"How are you sure we're alive?"

feel free to combine multiple prompts or add  “ + reverse ”  to switch roles !   for reference, the one sending in the prompt is the one committing the action.

( cold ) : one muse finds the other frozen half to death outside 

Mikhails Voice was thunderous as he swore when he received the news from a frantic guard. He’d only just had the warning note written and sent along with the broken necklace. It was going to be a nightmare if they got the message, and they’d lost their bargaining chip. The lock on the window in her room, broken. The girl gone.

Mikhail had sent a number of men scattering to search the edges of the property and alert the guards that already patrolled it as he went to fetch his own coat and boots. She couldn’t have gotten far, he knew. Not over the tall fence that surrounded the property, or gone unseen through the gates. Not to mention, it was freezing, and the girl was only in thin pajamas. She was trapped like a rat in a box. It was only a matter of finding her before she caught her death of cold and they had to deal with the troubles that would bring.

There wasn’t much in the way of fresh snow, but it was easy enough to spot her tracks from the opened window she’d gotten out from. The tracks of his men were precise, measured. Hers were frantic and messy as they led towards the woods that the back of the manor faced.

She was easy to spot even in the dim light of the moonlight reflecting off the snow. The bright pink the only thing of color in the landscape of whites and grays and browns. For a moment though, he wonders if it’s too late. Her pale skin even paler and blue from cold. But there was a pulse, and the weak rise of her chest with each breath.

He had tried to have a little kindness for the girl who’d been so oblivious to the truth of her life and families work. Tried to give her a little privacy. And she’d spat the effort back at his face. It wasn’t a mistake he would make again. She’d need to be watched at all times, apparently.

For now, though, she needed watched in a different way.

As expected, a fire was blazing in the hearth of the fireplace in his own personal quarters. He set her down upon the sofa that faced it before pulling it closer to the fire, and pulling a few blankets from the bed to drape over her.

One needed warmed slowly, after being in such cold. Something he knew well from his boyhood back in Russia.

Seeing the fireplace she didn't have the energy to turn away or look at anything else it was hard to determine what was currently real and what wasn't. She sighs in relief, she was at her childhood home, safe and sound. Her lips twitched into a little smile. She blinks a few more times and it was as if she had been doused in cold water. This wasn't the fireplace she loved to look it. In fact it didn't look anything like it, nor was there the portrait black and white photos that hung above it. She didn't make it.

Her expression twisted from disbelief to then horror. She was back where she had first started all over again, the snake's escape attempt was futile and once again she was part of the bear's den. She was only able to summon one word.

( cold ) : one muse finds the other frozen half to death outside 

Mikhails Voice was thunderous as he swore when he received the news from a frantic guard. He’d only just had the warning note written and sent along with the broken necklace. It was going to be a nightmare if they got the message, and they’d lost their bargaining chip. The lock on the window in her room, broken. The girl gone.

Mikhail had sent a number of men scattering to search the edges of the property and alert the guards that already patrolled it as he went to fetch his own coat and boots. She couldn’t have gotten far, he knew. Not over the tall fence that surrounded the property, or gone unseen through the gates. Not to mention, it was freezing, and the girl was only in thin pajamas. She was trapped like a rat in a box. It was only a matter of finding her before she caught her death of cold and they had to deal with the troubles that would bring.

There wasn’t much in the way of fresh snow, but it was easy enough to spot her tracks from the opened window she’d gotten out from. The tracks of his men were precise, measured. Hers were frantic and messy as they led towards the woods that the back of the manor faced.

She was easy to spot even in the dim light of the moonlight reflecting off the snow. The bright pink the only thing of color in the landscape of whites and grays and browns. For a moment though, he wonders if it’s too late. Her pale skin even paler and blue from cold. But there was a pulse, and the weak rise of her chest with each breath.

