Of course itβs him. It would be Mateo fucking Young who got himself stabbed. It should feel like poetic fucking justice, him bleeding out in front of her. Erin doesnβt even know who did it, she got to the scene too late to see him lose the fight. She wishes it had been her. Maybe if it was her, she could leave him. Just like he left her. Maybe if it had been her, she could have fulfilled her promise. She could have watched him bleed out, and she could have left the room smiling.
But it wasnβt. It fucking wasnβt. She could leave the room. She could just do it. It would be so goddamn easy to just leave the goddamn room. Mateo would bleed out, probably. But if he didnβt, if he somehow survived and dragged his sorry ass out of this mess just like she did, then, well, theyβd be something like even. She could just leave. Why isnβt she just leaving?
Erin could even sit here and watch him die. How many times has she fantasized about it, has she threatened him with it and sworn she meant it? It wasnβt like this, in those fantasies. She always pictured him fighting, seething, furious. The man on the ground before her is too weak for that. Itβs already too late. Is he even conscious enough to know sheβs in the room? That sheβs standing here, holding his life in her hands? What would he say if he did? Something annoying as shit probably. That might make it easier, then she could just leave.Β
Like he did.Β
He looks pathetic, pale and shaky and covered in his own blood. Thereβs no satisfaction in it, she tells herself, in him dying like this, at someone elseβs hand.Β
Fuck.Β
Erinβs never going to hear the end of this.Β
βIβm only doing this so I can kill you myself, later,β she tells him, or maybe just herself, and hoists him into a fireman's carry. Heβs limp, doesnβt struggle, doesnβt resist. βI hate you so much for making me do this.βΒ
He groans something unintelligible. She has half a mind to forget this whole thing and just fucking drop him. He deserves it. He does.Β
Erin grits her teeth, adjusts her grip, and she keeps walking.Β
Prompt 07: Get Me. A drabble about one character saving another. For @wardeniii.
Β Β Β Erin sold her soul the day she was Judged. Freedom cost a bullet in a strangerβs skull. Thatβs not a deal you walk away from with much good in you left intact. Sometimes, she wishes theyβd taken her heart, too. It would have been easier, had she not cared. Had her teammates been only teammates. Had some of them not found their way into the strange thing still beating in her chest, found a space there. Theyβre creatures of violence, a team tailor made for violence. Theyβre given mokiers of birds that kill to survive, and theyβre told to do the same. Erin doesnβt keep count of how many lives have ended at their hands, how many more have been touched by their violence. Thereβs no point. Itβs too many. None of them are redeemable.
Β Β Β There should be no room in this arrangement for soft feelings. For fleeting moments of tenderness. For four letters words Erin doesnβt let herself think about. Yet, she finds it anyway. Waking up next to Nour, limbs still tangled together, a smile on her mouth. Laying soaking wet and wild eyed next to Lars on a rocky beach, looking with disbelief at the spot where the car hit the water and then at each other, confessions spilling from their lips as they come down from the adrenaline high. Silently sharing a cigarette with Ward at two AM after flying down the highway, never talking about the danger, never talking about what it means.
Β Β Β Theyβve watched her kill in cold blood. Theyβve let her into these moments all the same. Hearts are full of contradictions like that. Itβs what makes them so dangerous. If the Faceless were smarter, they would have taken Erinβs when they took her soul. Instead, most of it ended up with the Birds of Prey.Β
Β Β Β Thatβs the kind of thought that, under typical circumstances Erin would promptly squash down and pretend never existed. She is not under typical circumstances.Β
Β Β Β Itβs a mission that requires a more delicate touch than Erin has ever had. The Snow Owl, Falconet, and Harrier, are enacting what theyβve very creatively named Plan A. Plan A is a complex web of breaking and entering, disguise, invisibility, lock picking, and social finesse. Weeks in the making, Plan A is elegant, smooth, and meticulous. Successfully managed, it could be weeks before anyone realizes that it even occurred. Erin hopes, with everything she has, that itβs going well. But the thing about Plan A, about any plan as complex as this one, is that it is full of points of failure, and offers precious little in the way of exit routes. Even more worryingly, Plan A is also taking longer than expected. Much longer. Never a good sign. Theyβve agreed on a time limit. Itβs nearly up. If thereβs no signal in the next β Erin checks her watch β one minute and forty-three seconds, they go with Plan B. No one likes Plan B. Mostly because while Plan A requires an entire dossier, Plan B can be effectively summed up in a single line:
Β Β Β Peregrine Falcon comes in and kills everyone. Figure out the rest later.Β
Β Β Β Erin tries not to think about it. Sheβs largely unsuccessful.Β
Β Β Β One minute and seventeen seconds.Β
Β Β Β Fuck.Β
Β Β Β Three pieces of her heart are in that room. She focuses on her breathing. Does the sort of exercise snipers who donβt have a preternatural ability to never miss have to rely on.Β
Fifty-one seconds.Β
She wonβt go in early. She wonβt. Canβt risk interrupting them. Not to the last possible moment. She owes them that much.
Thirty-five seconds.Β
Come on. Signal.Β
Please.Β
Nineteen seconds.Β
Thereβs no point in pretending otherwise. Sheβs counting it down.Β
Five. Four. Three. Two One.
Zero. Plan B.Β
-
Β Β Β What happens next is largely what youβd expect. The thing about violence is it gets predictable, after a while. Itβs faster than most realize. Most fights only last a few hits. And thatβs between combatants who can miss. She has to be fast. Fast enough that she can hold onto her power, that she can fire a gun with no risk of hitting the wrong target. In the end, Plan B takes nine minutes and twenty-two seconds. Erin finds three pieces of her heart, injured but alive, everyone in the building who would harm them dead on the ground.Β
Β Β Β It will take several hours for the piece still in her chest to stop pounding.Β
You have a new name, a new nation, a new job. You can barely afford the room youβre renting, the language feels awkward on your tongue, the city streets wind in unfamiliar patterns. So little is certain, even with the blessing of the Beast. What you know is this: you do not miss.
because every other team got one and weβre way cooler than them
@ohbluejayΒ @nourflage @thecaladriusΒ @eristeia @peregrinefalcvn @sweetstcrling @cathartidieβ
Maria Nephele: A Poem in Two Voices,Β Odysseus Elytis ( @feral-ballad ) |Β Giuditta con la testa di Oloferne,Β Fede Galizia |Β Judith,Β August Riedel |Β Ideology, Aria Aber ( @cithaerons ) | Courage, Anxiety and Despair: Watching the Battle,Β James Sant |Β Vigil, Clementine von Radics
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