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 Posted: Sun Dec 25, 2005 1:51 am
[ Message temporarily off-line ]
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Posted: Sun Dec 25, 2005 2:16 am
FBK - Nadya's Locks----------- "Saw, don't." Ann's steely fingers found his arm, cold grip holding him back. Sasha paused, eyes still fixed on the huddled figure by the base of the stairs before he dropped his gaze slowly to hers.
"Why not? She is cold, yes?" His tattered jacket was crumpled in his mitt, already held out in offering. His heavy accent rumbled with old Russian overtones, warm despite the muddy snow.
Ann shrugged, wrapping her arms around her own skinny frame as she took a step back. "Yeah, but she's sick. You know, sick." It was obvious by the way Saw was glaring, brows knitted below his matted green 'hawk that he wasn't quite sure that was an acceptable excuse. "Somethin' goin 'round, Saw. When you get sick...you don't get better. Listen to her."
Slowly, the massive fist holding the coat dropped to Sasha's side. He listened, just as Ann told him...brows lowering further at the sound of shaking, tearing coughs. Shrugging with a roll of his wide shoulders, Saw wadded up the old army jacket and hurled it across the icy street before calling out. "For you, eh?"
Shaking her head, Ann watched as the girl lifted her face...reaching for the jacket as it skidded in the slush of the gutter. That was Saw, all action and no thought. "Well, now you're without a jacket, hey big guy? Don't catch cold on your way home. Say hi to Nadya for me."
A smile spread across Sasha's face at the mention of his baby sister, one hand settling upon Ann's head to muss her bright blue hair. "I do that. Go, get warm."
Ann grinned as well, more at his accent than as a smile in return. She loved hearing him talk, like an oversized villain in a Bond flick. Saw watched a moment longer, to be sure she was safe, before turning back towards home.
Another cough, this one from the alley, gave him a moment of pause. Someone else was sick? Or...had that been Ann? Face dark once more, Saw bent to wipe his hand in the snow before trudging onward.
~
His pace had quickened by the time he reached his block...great bellows of warm breath curling in the cold air. Two more people coughing, and one laying still...all in the street, as though turned out from their own houses. Scowling like a thundercloud, Saw shouldered open his door...turning to fumble at the lock with thick cold fingers behind him.
As it snicked into place, a muffled cough echoed from the back.
For a moment, Sasha stood frozen...back stiff, and the frozen spikes of his hair almost brushing the ceiling. Turning slowly, he stared down the hall.
There stood Nadya, framed in her doorway...mouth covered with the crook of her elbow. Her blond hair was mussed, blue eyes glaring over her rumpled sleeve. "What's your problem, peshka?" Always tough, just like her brother.
Saw narrowed his eyes to hear such words coming from her mouth, but he knew damn well where she learned them. "Just you, shestiorka." His earring flashed as he jerked, startled by the slamming of her door even though he saw it coming. Kicking off his heavy boots, Saw lingered for one moment longer before trudging to the garage.
He could still hear her coughing as he kicked his door shut behind him, hung his head, and started to cry.
~
The morning brought no hope, only the weak and labored hacking that drifted from the bathroom. Still shaking off the numbness of sleep, Saw wiped his eyes with the back of his inked wrist and listened for a moment at the door. A steady buzz thrummed, confusing him for a moment before worry pushed him farther.
Locked. Squaring his shoulder, coils of the serpent bunching as he flexed, Sasha slammed it in. Nadya spun, almost falling from the stool she balanced upon.
"Sasha Petrov! What the ******** are you doing! I locked it!" The clippers dangled from one hand, still vibrating quietly as pale strands settled to the floor. She was shorn from temple back, one smooth strip reduced to fuzz.
Saw's brows slammed together, knot in his neck jumping as he struggled for voice. "No, what the ******** YOU are doing, Nadya! Skatina! Khrenoten!!" One hand lashed forward, but she was quicker...yanking the trimmer back and wobbling on the stool as another round of coughs bent her double, though her glare never left him.
When she could finally speak, Nadya growled and turned back to the mirror...pushing the trim line higher along the side of her head. "I'm doing...whatever the hell I want. Quit staring, it makes you look dumb." She purposefully smothered her accent, knowing it would bother him.
Fists closing, Saw watched more of her pale blond locks settle to the scarred floor. His voice was quiet, though, when he spoke. "Why now?"
Her hand paused for a moment, shears still pressed to her scalp. "I'm gonna die soon, right? No other time to do it." She refused to meet his gaze in the reflection, ignoring the hulking form of her brother in the mirror as she continued her push.
Saw could see the tears in her eyes, even in the warped glass. She could see the tears in his as well, if she bothered to look. He opened his mouth to speak, but lost the words as she doubled over once again...blood flecking from her lips to speckle the yellowed sink.
Nadya was still coughing as Saw took the clippers from her hand...pulling back her bangs as he touched metal gently to flesh. "Ne hnich, Nadya." Don't cry. I will be here.
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Posted: Sun Dec 25, 2005 5:20 pm
FBK - First Blood----------- Forward. Forward. A mantra of movement, ceaseless and numbing. A pale, trembling hand reached across the unkempt grass...fingers straining for the distant beacon. Blades of greenery brushed unfelt under the lined palm, crushed as the hand slapped downward. Slowly, the fist closed...soil and grit digging under what few fingernails remained. The hand gripped, stiff muscles bunching...and the remains of Mr. Takahashi slid forward another precious few inches with a muffled and desperate groan.
As his other arm flopped forward, seeking a new handhold, the necrotic ruin of the elderly pharmacists face rose from the dew covered lawn. Neck wobbling, he stared forward for a few long moments...glasses askew and uselessly dangling across his face. Behind him, a trail of mud and flesh, clotted with dark blood and smeared with foul excretions. Within this dark trench, something pale flopped and shivered like a shattered tail...the remains of his spinal column, stripped of flesh and hips.
His face sank back to the grass as strength waned, hunger holding him in a painful grip. Slanted eyes closing, he pulled forward again...the wet grass plastering his graying hair to the side of his bloodied head. Grunting and straining like a brute trying to relieve itself, he tossed forward his other arm and dragged his torso another foot closer to the prize.
There, in the distance, not so far now...a tiny speck of hope burned and flickered. A fire, small and contained...not like the guttering blazes that dotted the city with foul smoke. The silence of determination had settled over him, groans fading into the grinding of chipped and blackened teeth. The hunger filled him, drove him on...this close, he could smell the warmth of something brighter than the fire.
Hand over hand, faster now, he slithered through the grass...the gleam of his crooked glasses catching in the firelight. A body, plump and snoring, curled beside the fire. His mouth opened reflexively, though he wasn't there yet...bottom teeth catching the torn sod and filling his mouth with mud. Clamping his jaws shut, Mr. Takahashi expelled it...letting it squeeze out either side of his mouth as he dragged himself forward.
The light from the fire was blinding, but he didn't need to see. An arm, healthy and living, lay sprawled across the grass...inches from his dirty and grass stained face. For a moment, he paused in rapture over the expanse of inked flesh, with a moan so soft it could be mistaken for a sigh. He tilted his head as though inhaling, though his lungs didn't inflate...savoring the moment for just a second longer before his jaw unhinged and swung wide.
~Sssscht.~
He froze, confused. Flesh didn't scrape...did it? No, that would be the sound of metal, sliding up from the grass. The arm was gone, instead the mangled remains of Mr. Takahashi found himself staring up the cold length of leveled shovel.
The fire crackled and snapped, sending sparks heavenward.
"Sorry, tvar. Be at peace."
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