when: 2012
where: london’s underground
au: nana’s never recruited by famine.
what’s a fate worse than one’s life sworn to another?
"It doesn’t have to be like this, you know.”
But it does.
The light splinters across the grass, the promise of tomorrow ebbing alongside its darkest points. Lavenders clash against the warmest pinks that summer has to offer. The sun dips its fingers beyond the horizon, reaching for the moon, to pull and tug until night cascades and the stars glitter just beyond the smog, just beyond where Nana’s father explained to her-- if you hope to reach it, you can. Have you ever felt stardust, Nana?
Of course she hadn’t. He hadn’t either, and he never would.
Or maybe he was amongst it now, unfurling and spooling into forever like he always theorized.
His laughter spills through every last memory she ever had of him -- it loops through her in the form of a grief she has a hard time understanding, nevertheless explaining.
Her mother’s smile is what she sees just before she wakes. Her bold reds, the ghost of a dimple she’s learned to love over years of her husband’s crooning.
Nana pulls herself together as she always does. Cool water cascades down her shoulders, her back. The temperature isn’t favored, but the heat had been shut off long ago.
Tonight’s fight, you have to be ready. Are you ready?
It’s the same-- Matthew’s words coiling, springing up at the last moment. Tiny pin pricks poking and prodding until she’s unable to avoid the discomfort.
You better not lose me any money, kid.
There’s no affection in the word. It’s absent of the kind of kindness she mourns.
Our time is short. You should know that.
Luca says it with a split lip and a swollen eye. He smiles, but Nana can tell that there is no heart in it. She can hear the cheering from just beyond the makeshift doors -- a wooden panel separating her from the jeers, the annihilation of what should be her ability to be soft.
She can hear her name, the anger, the laughter.
Nana stands and barely responds when she hears Luca’s words.
Give ‘em hell, kid.
She isn’t sure if there’s affection, but the noise in the back of her throat is mutilation.
The ring is familiar -- more of a home than the small studio she’s managed to afford on her cut of the winnings.
Nana catches Matthew’s eye, noting the steeliness in his gaze. She looks away with enough time to catch herself just in time to avoid a hook to the jaw.
Her body moves as it always has, following a choreography her brain has mapped out for her. She has studied this man’s movements-- She thinks his name is Gael, she’s not sure. She’s never asked, and even if she did, she’s not sure he’d be forward in giving it to her.
Nana brings up a hand to block the opposing throw, but she’s not quick enough.
Air leaves her lungs and she staggers backwards.
There’s more shouting. Nana reaches to defend her stomach as the man makes a move to leave her gasping.
Mind muddled and stars dancing in her vision, Nana misses her chance to block.
More laughter, more anger.
She leaves on hit on the man’s side. He throws himself to the side, reaching to hook her ankle with his own as he yanks her towards the ground.
She sees stars amongst the lavender sky that’s beyond these low ceilings. There’s a vibration in the pit of her stomach and it travels upwards, spindling like lightning across the night sky until it reaches her throat.
Nana coughs, her back on the ground. Blood spurts upwards, coming back to fall against the bridge of her nose, her forehead.
The roaring laughter, the cheers-- they go quiet after a moment.
Fear corrodes, leaving Nana gasping for breath, body arching towards the hands that reach to touch.
I don’t want to die, please don’t let me die.
They cannot hear her screams, her fear. They are inverted, creating catastrophe inside of her mind, her chest.
Matthew’s there. Luca, too.
There’s no kindness. There’s an abrupt feeling, and it pulls her towards the ground. She feels herself sinking.
So this is what death feels like?
She tries to move, to reach, to claw. She wants to live, she wants to live.
But the darkness spoils the generosity of life. It steals, as it always has-- it delves into her with its glistening hand, pulling out all of the things that have ever made Nana alive.
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Description: Abigail was having a lovely day. Until she wasn't.
Warnings: TW Blood, Gore.
Pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose, Abigail let out a sigh. She had spent all afternoon reorganizing the latest collection they had received, sorting out the pieces from most to least damaged, cataloguing what would need major restorations and what could potentially be added to the library's archives within the next month or so. It was the work she preferred to do-- quiet and calm in the climate controlled confines of the clean room she worked in. No coworkers, no students walking through the shelves, just the texts and her thoughts.
It had been a perfect day. The rain wasn't ideal, but she'd brought an umbrella and it wasn't that bad after all. A quick walk and she'd be back at her apartment, ready for another evening of what was feeling increasingly like an exercise in insanity.
