls out a brown leather satchel. He hands it to her.
It’s heavy and she can feel the clips through the leather. “I need you to hold those for me,” he says. “We might need to switch.”
She feels it just after he says it, the pressing energy that slides over her skin like fur and fills her head with a picture of trees, the forest deep and dark and thick. It’s never happened like that before, and her hand tightens around him. The image is new, but the feeling is not.
“Werewolves,” she says softly, and he nods. It’s the first time they’ve acknowledged the energy between them, but it doesn’t matter now. She can ask about his power later. They’re in danger now.
Ariadne has been lucky in her life. She’s only accidentally entered two werewolf territories in her life, at least close enough to them that she was in actual danger. Werewolves are different than shapeshifters. She could go her entire life without seeing another shapeshifter; they were more solitary and rarer overall. Werewolves were different.
Werewolves took as kindly to shifters being close to the heart of their territory as real wolves would have taken any other threat to theirs. They’re mean and territorial, and they will kill shifters to keep them away. She thinks they might be able to get out of this if she promises to never return, that she was here for a job and has no intentions in staying in Hanoi.
Arthur takes out his gun and leaned up to the cabbie, not yet touching him or threatening him. “Change out,” he says to her, and she drops the clips out of the leather satchel, so they weigh heavy in her lap.
The bullets are shinier than she’s used to, and she says, “Silver plated,” without meaning to, and then the cabbie is looking back at them.
He does something, and the pressing energy of the wolves is more then, suffocating in the cab and her fingers shake as she drops the regular clip for the new. She can’t breathe, her chest feeling heavy and tight, and Arthur is yelling something that she cannot understand.
He begins to shoot the cabbie, and they both know it won’t do any good. If Arthur knows enough to carry silver plated bullets then he knows enough that lead won’t hurt him or slow him down. The cabbie takes a swipe at Arthur, his hand already half-changed and there are deep furrows in his cheek, blood spilling out onto the pristine white of his button up and staining his grey suit. His teeth are clenched, but he isn’t moving yet, looking dazed.
She doesn’t let the cabbie hit him again. She fired twice, the way Eames taught her, one bullet after the other. The first hits the cabbie’s jaw, but the second connects and the driver's side window is awash with blood and brains. The cab veers from the road then, the cabbie’s hand spasming where it was clenched on the wheel.
“Are you okay?” she asks Arthur, nearly shouts it because her ears are ringing from Arthur’s gunshots and then her own, and she reaches out with her hand to touch the ruin of his cheek under all that blood.
I have written nearly 3k of the shapeshifter AU. :| There has already been violence! \o/!!!
They drive out of town, out of the suburbs, and into what Ariadne would call a village. Arthur is still clinging to her hand. They’re both armed, they rarely aren’t anymore, since they began burning through extractors. Neither of them believe they are going to the airport, that this is some sort of detour.
“Do you think Eames is all right?” she whispers to him.
“We have to assume that he made it to the airport. He’ll catch up with us,” Arthur says, with a certainty like he is sure that they’re going to be able to get out of this situation. He slides a hand into his inside pocket and carefully pulls out a brown leather satchel. He hands it to her.
It’s heavy and she can feel the clips through the leather. “I need you to hold those for me,” he says. “We might need to switch.”
She feels it just after he says it, the pressing energy that slides over her skin like fur and fills her head with a picture of trees, the forest deep and dark and thick. It’s never happened like that before, and her hand tightens around him. The image is new, but the feeling is not.
“Werewolves,” she says softly, and he nods. It’s the first time they’ve acknowledged the energy between them, but it doesn’t matter now. She can ask about his power later. They’re in danger now.
Ariadne has been lucky in her life. She’s only accidentally entered two werewolf territories in her life, at least close enough to them that she was in actual danger. Werewolves are different than shapeshifters. She could go her entire life without seeing another shapeshifter; they were more solitary and rarer overall. Werewolves were different.
Werewolves took as kindly to shifters being close to the heart of their territory as real wolves would have taken any other threat to theirs. They’re mean and territorial, and they will kill shifters to keep them away. She thinks they might be able to get out of this if she promises to never return, that she was here for a job and has no intentions in staying in Hanoi.
Arthur takes out his gun and leaned up to the cabbie, not yet touching him or threatening him. “Change out,” he says to her, and she drops the clips out of the leather satchel, so they weigh heavy in her lap.
The bullets are shinier than she’s used to, and she says, “Silver plated,” without meaning to, and then the cabbie is looking back at them.
He does something, and the pressing energy of the wolves is more then, suffocating in the cab and her fingers shake as she drops the regular clip for the new. She can’t breathe, her chest feeling heavy and tight, and Arthur is yelling something that she cannot understand.
He begins to shoot the cabbie, and they both know it won’t do any good. If Arthur knows enough to carry silver plated bullets then he knows enough that lead won’t hurt him or slow him down. The cabbie takes a swipe at Arthur, his hand already half-changed and there are deep furrows in his cheek, blood spilling out onto the pristine white of his button up and staining his grey suit. His teeth are clenched, but he isn’t moving yet, looking dazed.
She doesn’t let the cabbie hit him again. She fired twice, the way Eames taught her, one bullet after the other. The first hits the cabbie’s jaw, but the second connects and the driver's side window is awash with blood and brains. The cab veers from the road then, the cabbie’s hand spasming where it was clenched on the wheel.
“Are you okay?” she asks Arthur, nearly shouts it because her ears are ringing from Arthur’s gunshots and then her own, and she reaches out with her hand to touch the ruin of his cheek under all that blood.