(Untitled)

Jun 06, 2007 09:45

He's mad. He's got to be. Van Zant's survived long enough to get across the ocean, yeah, Quinn's got to give him that, but that doesn't change the fact that the man is absolutely bloody insane-

The old military men had fought the dragons from fighter planes, but their weapons hadn't been able to match the beasts' maneuverability. Van Zant's men ( Read more... )

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Comments 24

one_eyetothesky June 6 2007, 16:47:08 UTC
Creedy "rolls" his pointer finger next to his temple as he walks up, though if you don't know him, it probably looks like he's scratching an itch. He walks up behind Quinn.

He didn't move fast, because there was enough fast going on and he didn't want it to become a tugging match between himself and Van Zant. Just pull Quinn back to safety, let these madmen get themselves killed, and take care of his own. That was the plan.

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twoeyesonthesky June 6 2007, 16:52:23 UTC
Quinn for his part is plenty happy to let the Americans dash about like maniacs and get themselves killed. The sooner, the better- though he'd rather they drew the dragon off first if it came right down to it. He starts in Creedy's direction-

-and stops because those maniacs are-

"No! No! Not there!" Quinn starts shouting, and dashes for the battlement stairs instead of the shelter. Unless he's completely mistaken, the damned Americans are setting up their guns directly in front of the castle walls!

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one_eyetothesky June 6 2007, 16:59:45 UTC
Fuck.

"What the hell do they think they're doing?"

He runs after Quinn. Shit shit fuck and double fuck.

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twoeyesonthesky June 6 2007, 17:18:36 UTC
Quinn doesn't answer. He's too busy shouting to Eddie and Jared and anyone else he passes who's reasonably well-positioned in terms of the chain of response, since he's not gonna be able to get the rest of the castle into the shelters. He's got to see this with his own eyes because there's no way he can take this on faith...

They're down at the road, not against the walls proper; that's something. THat's about forty yards of something.

Which is no distance at all to the speck winging its way in from the northwestern horizon as Alex's chopper lifts into the sky.

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