No matter how many books she scrutinized, no matter the era, the region, she was no closer to figuring out what Sutton was than she had been a month ago. Which was. Utterly infuriating. Research was her job. Her life's work. And she was failing at it.
Fingers flexing on the rubber grip of her umbrella, Abigail pushed the thought from her mind. Her back stiffened as she made her way down the gravel walkway that snaked through the park she liked walking through after work. It was a set back. Eventually, she would figure out what Sutton was and then she would know how to kill it. It, she reminded herself. Not a person-- that day in the library, she had come... uncomfortably close to seeing Sutton as something that it wasn't.
Which was why she had refrained from directly seeking out Sutton in the past weeks. She kept tabs on the creature, of course. She knew its schedule quite well at this point, when it had classes, when it went in for studio, its propensity for overindulging on wine every Wednesday. Abigail now made sure to keep... more distance between them. She was a Fangxiangshi and Sutton was a Yaoguai. The Hunter and the hunted.
If Abigail had been less lost in her thoughts, more focused on the world around her, she might have noticed the shadows that darted around the wooded park. If it hadn't been raining and the water droplets hadn't been so loud against the fabric of her umbrella, she might have heard the beating of heavy wings above her.
But, she didn't.
And the creature descended upon her in a single swoop from the tree line, all claws and snarling teeth.
The umbrella was shredded between claws and, if it wasn't for her years of training and sharpened reaction time, she would have been sliced to ribbons alongside it. Abigail let the umbrella fall from her fingers as she leapt instinctively out of the way, tucking her head into her neck as she rolled off the path and into the wooded area of the park.
Even through the cover of the trees, rain poured down on her, drenching Abigail in an instant. Her glasses, useless things, were a hindrance as they fogged and smudged with water. She didn't have time to fling them away as a blurred shape lashed out at her. Abigail dodged out of the way, keeping her feet planted in the wet earth. A snarling roar emanated from the creature in front of her and Abigail blinked through the watery lenses. What kind of--
She didn't have time to finish that thought because a sulfurous smell filled the air, followed by a sharp clicking sound. The hair on the back of her neck stood up on end and Abigail let her instincts take over. Her legs drove into the earth and she feinted right before cutting quickly to her left and sprinting as fast as she could.
A rush of heat exploded behind her-- Fire? What kind of creature could breath fire and sounded like that? A Lung? But the four ancient dragons had no business in New Haven, they hardly bothered to travel beyond the mainland. Abigail ripped her glasses off in irritation before whirling around to take in the creature that had made the mistake of choosing her as prey.
"What the fu--" Abigail's words were cut off as the three-headed creature lunged at her, a lion's bloody mouth bearing down on her. Abigail's staff was in her hand in an instant, but what could she do with a staff against a lion? And-- she blinked, not sure she understood what she was seeing. The second head, the one joined at the base with the lion's was... a goat?
The goat's mouth opened and the sulfurous smell filled the air again-- the goat head could breath fire. The goat could breath fire.
Abigail had killed a great many creatures. But she had never seen anything like this before. Not in her family texts. Not in person. Only in... Greek myths.
"Chimera." She breathed before turning tail and sprinting away. Abigail was many things and stupid wasn't among them. Head of a lion, fire breathing goat head, wings of an eagle, the claws and talons and ferocity of every beast that made up the awful patchwork creature. She had a metal staff and a packet of talismans that would do absolutely nothing against a flesh and blood monster straight out of the classics.
Abigail sprinted through the park, weaving through trees as tightly as she could. She hated running, hated turning tail and retreating when that meant the creature would be free to attack innocent people. But. If she wanted to do anything about it, she needed to be alive to do so. So she ran.
She ducked to avoid branches and tore out through a row of bushes, trying to slow the creature that was still barrelling down after her. She didn't want to draw it into the open but--
Pain lanced through her shoulder and Abigail gasped as she saw a giant yellow eye leering at her from where the giant snake's mouth had closed around her flesh. Sharp agony spread through her arm like wildfire as the chimera dragged backwards, yanking her back into the depths of the park. The staff she carried, it was still clenched tight in her right hand and what choice did she have?
Hitting the button of the staff, Abigail felt the pole retract into its much smaller, denser form. Hefting the cylinder, she slammed the point into the beady eye that stared at her.
The fangs in her arm clenched even harder, slicing through skin and flesh, but she continued to hammer at the snake's head until the jaws relented and she fell free from its grasp. Abigail's arm hung uselessly at her side, but she didn't care. Pain and adrenaline spurred her on and she ran faster than she'd ever run before. Blood poured from her arm and soaked into the black fabric of her jacket, but she couldn't focus on that. She just had to run. She had to run. She had to get away from the park, she had to-- had to... Had to get...
