I apologize for being unable to finish this work that was originally for artfight. I was working on it for several months, as well as life getting in the way. I wanted to treat it as a gift but was unable to meet my own expectations. Again I apologize.
But let it be known that I am incredibly grateful for your animation of my character Grill, and I look at it almost every week or so. So thank you again. I love it dearly. ❤️
Ah, this took me way longer than I expected, life has been a bit of a blur recently lol. But I’m so glad I had finished this gift for @appy-polly-loggies !!! As a thanks for an art piece they had made for me!!
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This is one of their awesome characters!!! Please go check out their work if you can!! They have such a scrunchie style!!
From your gifter: A/N: I hope this little fic doesn't feel too OOC. I tried to do as much research as I could on your characters. They seemed super cool!! I hope to continue getting to know more about them and thank you so much for sharing them with us. Happy Holidays!
The rain was pounding hard against the sheet metal of the shed where Blink had decided to stop. His breath formed small clouds of steam every time he opened his mouth to release a tired and painful exhale.
"That damn Sephire," he thought, pressing the bleeding wound on the side of his body. The shot had not been fatal, luckily, but it hurt like hell, and if he didn't hurry to treat it sooner or later he was going to bleed slowly. It was fortunate that his pursuers had decided to stop hunting him. Maybe they considered that it was not worth doing so, or maybe the storm had decided to help him by erasing the trail of blood that he had surely left behind.
Blink adjusted himself, pressing his back against the wall. The first thing he had to do was get the bullet out of his body. It would be a quick and gruesome job. Without wasting any more time he inserted his fingers into the wound and a scream tore from his throat. No, not like that. With his other hand he ripped the tie from his neck and shoved it into his mouth.
Even if he was no longer being pursued, he didn't want to make a fuss and draw the attention of those living nearby.
He bit the fabric between his teeth before continuing his task. His fingers delved into his wound, slightly enlarging the hole between his muscles and arteries. After a few agonizing seconds, he let the bullet fall to the ground, where it clattered with a sound muffled by the raindrops.
Blink stopped biting his tie, trying to catch his breath and waiting for the black spots to slowly disappear from his field of vision. Now he really needed to close the wound. He took a deep breath and activated his healing powers. His fingers began to glow, emitting a greenish color that stood out in the darkness of the storm. Even when he was used to it, the pain was always horrible. He tried to ignore his silenced screams, while his skin and flesh regenerated, slowly joining together, until only his disheveled, blood-soaked clothes remained as the only witness to the event.
A nausea seized him and he felt his head spinning. He spat out the tie and that simple action drained his already scarce energy. He knew he had to get up, return home to Salvage and Stira (who surely had already begun to worry about his prolonged absence), but he couldn't get his body to cooperate and get up. He felt very tired.
At some point he wondered if it wouldn't be best to just stay there until he died, until someone found him, or whatever came first; but then, remembering Salvage and Stira, that pair of misfits who called themselves his friends, remembering how with them, after so many years, he finally thought he felt something like the warmth of a home... he didn't want to let it go.
He stood up, leaning against the wall. His legs felt shaky and it took him a long time to feel like he could keep his balance and take a step. The cabin wasn't far away. He just had to ignore the rain, the rapidly dropping temperature and the invading pain. Easy peasy.
He started walking. In just a few minutes he was soaked to the bone. The rain and the cold clung to his skin and hair, making his clothes heavy. He had to take careful steps to keep from slipping on the wet pavement, which made his progress an even slower journey. Soon his teeth were chattering and his entire body shivering.
"Just hold on a little longer," he told himself, with each staggering step. His vision had lost its sharpness, guided only by the streetlights that, every few meters, illuminated the lonely street. "Don't die yet, it's not time to die yet."
"Blink took long enough," Stira said, watching the storm outside the window. He closed the curtain again.
"I'm worried about him," Salvage said. His furrowed eyebrows made him look like a scared little boy, especially seeing him settled in the armchair, with a furry sweater two sizes bigger and a steaming cup of chocolate in his hands. "I think I'll go look for him."
"In this storm? You're crazy," Stira said firmly. "You're just getting over a flu that left you bedridden for days, I won't let you go out into that mess and get sick again." Stira wasn't going to let Salvage go out in this filthy weather, but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't also worried about Blink. He had gone into town hours ago to who knew what. It was late, the storm wasn't letting up, and the temperature was slowly dropping.
"I'm going out to look for him," Stira finally said, going for the umbrella.
"Are you sure you don't want me to come with you?" asked Salvage.
"Very sure," replied the other, walking towards the door.
"Well," added Salvage. "In that case I'll wait for you both with a cup of hot chocolate."
He smiled. That was enough for Stira to finally gather his courage and go out into the middle of the storm to look for that idiot Blink. His friend Blink.
The rain hit his umbrella hard and the wind almost blew it out of his hands several times. The water on the pavement splashed his pants and he could feel it seeping through the soles of his shoes into his socks. The cold that soon took hold of his limbs made him regret not having brought a thick jacket or a scarf.