Lucy suppressed a scream as she fell out of the window onto a pile of fresh snow. The air knocked the wind from her and her skin stung from the bitter cold powder. Her eyes squinted from an equally cold gust of wind. She wasn't sure where the exit would even be in a place like this but, she had no time to think. She forced herself to run and run, and run. Shivers rippled violently through her ignoring the stinging. The thought of freedom and her warm apartment kept her moving. But the cold was only getting worse.

How long had she been walking? She wasn't sure when she had lost feeling in her feet, but her muscles were next. The running became a wobbly off balanced jog, then that too slowed down to a violent, shiver filled walk. Her mind drifted to her home, her brother, the guards that watched her dutifully as her "Uncles." Where were they? Lucy had lurched forward, crumpling to the ground in a heap. The world around her seemed darker and she lulls her head forward as she surrendered to unconsciousness.

Send me a symbol and I’ll tell you about…

Uhhhh. What?

"You're going to be alright" Says the elder Spartan Its more of a reassurance for himself than anything. The young Spartan's head was the least of her worries; a 3-foot long shard of Jiralhanae tungsten jutted out of her belly like a speartip. The fact that she was still talking was miraculous in and of itself. @kedvesorias

The Spartan's helmet-clad head had rolled back to rest onto a piece of the broken wall she had taken refuge behind. A labored breath could be heard through her external speakers as her arms hung loosely at her sides. Overhead she watched as plasma fire momentarily sear past through the darkened skies. A glove-covered hand grasped at her MA5B assault rifle with a barely audible sounding grunt. She gives a slow shake of her head in an attempt to clear the bleariness. "I think, I hit my head?" She leans forward in an attempt to stand up but succeeded instead in a sitting position with her head now rolling forward to see something sticking out from her.

That further confused the woman and thinking it was a piece of broken debris tried to brush it off of her midsection. She stopped however when that seemed to send a burst of fire-like pain through her veins accompanied by a rush of nausea. An audible groan left her as she pulls her hand back only to see an all too familiar deep red liquid. That wasn't good, it wasn't the first time she had seen her own blood nor will it be the last. And yet, her words spilled out once more. "I, really think I got hurt." She took a breath to settle the churning wave rolling over her to quarrel the bile rising in her throat to then check her HUD and took to rolling just a bit.

"Can you shoot?" She found herself nodding and a quiet calm settling within her. A hiss left her from a bolt of pain and took aim pointing the rifle dead center of their surroundings. "Affirmative." The III replied in a cool tone with a hint of bitterness. Anger boiled within her threatening to spill over. And yet, her body was still and precise, as best as she could accommodate in her position. It wasn't long now. The Jiralhanae were a driven species with honor driving them forward even to their own deaths. And if they weren't killed quickly a grouping of them could be a really big problem. It had to be quick. The Spartan's head jerked as she peers out into the distance as a familiar ping blinked on her HUD.

"You're going to be alright" Says the elder Spartan Its more of a reassurance for himself than anything. The young Spartan's head was the least of her worries; a 3-foot long shard of Jiralhanae tungsten jutted out of her belly like a speartip. The fact that she was still talking was miraculous in and of itself. @kedvesorias

The Spartan's helmet-clad head had rolled back to rest onto a piece of the broken wall she had taken refuge behind. A labored breath could be heard through her external speakers as her arms hung loosely at her sides. Overhead she watched as plasma fire momentarily sear past through the darkened skies. A glove-covered hand grasped at her MA5B assault rifle with a barely audible sounding grunt. She gives a slow shake of her head in an attempt to clear the bleariness. "I think, I hit my head?" She leans forward in an attempt to stand up but succeeded instead in a sitting position with her head now rolling forward to see something sticking out from her.

That further confused the woman and thinking it was a piece of broken debris tried to brush it off of her midsection. She stopped however when that seemed to send a burst of fire-like pain through her veins accompanied by a rush of nausea. An audible groan left her as she pulls her hand back only to see an all too familiar deep red liquid. That wasn't good, it wasn't the first time she had seen her own blood nor will it be the last. And yet, her words spilled out once more. "I, really think I got hurt." She took a breath to settle the churning wave rolling over her to quarrel the bile rising in her throat to then check her HUD and took to rolling just a bit.