Her lungs burned as she sprinted down a back alleyway, away from the main street. Even through the haze of pain that filled her mind, her lectures from youth reminded her. Humans could never be involved in their work. And she couldn't-- wouldn't...
"Fuck." Abigail panted, slowing to a jog, to a trot, to a stumbling walk that ended with her slumping against the damp brick of the alleyway. Her legs felt like the bones had been liquefied and her arm... Fuck. Abigail sank to the ground, remembering something from the books she'd been pouring over for the past week.
Chimera's. A mythical creature with the head of a lion and goat, capable of breathing fire. Some even possessed a tail that took the form of... "a venomous snake." Abigail finished the quote out loud and let out a laugh that sounded far more manic than it should have been.
The doctor walked in, as doctors do, with a hesitant smile plastered on his unbecoming features. There was nothing that the doctor could tell Kate that she didn't already know. She reviewed her charts when the doctors left the room. Figuring out what exactly was wrong with her was easy, or, at least what they thought was wrong with her. She was sure nobody'd ever be able to figure out just exactly what ran through her head. But external injuries? Oh, those were easy. Putting on a reciprocating smile, Kate readjusted herself so that her leg hung off the bed and the other was curved inward, the ball of her foot pressing against the inside of her thigh. "What's up, Doc?"
The look on the man's face told Kate that he didn't appreciate the Bugs Bunny reference, but Kate didn't care. "You're fine to go home. Although, as I have discussed with your father, it is recommended that you see a counselor. You underwent extensive psychological torture, and while you seem to be on the road to recovery in that respect, some things can.. linger." Kate had heard those lines before. They weren't anything new. "If I agree, does that mean I can get the hell out of here?" Kate asked, her eyes narrowing despite the pain in her nose. She could deal with a broken nose- it was only a minor annoyance. The way Kate saw it, she had gotten out with more than enough. No lost limbs, no knives to the heart. Hell, she was lucky. It was only her mind that seemed to slip. Nightmares were far and few between, as they always had been. They weren't anything new, but it didn't mean Kate wanted to deal with them.
"Yes. Although, your father has requested that you be brought back to er- the Kane residence. Private care will be provided for you." Go figure. She wouldn't be able to get out from under his thumb now. Though, did she really want to? Nodding slowly, Kate brought her leg back up onto the bed and scratched at the scabs that had begun to grow over the cuts. "Okay." Cutting her gaze to meet the balding doctor's, Kate attempted a smile. "Just let me call in your release forms. Your father will be back momentarily, he just popped out for a moment." Kate would've been lying had she said she wanted to go back to her apartment. Her barren apartment, which was all some sort of sick setup to divert the empty bedroom, the bare walls.. No. Kate certainly did not want to go back to her apartment, not alone, at least.
It wasn't thirty minutes later that Kate was being wheeled out of the hospital in a wheelchair, much to her dismay. Catherine had insisted that she stay put, and Jake went along with it, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Kate's scowl only hardened as the hospital staff gave her a patronizing wave. "For fucks sake.." Kate muttered under her breath, only to flinch at the struck look that Catherine gave her. Instead of apologizing, Kate just looked away, her lips forming a thin line.
While she had been in the hospital for those few, short days, Jake had made it to her apartment, retrieving all that she had asked for. That had been the only good thing about moving back into her father's house. All of her shit was just where she had left it, save for what Jake had transported back from her apartment. "Thanks, dad." Kate said, her hands working at the bruises and cuts that lined her wrists. She had been told by the doctor that she was lucky her attempts at getting out of the cuffs hadn't transitioned into the kinds of cuts that could become infected. She rolled her eyes at that one, simply stating that it wouldn't be the worst thing she would've ever had to have endured.
"Lunch will be ready soon. Then we'll call a counselor- the doctor gave a list just.. right here!" Catherine handed the sheet she had been waving around to Kate, and she took it regrettably. "Okay." Kate said, her words softening as she took note of Catherine's nervousness. Glancing over to the Colonel, Kate rose an eyebrow, to which he dismissed with a shake of the head. "Go get cleaned up, take a look over the names on that list." Kate didn't try to object. She needed to shower, and a pair of clothes that didn't smell like antiseptic- despite Renee bringing a pair of her own clothes, was the first notch she wanted to make on the mini list she had been given. Then, Kate took to the names on the sheet of paper.