After several minutes walking around the neighborhood without finding anything or anyone (because who in their right mind would think of going out in a storm like that?), he was tempted to turn back; but a feeling of discomfort in his chest prevented him from doing so, perhaps a kind of hunch, a hunch that was not so wrong when, a few blocks from the cabin, he managed to see a figure advancing towards him in the middle of the empty street.
It was nothing more than a dark silhouette among the violent drops of rain, but as he passed under a streetlight, Stira identified it immediately.
"Blink!"
The figure moved slowly and clumsily, shuffling and staggering. Stira was quick to run towards him.
"Blink, are you..?"
And in a flash he saw it: red, blood staining Blink's white shirt. Blink was soaked, his clothes sticking to his body, and his eyelids seemed to barely be able to stay open. Hearing Stira's shout, he raised his head with difficulty, trying to make out the person in front of him in the middle of that blurred landscape. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out, drowned by the rain or by his own exhaustion.
It was then that Blink rolled his eyes and collapsed on the ground like a puppet without strings.
Stira ran and threw himself on his knees beside him.
"Blink?"
He turned to the young man, but he didn't react. His eyelids were closed, his breathing was barely audible and his skin was too cold to be considered normal even in those circumstances. Stira felt fear stab the center of his chest painfully.
He had to do something, otherwise Blink could...
No, he wasn't going to think about the worst case scenario. He didn't want to even imagine how Salvage would react. How he himself would feel if...
Throwing the umbrella aside, he scooped Blink up in his arms and ran off to the cabin.
Within moments Stir was soaked. The water on his body soon began to bother him, hitting him, the drops too hard and too cold, too invasive and overwhelming, covering everything around him. He had to pause to breathe, as his heart was suddenly beating too fast and the oxygen in the air seemed very hard to come by.
Blink was almost weightless. He was quite light and thin, his neck drooping back and Stira had to stop to adjust him so that his friend's head now rested against his shoulder. "You better not be dead," he thought, before continuing towards the cabin.
Salvage kept glancing out the window to see if his friends were coming back, but the raindrops crashing against the glass made the outside nothing more than an abstract mix of colors, light and shadows.
He was starting to get worried, knowing about Blink's tendency to get into trouble and Stira's hatred of water. A part of him was eager to go out and find them, but he also knew that someone had to stay in the cabin waiting for the others to return.
Time seemed to move slowly on the clock, whose hands were getting closer and closer to midnight, when suddenly he heard a scream on the other side of the door.
"Salvage!"
The aforementioned was quick to head to the entrance of the cabin and open the door, finding a rather miserable sight. Stira walked forward, shivering and soaked to the bone. He looked like a wet cat left to its fate. In his arms he carried an apparently unconscious Blink, in no better condition than his companion.
Salvage wasted no time looking for dry towels, bringing changes of clothes and preparing more hot chocolate for his friends. Stira was shivering, sitting on the floor and trying to dry himself with a towel, while Blink rested on the couch. After a while, Blink's eyes began to shake and slowly open.
"W-what?" His words were barely a whisper. He tried to sit up, instinctively bringing a hand to his side, where the bullet wound had been.
"Don't get up, idiot," Stira said when he saw him.
Blink ignored him and stood up. Immediately he felt his head dizzy and his legs were failing to support his own weight.
"Blink, you should get some rest," Salvage said calmly, carrying a new, thick blanket.
"'m fine," Blink said through clenched teeth. He took a step forward and fell to the floor, or well, he would have if Salvage and Stira hadn't rushed to grab him and put him back on the couch. This time he didn't have the energy to get up again. He didn't know when he found himself wearing comfortable pajamas, with towels and soft sheets around his body. The humidity and cold slowly disappeared.
Salvage had brought him a cup of hot chocolate, which Blink drank in a kind of trance.
Suddenly he discovered that his head was no longer resting on a pillow, but on a person's lap, while fingers tenderly caressed his hair.
"Why do you care so much about me?" Blink asked. His voice was barely a murmur, so much so that at first he wondered if he had actually spoken or had just thought the words.
"You are our friend," said a voice, kind and full of confidence. That voice gave him security and made him feel... less bad. In fact, that voice made him feel at peace.
Blink wanted that warm and pleasant feeling to never end. Meanwhile, Salvage continued to caress Blink's hair in a gesture of comfort, while Stira leaned on the back of the couch, observing the scene with a certain tenderness.
The storm continued throughout the night, but inside the cabin everything remained safe. As long as they stayed together, everything would surely be fine.
Once, there was only silence, and not a speck of hope in sight. And every tiny bubble burst on its journey towards the light. But the spark of creation will flicker again, it’s a brand new era… about to begin.
Desperately craving for an over confident, full-of-himself character who believes he’s invincible getting knocked down a peg by the antagonist, being reminded that he’s not as indestructible as he had originally believed, and coming to the realization that his hubris might actually get him killed.
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