(no subject)

[not-one-drop.livejournal.com]

Mal has curled herself into a booth with a blanket around her shoulders, and a sketchpad and pencil in front of her. She seems to be drawing weapons.

Namely swords.

Bother?

Comments

[maydaybrat.livejournal.com]

"No hangover today?"

[not-one-drop.livejournal.com]

"Nope."

Looks up, grins.

"Bar won't give me alcohol, and I'm out of the stuff I had saved. Not drunk today?"

[maydaybrat.livejournal.com]

"Sadly, no. I've decided not to drink any for...a week or so."

[not-one-drop.livejournal.com]

"Oh? Where's the fun in that?"

Chews her pencil, changes a line.

[maydaybrat.livejournal.com]

"Not having to spend time drifting about being a ghost?"

[not-one-drop.livejournal.com]

"Right, the dead thing."

Shrugs.

"Your - second funeral, then."

[maydaybrat.livejournal.com]

"Also, mixing vodka and tequila wasn't the smartest idea I've ever had."

[not-one-drop.livejournal.com]

"Oh? I'd imagine."

Makes a face.

[maydaybrat.livejournal.com]

"Yep. So, what's with the swords?"

[not-one-drop.livejournal.com]

"Oh, I'm going to go home eventually, I figure."

Shrugs.

"And mine was...misplaced."

[maydaybrat.livejournal.com]

"Ah, I see. Anyone here who could make one for you?"

[not-one-drop.livejournal.com]

"No idea."

Looks thoughtful.

"Know of anyone?"

[maydaybrat.livejournal.com]

"Nope. I could ask around, though."

[rigthegames.livejournal.com]

Oh look, it’s Sands, peering over her shoulder.

Perhaps the not-quite-argument they had last time they spoke is still lingering on his mind, because something in his eyes is a little… off at first glance.

Then he grins.

“Not bad.”

[not-one-drop.livejournal.com]

She doesn't jump, because she knew he was there, always knows, but maybe there's something in the way her hand is on the pencil, the way her fingers briefly knot in the blanket.

"Thanks."

[rigthegames.livejournal.com]

He shrugs slightly. The movement would be nervous on anyone else, but on Sands speaks simply of boredom and perhaps a hint of amusement.

“You should get yourself a gun.”

[not-one-drop.livejournal.com]

"I guess."

Erases a point and tries again. The blade curves gracefully, a scimitar.

"If I have to."

[rigthegames.livejournal.com]

Mal is stared at.

Because, really, what kind of person ‘guesses’ a gun?

“If you have to…” Sands echoes softly, and he snorts with laughter.

[not-one-drop.livejournal.com]

"There's something really personal about a sword."

They feel right in her hands, the weight of the blade, the sound of the wind on the edge.

"So, how're you? Have a point for chatting to me?"

[rigthegames.livejournal.com]

He slowly lights up a cigarette, takes a short sharp drag.

“No.”

What point he’s responding to is anybodies guess.

[not-one-drop.livejournal.com]

"Huh."

And she can't help herself, it's instinct. A curious touch to his mind, trying to discern an emotional state.

[rigthegames.livejournal.com]

Darkness.

There’s six months of darkness, inside and out.

Even with the eyes.

A guy can get lost in it, if he’s not careful.


There’s Sands too, mouth twisting into a snarl as his hands grab her shoulders and push her away.

And something in the back of his mind rears up and pushes with them.

[not-one-drop.livejournal.com]

She's thin, yes, but she knows how to move, and only half-shifts, eyes narrowing, mouth opening-

-oh.

Oh.

And she's not alone.

[rigthegames.livejournal.com]

Sands’ hands drop unnoticed to his sides.

Fifty-four years of memories have just settled on his shoulders, of a life that isn’t even his.

Just on the edge of conscience, his lungs let out all their oxygen in one long, slow hiss, the sound strangely distant in his ears.

“Shit.”

A blind step back, and another, and somewhere along the way he ends up on the floor with a hand pressed to his temple.

[not-one-drop.livejournal.com]

She's pressed back in the booth, eyes shut, and the thing is she isn't even trying to stop it, really. She's letting him have all her thoughts, all the pain and the pleasure, letting him have her life.

Eventually, she manages to slow the thoughts to a trickle, not really aware that she's bit her lip and blood is trickling down her chin.

And slowly begins to pull herself upright.