".." She had let out an exhale as she made quick work to check the magazine before sliding it back in and looked to the elder Spartan with a curt nod. She attaches it to her hip in a side holder as she brings her own weapon close to her. Her grip tightened as she felt her heart pound in her ears. It was a risk, run and shoot at every living thing that moves with the hope of staying alive. Her lips moved and a hoarse whisper left her. "Let's repay our guests for the lovely hole they put in me yeah?" Her voice was laced with a deadly calm as trust rang for the other. She had looked to the Spartan since she was a wide-eyed cadet with her fellow 300 other cadets. The man, the bear, was going to charge, and she was in for the ride of her life.

"You're going to be alright" Says the elder Spartan Its more of a reassurance for himself than anything. The young Spartan's head was the least of her worries; a 3-foot long shard of Jiralhanae tungsten jutted out of her belly like a speartip. The fact that she was still talking was miraculous in and of itself. @kedvesorias

The Spartan's helmet-clad head had rolled back to rest onto a piece of the broken wall she had taken refuge behind. A labored breath could be heard through her external speakers as her arms hung loosely at her sides. Overhead she watched as plasma fire momentarily sear past through the darkened skies. A glove-covered hand grasped at her MA5B assault rifle with a barely audible sounding grunt. She gives a slow shake of her head in an attempt to clear the bleariness. "I think, I hit my head?" She leans forward in an attempt to stand up but succeeded instead in a sitting position with her head now rolling forward to see something sticking out from her.

That further confused the woman and thinking it was a piece of broken debris tried to brush it off of her midsection. She stopped however when that seemed to send a burst of fire-like pain through her veins accompanied by a rush of nausea. An audible groan left her as she pulls her hand back only to see an all too familiar deep red liquid. That wasn't good, it wasn't the first time she had seen her own blood nor will it be the last. And yet, her words spilled out once more. "I, really think I got hurt." She took a breath to settle the churning wave rolling over her to quarrel the bile rising in her throat to then check her HUD and took to rolling just a bit.

“You don’t.”

The woman looked at it and was taken aback. She couldn't remember the last time someone had held her hand. Nor could she recall if anyone has. The armor-plated hand had easily encompassed her hand focusing more so than the words directed to her. Lucy started to ask what the other was meaning when a sharp pain caused her to let out a hiss her body's reaction wanting to move desperately away from the agony coursing through her. She leans her head back against the wall and found herself squeezing onto the hand tightly as the pain just as quickly began to solidify from an excruciating foaming spray that clings itself to her abdominal walls. Her breathing came out in short bursts as she squeezes her eyes shut. And despite this, a hoarse-sounding whisper came out over the rumble of thunder and plasma fire.

The Spartan II had only been out of his meeting for naught but thirty seconds before something else demanded his attention. He needed some rest, dammit! He needed time to prepare for the day to come, and he couldn’t do it on a mind that hasn’t had a break in three days. Tomorrow was just too damned important for anything to go wrong. The young Spartans were to undergo a rite of passage, the same that Alpha Company and even his own brothers and sisters in arms had gone through. For his own kind, the journey to true Spartanhood had been harrowing. One third of his class never returned from ONI’s flesh-forge. Another third had, but weren’t as lucky as Kurt and ilk. Their bodies were broken and twisted, leaving them with pain and suffering that would never heal with time.  The Alpha’s were fortunate. Fate had spared them of such a terrible fate, up until they met their end in another. It was not fate that killed Alpha, it was Kurt. He had not given them the resources nor time they needed. He had not sufficiently taught them to value each other as much as they valued themselves. For Kurt’s failures, they were picked off one by one. 

He would never let it happen again.

It was the tiny Beta’s hand that pulled him from thought, from fear. 

“Hmm?”

