(closed) These violent delights have violent ends

[armd]

WHO: Abby & Ellie
WHAT: Two girls one mission
WHEN: they least expect it (October)
WHERE: Wounded Coast
NOTES: Violence, mention of old trauma and past violence/torture/murder

The Wounded Coast is colder than she thought it would be. There's a southerly blowing up off the top of the water that sets Abby's horse stamping in place, shifting restlessly when she tethers him up near the sparse tree-line. She presses her palm gratefully against his cheek, and offers him a bruised apple from her pocket; the later is the real treat. She leaves him munching, and descends down the track to the beach to get a better scope of the area, hands dropping to her hips as she breathes in.

Scouting wants people out to mark new enemy supply lines up the coast, and thinks they could run into a bit of hassle along the way. It's why she's here and working with somebody out of her usual division: she's the muscle, as per usual. She doesn't mind. Means she gets to do a bit of exploring by herself while she's at it, and it's nice to be away from the Gallows, out in the salt air.

Abby just hopes she hasn't been paired with somebody quiet, or boring, god fucking forbid. Guess she'll have to wait and see.

She's waiting on them to arrive, after managing to worm her way out of getting on the back of a griffon. Yeah it would have been faster, but some how Abby doesn't think it'd work out so good for her. She's trying to make a good first impression here. Sorry, Lev. She'll get back to facing her fears... later. Promise.

Comments

[armd]

"Fine."

It's stilted, careful interaction. Abby remains alert while Ellie doctors herself, just in case something else in the cave decides to take advantage of their brief repose. Maybe the dramatic Rift closure scared everything away... she won't complain.

She catches the pack by her fingertips, and stows it back into her bag without a word.

"Don't think there'd be any supply lines in here," she says, finally. Steering them back toward the mission seems the safest thing to do. It will keep her from lingering on the fight they just had, anyway. "What with the Rift. We should get back." Get you to the infirmary: something else she won't say out loud but probably implies in the way she glances Ellie over, one brow raised.

[notathreat]

Ellie peers for a second too long at Abby's throat, giving a soft sigh as she straightens up, rubbing her hand across her aching head.

"Yeah. Something would've come up by now," she agrees, and starts heading back out through the cave, towards the light. She walks straight enough, but she's been hurt enough times to know she needs to have herself looked at. It's nothing life-threatening, and she could probably push through if she had to, but they can afford to be responsible.

"They'll be glad we closed the Rift," she adds, then fall silent, pulling her glove back into place as they step out and into the light.

"Barely missed a fucking artery," Ellie says suddenly, matter of fact as she looks over Abby's neck.

"An inch over and you'd have bled out."

[armd]

It might not be pretty but it's leagues away from a bad concussion. Ellie pulls slightly ahead as they walk and Abby uses the time to wipe at her neck with the sleeve of her shirt. It comes away red a few times in a row. The scratches need to clot. Means she has to stop fucking with them even though it means she looks like a murder victim as they step out into the light together, Abby blinking, squinting uselessly at the sun and raising her hand to shield her eyes. The rays catch her shard, and reflect bright green.

"I can write up the report." Something else settled now, meaning they don't have to follow up with each other later.

Oh, fuck, they took different modes of transport here. Ellie can't fly the griffon back alone in her condition, and Abby isn't about to do it for her.

They'll have to share the horse.

She's stuck on that unwanted realisation when Ellie suddenly speaks up.

"What?" She touches her neck reflexively. Comes away red again. Damnit, "Yeah, probably." Is Ellie trying to freak her out, or something? She rolls her eyes. "You wish. I've had worse."

[notathreat]

Ellie just nods, but inside she's thankful. Won't have to come up with the words for what happened. It says something that she never gives a thought to whether Abby will disparage her in the report, or do anything less than she should. She's just not that kind of vindictive -- but Ellie doesn't wonder how she knows that. She just does.

She's busy coming to the same conclusion about the horse. She figures she could strap herself down to Artichoke and he'd get them both home, but flying with a head injury will probably be even more miserable, so she discounts the idea. They've done enough today for her to suck it up. Maybe if she aggressively tells herself she doesn't care, it'll actually be true.

"Yeah," she says softly, glancing at Abby. Unbidden, she remembers her at the beach. Stark and skeletal and sunken, with her eyes huge in their sockets, dark smudged shadows and short filthy hair. It's startling how different she is now.

"You have."

It leaves a curious, cold, distant expression on Ellie's face. The remembering.

[armd]

Abby catches her in the disturbing silence, and it gives her pause. Her thumb is hooked into the strap of her bag up by her shoulder, half-way through readjusting the distribution of its weight, and Ellie is looking at her with a strange expression on her face. Resignation, perhaps. Something colder.

It gives Abby a shiver. She disguises the movement of her hands as concern for her wounds, lifting the neck of her shirt to press the underneath of the scratchy material against the blood, wipe it away.

"Right."

The theater.

And yet, for some reason, that look feels very far away from it.

"... Come on," she adds brusquely, electing to ignore it. As if Ellie would explain even if she asked, "Let your griffon know we'll meet it back at the Gallows. We'll take Broomstick."

Uh, that's the horse. Obviously.