Eighty and You've Fallen, Ninety and You Fell (Shirou, Akemi, ???: Open)
He was already awake when he heard the announcement. The benefits of being a morning person, he supposed, dubious as that might be right now. He let out a sigh, put on his jacket, and grabbed his rosary off his nightstand. He wasn’t entirely sure what was going on, but their apparent captor sounded concerned. With any luck, it’d mean a way out had presented itself.
It was becoming readily apparent that was not the case, and that there was a newcomer. The person in the fox mask. It was bad enough they talked about there being no escape…but then they talked about killing. The only way to escape.
His blood ran cold. This wasn’t supposed to happen, not to someone who tried so hard to live a good life. Not to Shirou Sonozaki, who was polite and respectful and meek, who prayed every night, who never spoke strongly, who never took the Lord’s name in vain, who wouldn’t hurt a fly, who kept the Sabbath day holy (except for those days when finances were tight and they needed the money, and surely God would understand that it was better to work than to let his family starve because desperate times called for desperate measures, and Shirou’s intentions were still so very good. Right?)
But Shirou knew that wasn’t it, because there were many things Shirou Sonozaki had not repented for and could not, and you could never run from your sins. The Lord had understood that too, and He just didn’t think it would be so soon, and certainly he’d never dreamed it’d be like this–
And someone else clearly had objections to all this. The girl who’d cornered him that one night. Shirou had always prided himself on good intuition. Sometimes, you could just sense something was about to go wrong. And the expression about having one’s life flash before their eyes had always seemed silly, yet for whatever reason–
(It had been a cold winter day, the trees frozen over, glistening in the sunlight. Yet it was a different gleam that caught his eye, and–)
They had a sword. Of course they did, why wouldn’t they?
(The other day had been uncomfortably warm, as midsummers often were, but the night had brought some relief and the dark some safety. He knew the back alleys like the back of his hand, and it wasn’t a concern that he wasn’t alone– it was Tokyo, you were never alone– but then he recognized the face of the man following him and–)
Of course they used it, why wouldn’t they?
(And that was taking God’s name in vain but he was pretty sure He’d understand that one slip-up.)
Bruises he cold deal with, a gaping wound in the shoulder not so much.
(And by all rights, that should have been him, if only he’d reacted a little faster…)
He fumbled for a few moments with his cravat, then rushed to her side.
“Ah, hold still– you need pressure on the wound. This will help staunch the bleeding for a bit, but we need to get you somewhere safe.”
He looked around, uneasy.
“Can anyone else help me carry her?”
He didn’t want to be a cynic– far from it, but it wouldn’t hurt to be prepared for the worst. Namely, that being out in the open and wounded was no longer safe.
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