He turned to see none other than dear little b091. How she crept out of her squadbay, snuck past the DIs and ended up here was anyone’s guess. The Lieutenant was caught between frustration over her  blatant disregard for the rules she had been so carefully trained to follow and the pride he had in her for her skill in stealth.  “You’re supposed to be in bed.” Said Kurt. If only Jorge wasn’t asleep. He’d have handled something like this a bit better. 

Kurt was one of a lucky few. He was part of the third that not only survived that procedures, but actually got to use those gifts. One third of his class wasn’t quite as lucky. Some of them were fortunate to only have been paralyzed by the experimental surgeries. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have been in Kirk of Rene’s skins, if they were even still alive. At least even those like Kirk and Rene didn’t end up like the other third. Kurt had presumed that Alpha’s success was nothing more than dumb luck. Unlike the Spartan-IIs, Kurt’s first bath of IIIs had the distinct honor and privilege of surviving augmentation unharmed. They were more than unharmed, they had become every bit as Spartan as he. Were it not for Kurt’s failure as their mentor, their teacher and leader, perhaps they might be by his side today.

Hence why a part of Kurt wanted to keep the truth from Lucy.  If she didn’t know what it took to mold her into the superior warrior she was destined to become, perhaps, if something went wrong, she’d at least die with some peace of mind.  “Come inside.” Was his answer.

"T-thank you, Sir." She stammers out as she rubs her arms. Another little tremor and a sigh left her. And despite this, as the rain now pelted against the roofing she looks up and around, eyes ever curious. Her shoulders slumped and felt the child like urge to go searching around the room to see all of its contents but, she resisted. Instead looking up, well as much as she could without hurting her neck to see her superior officer's gaze. When that didn't work her eyes then looked to the ground, as she let out another rumbly sigh. This one however was in fact something she had copied from Mendez himself with his famous mug of steaming hot, black tar looking coffee.

The Spartan II had only been out of his meeting for naught but thirty seconds before something else demanded his attention. He needed some rest, dammit! He needed time to prepare for the day to come, and he couldn’t do it on a mind that hasn’t had a break in three days. Tomorrow was just too damned important for anything to go wrong. The young Spartans were to undergo a rite of passage, the same that Alpha Company and even his own brothers and sisters in arms had gone through. For his own kind, the journey to true Spartanhood had been harrowing. One third of his class never returned from ONI’s flesh-forge. Another third had, but weren’t as lucky as Kurt and ilk. Their bodies were broken and twisted, leaving them with pain and suffering that would never heal with time.  The Alpha’s were fortunate. Fate had spared them of such a terrible fate, up until they met their end in another. It was not fate that killed Alpha, it was Kurt. He had not given them the resources nor time they needed. He had not sufficiently taught them to value each other as much as they valued themselves. For Kurt’s failures, they were picked off one by one. 

He would never let it happen again.

It was the tiny Beta’s hand that pulled him from thought, from fear. 

“Hmm?”

He turned to see none other than dear little b091. How she crept out of her squadbay, snuck past the DIs and ended up here was anyone’s guess. The Lieutenant was caught between frustration over her  blatant disregard for the rules she had been so carefully trained to follow and the pride he had in her for her skill in stealth.  “You’re supposed to be in bed.” Said Kurt. If only Jorge wasn’t asleep. He’d have handled something like this a bit better. 

With the way her head was craned up so far just to meet his gaze it somehow made the cadet look even smaller. Another tremor racked through her frame as a little gust of wind reminded Lucy of the cold and her reckless track through the mud. Despite this, she still remained unmoving and kept her gaze. Her toes curled on the ground as she struggled to find the right words to say. She was a cadet of few words and more so found her body language speaking for her. Granted, it made following orders that much easier and was in truth what helped her make daring trench in the rain. In a voice so quiet that it was almost above a whisper she forced the words to spill from her.

In the end, something akin to a father's pride won the lieutenant over. She'd become clever, quick, and well learned since her selection. Her ability to find him, to slip past her squad,her company, and all her commanding officers was reason enough to keep her. She could take down an a Covenant lance before they even had the time to process it.